#whatever this will feed me for such a stupidly long time

[vanityangel]

the enemy of my enemy is his cousin who has also tried to murder me on several counts but is still somehow the lesser evil so he is my friend (for like one minute)

[shouyuus]

could i request car mechanic!vi and fem!reader hcs and little moments of their daily life now that they’re officially dating? 🤭🤭 you write vi so wellll nghghhh 😫

sfw fluffy hcs for car mechanic!vi au bulletpoints bc im in that mood today

breakfast is always a long, drawn out thing -- almost ritualistic, bc "breakfast is the most important meal of the day, sweets! c'mon, you oughtta know that." and you take turns making it, either for each other or for whoever else is in the house that day (sometimes vander, sometimes silco will drop by for coffee, sometimes powder and ekko will stay the night, in which case ekko almost always makes breakfast, bc powder's very particular about her pancakes)

you can't rmbr the last time you sat in a chair proper bc vi's always pulling you into her lap (except at the dinner table, where she tries to show a TAD more decorum, esp if you're having dinner at your place instead of hers, but even then, she'd pull her chair close to yours, just so she can press her leg against yours or reach out to put a palm on your thigh)

on the days that you're not together, you definitely text vi a bit more -- she's got her hands full of repairs, and your biggest worry on the daily is what you wanna make for dinner that day, and if you need to drop by the grocery store before you head over to vi's

the first time you try to teach vi how to use chopsticks, you end up just plopped in her lap, feeding her off your plate bc she claims that "it's easier this way" and that she can "watch your technique better from up close" although it's so stupidly obvious that she's not looking at your hands bc she can't keep her eyes off your lips and how you can't stop giggling when you twist around to feed her

on the lazy summer nights when all the work has been done and all the stuff that can still be done can wait till tomorrow, vi takes you up the hill behind the city, to her favorite little outlook, tucked into the side of a backroad that no one except the true locals know about -- from there, you can see the entire city spread out beneath you, sprawling net, cast in light and shattered stars. "i used to hate this place... just a little, cause i thought i'd never get out of it," she tells you. "and now?" you ask. "now... i kinda love it... it's my home and... well, it gave me you, didn't it?"

vi thanks the heavens that you only live a few streets over, and that it takes her about 5 minutes on her bike to get between your houses (even though, yeah, you do technically live on the rich side of town, just across the train tracks), bc sometimes, 5 minutes is just about as long as she can wait before she starts to feel fidgety about the thought of seeing you again

the nights she spends at yours are always fun -- your bed's more than big enough for the pair of you to sprawl out on; you'd flick through channels on tv till something catches your eye, or carry as many snacks as either of you can up and post up for a movie marathon. it'd always end up with one of you lying against the other, your body curled between her legs or the other way around

sometimes she falls asleep against you, and you'd let the entire movie play before trying to slip out from behind her to turn off the lights. she always wakes up when you move, and she always grumbles and tries to pull you back; you always laugh and promise her that you'll be right back, to which she'd always pout but it morphs into a smile as she watches you patter around the room in a big t-shirt, turning off the lights and clearing the snacks off the bed before climbing back into her arms

she always keeps her hand tucked around your hip whenever the two of you go out anywhere, or she's got her hand pushed into the back pocket of your jeans or shorts or whatever the hell else; she claims its just bc she wants you close; you both know that it's also bc she wants zero questions as to who you belong to when you're walking down the street

when her hair gets long in the back, she lets you braid it and in it up with cute lil clips bc she likes the way it makes you smile

she almost loses it a little when she wakes up one day at yours and finds that you've put out an extra cup for her, and bought her a new toothbrush to use; it's then that she realizes she's already left like a quarter of her wardrobe here and that your parents no longer even look up when she comes downstairs in the morning, bedhead and all, to greet them, and that they've somehow always already made coffee for her, just the way she likes

"hey prett girl, can i ask you something?" "yeah, sure." "what... do you think about moving in together?" "hm? oh --" "not like right this moment or anything but --" "i'd love to. i mean, it does get a little complicated splitting time between my place and yours." "oh... that was -- i thought you'd be a bit more..." vi swallows, trailing off. you cock your head and fix her with a look, "a bit more what? hesitant? i mean... we're basically together all the time now anyway. it'd just make things easier, right? and --" a blush flushes into your cheeks as you look away, clearing your throat, "it'd -- it'd be nice not to have to be so q-quiet, sometimes."

vi nearly blacks out at your words; and yeah, so what if she starts looking at places that exact afternoon?

[thebunnednun]

Run Away With Me

★Pairing:Aged up!Pro Hero!Boyfriend!Katsuki Bakugou x Pro Hero!Girlfriend!Reader

Synopsis: It's Valentines Day. You and Katsuki can't wait to get home.

Warning: MDNI!!! Extreme Flirting/Fluff, Wc: Short like his temper, No ageless blogs!

Based on my Bakugou x Sugar Baby fic. This is the first installment of a Valentines day series. Stay tuned.

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry,

@valscodblog, @willnetries

The soft glow of fairy lights cast a warm, rosy hue over your bedroom as Michelle leaned in, steadying your chin between her fingers. 

"Stay still," she murmured, expertly gliding the eyeliner along your lash line. 

You obeyed—barely. The body glitter dusted across your collarbones and arms caught the light as you shifted, and Michelle huffed a laugh.

"You’re so fidgety," she teased. 

You pout. "Are you sure this whole look isn’t too much? I feel like a teenager playing dress-up."

Michelle didn’t dignify that with an answer. Instead, she tapped your nose with her fluffy brush, making you squeak. "You look stunning. Katsuki’s gonna short-circuit."

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you quickly turned your attention to the items scattered across your princess-style vanity. The iridescent hot pink heart-shaped bag sat next to your matching fiery nails, waiting to be slung over your shoulder. Your chunky baby pink wedge heels peeked out from under your black punk-rock lace dress. Everything was perfect. 

Too perfect.

As if sensing your nerves, Michelle leaned back on the stool, her orange bandeau dress hugging her curves effortlessly. Her red nails drummed against the vanity, and she smirked. "If anything goes sideways, call me. Daddy and I will come pick you up."

You groaned.

"Calling Kirishima that is still weird."

She only laughed, twisting one of her perfectly styled curls around her finger. "You and Katsuki will find your own thing. Give it time." You huffed, fingers playing with the hem of your black lace dress. 

"I just feel… I don’t know. Over the top? Like I’m playing dress-up or something." Michelle didn’t even pause.

"Over the top? Girl, please. You look fine as hell." She gestured towards the mirror, where your reflection stared back at you—soft yet bold, playful yet elegant. Contrasting with your usual workwear, making the whole ensemble feel different.

New.

Exciting.

Michelle, ever the fashion expert, admired her handiwork with a satisfied nod. Her own look was just as flawless— her glossy red nails catching the light as she adjusted one of her gold earrings. Her twist-out was perfection, not a single curl out of place. 

You were tempted to ask her to kiss your cheek, just to leave an imprint of her perfect lip combo for good luck, but you also knew how long it had taken her to get ready.

Instead, you sighed and wiggled your toes, feeling the slight pressure of the glittering heels you weren’t quite used to yet. "Are you sure this look is, like… in style? I feel like I time-traveled back to the 2000s." 

Michelle smirked, leaning forward to prop her elbows on her knees. "You kidding? The early y2k aesthetic is making a comeback. And besides, it’s your life. You get to wear whatever you want."

That made your stomach flip. A warmth spread through your chest, different from nerves, but just as intense. You sighed, leaning back against the vanity chair, eyes drifting to the small teddy bear on your bed. He mimics his dad with that orange and black outfit. Just like Katsuki. 

Your Katsuki. 

A tiny, stupidly fond smile tugged at your lips. 

"Wonder what they’re up to right now…"

—

The apartment smelled like expensive cologne, caramel, and a hint of coconut, thanks to the small arsenal of grooming products Kirishima had dragged into Katsuki’s bathroom. The overhead lights cast a sharp glow over the counter, illuminating the various bottles of cologne, hair gel, and skin-care products Kirishima had convinced Katsuki to try. (Which he reluctantly did, for you).

Kirishima, dressed in a sharp red and black tux that looked way too good for someone wearing Ninja Turtle socks, held up two cologne bottles. 

"Alright, bro, decision time. Smoky and rugged or clean and fresh?"

Katsuki, already on edge, exhaled sharply through his nose. His leg bounced as he adjusted the black waistcoat of his hot pink and black tux, the bow tie at his throat feeling like it was actively trying to strangle him. He still wasn’t used to wearing something this polished, this formal—but he wanted to look good for you.

"Just—fuckin’ pick one," he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Kirishima clicked his tongue. "You’re lucky I got taste." He grabbed the smoky cologne and gave Katsuki a solid three spritzes before he could protest.

"Oi—!" Katsuki hissed, glaring.

"Trust me," Kirishima grinned, unbothered. "Now, lips—coconut balm, here you go." He tossed it over, and Katsuki caught it with ease, though his scowl deepened.

As if things couldn’t get more overwhelming, the speakerphone buzzed with chaos.

"LISTEN TO ME, BRO!" Denki’s voice was the loudest, crackling through the device. 

"Confidence is key! You gotta hit her with the look."

Mina cackled. "Oh my God, do NOT listen to him! Katsuki, just tell her she’s beautiful. We all know you think so." "Yeah, dude, don’t overthink it," Sero chimed in, amused. "Just be yourself.” 

“Or a less feral version."

Katsuki’s jaw tensed. Easier said than done. His pulse pounded in his ears. He reluctantly unclenched his fists from his knees. This wasn’t some battlefield. It wasn’t even a stupid mission. It was just a fucking date. 

With you.

Fuck, his nerves felt louder than explosions.

Kirishima, noticing the tightness in his shoulders, finally stepped in. He placed a firm hand on Katsuki’s shoulder and squeezed. Katsuki looked up into unblinking garnet and sighed through his nose. 

"Dude. Breathe. You love her, right?"

Katsuki swallowed hard. Love. The word settled in his chest, heavy but honest. 

He nodded once.

"Then remember that. That’s all that matters. If things feel weird, if the place sucks, if the whole night goes sideways, just leave. Do something else. You two make your own fun, anyway." Katsuki let out a slow breath. Kirishima was right. This was for you. 

It wasn’t about perfect execution—it was about being together.

"Three things," Kirishima continued, grinning. "Be yourself. Compliment her. And communicate. Talk, dude. You’re only gonna get better at this if you open your mouth."

Katsuki rolled his eyes but let the advice sink in. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet. 

"Let’s go before I go into fuckin' cardiac arrest."

Kirishima whooped. "That’s the spirit!" He slung an arm around Katsuki’s shoulder as they grabbed the gifts—flowers, small personal surprises—before making their way out.

Upstairs, you were waiting.

—

A sharp knock echoed through the apartment.

Michelle, already smirking, turned her head dramatically toward the door. “Hmmm… wonder who that could be?”

You rolled your eyes, lips quirking up as you reached for your bag. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the dates we’ve been getting ready for the past hour?”

Before you could stand, Michelle grabbed your chin with one hand and, with a single practiced motion, swiped a generous coat of cherry gloss over your lips. The scent was sweet, rich, and just a little sticky.

“There. Perfection,” she declared before tugging you up to your feet. “Phone, purse?”

You patted your iridescent hot pink heart-shaped bag before nodding. “Check.”

Michelle, always prepared, already had her own red heart-shaped purse slung over her shoulder. She shot you a wink before making her way to the door. You heard the click of the lock, then—

“Hey, beautiful.”

Kirishima’s voice was warm, full of easy affection as he leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Michelle’s cheek. She hummed in approval, tilting her head up slightly like she was already expecting it.

“Well, aren’t you a gentleman tonight?” Michelle mused, looping an arm around his bicep as she gave him an exaggerated once-over. “Damn, Eiji, you clean up nice.”

Kirishima chuckled, standing a little straighter. “Had to match my date, obviously.”

You watched their interaction fondly before Kirishima finally turned his attention to you. His smile widened. “And wow, you—” He paused, eyes briefly scanning your outfit before he let out a brotherly smile. 

“You look amazing.”

Feeling playful, you gave him a small, teasing bow. “Why, thank you. You’re looking sharp yourself.”

Kirishima beamed—right before something hit him square in the arm.

“Ow—” He barely had time to react before a very familiar explosive presence stepped into the doorway behind him, scowling.

Katsuki’s hands were full—flowers, a neatly wrapped gift, and something tucked under his arm. He looked at you, then at the door, then back at you, blinking.

You gave him a small wave.

Katsuki blinked again.

Then, without a word, he tore his gaze away and scanned your apartment like it was foreign territory.

Your apartment was a cozy, eclectic mix of nostalgia, comfort, and personality—a space that felt undeniably yours. The living room was a reflection of that, bursting with the soft, warm hues of early 2000s aesthetics mixed with fan-sent decorations and personal touches that made the place feel lived-in.

The walls were painted in a soft, rosy blush, giving the room a dreamy warmth that always seemed to glow, even at night. Shelves lined the walls, filled with books, cute trinkets, and memorabilia—some from your past, some gifts from fans, and some just random knick-knacks Michelle had convinced you to buy during one of your many shopping sprees.

A large, fluffy pink area rug covered most of the floor, plush beneath your feet, a stark contrast to the sleek black coffee table in the center of the room. The table itself was decorated with small candles, a glass tray filled with assorted crystal charms, and a few scattered magazines—some featuring you in your rising pro-hero career, others filled with celebrity gossip and fashion trends.

Against one wall sat a sleek white entertainment center, housing a large flat-screen TV mounted above it. Below, there were neatly stacked DVDs (a mix of action flicks, romance movies, and animated classics), along with a pink Hello Kitty gaming console that Michelle had gotten you as a joke but that you actually adored. A tiny disco ball hung off the corner of the shelf, catching light from the floor lamp nearby, sending tiny glimmers across the room whenever you moved.

