#i just wanted to flex all of my cool labels

[andersonlore]

# LETTING IN WHITE HEAT ✶ abby anderson!

❝ vision go black, blood, letting in white heat.❞ ft. brakence

★⠀warning y disclaimers — eighteen+, f!reader, wlw sex, poc!friendly, labeling this as dubcon bc abby is mean but she’s sweet after, mean!abby, top!abby, bottom!reader, sub!ellie, loser coded!ellie, voyerisum, kinda mean rough sex, jealous!abby, slight nipple play, strap use r!recieving, abby has one filthy mouth, mommy kink, aftercare, abby is kinda really mean

her jealousy is soft at first, small ticks easily missed if you weren’t looking. the way her blue eyes would become cold like the atlantic, void of any warmth anytime another girl hugged you for a little too long, lingering touch your smooth arms, or the one time at a frat part this ellie chick your hair wrapped around a slender finger. she wouldn’t really react, besides pulling you closer to her, resting her chin on your shoulder, abby’s long fingers intertwined with yours. she knew you were gorgeous, anyone with eyes could see it, people were going to hit on you and it maybe it was annoying at times when abby just wanted you to herself, but she ignored them and just focused on you. but tonight? god, she couldn’t control it. she was failed miserably to keep her cool. it was happening right in front of her, and you weren’t dismissing ellie’s advances like you normally would. no. not at all. you were encouraging her by batting your long, luscious eyelashes at her emerald eyes. leaning away from abby and into her, letting your fingertips grazing the tattoo on her forearm as you giggle, fucking giggling, at a lame joke ellie was telling you. abby would deck her if you wouldn’t get upset about it. you’d forgive her, eventually, but abby knew some groveling would have to happen on her end. no, she wouldn’t have it this way. still, the situation nagged her in way she despised. apparently abby wasn’t giving you enough attention you had to seek it elsewhere and god, abby was going to make you regret it. baby let’s go somewhere more quiet, yeah? your little friend can even come, quietly she whispered in your ear.

it’s how you ended up in this position, getting fucked within an inch of you life, on all fours and your delicate fingers gripping the railing of the frame at the edge, headboard crashing against the wall the abby’s thrusts. lamely, ellie was fully clothed sitting in a velvet green chair placed next to the mirror, not like she could move. abby made sure of it. her brown leather belt bound ellie’s wrist so they laid flat in her lap, lust building up in her eyes as she took in the scene before her. abby’s pierced nipples on display, burly arms flexing as they gripped onto your ass, slapping every few thrusts, letting her meaty hands smooth over the sensitive area. all ellie wanted was to be in the mix, but abby would not let her. every grunt from abby’s lips made ellie’s dripping pussy clench. it wasn’t fucking fair, her keeping you like this, all to herself. the recoil of your ass and abby’s moans mixed together was enough to make ellie cum just from rubbing her thighs against each other, but the blonde’s filthy mouth only made matters worse, pushing her to the edge quicker than she would have liked. really, even expected.

“what you think she could fuck better than me, baby? is that why you were flirting with her? huh? what? too drunk on my cock you can’t fucking talk?” abby laughed before picking up her pace, a light mumble of mommy slipped past your whimpering lips, but it was loud enough for them both to hear. “that’s right, baby. mommy always has to punish you when you’re being a spoiled brat. what? you think she can fuck you like this? she’s half my size. couldn’t even pick you up even if she tried.”

ellie felt humiliated but she couldn’t stop herself from the pressure building up in the pit of her stomach. “c’mon ellie, i know you’re close. show me what a fucking loser you are and come for me. right now, baby. yeah, just like that. ruin those pretty boxers for me.” it doesn’t take anything else ellie to squirm in the chair, spurts of white, hot cum flooding her boxers, pretty eyes rolling into the back of her head as she slumped in the chair.

abby could fully focus on you now, all the attention she could give fully on you.she slipped her the strap out of your swollen, puffy pussy and made you ride her. intentionally, she wanted to punish ellie. she wanted her to see the pussy she would never have, gush over abby’s cock. your beefy girlfriend watched as you bounced on her cock, the swell of your tits bouncing rapidly as you fully sat on the girth. abby could feel the base nudge against her clit each time, her breaths becoming more erratic, watching her stupidly pretty girl chanting out mommy mommy mommy as her hips jerked sinfully. abby decided to help you, even if you didn’t deserve it.