“Uh, you can put that down wherever,” you offered, suppressing a smile. “Thanks, by the way.”

His jaw shifted slightly, but he nodded, stepping inside as you moved to close the door behind him. The scent of his cologne—smoky, warm, and utterly him—lingered in the air as he passed you, and you swallowed, a tiny warmth curling in your stomach.

Meanwhile, Kirishima, still standing by Michelle, sighed dramatically.

“Can I come in, or do I have to stand in the hallway like a weirdo?”

Michelle turned, one perfectly arched brow raised. 

“I don’t know… you kinda give off door-to-door ax murderer vibes.” Kirishima immediately turned red. 

“Wha—what?! I’m literally in a tux!”

“If anything, that makes it worse,” Michelle mused, tapping a perfectly manicured finger to her chin. 

“Handsome stranger? Deranged killer? I could go either way.”

Kirishima groaned, running a hand down his face. “I swear, every time I visit, I leave more flustered than when I came.” Michelle patted his chest like she was proud. “Good. Keeps you on your toes.”

He exhales in defeat before letting her drag him into the kitchen for some water and to accept his ‘gram basket’—which you were sure was filled with an assortment of thoughtful snacks and homemade goodies.

That left you and Katsuki.

He was still standing there, hands now empty but stiff at his sides. His sharp red eyes flicked to yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The weight of the evening settled between you.

Feeling just a little shy, you lifted a hand again in a smaller wave.

He still didn’t wave back—because he looked a little stuck. But he did take a breath, then finally walked over to the couch and sat down. You followed, smoothing out your dress before lowering yourself beside him.

The couch was the real star of the space—big, soft, and overstuffed, covered in a variety of throw blankets and decorative pillows in shades of pink, cream, and deep wine red. Some of the pillows had cute sayings embroidered on them, like "Princess Energy Only," while others had sequins that flipped to reveal different colors when you ran your hand over them. One of them, a gift from a fan, had your hero name ‘Tempest’ embroidered in swirling gold thread.

At the corner of the room sat a vintage-style record player, next to a small stack of vinyl records—some gifted, some collected from your own adventures in the city. A neon pink heart-shaped light was mounted above it, casting a soft, romantic glow over the area.

Near the entrance, a coat rack held a mix of jackets, scarves, and one of Michelle’s many oversized tote bags, always full of who-knew-what. A small glass table sat beside it, topped with a bowl filled with candy, spare keys, and an assortment of hair ties and lip glosses for quick grabs before heading out.

For a second, you both just sat there.

Nervous energy filled the air, but it wasn’t bad—just… heavy. Like there was too much to say and no idea where to start. You fiddled with the zipper of your purse. “You smell nice,” you murmured.

Katsuki, who had just leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, froze.

A beat passed.

Then—a very quiet, very flustered,

 “...Thanks.”

And just like that, the tension cracked, replaced with something softer.

Katsuki shifts beside you, adjusting his grip on the small but carefully wrapped box in his hands. His shoulders are stiff, and his red eyes flicker between you and the gift, like he's still debating if he should give it to you now or wait until later.

Then, in true Bakugou fashion, he just holds it toward you, clearing his throat.

“Here,” he grumbles. “It’s okay if you open it now or later.”

Your lips twitch into a knowing smile as you accept the package, feeling the weight of it in your hands. But before you can even start untying the delicate ribbon, he shifts again, like he’s got something else to say but doesn’t quite know how to get it out. He exhales sharply, running a tense hand through his styled hair, before finally blurting, 

“And… I’m sorry for bein’ so tight-lipped earlier.” His jaw clenches, and he looks to the side, not quite meeting your gaze. “I just… I really think you look beautiful, and I’m trying not to be some weirdo by starin’.”

For a moment, you just blink at him, caught off guard by the rare, unfiltered compliment. But then, your grin grows wider, and a small, amused laugh bubbles out of you.

“Katsuki,” you say, soft but teasing, “It’s okay. That’s literally the whole purpose of the outfit.” You gesture to yourself with a flourish, making the iridescent hot pink bag on your lap shimmer in the light.

“I mean, I didn’t think you were a hot pink tux kinda guy either, but here we are.”

That gets him to finally look at you again, his expression both flustered and annoyed as a faint pink dusts his cheeks.

“Tch—got a tip from Michelle,” he admits, adjusting his waistcoat like it’s suddenly suffocating him.

You nod, knowingly. “Ah, that makes sense.”

He huffs before finally straightening up, reaching to grab something else he had tucked under his arm—a bouquet wrapped in crisp, delicate paper. The scent of fresh roses and sweet pea blooms fills the space between you as he carefully hands it over.

“Here,” he says, quieter this time, eyes flicking between your expression and the flowers. 

“This one’s… for you.”

You take the bouquet carefully, fingers brushing over the soft petals, heart warming at the gesture. But before you can even say anything, he’s already reaching for another item—a second bouquet, wrapped in warm orange tones.

“And this one’s for Michelle,” he adds, nodding toward the kitchen.

You glance toward the doorway, where Michelle is still playfully toying with Kirishima, laughing about something that’s got him blushing down to his collar.

You can’t help but smile as you look back at him. “She’s gonna love it,” you say, tucking the bouquet against your chest before looking back at him. “And… thank you, Katsuki. Really.”

He just grunts, scratching the back of his neck, clearly still not used to receiving gratitude so directly from you. But there’s no mistaking the way his eyes soften slightly as he watches you admire the flowers he picked out just for you.

You’re still admiring the bouquet when Michelle reemerges from the kitchen, Kirishima trailing behind her, looking thoroughly flustered but grinning nonetheless.

“Ooh, flowers for me?” Michelle coos as you hand over the orange-toned bouquet. She gives Katsuki an approving nod. “Well, well, look at you, Mr. Romantic. You boys are starting strong tonight.”

Kirishima chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “I told you Bakugou could be thoughtful when he tries.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki grumbles, crossing his arms but not actually denying it.

Michelle leans into her flowers, inhaling deeply before flashing Kirishima a playful smile. “Alright, Red, you get a pass—for now.” She shoots you a wink, making you snicker as she carefully sets her bouquet on the kitchen counter. As everyone starts gathering their things, you grab your heart-shaped bag and your phone, making sure everything is in place before turning to the group. 

“Alright, so, are we taking my car or—”

“Absolutely not.”

“Immediately no.”

“I’d rather die.”

Kirishima, Michelle, and Katsuki shut that down so fast it’s almost comedic. Michelle holds up a hand like she’s cutting off an intrusive thought.

“I’m not even entertaining that as a real suggestion.”

Kirishima lets out a lighthearted laugh, shaking his head. “I think your car deserves a night of rest. You know, for all the hard work it’s been put through.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki deadpans, grabbing his keys from his pocket.

“Permanently.”

You gasp dramatically, clutching your chest. “Excuse me? The disrespect for my precious lemon!”

Your beloved, beat-up, barely-roadworthy 2001 Saturn has been through hell and back—scraped up, spray-painted in places, sporting a horrendous DIY tint job that looks more like someone just slapped black plastic wrap on the windows. It rattles when it starts, wheezes like a geriatric smoker in the winter, and has exactly one functioning window. But damn it, it’s yours, and you’ve refused every single one of Katsuki’s (very generous) offers to replace it.

“That thing ain’t a lemon—it’s a damn biohazard,” Katsuki grumbles as he grabs his jacket. “You’re lucky it hasn’t exploded yet.”

Michelle snorts, shaking her head. “Girl, I love you, but I’m not risking my life in that thing tonight. My heels are too cute to die in a tragic automobile accident.”

You roll your eyes. “You guys are just haters.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep tellin’ yourself that,” Katsuki mutters before nodding toward the door. “Let’s go.”

Downstairs, his very not-biohazardous orange Ferrari is waiting in its designated parking space, sleek and polished under the garage’s dim lighting. A few spots over, Kirishima’s new red Mustang sits with a shine so pristine you’re sure he’s been babying it. After all, the only reason he even got the car was because Michelle made it very clear she wasn’t hopping on the back of his motorcycle in this dress.

You glance between the two luxury vehicles and huff. 

“You guys are soooo boring with your functional, ‘safe’, and expensive cars.”

“Yeah, ‘cause we don’t wanna die,” Katsuki says, tossing his keys in his hand. “Now get in.”

With a dramatic sigh, you slide into the passenger seat of his Ferrari, Michelle and Kirishima heading for the Mustang. The second your seatbelt clicks into place, Katsuki turns to you, expression softening just a little.

“…You ready for this?”

You glance over at him, at the way his grip tightens on the steering wheel like he’s trying to shake off nerves of his own. A small smile tugs at your lips as you nod.

“With you? Always.”

The moment you arrive at the restaurant, you're hit with the flashing strobe of camera lights and the chaotic blur of the city nightlife. The valet barely has time to open the car door before people start calling Katsuki’s name—photographers, fans, and even a few reporters eager to get a shot of Dynamight on his high-profile Valentine’s date.

“Damn it,” Katsuki mutters under his breath, jaw clenching as he instinctively shields you with his body. His hand hovers near your lower back, firm but hesitant, like he wants to pull you in closer but doesn’t want to overstep.

You can already hear the murmurs and gasps.

“Is that Tempest?” “They look good together.” “She’s been making headlines lately—did you see her last rescue?” “I thought she’d be dating someone quieter…” “They’re so different. I wonder how that works?”

Your fingers twitch against the strap of your bag, shoulders tensing as a flash goes off right in your face. ‘Okay, wow. That’s bright.’ You blink rapidly, trying to shake off the afterimage burned into your vision.

Kirishima and Michelle pull up behind you in the Mustang, and within seconds, Michelle is at your side, looping her arm through yours as if she can sense your rising discomfort. “Ignore ‘em, babe,” she murmurs, voice dripping with practiced ease. “They’re just mad they ain’t you.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, but it doesn’t quite settle the unease twisting in your stomach.

Katsuki, on the other hand, looks pissed. His brows are furrowed, his lips pressed into a thin line as he glares at the paparazzi like they personally offended him. You reach for his hand, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. He glances down, expression softening just a fraction before he squeezes back.

“We’re already here,” you whisper. “Might as well enjoy it, right?”

He exhales sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Tch. Yeah.”

Together, the four of you push past the flashing lights and noise, stepping into the grand entrance of the restaurant.

Inside, the atmosphere is nothing short of luxurious. The air is thick with the aroma of rich spices and sizzling gourmet dishes. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the dimly lit space, illuminating pristine white tablecloths, towering floral arrangements, and sleek leather chairs. Celebrities, politicians, and high-profile heroes are scattered throughout, dressed in designer ensembles, murmuring over glasses of expensive wine.

A hostess, dressed in a polished black ensemble, greets you with a dazzling smile. “Welcome to Lumière. Right this way.”

As you follow her through the restaurant, you can feel the eyes on you. Some subtle, others not so much. You and Katsuki aren’t exactly low-profile at this point—especially not together. You hear the hush of whispered gossip, the occasional glance thrown your way, and the distinct click of cameras from people who definitely aren’t just taking pictures of their food.

Katsuki’s grip on your hand tightens.

You glance at him and grimace. “You’re squeezing the life outta my fingers.”

“Shit. Sorry,” he mutters, loosening his hold.

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

The four of you are led to an elegant booth tucked near the large glass windows overlooking the city. The nighttime skyline glows with neon lights and passing car beams, a stark contrast to the quiet, intimate space inside. You slide into the seat next to Katsuki, smoothing down your dress as a waiter approaches.

“Good evening,” he greets, setting down the menus. “Can I start you off with something to drink?”

Michelle orders a cocktail, Kirishima gets a whiskey on the rocks, and you request a sparkling juice, feeling like you might need something refreshing to handle the stares still lingering in your direction. Katsuki just grunts, “Same as hers,” jerking his chin toward you.

The waiter nods before slipping away, leaving you and Katsuki to glance at each other, both of you sitting stiff as boards. Michelle and Kirishima seem perfectly at ease, chatting away like they don’t even notice the atmosphere. But you and Katsuki? You can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on you.

You clear your throat, trying to shake the nerves. “So… you look really nice.”

Katsuki tugs at his bowtie like it’s strangling him. “You too.”

A pause.

You glance at him. He glances at you. Then you both look away, awkward as hell.

Kirishima snickers. “Man, you two are so new at this.” Michelle sips her drink, nodding in agreement. 

“Painfully so.”

You groan, dropping your face into your hands. “Don’t remind me.” Katsuki scowls at his menu. 

“Shut the hell up.”

You peek at him from between your fingers and snicker. “What? You can take down villains like it’s nothing, but a date makes you break out in hives?” He clicks his tongue, gripping the menu a little too tight. “Ain’t my fault there’s a damn spotlight on us right now.”

And yeah, you do get it. The pressure, the stares, the constant expectation to perform. It’s exhausting.

The weight of every pair of eyes in the restaurant presses down on you like a thick, suffocating fog. Whispers swirl around the room, slipping through the air like tendrils of smoke, curling around you and Katsuki in an unshakable haze.

You can hear them—people murmuring about your outfits, about your relationship, about whether or not you fit together. As if they fucking know what the two of you have been through together.

Cameras from discreetly lifted phones flash in your direction, capturing stolen moments of your date like you’re some kind of exhibit.

Your stomach twists. ‘We’ll be on the internet tomorrow.’ There’s no avoiding it. Headline after headline dissecting your body language, your facial expressions, the way Katsuki’s knee bounces under the table like he’s trying to shake off the nerves crawling under his skin.

You glance at him. He looks miserable.

Katsuki’s shoulders are tense, his jaw clenched so tight you think he might crack a tooth. His fingers twitch against his menu, gripping it like a lifeline. He’s trying so hard to keep his cool, to ignore the way people are practically gawking, waiting for him to snap or make a scene. You know he wants to drag you out of here, shield you from all the eyes dissecting your every move.

But he’s staying.

For you.

In Katsuki’s head, he’s telling himself to just grit and bear it. To be strong for you. He doesn’t want to ruin this—your first Valentine’s Day together. He wants to be the kind of boyfriend who can take you to fancy places, treat you to a night you’ll remember forever. He wants to try because he knows you deserve effort, deserve to be taken out, deserve to feel special.

But the people are unbearable.

And he can see it in your face—the way you’re trying to fake ease, the way your fingers tighten around your bag strap, the way you keep shifting in your seat like you just want to disappear.

His chest tightens. ‘This isn’t fun for either of us.’

But it doesn’t have to be this way. 

You sit up, leaning closer to whisper, “You wanna get outta here?”

Katsuki blinks, turning to you fully. 

“…What?”

You tilt your head toward the exit. 

“I mean, I know we’re supposed to be ‘classy’ and all, but this isn’t really us, is it?”

His eyes flicker between your face and the crowded restaurant. His fingers drum against the table before he finally exhales, nodding.

“Yeah. Let’s bounce.”

Without another word, you both stand up, drawing confused looks from the other two.

“Where are you guys—”

“We’re leaving,” Katsuki cuts in, already pulling out his wallet to toss more than enough cash on the table.

Michelle raises a brow but smirks. “About time.” Kirishima just laughs. “Enjoy your date, lovebirds.”

The moment Katsuki grabs your hand, the two of you don’t even hesitate. You’re up from your seats, fingers locked together, hearts pounding as you wordlessly decide—we’re out of here.

Kirshima’s laugh booms across the restaurant as he throws his fist in the air. “Yeah! That’s my boy!”

Michelle smirks over the rim of her glass, raising it in a toast to your escape. “Bout damn time,” she mutters before taking a sip, entirely unsurprised.

The cameras go off like fireworks, a rapid flicker of flashes as you and Katsuki make your break for it.

He doesn’t bother to hide his irritation, lifting his right hand to flip the paparazzi the middle finger. You just grin, holding up a peace sign as if this is some casual night out instead of a full-blown getaway.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest as you both burst through the doors, stepping into the crisp night air with wild grins. Your heels click against the pavement as you sprint beside him, hand in hand, breathless and exhilarated.

But together. 

Katsuki's orange Ferrari is somewhere in the valet lot, but neither of you care. You just run—away from the stares, the pressure, the expectation—until all that’s left is the sound of your laughter and the way your fingers fit so perfectly together.

Katsuki squeezes your hand. “So… where to?”

You grin. “The park.”

Katsuki’s car beeps from across the valet lot as he smashes the panic button, the lights flashing like a beacon in the night. You both spot it at the same time, making a beeline for the sleek, orange machine.

“You’re just lucky I snatched the keys back,” he grumbles, smirking as you shove his arm in response. Before you can reach for the door handle, he’s already there, pulling you back with a firm grip on your waist. 

“Oi. Lemme do it.”

You roll your eyes but let him open the door, a teasing smile playing on your lips as he steps aside dramatically to let you in. You slip into the seat, tossing your purse and phone into the back, watching as he rounds the front and slides into the driver’s seat with effortless ease.

The second the doors shut, the engine roars to life, and before you know it, Katsuki is tearing down the highway at a cool 73, the city lights blurring past. The roads are surprisingly empty, giving you both the perfect excuse to crank up the radio and belt out whatever song is playing, off-key and full volume, laughing between the lyrics.

It’s easy. It’s fun. 

It’s you two.

As the car weaves through the city center, he spots the park up ahead and, in true Katsuki fashion, completely disregards proper parking. He pulls right up to the entrance, puts the car in park, and before he can even kill the engine, you’re already unbuckling and throwing the door open.

You leap out, your heels clicking against the pavement before they sink slightly into the soft grass. With a wild grin, you take off into the open space, arms spread wide as you spin beneath the night sky. The crisp air fills your lungs, the distant city hum fading into the background.

Then you spot it—the unmistakable flash of spiky blond and hot pink barreling toward you.

With a shriek, you turn on your heel and run.

Your laughter rings through the park as you bolt toward the swings, the cool night air rushing past you. Katsuki is right behind you, his footsteps heavy against the grass, closing the distance faster than you’d like.

"You think you can outrun me?!" he taunts, his voice sharp with amusement.

You glance back over your shoulder, only to see him smirking—eyes locked onto you like a predator honing in on his prey. "I know I can!" you shoot back, breathless but grinning as you push your legs harder.

"Yeah?" Katsuki huffs, barely winded. "That why I'm about to catch your ass?"

You yelp, dodging left just as he reaches for you, barely slipping out of his grasp. "Cheater!" you cry, laughing as you pick up speed.

"Cheater? I'm just faster!"

The swings come into view, and with one final burst of energy, you throw yourself forward, landing in one of the seats with a triumphant squeal. You grip the chains, panting, a wild grin plastered on your face. 

"Safe!"

Katsuki slows to a stop right in front of you, planting his hands on his hips as he glares down at you, feigning offense. "Safe?" he scoffs. "What, this a game of tag now?"

You nod, grinning as you pump your legs slightly, making the swing rock. "And guess what? You lost."

His eyes narrow, and before you can react, he grabs the chains of your swing, stilling you completely. 

"Lost?" he repeats, voice low, teasing. "I let you win."

You snort. "Oh, surrre. And I’m the number one hero."

Katsuki leans in, close enough that you can see the mischief dancing in his crimson eyes. "Yeah, well," he mutters,

"You are my number one."

Your breath catches, your fingers tightening around the chains as heat blooms across your face. You look away, biting your lip.

"That was corny as hell."

He clicks his tongue. "Whatever." But you can see the smirk tugging at his lips as he lets go of the swing and takes the seat next to you.

For a moment, you both just sit there, the world fading away, the city lights twinkling in the distance. Then, you glance at him and murmur,

"I like this way more than the restaurant."

Katsuki exhales, his fingers flexing against the swing’s chains. 

"Same."

Katsuki exhales, tilting his head back slightly as he swings, boots barely skimming the ground. You watch him for a moment, the way the park lights cast a golden hue over his skin, the sharp angles of his face softening in the cool night air. Then, without a word, he shifts forward on the swing and angles his head toward you. 

"Hey," he mutters, voice quieter now. "Look."

You blink, sitting up straighter as he drops his chin and rakes a hand through his hair, pushing the blond strands back to reveal the freshly shaved undercut. Your breath hitches as you take in the sight of your name, sharp and precise, carved into his blonde like it was always meant to be there.

Your heart stutters.

"No way."

He doesn’t say anything, just keeps his head lowered, waiting for your reaction like he’s bracing for impact. But all you do is lift a hand, fingertips ghosting over the etched letters. He shudders under your touch, and you grin, trailing your nails lightly over the buzzed hair, tracing each letter with reverence.

"You did this today?" you murmur, voice softer now.

He huffs.

"Yeah."

Your fingers linger a little longer before you shift closer, pressing your forehead against his. He exhales through his nose, shoulders visibly relaxing as your warmth sinks into him. His hands come up, gripping the chains of his swing tightly like he needs to ground himself.

"So," you whisper, the words brushing against his lips, "Should I do the same?"

Katsuki pulls back slightly, eyes flicking up to yours. "Tch. It’s your hair," he grumbles, "But I’d rather get you more of my merch than go cutting anythin' into it." You huff, lips twisting in playful disappointment. 

"Lame answer, Suki."

His lips twitch, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he tilts his head back again, eyes drifting up to the sky. You follow his gaze, watching the stars twinkle in the vast stretch of darkness. For a moment, neither of you speak. The world is quiet except for the distant hum of the city, the soft creak of the swings, and the steady rhythm of your breathing.

Then, Katsuki shifts slightly, just enough that his pinky brushes against yours where your hands rest on the swing’s chain. It’s small, barely there, but it sends a warmth through your chest that rivals the stars above.

“Damn it, I am a grown woman!” you shout, frustration and flustered warmth bubbling over as you grab his pinky with your whole hand, locking him in your grip.

Katsuki barks out a laugh, the sound breaking through the quiet night, raw and unfiltered. His shoulders shake, eyes crinkling at the corners as he throws his head back in full-bodied amusement. You swear you can feel the vibration of his laughter in your chest.

Still grinning, he exhales through his nose and flexes his fingers in your grasp. 

“Hey… can I just—” He hesitates for a beat, then his voice drops, almost sheepish. 

“Lemme just hold your hand, yeah?”

You huff like it’s a grand request but nod anyway.

“You better keep holding it, even when you get sweaty.”

Katsuki snorts before swiftly wiping his palm against his pant leg.

“As you wish, princess” he grumbles, but then he’s threading his fingers through yours properly, interlocking them like it’s second nature. Like it’s always been meant to be this way.

And God, it feels good.

Feels right.

Like warmth spreading from your fingertips to the deepest parts of your chest. Like everything in the world finally clicked into place with one simple touch.

The two of you just sit there, breathing, hands locked together, letting the moment settle between you like a whispered secret. Then, slowly, inevitably, you both look at each other at the same time.

Your stomach plummets.

Your heart does the Cha Cha Slide—full-on electric slide to the left, right, crisscross, and a double-time stomp straight into a mess of feelings you don’t know how to handle.

Katsuki isn’t faring any better. His ears are blood red, the heat creeping down his neck. His grip on your hand tightens minutely, like he’s afraid to let go. Those old war wounds on his heart aren’t doing any better either but what's a little tachycardia in the name of true love?

His hand is so warm and so clammy, but neither of you move to separate.

You just stare at each other, wide-eyed and breathless, and hold on tighter.

Refusing to let go.

You squeeze his hand lightly, your thumb brushing over the rough callouses on his palm before you murmur, "Y'know… you really do pull off pink pretty damn well."

Katsuki scoffs, rolling his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips twitch upward. "Thanks." He shifts on the swing, still holding your hand, eyes flicking between your face and the Ferris wheel in the distance. 

"You—uh…" He clears his throat, voice dipping a little lower. "Your dress. I like it. The… vampire thing you got goin’ on."

You snicker, leaning into him with a playful nudge. "’S Gothic’’ or whatever the lady at the store said.”

Katsuki tilts his head, considering for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. That."

Conversation lulls into something easy and quiet, your fingers still laced together, swinging slightly with the motion of your legs. The park is mostly empty, save for the occasional couple strolling down the pathway, wrapped up in their own little world. Above you, the sky is vast and open, the moon hanging heavy among the twinkling stars, bathing everything in soft silver light.

Your hands start to swing back and forth naturally, a gentle rhythm forming between you, and you grin. "Wanna play 21 questions?"

Katsuki snorts. "Dumbass, you already started. That’s question one."

You gasp, playfully scandalized. "That does not count!"

"It absolutely counts."

You shoot him a look before humming in thought. "Fine. What’s your favorite parent memory?"

His thumb absentmindedly rubs against your knuckle as he thinks, his brows furrowing just slightly. 

"Probably when I figured out my quirk for the first time. I nearly blew up the damn house. Scared the shit outta my mom." He smirks at the memory, and you laugh, already picturing it. "What ‘bout you?"

"Hmmm…" You swing your legs, leaning back slightly. "Probably when I got my first set of heels. My mom said they were too grown-up, but my dad let me have them anyway. I felt like a princess."

Katsuki hums, eyes flickering down to your baby pink wedge heels. "Guess it stuck, huh?"

You stick your tongue out at him. "Damn right it did."

And just like that, the game continues—questions and laughter traded back and forth, the rest of the world fading into the background. You ask him about his dream vacation (somewhere warm, quiet, and not filled with annoying extras), he asks you about your first celebrity crush (which you refuse to answer, claiming it’s classified information), and somewhere in between, the swings slow to a stop, and you’re both looking at each other with that soft, knowing kind of gaze that only soulmates share.

Then, like an unspoken challenge, you shoot up from your seat and dart toward the jungle gym. 

"Bet I can get to the top before you!"

"Like hell you can!"

And suddenly, you’re running.

Through the cool night air, across the damp grass, your heels clicking against the ground as you sprint toward the monkey bars. Katsuki is right behind you, his laughter loud and unrestrained as he chases you like a predator hunting its prey. You dodge left, then right, before shrieking as his hands nearly snatch your waist.

"Too slow, old man!"

"What’d you just call me, you little shit—?!"

Before you know it, you’re both climbing the jungle gym, ducking behind slides, swinging off bars, and giggling like a couple of kids with no worries in the world. Katsuki nearly slips on the bridge, cursing up a storm as you cheer for his failure, only to yelp when he vaults over the rail and corners you at the top of the slide.

"Nowhere left to run, pretty girl."

"Who said I was running?"

Then you shove him down the slide.

Katsuki lets out a startled yell before tumbling down, hitting the ground with a thud. He stares up at the sky, blinking, as you double over laughing at the top of the playground.

"You’re dead," he growls, jumping to his feet, and you screech before flying down the slide after him, sprinting across the park once again.

But before he can grab you, the flash of red and blue lights catches your attention.

Both of you freeze.

A local police officer sits in his patrol car near the entrance of the park, flashing his headlights twice. It’s not an official warning, just a subtle little, “Alright, kids, time to wrap it up.”

You and Katsuki exchange a look before, in perfect sync, you bolt.

"Go, go, go—!"

He snatches your hand, leading you toward the Ferrari parked haphazardly on the curb. The second you’re both inside, he’s peeling out of the park, leaving nothing behind but tire marks and the sound of your shared laughter echoing through the empty streets.

"We are so getting arrested one day," you giggle, breathless, as you lean your head against the seat. Katsuki smirks, reaching over to squeeze your knee. "Not if they can’t catch us."

The city lights blur past as he drives, heading toward the only place that matters—home.