she met you halfway, bucking her hips, meeting you with her strong thrusts as she bent her head down to suck on the perky bud. “mommy, fuck, please can i come?” but it seemed abby still had a bit of cruelness left in her. she released your nipple with a soft pop! she shoved her middle finger and ring finger into your mouth, before instructing you “suck.” abby chose to ignore you, but you obeyed. continuing to ride her cock as she made you practically gag on her long digits. when she felt like you had enough, she circled them on your clit. “you tell me, baby? do you deserve to cum?”

abby smirked as your eyebrows furrowed, trying to concentrate enough so you wouldn’t come without her permission. she’d only punish it for you later when the two of you were back at home. “i think….” abby slapped your ass with her free hand, letting her blunt fingernails digging into the delicate flesh. “you’ve been a bad girl tonight. haven’t you? what have i told you before? c’mon, let me hear it.”

“mommy only lets good girls cum.” between every word, abby delivers cruel thrusts to your cunt, making your pussy clench around her cock.

then abby was whispering in your ear, “but since we have an audience, i’ll just punish you at home, yeah?” she pauses, before she applies more pressure on your clit. “now, ride my cock like you mean it, baby.”

once your pace quicken, abby could feel the pressure build up, could feel her clit pulsating. she was close, but she needed you to cum first. need more than the air she breathed. god, she knew you were close too. you were slamming on her cock, chasing the high you could only get from abby and she knew exactly what you were craving. she removed her grip on your ass guiding you and wrapped it around your throat, applying just the amount of pressure you craved.

“yeah, is this what you needed? just needed mommy to choke you? i know, babygirl. are you going to cum for me? yeah, you are aren’t you? cum all over my cock. fuuuckkkkk, yes. yes. good girl, such a good girl for me.” you practically screamed out her name as you squirt everywhere, abby finds her release with you. abby’s thighs, yours, the sheets beneath you drenched in your sweet slick. and all ellie could do was watch as you collapse into abby’s body. your entire body shivering as you seeked comfort in your lovers’ arms. she watched as abby soothingly rubbed your back from the tip of you spine to your lower back. whispering sweet nothings in your ear, but ellie couldn’t hear them, intentional by the blonde for her not to. abby nearly crumbled as she watched abby take care of you, cleaning you up and assisting you with putting on your clothes. you sat on the edge of the bed, completely in a daze, waiting for abby.

once abby was dressed, she walked over to ellie, towering over her, sitting or standing didn’t really matter. with a mean grip, abby held ellie’s chin, applying enough pressure to get her almost bruise. “next time you flirt with my girl, it’ll be you getting fucked an inch within your life and unlike my beautiful baby, i’ll leave you alone like the dirty slut you are, unable to fucking walk, talk, move. got it?” abby left with you in her arms, but to ellie it sounded more like music to her ears.

pathetically, ellie watched as the couple walk out of the room, abby whispering in your ear as abby kissed your temple, shutting the door behind them. and then it dawned on her. she was still fucking tied up. fucking anderson.

-

an: yeah.......so this is a thing. hope you enjoyed it as much as i loved writing it! god do i need a blonde girl to fucking rail me

[shibaraki]

TO BUILD A HOME ┊ TODOROKI SHOUTO

synopsis: todoroki shouto is the ideal roommate. he is tidy, quiet, considerate, and one of your dearest friends. you almost wished he were a tactless slob. it would certainly make navigating your feelings for him easier.

tags: GN reader, friends to lovers, pro hero shouto, quirk support engineer reader, living together (and they were roommates!), mutual pining, fluff, alcohol, other character interactions, domesticity, jealous shouto, a little angst, minor oc, love confessions, making out + frottage

wc: 14K+

a/n: I wrote a little bonus sequel for this au about their first date which you can read here !! [+4K]

Shouto’s home strikes a dissonant note with you.

You’re a statuesque centrepiece in his living room, staring out his tall standing windows, paneled wall to wall and making for a beautiful view of the city. There’s a soft shine to it, iridescent from corner to corner. A privacy film to block any view into the apartment from the outside, you’re guessing.

Despite your closeness you’ve never had reason to visit until now. There’s far too much space for one man, you think. Jarringly, it’s as if you’ve stepped into a studio display. A picture perfect bachelor pad— but really, what bachelor pad needed three family sized bedrooms?

It feels awfully lonely.