By the time you step into your apartment, you’re still catching your breath from laughing so hard. Your cheeks are warm, your hands are sore from gripping Katsuki’s the entire ride home, and your heart is still doing little somersaults in your chest.

Katsuki lingers by the door as you lock it behind him, his hands shoved into his pockets, shoulders still a little tense from the adrenaline of the night.

But then he looks at you—really looks at you, bathed in the golden glow of your living room lamp, your makeup slightly smudged from the wind, your dress shifting with your movements—and something in him eases.

His fingers brush against yours, grounding himself in the warmth of your skin. "Can I see your room?"

You raise a brow at the sudden request, amused. "Why?"

His eyes flicker to the hallway, then back to you. "‘Cause last time, I had to watch you through glass."

Your breath catches slightly, remembering that first night—the strip club, the hazy neon lights, the way his eyes never left you through the frosted glass as you danced, how you both connected before even realizing it. You nod, grabbing his wrist, and lead him down the hall.

Your bedroom is exactly as he imagined—soft, warm, you. The princess-style furniture, the early 2000s knickknacks, the plush bed with pink sheets, the iridescent heart-shaped bag gets tossed on the vanity. But what catches his attention is the changing divider standing in the corner, the same way it did that first night he came across your stream.

He steps forward, eyes tracing the delicate panels, and lifts a hand.

With the tip of his finger, he starts to trace a heart onto the surface—slow, deliberate.

Just like you did that night, pressed against the frosted glass of the club, your eyes meeting his through the hazy barrier.

But before he can finish, you reach forward and pull it away.

Katsuki barely has time to react before you step into his space, pressing your smaller hand against his. Your palm is warm, soft, slotting perfectly against his rougher one.

Then, without hesitation, you wrap your arms around his middle and hug him tight.

"This is what you wanted," you whisper against his chest.

Katsuki exhales, something inside him unraveling as he wraps his arms around you, pressing his chin to the top of your head.

"Yeah," he murmurs, holding you closer. "It is."

A song plays from your phone’s speaker, soft and familiar.

Loyalty.

The same song from that first night. The one that bound you together before either of you even realized what was happening. But this time, you’re not the one moving. Katsuki stands at the foot of your bed, rolling his shoulders, cracking his knuckles.

"Alright, princess. You had your turn. Now it’s mine."

Your brows lift. "You’re gonna dance for me?"

He clicks his tongue. "Fuck yeah I am."

You bite back a grin, settling onto your bed, crossing your legs as he steps forward.

The beat kicks in, and Katsuki starts to move.

It’s not perfect—his footwork is a little too heavy, his rhythm a little rough—but he’s feeling it. His hands glide over his waistcoat, his fingers curling into the lapels before sliding down his chest. He moves slow, deliberate, almost cocky, keeping his smoldering gaze locked onto yours.

Your breath stutters.

He steps closer, body rolling just enough to make your face burn, tilting his head like he owns the moment.

And he does.

Because this time, there’s no glass between you. No stage, no stares—just him, dancing for you, showing you what you’ve always made him feel. When the song ends, he stops right in front of you, breath steady, smirking.

"Tch. Bet you weren’t expecting that."

You blink, lips parted, before laughing. "I literally have no words right now."

Katsuki chuckles, reaching for your hand, pulling you up just enough for him to plop onto your bed, dragging you down with him.

And just like that, the teasing melts into something softer.

You curl into him, your head tucked beneath his chin, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. He strokes a hand over your back, savoring the warmth of your body against his.

The TV flickers in the dimly lit room, playing some cheesy romance movie you both aren’t paying attention to. Instead, you talk—about everything, about nothing.

Until he shifts slightly, clearing his throat.

"When we get married would you get matching piercings with me?"

You blink, peeking up at him.

"Matching piercings?"

"Yeah. And a tattoo." He brushes his thumb against your wrist. "Ring finger and behind the ear. Thought about it a lot. Think your name’d look real pretty on me."

Your heart skips. "Oh?"

He grunts. "Been drawing some designs up. Just for us."

You grin.

"Like what?"

Without hesitation, he reaches for the drawing pad he left by your bed, flipping through pages before stopping and tilting it toward you.

A zentangle. Intricate, swirling patterns weaving together seamlessly, and at the very end of the design—a heart.

Just like the one you had once traced on glass.

Something swells in your chest, something too big to name, too warm to hold back. You cup his cheek, tracing your thumb over his skin, before whispering, "It’s perfect."

Katsuki exhales, pressing his forehead against yours.

Because that’s just what you are.

Katsuki inhales deeply, his forehead still pressed to yours, the warmth of his skin seeping into you, grounding you. His hand finds your waist, his thumb brushing circles against the fabric of your dress, his breath fanning against your lips—close but not quite touching.

The weight of the night settles in. The laughter, the rush of running hand-in-hand, the feeling of being completely seen—no cameras, no expectations, just you and him.

"Y’know," he murmurs, voice low, steady,

"I loved you before I even knew you."

Your breath catches.

Katsuki pulls back just enough to look at you, his crimson eyes holding something fierce, something unwavering. "Back then,didn’t even know your name yet, but—fuck." He shakes his head, a small, breathless laugh slipping out. "You had me, princess. You had me from the start."

Your fingers trail up the nape of his neck, brushing the freshly etched letters of your name in his undercut. Your heart is pounding—so loud, you swear he can hear it—but you don’t care.

"Me too," you whisper.

"I loved you before I even knew you."

His lips part, like he wasn’t expecting you to say it back, like the confirmation of something he already knew still knocks the breath out of him.

Then, with no hesitation, he kisses you.

It’s slow—gentle—like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your lips, the way you sigh softly against him, the way your fingers fist into his skin like you never want to let go. Katsuki’s senses are flooded immediately with the scent of you and he’s basically drunk off that one kiss from you. 

Who could blame him though? 

You don’t.

When you finally part, your noses still brush, your breaths mingling.

"Gimme your hand," he mutters.

You do, and he turns it over, pressing his lips to the center of your palm before lacing his fingers with yours, holding on tight. He then places them right over his heavy beating heart that you love so much. 

"Keep holding me," you whisper.

He grins, wiping his free hand against his pant leg before squeezing yours.

"Forever."

The movie plays on in the background, forgotten, as you both sink into each other—wrapped up in warmth, in laughter, in the feeling of something solid, something certain.

Because this—this—is all you’ll ever need.

Loyalty

I DON'T OWN THE IMAGES!!!!

For Valentines day, I hosted a poll about the fic's I have cooking in the oven from my mha 'Fuck it, I got you,' series and this was the first winner. As promised, some info about the relationship between you and Kats.

Main fic in question: Loyalty. This story is about how you get broken up with by your asshole hero ex and accidentally meet Katsuki while working as a stripper. Hijinks ensue, (Like the ex tryin to kill you) and honestly, it's a good read (biased I know) and still ongoing. I like to imagine that this fic takes place afterwards.

The best way I could describe the relationship is that it's like you both met your soulmate and are now trying to figure out what to do because you're both shy people, but you do really like each other and would do anything for the other/feel so safe and complete.

Michelle is our best friend in the whole wide world and roommate. She's going to appear in the other AU's and is based on 3 of the closest women in the world to me. Everyone needs a Michelle. Our Lemon car is inspired by a comedy show and my own car. There is a running gag that Kats gets heart pain from loving you but it's a good thing. You and Kat have picked up each others speaking patterns without noticing.

The heart on the glass comes from this chapter.

I honestly feel like I could've done better on this fic but I think that's the nit-picky author part of my brain.

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more fic's and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too. (Full story can be found there and I will be updating soon.)

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and likes, they really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

Stay tuned for the rest!! If you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!! <33

-Angie (✿^‿^)

I do not own My Hero Academia or its characters. However, the original plot, storylines, and any original characters in this work are my own creation. Please do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own. Respect the effort and creativity that went into this story—thank you!

[m4dm4yhem]

(⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃ EARTH 42 MILES ROMANCE HCS

PAIRING: MILES G. MORALES X FEM READER

SUMMARY: RELATIONSHIP W/ MILES

INSPIRED BY: @cyb3rspyd3r

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

___________________________________________________

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU whenever you leave your phone with him when you leave the room, he’s going through.. in a way to make sure you’re behaving the way you promise him you are, to see what new numbers you have in your phone, to see if you talk about him with your friends, anything that shows him he isn’t wasting his time by being with you.. don’t mistake that for him not trusting you… he does, he’s just a nosy bastard.

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU his mood can be adjusted by the sheer sight of you, let’s say he’s mad about something.. maybe his counselor was feeding him bullshit about his future; that he needed to mention the fact he was struggling in order for colleges to give him any kind of time of day… that pissed him off, because who are you.. to tell him that he’s just a struggling poor kid but the second he laid his eyes on you.. he was smiling again, and forgot why he was mad in the first place

“ whatchu smilin’ all hard for?”

“ nothin… I just.. like being around you, mama.”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU the littlest things will remind him of you, miles morales.. who is so in love with you.. that he once gave you a rock he found on the ground because it had a smooth front, and he remembered the time your arms were smooth after shaving.. that he couldn’t stop touching them, even when you wore long sleeves; he’d just sneak two fingers into your sleeve and run them down your arm.. it would usually be a surprise too..

“ eek- what! miles?! can you get your cold ass fingers off me.. please..”

“ mami.. c’mon, you feel so good though.. like a countertop or sum.”

“ boy… you stupid if that’s the only thing you can compare it too..”

“ stupidly in love with you.. that’s the only thing I’m stupid in.. don’t play with me before I fuck you up.”

“ nigga.. miles shut the fuck up, you ain’t touching me niggatron..”

“ …”

“ yeah exactly..”

“ oh, no.. trust.. I will take care of that attitude.. but what the fuck is a niggatron..?”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU that he takes pride in being your ‘ mini me’ every single saying that you have said around him; he’s said it around his friends, his uncle, everyone.. it just slips out, like one time he accidentally said one thing you say quite often around his uncle, after his uncle

“ girl..you did not eat that.. you thought you did, but I still see the lil ceasar’s hot and ready on the table.. why is that?”

“ nigga what?”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU he never says no to you, whatever you want.. he will get it.. if it’s within his budget.. he’s fifteen years old not a sugar daddy, as well as the fact his mother is struggling with the bills so most of his money goes towards her; but with the extra money she refuses to take from him.. you’re spoiled with it.. if he hears you need a new lip liner, he’s asking what color.. suggesting a reddish brown or a black, his favorite colors on you.. if you want a new stuffed animal he’s buying one from the nearest store, while he usually has to stretch his dollar, and most trips are made with him asking you which one you need more.. a teddy bear.. or chick fil a, and he gets whichever one you want more.

“ mama..”

“ you can’t rush perfection, miles! I’m thinking..”

“ girl.. perfection? I asked you if you wanted ice cream now or chipotle later..”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU he tells everyone who will listen all the wonderful things about you.. and by wonderful I mean everything you did.. whenever his girlfriend is mentioned or the possibility of hanging out with someone who isn’t you.. he will start yapping about you

“ hey man.. you coming over to TJ’s? we gon be playing basketball.. and then going down to the mall.. “

“ nah man, my girl said she wanted to come over tonight.. meet my ma n shit..”

“ man.. didn’t you have your girl over last night too? “

“ yeah .. she comin to meet my mami tonight though.”

“ she couldn’t have met her last night?”

“ my ma be at work.. ion think she even remember me telling her about my girl, to be honest with you mane.”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU he steals his uncle’s car to see you late at night, he knocks on your window at two in the morning, because his uncle is working… not a normal job but that job, so he drives over there.. illegally may I add; since he’s 15, he only has his learners. he does this just to lay in bed with you, to spoon you and tell you how much he loves you.. how much he lives for you

“ I love you.. so much, [name] you make my life.. so easy.. so tolerable.. I’m not as.. sad and depressed now that you’re with me, I love staying and being with you. you make my world brighter, you make my life better.. I love you, I can’t imagine a world with you.. cariño..”

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU he asked you to marry him one day, he had gave you a plastic ring he got from one of those coin machines when he was going to wash clothes with his mom; he had got a pretty one that had a plastic gem shaped into a heart.. he told you how much he valued you.. how much he cared, how he never wanted to lose you.. how he knew you two were only teenagers.. but he wanted to be with you forever nonetheless.

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU that he has your face plastered on every social media platform he has, your face is his profile picture on the very few he has. ( instagram, twitter, & tiktok.. he has snapchat too, where the main things he posts are just recycled videos he already sent you, and a private story with all the girls he knows has a crush on him added, and he just show cases your love)

MILES MORALES WHO IS SO IN LOVE WITH YOU after the first date, he walked into his room with a big grin on his face. you two had went to the aquarium, and he saw a shark plushie he wanted but didn’t have enough money for.. and you had bought it for him.. no hesitation.. he was so in love with you in that moment.. that he had named it after you.

“ I don’t give a fuck if this shark a boy.. his name gon be [name] today.”

overall.. he’s just so in love with you.. he’d do whatever it takes to make sure you know he loves you.

[svtcrus]

───── `✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃 BABY LOVE ME EVENT SERIES

SHUT UP & KISS ME || gojo satoru x afab!reader

SMUT , MDNI

note : oral (m recieving) , blowjob lol , rough play , hair pulling , degradation , lowkey toxic relationship(??) , not proof-read

synopsis : a heated argument turns into a heated resolution.

a/n : here we go part 2 with a gojo smutt. gotta go back to my roots ofc for my bae. sorry it took so long, studies are so ass.

the room is ringing, screams of fury echo throughout the bedroom and nobody seems to be getting their side heard.

it's frustrating when satoru is only dense on the topic of love. he's a sweetheart, but he's also a jerk sometimes. a horny bastard albeit—does he even love you at this point?