Shouto heaves the last of your boxes onto the kitchen island with ease. The muscles in his arms flex under his loose shirt, fabric briefly tightening. Unfair, you think. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Back straightening, you watch Shouto roll back his shoulder and rub at the joint. The movement causes the hem to lift and flash a pale swath of skin, his shorts hung low on his hips. The weight in your arms is somehow heavier with his eyes turned onto you.

“You can set it down,” he says, his tone full of warm mirth. The disbelief must be written plain on your face. Your fingers tighten on the corners as he walks over. Tilting his head, the red strands that have been haphazardly pushed back into white slip over his forehead. You watch his gaze dart over the label scribbled onto the card that reads ‘toiletries’.

“I know. I’m just…” your jaw shifts and you swallow, a frown etched into your brow. “I don’t know. Got a little lost in my thoughts”.

“Feel free to change whatever you like,” his mouth curls into a small smile, scar wrinkling by his eye. You are taken by just how happy he looks to have you here. Shouto seemed the type to appreciate his own space. “I want you to be comfortable”.

“Whatever I like?” you echo teasingly, shucking the box up in your embrace and bumping his shoulder. “Famous last words. Maybe I’ll decide to renovate your other guest room into a mini workshop”.

Shouto exhales a quiet laugh. The air around him is displaced by an ephemeral wave of heat that seeps through your sweater; it cools back to room temperature as quick as it came.

“I wouldn’t oppose it,” he says, and your breath catches. Reaching to poke at the box, he adds, “Do you want me to help you unpack?”

You begin to shake your head. “No, no. I can do all that, don’t worry,” you demurred nervously.

“It wouldn’t be a problem”.

Memories of all the things you managed to salvage in the wreck flicker across your mind's eye. Mugs and plates, a few clothes, oil stained tools and various other inappropriate things you’d rather die than have him accidentally discover.

But he’s staring at you like a restless puppy. You relent, “Maybe you can put away the kitchen stuff then”.

After Shouto retreats you are left adrift to navigate the narrow corridors. The room he directs you to has the biggest guest bed and it shares a wall with his own room. You shuffle in, processing your surroundings. Your linens are freshly washed, tucked in tight at the corners, and they smell like him.

You lower another box on top of the bed and sit by the headboard. The mattress yields. Admittedly it is much more comfortable than your old bed used to be. Soft, you sink into a foamy embrace, smoothing a hand over the matching pillowcases, then reaching up to the shared accent wall.

Reality has hardly set in for you yet. It’s been four days since you lost your home, most of your earthly possessions along with it, and the life you had spent years building. The villain that managed to frisbee a car through your living room had been apprehended but not before destroying half the city block.

Shouto immediately volunteered his own place. You have been close friends for years now, having met during your second year at UA as a support course student. You’d worked with Yaomomo on redesigning her costume for your portfolio and managed to worm your way into their quaint friend group.

Your initial crush on him all that time ago burgeoned into something you’re too anxious to put a name to. When he first suggested you live with him while the city fixed everything you’d wanted to refuse. So far lack of proximity has been your only saving grace.

But you really had nowhere else suitable to stay. A hotel would be too costly in the long run. Your other friends are scattered across different prefectures and those who are in the city are too far from work.

Shouto practically sparkled when you agreed, plucked right out of a shoujo manga.

You remember this as your fingers curled into a loose fist and gave the wall a quiet knock. All the tension accumulated in your shoulders relaxes at the dull sound. “Atleast it isn’t thin,” you mused.

There’s a large closet adjacent to the bed, deep enough that you could crawl inside comfortably. Windows that stretch above your head and overlook the busy streets. You notice that same iridescent sheen, alongside a large blind connected to the control pad fixed by your doorway. They roll down as you fiddle and remind you of those old school projectors from the pre quirk era.

The walls are almost entirely bare. Your imagination drifts to the countless books and photo albums you managed to bring, envisioning them taking up the empty space. It makes you wonder what Shouto’s room looks like. You squash that thought.

When you rejoin him he stands with his back to you, blades shifting under the material as he plays with a small round object held between his fingers. Closing the distance you realise it is one of your stress balls.

His expression is entirely relaxed, bright with a little child-like satisfaction. He pulls at the flexible rubber, rolling it under his thumbs, flattening in between his palms. Your novelty mugs are lined up in the open cupboard right beside his own, entirely forgotten.

As not to startle him you call out gently, “Hey”.