"baby, I hear you loud and clear. just tone it down will you?" annoyance along with slight malice is seeping through his teeth, he's getting tired of this. constant fighting over this and that upon hours only to make up the next day. the reason behind such arguments are lost in the fragments of your memories.

satoru is really trying here. yet those stupidly pretty lips of yours are berating him—he's immature, how the thought of him being the strongest doesn't mean he's always safe.

he's really fighting it now, there's no way he's getting turned on from your anger. he just can't help himself. one half is telling him to stop, the other telling him the argument is long lost and it should be dealt with.

fuck it.

"shut up & kiss me." he seethes as those soft fingers of his grab you with force onto your cheeks. the grasp is pulling you into him, smashing his lips with your beautifully painted ones. it's a harsh kiss. you could practically still taste the anger through the lust, but it doesn't stop you from feeding into his desires. you already so tired from the screams and falsity.

it's ironic in a way that you find warmth and safety as he begins to completely encase you. the palms of his hands grab your face so roughly yet lovingly at the same time. tongues twirling, as he's nibbling at your top lip with low groans. with as much effort as you could muster, you're pushing satoru down onto the bed.

"mm..trying to take control honey?" your lips part with a slight trail of saliva, hot gasps fill this invisible bubble that you find yourselves concealed in. he's grinning with so much cockiness, and it's beginning to piss you off again. much to your dismay, you were very much still pissed at this perverted boyfriend of yours. however he's making every second more difficult as he manhandles you atop the comforter. now he was the one towering you.

before you could even blink satoru is ripping whatever piece of cloth that was covering that sweet body of yours. he's giggling, watching you just fall under his gaze. watching you fully allow him to feed into his raging fantasy. you were getting a piece of him tonight.

he's unzipping his pants with eagerness, the tent was very much evident. he's gripping onto your waist with such ease, you were now face to face with his cock and shit he was hard. there's no way that'll fit, you think.

"toru there's-"

"shut up & suck it." you couldn't even reciprocate his sentence, the sudden death grip of his fingers forcing you to suck his dick makes you yelp in surprise. his bitterment from the argument is clearly showing through this rough play—you're whimpering as he begins to shove himself deep into your throat—yet this new side of him is so enlightening to see.

a side so cruel at how he was receiving pleasure from you, so cruel of you to be gagging on his cock when you were "biting" his ear off moments ago. his girth was something, the length of satoru's cock was a whole story. his tip leaking precum was hitting the back of your throat, forceful thrusts of him trying to chase a high he oh so desperately needed.

"f-fuck, such a fucking whore. working that pretty mouth of yours to such good use hm?" slender fingers tangled themselves into your hair, then dragging down to your chin, squeezing your cheeks together. a mixture of cum and spit spilling out the corners of your mouth.

he's throwing his head back in ecstasy, the palm of his hand back to gripping your crown. fucking you faster—god, your mouth is doing wonders to him—harder, using you so goddamn well.

"shi- fuck. m'gonna-!" you used one hand to start rubbing him fast, gags getting louder just to drive him to the edge. whatever you were angry at him over it was long gone. your pussy was dripping wet, eyes pooling with tears as you felt him release inside your mouth making you choke a slight. that didn't prevent you from kitten licking him clean of cum, swallowing every bit of his seed. the sight before him made him grin in pride.

"mm.. putting that berateful mouth to better use...swallowing it all up so well." is all he says before leaning down to kiss you more intimately. he can taste himself through the kiss, tongue swirling onto yours.

"s'not over yet baby. lemme take my fill too hm? can you stay obedient?" you nod quickly. all you want is for his cock to be inside you. to pound you till all you could see is the stars that sparkle in his ocean eyes.

"isn't that so easy hm? no need for you to be so angry. i'll fuck you so well, you won't even remember us fighting." soft, hot whispers linger near your ear. hands pushing you back down onto the bed, knee prodding up your inner thigh—you whimper.

"so just shush that pretty mouth & behave 'kay sweets?"

©️ svtcrus || 09.24.25 ; BABY LOVE ME EVENT

do not modify, use, copy or plagiarize my work.

[whumpsoda]

are you up for a continuation

https://www.tumblr.com/whumpsoda/734400660214366208/i-raise-that-anon-who-raised-you-vampire-keeps?source=share

WOHEO Masterlist

This ask wasn’t super specific, so I kinda just went with whatever idea I had, which was just a sort of normal?? Day for these two. I also named them, whumpee 2 is now Nevan, and whumper 2 is Darius!! So thanks to the anon who gave me those names! :D

Taglist- @softvampirewhump

cw: hints of past abuse, vampire whumper, human whumpee, pet whump, brainwashing, servant whump,

———————————————————————

Nevan adjusted the platter by only a smidge, studying the set up with watchful eyes. An expensive bottle of wine sat atop, along with a pristine glass of which he had poured the delectable liquid into. With just a finger, he pushed it a sliver to the other side.

It had to be perfect.

Once as satisfied as he would get, he stood back to his feet and surveyed the whole room. Several plush blankets were draped over the couch in the chance they got cold, Darius’ foot rest was just where he liked it, and his beverage was just in arms reach. Nevan had even grabbed a handful of DVD’s from his master’s small collection, displaying them in a dainty fashion on the table, just so Darius could choose what they watched.

It had to be perfect.

His nerves rattling him, Nevan swiftly made a beeline for the nearest mirror- really the only one in the home- that was hidden in one of the storage rooms. 

Every room he passed he was tempted to check through just one last time, having to remind himself that he’d already done a total sweep of the house probably nine times. Not a speck of grime remained in the abode, but he had to be sure of it.

As he reached the oversized storage closet, Nevan stood at attention before the tall mirror rested on a pile of junk. He intently dissected his appearance in the reflection, picking apart every possible imperfection. Smoothing stray hairs, shifting his dainty collar, and practicing his eager smile, Nevan tried to maintain deep breaths. 

Master was hard to please. Almost irritatingly so. 

Almost.

Any slight flaw could infect his gorgeous face with disappointment, and bring bitterness to his soothing voice. Nevan just couldn’t take it! Tonight was so important, he couldn’t risk any idiotic mistake ruining it for them. He valued Darius’ happiness over all else, and he couldn’t help but wish to see the vampire enjoy himself.

Maybe tonight, if all went along with his meticulously crafted plan, Darius would even smile. Even just a little grin, and Nevan would melt on the spot. 

And maybe, just maybe, the two of them would have such a wonderful time, his master would even grant him an extra feeding!

But he couldn’t get his hopes up. Darius agreed to have a movie night with his thrall, probably a once in a lifetime chance, and it would be a wonderful gift as long as Nevan didn’t stupidly ruin it.

Then he heard it. The sing-song ringing, even while distant filled his ears and consumed his brain. His worries instantly washed away with the reverberation of Master, Master, Master! Nevan’s entire body calmed against his will, and robotically his hands folded neatly in front of his chest.

He quickly strode to the sound, getting louder and more pleasing as he neared. The thrall was led back to the living room, where his Master had already made himself comfortable on the couch. Nevan stood before him, immaculately posed and made up, as Darius eyed him for just a moment.

“Are we doing this, or what?” He questioned, Nevan’s heart fluttering merely at the sound of his voice. Suprisingly, Darius’ words held no bitterness. Just calm.

“Yes! Y-yes, please. Master.” Nevan stumbled over his words for a moment, wincing at the sound. But Darius didn’t so much as scowl. 

His face remained the same. Neutral. “Sit then.” Darius was already studying the selection of movies, not granting his thrall a moment to digest his lack of irritation. 

Master must’ve had a good day.

A good day!

There was no other conclusion. Why else would he want to spend quality time with Nevan? His little blood bag? Good days for Darius happened so little Nevan could barely remember the last time he’d seen the vampire not on edge.

Lately though, there was just the slightest change. Nevan could only blame the slight lift of his master’s spirits on the more frequent company of another vampire, one he knew his master was exceedingly fond of. Nevan hoped they would see each other more often if it made his master even that much happier.

The vampire continued searching through the DVD’s, picking them up and putting them down, before holding one up for his thrall to read. “This one?” He questioned. The cover displayed some generic romance, and if Nevan had ever seen it in the time before he was a thrall, he surely didn’t remember.

Nevan stared back, wide eyed with no response. Was Master asking him? He had never done that before. He’d always said it himself that opinions weren’t in a thrall’s jurisdiction.

“Um,” Nevan swallowed thick saliva. “Whatever pleases you, Master.” That was an acceptable answer. It had to be. 

“Good.” Darius stated, to Nevan’s relief. He pushed the object to his thrall. “Set it up.” Eagerly, Nevan did exactly as commanded, while his master sipped on his drink and watched.

Once finished, Nevan carefully made his way back to the couch. Darius was lenient in that regard, most of the time allowing his thrall on the furniture. If he was ever in a mood where that behavior was unacceptable, Nevan would know. 

The thrall made a point to sit a comfortable deal away from the other man, as to not come off too presumptuous. He sat rigidly, making sure his form would be to Darius’ usual liking.

The movie droned on, filling the awkward silence, but Nevan could barely pay attention. He couldn’t stop himself from constantly glancing over at Darius, checking his expression for the slightest implication of annoyance.

The vampire kept his gaze glued to the screen, leaning back into the cushion behind him and taking a sip of his beverage every so often.

He looked simply magical.

“Wine.” Darius commanded, prompting Nevan to instantly rush to pour him more of the rich red. The vampire barely paid his pet any mind as the drink filled the glass between his fingers, splashing against the sides of the cup.

Once finished, he simply shooed Nevan back to his seat to resume his anxiousness.

Nevan needed to clean. Cleaning made him feel grounded and wanted, and cleaning made Master happy, so he needed to do it. He needed to clean, he needed to clean, he needed to clean, but he didn't want to. He wanted to watch the movie, he wanted to spend time with Master, but he couldn't help his endless fretting every passing second.

Nevan picked aggressively at the skin around his nails, an anxious habit his master hadn’t yet succeeded in breaking.

Darius must’ve noticed, as just a moment later his supple, icy hand begun stroking up and down his thrall’s agitated arm, shocking Nevan into stopping.

“You’ll ruin your nails.” He muttered passively, not even turning his gaze from the television.

Master was touching him. Not viciously or violently, like when Nevan needed to be punished, but soothingly. Even if the purpose of the contact was to keep his silly thrall from damaging his body, Master was practically petting him. 

The motion was repetitive and sweet, casting a wash of  contentment through him. Nevan could sense his breaths evening, and his posture softening. 

Master was so kind.

Any form of worry or discomfort was swept from his mind, leaving only the entrancement of the television’s glow. The noise of conversing actors and actresses were like a muffled buzz that desensitized him to the world around. 

After sitting in mindless contentment for however long, Darius began to slide a blanket from its folded spot on the couch’s back. Nevan almost offered to get it for him, before realizing the vampire would have most likely accused him of thinking he needed a feeble thrall to do everything for him. 

Darius unfolded it elegantly, before draping it across his slender legs. Nevan could simply see how fluffy and comfortable it was, and just a hint of jealousy sparked. 

“Come here.” The vampire’s words were sharp and powerful, cutting through Nevan’s haziness like a knife. The thrall stood instantly, making his way swiftly to his master’s side. “Down.”

Nevan dropped to his knees, gazing upward with puppy dog eyes. Darius didn’t even look back at him. Instead, his large hand sat at the back of Nevan’s head, brushing against his chilled neck. The pressure was firm yet gentle, and guided Nevan’s head into his leg.

Nevan’s breath hitched with each new touch to his flesh, particularly the feeling of plush skin on skin. The sensation was still so unfamiliar, but so nice he had no want to pull away. His cheek pressed up on Darius’ cotton pant leg, and he eagerly nuzzled into it like a kitten. 

Warmth built in his chest, drowning his mind in a pool of liquid pleasure as Darius lazily stroked his hair and scratched at his scalp. A hazy, purring mewl escaped his lips.

Nevan wrapped his toned arms around his owner’s leg, effectively hugging it in a tight embrace. He could practically feel the drumming of his heart, and each beat acted almost like a pulse of pleasure that ran through him.

Everything was so good, better than any time he could ever remember.

“I, um, I,” He stammered, tripping over the delight overtaking him and the fear of speaking. “I, I love you Master. I love you.” 

Fearfully, Nevan lifted his head to meet Darius piercing eyes. Thankfully, there was no evident anger in his expression. 

Just a smile.

Nevan could’ve vomited from excitement.

“As you should,” the vampire said. Master’s satisfaction alone could make his thrall’s entire week, but what he continued with could’ve destroyed Nevan then and there.

“Good boy.”

Darius barely ever praised him. He really didn’t need to, Nevan’s purpose was obedience, but his heart couldn’t help but soar when his master did.

A wide, dull eyed smile beamed across his face, and he cuddled even closer to Darius’ leg. “I love you. I love you Master, I love you, I love you.” The affection spilled from his mouth, an overwhelming need to express his adoration. 

Normally, Darius would’ve ignored him. Maybe called him an idiot. This time, he continued to just smile down at his human, tenderly petting his freshly washed hair.

Nevan couldn’t think of any other words to explain the overwhelming endearment he had for his master, most cognitive abilities seeped dry by Darius’ current touch, but the vampire didn’t seem to mind. “I love, love, love, you. I love you, I love you.” Nevan repeated, until the words jumbled together and became incoherent.

“Perfect.”

Even if tomorrow Darius would go right back to punishing him for the slightest of mistake without batting an eye, which he probably would, Nevan couldn’t help but bask greedily in the warmth of the moment.

[vickyvicarious]

With joy I hurried to the window, and saw drive into the yard two great leiter-wagons, each drawn by eight sturdy horses, and at the head of each pair a Slovak, with his wide hat, great nail-studded belt, dirty sheepskin, and high boots. They had also their long staves in hand. I ran to the door, intending to descend and try and join them through the main hall, as I thought that way might be opened for them. Again a shock: my door was fastened on the outside.

Dracula's taking no chances. If anyone comes inside the castle, then Jonathan's locked in his room. This suggests a couple things: he doesn't have the time to personally watch over Jonathan because he is too busy managing whatever they're doing himself; he knows Jonathan has not lost hope and will try to leave or get a message out; he doesn't trust the people working for him not to assist if they get close enough to his captive; he knows being locked up in his room where he can see the way he's being ignored but is unable to do anything about it will be more agonizing for Jonathan. I'll take all of the above.

Another thing thought that's kind of interesting, is the descriptors of this group of people are all pretty neutral at first. It's stuff they have/are wearing, nothing that could be called negative except maybe "dirty sheepskin" at most. This is when Jonathan is rushing to the window "with joy" at the sight of them. But after he finds he is trapped in his room, and once his interactions with them go sour, he gets harsher: he describes them looking "stupidly" as they point at him, and "lazily" going to their horses as they leave. (Of course this is all written after the fact but I think in a way that is generally reflective of his opinions during the events.)

Jonathan's initial reaction to new people is still hope, but it seems as though Dracula's reinforcement of prejudices is working once they don't respond well. Of course, the narrative itself is telling both him and us that he's wrong to look to them for help in the first place, but I like to put that down to authorial racism. In my headcanon, the hetman makes a kind of bitter joke ("the Count has another guest") that they laugh at not out of genuine amusement or malice but out a kind of black humor which comes from knowing they don't have any power to save him. The fact that they "resolutely turned away" is because it's hard enough for them to ignore his pleas for help, and looking at him would make it even more emotionally wrenching or even tempt them to do something stupid to try and help him. And they know they can't, not if they want to make it out of here alive. Jonathan is too far away to see them wincing and gritting their teeth, to see the effort it takes not to look back, doesn't know the weight on their consciences and the 'it's you or both of us' choice they're making. His hopes are being disappointed again and it's feeding into stereotypes he's heard relayed as fact, so he loses trust in them and sees stupidity and malice where there isn't any.

Of course, this is all me working overtime to try and correct for the racism that Stoker was very much playing straight. But as I've said before, it works so much better with the themes of the book anyway. In any fanwork that doesn't want to be reinforcing the same awful stereotypes, but still staying in line with canon, I'd suggest taking this sort of tack. Give them a POV or even bring back a character who was here to see what they say about it when they can act more freely, that sort of thing.

[spiralinghours]

“Into the White” (Part 7/?)

Fandom: Saw franchise

Characters/Pairings: Mark Hoffman, Eleanor Bonneville, Mark x Eleanor sorta in a weird way, Brad x Ryan, William Schenk, mentions of Brent Abbott and Daniel Matthews (and Mr. Snuggles)

Rating: PG-13

Tags/Content: Feeding kink (public!); exhibitionism (mild?); humiliation (mild? kinda of); the usual mentions of violence, revenge, etc.

Summary: Brad and Ryan try to figure out if they’re in trouble with Hoffman. Lawrence is really the one in trouble. But none of that matters, Hoffman just wants to enjoy his pizza. Meanwhile, William takes revenge matters into his own hands.

Author’s Notes: We’re in the home stretch! This was supposed to be one long end chapter, but it looks like I’ll still have to break it up, so have this for now!

Brad and Ryan sat back amazed—or maybe more aghast with creeping fascination—at the casual nature and fairly quick period in which Mark had eaten just one of the two pizzas presented to the table. He was poised to start in on the second one, still steaming on its large rack, but took a pause to leisurely press at the top of his belly, which had rounded out noticeably in the time they had been sitting together. It was no wonder the zippered edges of his signature jacket looked too far spread to be anywhere near touching. It was more or less a familiar accessory to his outfit (or perhaps something to help camouflage how little the hem of his t-shirt—Joan Jett and the Blackhearts today—was able to come down).

Eleanor was glad enough to go unnoticed, feeling her face tighten up with heat and frenzy at every little burp, or the slightest, muffled slosh of soda in his gut after Mark had thoughtlessly chugged his drink. She could be normal in public about it, absolutely.

“You’re looking… healthy,” Ryan spewed bluntly, green eyes wide and searching.

“Definitely not dead,” Brad blurted stupidly.

They sat shoulder-to-shoulder across from Mark and Eleanor, eyes unblinking, wondering how they got to this specific situation. There was so much to unpack: Hoffman not immediately jumping them and stabbing them down to the red-checkered table, Eleanor acting simultaneously shifty yet used to being cozied up to a serial killer… not to mention how different Mark looked. He was already thick and broad from the get go, but this? And then the way the scruff, glasses, and casual wear had made him appear less feral was incredibly bizarre. Not less dangerous, just more blended and acclimated to life amongst “normal” people.

“Definitely not dead, no thanks to you bozos,” Mark hummed with self-satisfied smarminess.

“I’m sorry,” Brad bumbled out loud again, tripping over his own thoughts and the worry that he still might get stabbed to death. “I know I fucked up our deal! I take full responsibility—it wasn’t Ryan’s fault—but please don’t—”

“Hey. Forget it. Eleanor let me loose,” Mark shrugged, a little too coolly. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I dunno, call the slate clean. Do whatever you want as long as it doesn’t land me in prison. I don’t give a fuck.”

That was it?! The thought sparked frantically between Brad and Ryan’s mental wavelength. No way that was all there was. No way Hoffman wasn’t lying through his crooked smile, dragging them along and waiting to strike and devour them like an anaconda.

As their thoughts ping-ponged, their surface expressions just stared on in seemingly placid uncertainty. Mark glared back, starting to feel a little impatient.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he grumbled, moving to adjust the pulled-tight button on his pants. He regretted not wearing stretchier joggers, but Eleanor was almost always insisting that the ragged black jeans looked better with his outfits. He knew that she was playing coy (poorly) to admitting a certain kind of feeling over how his bulky thighs pushed through the worn holes. The inner seams were one sit away from tearing, but that was a concern for later.

What Ryan wanted to naïvely ask was “So you’re not going to kill us?” in a hundred different ways. But what came out was the probing of a different subject. “So… you and Eleanor… are…?”

“Bit inappropriate to ask. And intrusive,” Mark barbed dramatically, not even looking away from the slice of pepperoni and sausage he was attempting to free from the pie.

“We’re friends,” Eleanor confirmed brusquely, though the lingering pause left something else to be imagined. Certain other details would be hard to explain.

“Okay. Sure.” Ryan nodded skeptically. “Just friends with a serial killer. I guess if that was gonna be anyone it would be you.”

Mark raised an eyebrow at the shaky sarcasm.

“So what do you do with your time then, Mark?” Brad let the questions leave his mouth quicker than he could absorb how surreal the circumstances were; Surreal in that he was asking something so casual, like a first date inquiry, but also in the addressing of “Mark”. Up until then—especially in Dr. Gordon’s presence—it was always “Hoffman” or “Detective” or “Dick Lips” (again, a Dr. Gordon credit).

“I dunno, maybe get a job here,” Mark answered with a languid yawn. “Slinging pizza all day? I can handle that.”

“Yeah, if they can trust you to not eat people’s orders,” Eleanor barbed, trying to force some casual joking into her tone. She emphasized the point with a gentle pat on the ledge of Mark’s stomach, resulting in a dense sort of thunk.

Possessed by some cocky whim, Mark clamped Eleanor’s hand in place, pushing down against his firm belly. “In the meantime, Eleanor takes good care of me, if you couldn’t tell.” He smiled like some venomous creature—predatory and saliva-slick. Was he trying to rile her up?

“Y-yeah,” Brad and Ryan droned, somewhat confused. They felt like they were witnessing something only a fly on the wall was allowed to watch.

“If I ordered another pizza, would any of you want some? Any preferences?” Mark asked nonchalantly (though there was something gnawing just below the thin surface).

“Uh, no, I think we’re fine,” Brad answered stiltedly. “We can’t stay long anyways.” That was a lie, but he would have rather grabbed dinner elsewhere instead of endure more of this.

“Perfect, more for me,” Mark practically purred, satisfied to feast more on Eleanor’s dollar while playing around with her nerves. He gave her a side glare.

Poor Eleanor, face nearly matching the shade of red as her hair. She still hadn’t moved her hand.

“Ahem, so… Uh, so…” Ryan waffled, trying to decide on the appropriate move. “Are we good? Like, we’re done doing business, right?”

“I frankly don’t fucking care,” Mark shrugged. “Hmmm… BUT maybe there’s one last thing you can do. About Dr. Gordon.”

“I dunno if I can kill him, man,” Brad whispered to Ryan. Or so he thought.

“Killing him is too easy. You can only do it once, and then what? He’s out of his misery. No, you all can do better than that. Make that blond prick miserable.”

——

Will had waited long enough, though for completely unwarranted reasons. He had expected some kind of follow up from Brad and Ryan; a text about a new venture, a next step… Something that would give him a better taste of John Kramer’s work. He may have been dead for sometime, but there was a whole legacy to learn from. This had been like a gleam of sunshine in his dark room.

He had to slap his palm square to his forehead for using the whole “John Kramer Jigsaw legacy” blah blah blah unironically. It felt cringe. Yet at the same time, who was faking their way into the Jigsaw Survivor meetings? Who was rooting around in rundown junkyards and warehouse sites for research?

‘Look at where you’ve gotten yourself,’ a voice beyond his own, though still within himself, would echo.

No one else was going to do anything for his dad. Nothing was going to bring him back. Will knew that, he wasn’t delusional. Though delusional enough to think he could trick his way into some semblance of revenge? Of course.

The gory details of how Brent had sent William Easton to a sludge-slow, horrid demise was inspiring, Will had to admit. Never out loud, just reverberating in his own mental chamber.

Despite any hint of uncertainty in his actions, Brent was forever free in callously taking the life of the one who took the life from his own father.

Brent would understand.

And Daniel even. His feelings were a little more complicated—mixed up and mushed up with regret for how he left his relationship with his dad before the whole ice block trap. Selling him on Jigsaw’s philosophy may not have been the move, but one thing seemed certain: Daniel’s disdain for the police. They fucked up his father, pulled him away, corrupted him, and eventually left him to die in a game due to their own foolishness.

As he had paced around his room, considering everything, Will glared at an old marionette from his grandmother, from when he was a baby. Something odd had struck him. There was a compulsion—an inkling of a plan, but it would take a long time. Maybe his whole life.

But the first steps were there: Get with Brent and Daniel, look into the local police academy, and do something with that stupid puppet.

[normal-thoughts-official]

You are getting me intrigued about Bladeweave, and i want to know your thoughts on:

A) Do they get a pet together? (The correct answer is yes)

B) Do you imagine them like, in a specific Bladeweave universe, or like canon-ish one, but like after the Hell Trip?

C) Do you think Tara and Wyll team up to make sure Gale doesn't forget to take care of himself and then Tara teams up with Gale to do the same to Wyll?

D) What do you think Wyll's father thinks of Gale?

Also feels weirdly nostalgic to be on your asks

omg hiiiii beloved. first of all finish the damn game 🔫 second of all damn i missed your asks 💕

in order:

A) they get a frankly ridiculous amount of pets but neither of them will admit it because they're the "they're not my pets, i just feed them" kind of mfs. i mean, that's canon on gale's end but we all know wyll is just as bad if not worse with the whole "hm actually animals are fully fledged individuals who belong to no one but themselves and only a tyrant would wish to conquer them and reduce them to something to be owned and,"- bullshit.

(also, honestly? after being called a pet and a pup by mizora for so long, the last thing he wants is to be reminded of her. and considering how in wyll origins he says his biggest fear is to become the devil he was made to look as, i think it'd be highly triggering for him to say anything at all that sounded like it could've come from her mouth, even in a completely different context. so, no, he'll never have "pets", he'll have loyal animal friends whom he feeds and takes care of and who live with him and always come back to him but they're not pets how dare you)

gale is more of a cat/tressym person, and of course tara is gale's friend first and foremost and wyll and her mostly bond over their love for gale. wyll however has no discrimination when it comes to species and i mean none. he'll show up at the tower or wherever else they live all like "hey gale so hear me out" and it's just as likely that he'll have a cat, a dog, a pigeon, a horse, or a crocodile in tow. gale just sighs and goes magic up whatever sort of specialized environment their new tennant will need because he knew what he was getting into when he married Literal Disney Princess, got-speak-with-animals-as-a-cantrip-out-of-a-devil-deal Wyll Ravengard. those are mostly wyll's friends (not pets, the dekarios-ravengard household is completely pet free, ignore the first 10 levels of the tower) but they also get along well with gale too. he makes them tea when they to to their area upstairs for a chat or whatever

B) usually the canon universe, yes. i mean it's fully possible to have a canon run without ever even meeting karlach so it's not like i'd need a fully fledged AU if I didn't wanna include the going to hell part (plus other ending possibilities im not spoiling you about). but also i feel like gale is the kind of stupidly self sacrificial mf who would go to hell with wyll and karlach if that's what it takes, both to be with his love and because karlach does deserve to live and be safe. and he knows that he can help try to look into arcane solutions for her heart. and if anyone understands having a ticking time bomb in their chest and needing support to grow back hope that you'll be able to live without it being a risk, and deserve to, it's him. wyll's saved him from his own time bomb; he would never deny karlach the same sort of redemption, especially when she got in that situation through no fault of her own

so, yes, i can imagine him joining them, even if not 24/7, and trying to help with her heart before they come back. and then we can have bladeweave and karlachzel (? what's their ship name called man) or Fucking Whatever lol. i mean part of the appeal of wyllach to me is that i feel like it makes 0 difference whether it's platonic or romantic, so i can see a platonic helping each other in hell before we can go back to our respective baes sort of situation

C) duh. tara and wyll have a whole routine they've executed to perfection for when gale is having a bad depression day, or a bad back/joint pain day, or an orb flare-up day, or whichever other flavor of disabling situation gale faces (semi-)regularly. tara is both relieved to have someone else to take care of him (both so she gets room to take care of herself as well and just from knowing that no matter what, someone else has gale's back) and pleased to see that, at least as far as depression days go, gale has been having those less and less. not because true love cures all or whatever but because now gale has a significant support network with all the tadfools, plus with the orb stabilized he doesn't have to fear going out, seeing his family, and making friends anymore. nothing is perfect or cured but slowly and steadily he's been building the kind of support net that allows him to breathe and keep himself alive more easily, you know

as for wyll's own disability days, tara is kind of slow to trust and even slower to show said trust. naturally she would always be there to support them both when wyll needed, if anything because it mattered to gale. but it was mostly supporting gale while he supported wyll at the beginning, because she was still wary of anyone who could potentially break her wizard's heart and make him even more fragile

also, he kind of waltzed into her house and then started bringing dogs. yuck.

but wyll is nothing if not explicitly and selflessly loving of gale and completely polite and respectful of tara's boundaries, which means he earns her love faster than any other humanoid ever has. so at first she was kind of tsundere about it - trying to hide her concern when wyll was having PTSD episodes by being kind of focused on gale, being a bit snarky (although never in a mean way), that kind of thing. over time though she fully gave up on pretending and became very involved in helping him. nothing like having a tressym purr to help pull you out of a flashback, or having someone to pet during a depression day, etc.

she is also one of the few people who always keeps in mind that wyll is not, in fact, fully sighted. whenever they go somewhere new or something changes in the layout of the tower she always helps him figure out clues to make up for his lack of depth perception while he's getting used to the state of things. gale also has a tendency to clutter and leave his stuff everywhere when he's particularly invested in a subject so she always makes sure to point out to wyll if there's anything in his path. especially when they're in waterdeep, she always takes the lead when they're walking through crowds, helping make the way so wyll won't bump into anybody by accident. with gale she's more of a supportive friend/housemate but with wyll she goes full on service animal without him ever asking. neither of them ever say anything about it but when she starts doing it wyll knows that he is, officially, part of the family. and most of all, loved

(and they take care of her too, of course. with food and pets and help when she's in pain or sad too. gale is aware that he put quite a heavy load on her when she was literally the only thing keeping him alive after the orb, and wyll is endlessly thankful to her for making sure he was cared for during that time. so they make sure she has all the resting and support she needs, and she is, quite frankly, the most spoiled tressym in the sword coast. wyll also went to ridiculous lengths to make sure everything in their tower was accessible for a non-opposable-thumbs-haver, especially the wizardy stuff because tara is, as gale said, a fine wizard on her own right)

also, sometimes she kneads the bases of wyll's horns when they hurt or feel particularly heavy, physically or emotionally, and it's really cute

D) difficult one. i kinda struggle to imagine ulder having a good relationship with any of wyll's partners, considering he... like... didn't even have a healthy relationship with wyll lol. so he'd probably be distant and kind of strained, but as far as partner choices go, i feel like gale is some of the best he could be hoping for among the tadfools. he is smart and can be charming, and he thrives with older people tbh. ulder wouldn't be a fan of the fact that he's the wizard-living-in-a-tower stereotype and has never really gotten his hands in the mud, so to speak, but gale is respectful, polite, interesting to talk to, intelligent, compassionate, and honorable and ethical to boot, which i think ulder would see as more important. also, he obviously loves wyll, and there's not much more ulder can ask of a partner, especially after he himself failed to provide wyll the love he needed for so long

so i believe he'd like him, although they'd never really be close. the real question though is what gale would think of ulder, because while i think he would be nothing if not polite to him, especially since he knows how much he means to wyll, i also think gale would be playing 5d chess to subtly insult his parenting skills at every opportunity. he is way too nice to be explicit about it but the way he keeps going for the softest, most subtle and hidden of stings, can be more devastating than calling him a bitch. ulder will suddenly realize that two weeks ago gale implied that he was a dumbass, and given that he only noticed that afterwards, he feels like he was probably right. it keeps him up at night sometimes, trying to figure out if gale lightly insulted him or was genuinely just commenting on the weather. the fact that it drives him mad only makes it all the more satisfying to gale. wyll has no clue this is happening at all

this got long and far too detailed but I won't apologize cuz what did you expect really. anyway i love they

[melit0n]

for the lyrics thing: “there’s something in the way you lay / that makes the dead switch graves / you take your leave” from Jericho. is “you lay” a euphemism for sleeping around (so the person is so sexually active that they make the dead roll in their grave)? or is it saying that the person is so wonderful that they can even move the dead? i’ve never been able to figure it out so i’d love to hear your thoughts!

I was hoping someone would ask about the Two ep! Just my luck, thank you anon <33

In the UK, and in America as well I'm pretty sure, "lay" is used as slang for having sex with someone, so you're right on that part, definitely. However, the line "there's something in the way you lay" brings both negative and positive connotations to me. He's saying 'there's just something about you. The way you look like that.' There's either a sense of stillness and serenity with it; a calm brought about by the way they lay, possibly asleep next to their partner.

On note of the next line, which I'll talk about in a moment, a large amount of people are known to 'sleep like they're dead', and others note that having Sleep Paralysis feels like death. The Dead are often confused for the sleeping as well, as long as they don't have any noticible abnormalities.

Even though two is quite sexually charged, I mean hey, take a look at Nazareth, I'd like to go with it being they're just so wonderful, or, in the least, appear to be so.

"Enough to make the dead switch graves" Is a stupidly powerful line. Whoever this is is just asleep, or sleeping around, and they have enough authority to make the dead switch graves.

In addition to this, a typical euphemism you may hear is 'make the dead roll in their grave'. It's one thing to do something so disgusting that you make the dead roll around, but this is something enough for these corpses to get reanimated, dig their selves out, get up, walk to another grave, and switch. This person's mere existence is potent enough that it causes the deceased to get up and leave.

It gives the vibe of a shift in the natural order of things, if that makes sense.

Plus, plus, in Islam (I know, I'm back at the religion again, bare with me lads), after a person has died, it is believed they will rest in their grave until The Day Of Judgement where they will be full body resurrected and either be taken to Paradice or Hell. Aka, the corpse will be reanimated to be eternally judged. There's also a similar idea in Christian theology; some denominations believe they die and either straight up go to Heaven or Hell, or will wait in their grave to be reanimated and judged on Judgement Day. Just something to think about.

Further, Jericho is the 'oldest city in the world', and makes an appearance in the Bible and the Qur'an; Israelites conquer the city and destroy it's protective walls. Nazareth was the home of Mary in the Bible and also where she received Annunciation. Calcutta is the old name for the capital of British India (now called Kolkata). Overarching theme of big cities with violent histories.

Lastly, we have "you take your leave". It's sung in a very final tone, if you get what I mean. Basically a 'you leaving isn't a big deal...but it means a lot to me. You've hurt me; again.'. There's not much to analyse here; it's simple and it's final. Whoever this is is gone, either 'dead' and so thoroughly disgusted/angered by Vessel that they've reanimated themselves and walked off, and Vessel will spend his time dissecting old encounters and feeding off of whatever he can salvage.

On the note of 'death', a bed can also be a grave for some people, either a metaphorical one or a literal one.

[hungwy-sinner]

Any favorite stuffing fantasies?

My fantasies vary day to day tbh, but there are a couple I like to return to regularly.

Forced intox: anything where I’m stuffed and intoxicated at the same time is gold. Whether it’s chugging melted alcoholic ice cream or being funneled drinks until I’m beyond tipsy before being hand fed til my stomach feels like it’s gonna explode. As long as I’m too out of it to resist, I’ll stupidly do whatever you say <3

Scientifically altered metabolism: this one is kind of weirdly specific, but the idea of being injected with something that radically changes the way I absorb nutrients really gets me. I want to be scientifically altered so that I absorb the maximum amount of calories from my food and store as much of it as possible as fat. Then of course, I would eat until I can’t move just to see the effects ;)

Traditional funnel feeding: good old traditional stuffings are always great. Tie me up and put a funnel in my mouth so I can’t get away or do anything but swallow more and more calories. Bonus points if I’m standing and can’t hide how big my belly is getting from all the slop you pour into it…

[domesticated-feral]

small town AU where:

Scott and Melissa moved there after losing the house during the divorce and she's working at the rural clinic while he's working under Dr. Deaton.

Stiles is still the kid of a sheriff and the sheriff's department takes care of beacon hills as well as the surrounding other small towns in the county :)

Four words, Livestock Veterinarian Alan Deaton! Four more bonus words Livestock Veterinary Assistant Scott!!! A bunch of more words Deaton and Scott with cute little baby farm animals!!!!!!!!

(if i truly had the energy to do so, i would love to continue writing my livestock vet Scott + farmhand Stiles fic, but that's a different AU)

Derek Hale is a city kid turned farmhand on an old man's farm (the old man in question is Elias, Stiles' grandfather)(and to the question why is Stiles or his father working at the farm is because 1. Elias lets his son work as a sheriff because whatever and 2. Stiles is a walking disaster no way is he letting that boy in charge of farm chores nuh uh not even on a lazy almost fall summer day where there's not much than the usual morning feeding also 3. Derek was only hired after Elias accepted that he was not as young and capable as he used to be and Noah and Stiles put themselves in charge of finding a farmhand)(Derek was the only one to send in a reply to their job ad) and the farm primarily raises sheep for meat and wool but I'd like to think that after Derek started working there a few years back he'd regularly add in new animals every summer or so. Sometimes he'd raise poultry, sometimes it's a small drove of pigs, sometimes it's not even animals but just a crop of pumpkins and squash and tomatoes and cucumbers!!

Derek loves the sheep. He's a shepherd through and through.

Jackson is not a whittemore but a miller, except his parents just died a bit later into his life and he lives with the whittemores on their large scale hay farm where there's an added bonus (to me)! h o r s e s !!!!

(all of this is just a way for me to write my fav characters interacting with my longest running obsession of all time, horses)

Lydia's mother owns the town's bistro/bar, her father owns the lodge built next to it. It used to be a whole business but it split with the divorce but there's still the whole B&B package deal to this day as it's wayyyyy too popular to risk losing business by stopping it.

Allison moved there pretty recently and the guns business her family owns fits in pretty well with the need for safety of the farmer and their livestock from predators and also for the wild game hunters in the late summer through fall hunting season.

Scott and Lydia bonding over being two kids from a divorced family. Scott and Lydia bonding over having pet dogs (Roxy is alive and Prada and her are absolute besties). Scott and Lydia being partners in science projects. Scott and Lydia spending wayy too long staring into each others eyes than how much friends would. Scott and Lydia realizing they want to be more than friends.

Stiles spouting off cool animal facts that Scott 100% already knew but acts like he didn't because both of them are stupidly in love with each other.

Scott meeting Derek when on the job. He can't help but crush over Derek and his enthusiasm over regenerative agricultural practices.

Jackson trying to impress Scott and Stiles by trotting up and down the main street on his horse. (I live laugh love by my Scott/Stiles/Jackson agenda) He also gets his dad to bring his horse over to school so he can just ride on it back home, in hopes of impressing Scott and Stiles but Scott is too invested in Stiles animal facts that they only way Jackson really has a chance was when Scott came over with Deaton for an emergency check up on a rogue cow on their property that was limping bad. Jackson straight up embarasses himself because he's a loser :P but Scott finds the attempt endearing and asks if he'd want to hang out with him and Stiles. It's the beginning of a slippery slope of 'Oh. Oh.' realizations for the three of them.

Scott and Allison meeting each other at the bistro and it starts a blossoming relationship that tugs at the heartstrings. It's cute little notes during class and hanging out at the bistro over hot chocolate even on hot days and going over to each others house to watch TV to cuddle under the same blanket and quick glances at each other and it's so goshdarn cute.

BASICALLY, SCOTT/EVERYONE because I can't choose which ship to go with this au because Scott DESERVES everyone and everyones ALSO DESERVES Scott :D

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Still Subject to Change Epilogue

——————————————————————————-

Hello everyone! i decided to repost arc 1 of SSTC

(the chapters were way too long and had a bunch of typos but hopefully this will make reading easier)

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

if there are still any grammatical errors i’m sorry.

——————————————————————————

Continuing to stand here wouldn’t make that any better.

“Yeah, you are right, I’d better bring these to him, hey you wanna try planting one too?”

I separated about five of the plants and held them towards him as he nodded. 

He gently took them and started putting his tools away.

“Well, i’ll be off then, good luck with the plants and see you later”

He waved and put a few more stones around the perimeter of the garden before continuing to put his stuff back in the toolbox he got from Barsen.

Speaking of Barsen, where was he anyway?

While he had the habit of finding everything in the Garden it was a nightmare to search for him as he sometimes just disappeared into the greenery.

Well, I still didn’t want these to wilt so I’d better find him.

Going methodical might be best here, so I would go back and see if he was near the rock anywhere.

He’d been there last i saw him, and it was likely he’d go back there to collect the plants he asked for.

And I hoped that at this point he finally went to get the wheelbarrow repaired.

Ducking under a branch back into the unobstructed space next to the rock I could see him, so I had been right.

He did come back to collect the plants he asked for, and this time he was not carrying a wheelbarrow on his shoulders.

He turned to face me before i could draw any attention to myself, Once again a bit eerie but he was the gardener and probably knew what made the different sounds in the underbrush.

He smiled when he saw me and the bluebells I was carrying with me and I gently passed them along when I reached him, but instead of once again disappearing like he did so often he looked at me with a serious face.

Uh oh, did I do something wrong?

Did I step on some prized plant as an Ardua?

But it appeared that I was wrong in that aspect.

“There is someone in the main hall that knows your name, your entire name, and he asked to speak to you.

He’s waiting somewhere in front of the throne for you, you better hurry i have no idea how long he’ll actually wait”

Someone that knew my name? My full name at that?

The only ones who I had told that were Robin, Arthur and Rikaad.

So who the fuck waltzed in here with the knowledge of my name?

Well, there was only one way to find out, and I couldn’t deny that I was curious as to who this person was.

And also ask how they knew my name, because that was very weird.

I knew I had not told anyone my name as there really wasn’t much opportunity to since Fae blooded people were basically hunted for sport.

Maybe it was an estranged uncle or something?

After all, claiming to be related to a Fae Bastard was not something people would have freely admitted just a month ago.

Still wouldn’t really.

But if the guy wanted to freeload on the fact that i lived in the castle i would tell him to fuck off.

I now had people that liked me for who I was and not because I was rich or whatever.

I wasn’t even rich either, the only thing I got here was shelter and the occasional sweet treat from the kitchen.

Well, feeding something the size of an Ardua would get fucking expensive really quick so it was good that i could live off of sunlight.

But there were still things I could not resist, like cinnamon bread.

The loaves made by the Castle were really good though.

Speaking of Castle there it was, including the, at least in my opinion, stupidly oversized door.

So the guy that knew my name was in there, I briefly wondered what he would look like but since I was about to go see for myself that wasn’t necessary.

Going in I could see that the room was almost empty, safe for Norrin who was talking to Rikaad and a few other Guards in one of the corners.

And of course the man Barsen had said that he knew my full name.

He wasn’t facing me, he was facing the throne instead and I could see he was tall and had long off-white hair.

Since I couldn’t see his face I couldn’t tell how old he was, but he seemed to be fit, an archer perhaps? Or a dancer?

Maybe the off-white hair threw me out of the loop a bit.

But I could also tell that he was tall, very much so, taller than Rikaad even.

I’d guess he was at least six foot something and he was clad in a weirdly sewn green tunic that had leaves embroidered on the upper part of the sleeves and light beige pants with sturdy boots.

So that was the guy that knew my name and wanted to see me, Well, I’d better greet him then.

“Hello, are you the one that wanted to see me?”

The man turned around and suddenly I wished Barsen would have told me beforehand that this was an Elf, an actual one and not a Bastard.

His pointy ears were even longer than mine so there was no doubt about that, and now it made sense why he was so tall too.

The strangest thing about him however was that he was the palest person i had ever seen and possessed a pair of red eyes that looked like dull rubies.

An albino then, huh, but on top of that he looked eerily like one of those expensive porcelain dolls that Noble children sometimes had.

Something was off about him though, but I couldn’t say what, just an inherent sense that something was weird about him.

His movements were graceful, but seemed overly practiced and his face was like an emotionless mask even as he smiled.

A perfectly symmetrical smile that did not reach his eyes and seemed almost painted on with practice.

He opened his arms in what was probably meant to be a welcoming gesture but to me it still seemed strangely puppet like and practiced.

Then he spoke in a calm and melodious voice, still smiling that weird and a bit unnerving smile of his.

“Hello little Brother”

PREVIOUS / NEXT / OVERSIGHT

[aimmyarrowshigh]

14. What have you been finding frustrating with writing this chapter/fic?

Complain a lil bit at me. I love me some complaining. Brains are the absolute worst, honestly, there has to be a better way to have a consciousness.

GAH, well, since you asked for complaining, haha...

I HAD written all of Lent From Tomorrow. Or, well. I had written fully-fully the first 3/4 of it and had a robust outline and chunklets in the last quarter. So I felt safe to start posting it. I KNOW myself. I am BAD at posting WIPs. I am bad at it. My track record of my entire life illustrates this.

So I started posting it and things were going swimmingly! "Yes!" I told myself. "I'm successfully posting a WIP!"

But then I pulled a WandaVision and went, "oh, dear, everyone consuming this story figured out my red herrings much faster than anticipated, I must CHANGE THE STORY" but not in a "screw the audience over" way like WandaVision, just in a "this reveal comes much sooner than I had written, because otherwise I'm worried it will come across like beating a dead horse to keep dropping hints when y'all already know."

So... that completely undid the back HALF of the story, and I started writing it chapter-by-chapter as I posted, and I was doing okay. It wasn't the weekly update schedule I'd had with the prewritten chapters, but that's fine. It's fanfiction. People go years without updating sometimes, especially me, because I AM BAD AT WIPS. But it was still going okay!

And then April and May happened, and I'm ngl, literally every day of April, something cartoonishly horrible happened in my real life and I did not write a word for the entire month. Or do much of anything. I don't even think I read any comic books. I did zero. And then May was... not much better. Like, maybe something cartoonishly horrible happened every three days instead of every day, but it was still way too much.

I actually wrote more in May than I've written in that same time span since 2024 started, which I'm really proud of myself for -- I wrote 14,000 words (plus like 800 words of unpostable noodling) in three weeks, and that's not, like, Impressive or Enough but it's better than I've been able to produce in a while. I told myself just focus on the drabbles and tiny ficlets that were coming out of the prompt/pairing list I'd set up for myself for MLMay, and I tried not to freak myself out, and words happened, and it was nice! And then the last week of May also happened and we're back to Very Bad Brain Times.

So... I know what happens in the last quarter of Lent. I WANT to be writing it. But my brain is just not "together" enough right now to slip into the mindset for such a heavy-duty, plotty, researchy, emotional longfic, and I'm just spiraling and making myself feel even worse by getting more and more anxious about how long it's taking me to write it.

I know, logically, that it's not a huge deal. If people are gonna stick around to read what comes next, they will, and if they don't, they don't, and that's fine. That's how posting serial fiction works. I mean, that's even how TV used to work in the before-streaming times, and it's not like I worried about the feelings of a showrunner if I got behind on a show or decided it went somewhere I didn't care to follow. That's just serialized art! It's fine! I know logically that it's fine!

But reader, Emotionally, It Is Not Fine. I love this story so much, and I'm so invested in actually finishing something for once and I've stupidly pinned like... a lot of my beliefs about my Worth As A Person on "whether I can finish and successfully post an entire longfic," which, I get it, that in itself is not the biggest issue at play here, but whatever. Baby steps. And I just... it sounds so stupid. And I KNOW that it's small potatoes.

I just want people to like it.*

And I know that every passing day that I don't update, fewer people are going to read it and/or like it, and that also feeds the Bad Brain Spiral. And I don't know.

So tl;dr, the most frustrating part of writing this chapter is myself? I guess????

*Before anyone jumps in to whine about and/or laugh at this statement, I'm not saying "I want it to be a stucky fandom classic," or anything ridiculous like that. I literally just mean that I want the people who choose to read it to enjoy it enough to finish it and maybe have an emotionally positive experience from reading it.

**I also feel very. This is another dumb complaint that I know won't come across right, because internet, but -- I feel very like... separated from stucky fandom (in part because I'm a newer fan who came to the fandom after its heyday, in part because I don't like a lot of currently-popular fanons, in part because I am way too shy for Discord?) and I feel bad bugging uninterested people with thoughts/feelings about my own stories, so I've kind of just... stoppered up my excitement for this story for a long time. Also, an asshole ex-friend of mine straight-up told me that "stuckies are going to hate it because there isn't enough sex and it's really boring for being a fic, especially since it's Steve POV and not Bucky POV" and that just kind of made me feel like. I couldn't squee about the story. And it's HARD to write longfic and not feel like you can share it with people??? IDK. Stuff and thoughts. Whatever. etc.

[giggly-squiggily]

~Nozel Silva Headcanons~

Hi hello your girl Squiggily is brain rotting still over this beautiful man so here's me yelling about him for however long it takes me to write these :P

~For tickly headcanons~

First things first we must address the elephant in the room: He does his own hair. Actually, he does all his siblings hair- he had since they were toddlers. He's got that whole "personal bubble, back off" attitude to pretty much everyone that breathes, so he feels more comfortable doing it himself. Also- big brother energy.

Absolutely believes in ghosts- not just curses but spirits and such (might also believe in Yokai- thanks Yami) He'd never admit it cause he doesn't want to come off a coward or weak, but if there's a loud noise in the middle of the night you KNOW he's searching for whatever the sound is, grimoire in hand. One time Solid dropped a spoon during a midnight snack run and a half-asleep bed headed, no shirt, battle ready Nozel busted in like: "BRING IT ON DEMONS!"

No one knows after the first time he treated Noelle harshly he flew up high into the sky with his mercury bird and screamed until his throat was raw and the tears on his face stopped feeling like acid. Nor does anyone know about the sting in his palms from digging his nails in when sitting by Fuegoleon's bed, willing him to come back. He's too proud of a person to ever let even his family see him break.

He's feather sensitive- I'm calling it like it is. His neck isn't even that ticklish but if you manage to steal a feather off his uniform and torment him with it he'll die. (Rill found paint brushes also worked nicely for this- he almost lost them though through a sludge of mercury. He's since got Yami and Fuego to help.)

Has a stupidly nice singing voice- especially when it comes to lullabies. Before all the bad happened, he used to sing to Noelle when she was a baby, rocking her in his arms as he hummed out a song their mom sang him. He won't ever confess to it, but sometimes if it's late and his guard is down you can catch him still singing it.

Nozel's got a sharp glare and even sharper tongue, so verbal comfort isn't...his forte. That said, he has the patience of a saint and has the best advice for most if not every situation. He looks at things logically, and if you can get past his sharp tongue you'd find a rather helpful solution waiting for you. (That said- he isn't stubborn; if you feel like he's being too harsh or blunt say something. He will try to soften his words if requested.)

Absolutely amazing with kids. No one expects it cause he's so...him, but he grew up with three younger siblings and two of them still act like brats even today so he's got the whole child thing down. Whether he actually wants kids depends heavily on where he's at in canon- pre You-Know-What, absolutely not. Post You-Know-What, maybe? He'd be a good dad y'all I'm calling it (Credit to @/duckymcdoorknob for Dad!Nozel thoughts)

Very few things make him laugh naturally but the ones that do are as follows: Fuegoleon attempting to cook; the one time Solid as a kid tried to feed a goose and got chased for a good 30 minutes (he still grins at the memory from time to time) and watching Mereoleona and Fuegoleon bicker. It won't earn you full belly laughs (Well- Fuego's cooking and the goose memory will) but you'll see him smiling in his hand from time to time.

For someone so proud, if you're his S/O and kiss his cheek without warning, he will get so flustered. I'm talking ears bright red, stammering through his words, won't meet your eyes cause he's suddenly very interested in the ground or the thread of his sandals or just- anything else. It's stupid cute and he'll never acknowledge it. Same thing if you kiss his hand, he's DEAD.

Can't draw to save his life. Even his stick figures look bad. "Hey Nozel why are you drawing a wiggly turd on your notes?" "....it's a stick figure, Rill." "*sucks teeth*.....yikes." Yami hasn't let him live that one down, even after Nozel threatened to stab him with a pen.

That's all I got for now! Thanks for reading!

[boct-kimerakal]

i’ve been struck by AoWSLaA

arrgh. visiting the old house has BLESSED me with vision.

falling to my knees. gripping the floor. i want - no! Need! - to make stories and they will most certainly be terribly-made but i must make them! OH! IT’S COME BACK TO ME! THE FLOW TO FEED THIS TERRIBLE NEED I HAVE TO SPIN CHARACTERS! SO MANY FASCINATING PEOPLE & LIVES THAT I MUST CAPTURE IN THIS LITTLE BOTTLE OF FICTION! i think i’ve just found me way out of a funk and have become, again, gripped with the voracious desire to learn & to be lately - and i need to make characters again to really hone my learning & memorising abilities.

coughs & coughs & explodes. AoWSLaA is a story. a story with a start and an end! i really need to delve into siblinghood with this one, for whatever reason it feels so deeply necessary to do so. i found old sketches of lise/lizzie & ské/sky and something HIT me, something UNRAVELLED. they are siblings and it hurts them so deeply that they cannot connect with each other at all despite DESPERATELY wanting to. lise chose to live so that ské would have someone to look up to, ské looks up to lise so much that lise is completely unapproachable.

OH! i’m rethinking the “vague setting” concept, at least how i pitched it to myself in earlier iterations (not written here but i know what i’m talking about)! i’m thinking a lot also about the cultures of this AoWSLaA in parallel to reality, and for whatever reason how that affects humour and social commentary within the story. keeping the setting vague in the way i previously intended, i realise, plays into a cultural hegemony & i’m not super sure i want to skew the story & how it’s understood and who it’s understood by in one way BECAUSE the audience is - while imaginary, since my stories are for me - something i want to make vague. but given the story is told in english purely because it’s the only language i speak, i don’t know what to do about this. SIGH. god forbid i don’t overthink something completely. i have to think more about translation of concepts. i could build a vague structure of societies & societal norms in the scope of the world to inform setting and what constitutes as deviance, & if i do this i really have to not go in-depth while ESTABLISHING A READABLE IDEA OF NORMS? alien, but not impossible to understand the views & engage with them. the jokes & metaphors have to have root in the world itself and that’s so stupidly funny.

also - aviator’s & west’s consistently neutrality in every iteration of this story since i was the beautiful age of NINE, bugs me massively. every time i try to re-write this - one thing is consistent - they have almost no opinions about each other and hardly interact. at least, in my memory... when i was younger, it was mostly the case of aviator being “token goofy silly boy love interest” which was cute & fun when i was little but! it made them cardboard. & now they’ve. very much been grown out of that. but one thing is that they’re just friendly with west and west hardly seems to regard them at all. so now i’m contemplating playing up that neutrality, and making myself some fun out of actually exploring it. neutrality between people in long-existing friend groups FASCINATES me and i want to see if i can make them more interesting to me by doing this. a sense of familiarity without much sense of connection or care, or maybe even little “chemistry,” or maybe high “chemistry” juxtaposed against little to no actual deep care for each other.

also! i must remember rose. i can’t find a single drawing of rose but rose was important.