Your voice stalls his movement. Shouto pivots and meets your eyes; they widen as you laugh, amused by his forced nonchalance. He clears his throat, “Hi. Are you happy with the room?”

Humming an affirmative, you sidle up next to him and poke at the ball. “It’s fine, thank you. Nicer than my old place”.

Redirecting his attention to the ball, he squeezes it so hard the foamy rubber protrudes through the gaps in his fingers and lets go, smiling as it retains its original shape. “I liked your old apartment,” he murmurs. “It suited you”.

“Because I’m a mess, you mean?” drawn back into Shouto’s orbit, you lean against his left side. He mirrors your weight until you are like two pillars braced against one another, standing uselessly in the middle of his obviously unused kitchen. Your heart aches recalling all those nights he spent at the agency doing unnecessary overtime. Maybe he just hadn’t wanted to come back here.

“No,” Shouto huffs lightly, passing the ball hand to hand. He doesn’t elaborate. Instead he bumps you with his hip, “Come with me. I’ll give you a tour so you know where everything is”.

You are guided back to the genkan; it’s gorgeous, modernised with a calligraphy feature wall that breaks up the light colours. There is a narrow door leading to a coat room and two white cabinets under a granite countertop housing a small decorative bowl painted in Deku’s colours. Inside are your keys and his, the chains entangled.

Very quickly you realise Shouto doesn’t even know where ‘everything’ is. He opens the cupboard doors hesitantly, in a way that suggests he had no idea what is in them. One filled by his shoes and slippers, the other left empty.

The coat closet holds a few jackets you only ever see him wear in winter. He pinches the waterproof puffy sleeve between finger and thumb with a curious sound. Quietly, “I forgot that I had this”.

“You wore it once and Bakugo said you looked like an ugly toasted marshmallow”.

“That’s right,” a smirk pulls at his lips, mouth thin to restrain his laughter. You dip your chin to hide how infectious it is. “He hated it. Maybe I should take it with me tomorrow and wear it around the agency”.

“Please don’t. He’s coming to see me later in the day and I need him in a good mood”.

Shouto glances at you from the corner of his eye, sunlight reflecting through the blue iris. You would recognise that air of mischief anywhere. “I mean it, Shouto!”

“The day after, then”.

“As long as I’m not in the line of fire,” you snort, itching absentmindedly at your forearm where the skin feels tender. Probably bruising after carrying everything up. “Antagonising Pro Heroes should be listed as a hobby on your wiki page”.

You fall in line with his footsteps once more and keep pace until he stops by another door. There’s a laundry room and a separate toilet by the genkan, first door to the right. Upon opening the door the white toilet lid lifts.

You gasp and clutch his bicep, far too excitable to register how firm it is. “You never told me you have a happy toilet. What the hell, Shouto?”

Still nestled in his palm, you notice Shouto squeezes the stress ball until the foam is straining under the stretchy skin but you say nothing of it. He swallows and echoes your words, “A happy toilet?”

“Yeah, ‘cause it's happy to see you! Isn’t it cute?”

He turns with his cheek between his teeth, exhaling a warm puff of air through his nose. “Yeah,” Shouto rasps. “It’s cute”.

The entrance leads to a hallway, opening at the end to an open plan living area and kitchen. A black and white palette, dark stained wood flooring from room to room. You stand by and watch fondly as he opens every half empty drawer. The sectional couch is a welcome splash of colour— deep royal blue, huge, L shaped and plush, facing a 60 inch TV held up by a cabinet with a few books and photographs inside.

You toe at the fluffy grey rug laid out under the coffee table. His place is spectacular, sure, but it isn’t Shouto. While left unspoken it seemed you both knew that. There’s an abashed pinch to his expression that’s endearing, yet sad; you thought he might be embarrassed by how threadbare his home life appeared to be.

“You ever use that thing?” you ask, pointing to the TV. Predictably, Shouto shakes his head.

“Not very much. These days it feels like I only come here to sleep,” he leans over to pick up the remote from between the cushions and balances it on the arm of the couch. “Every few months Uraraka and Midoriya will visit to order food and watch movies with me. You can use it whenever you want”.

The bathroom is opposite your bedroom doors. He taps his own in passing but does not open it. You step into a bright, white tiled room with a double vanity sink and murmur in awe. Above are ceiling lights that give a soft glow, giving it a warm toned hue. Behind a glass door is a bowl shaped bathtub, big enough to fit two.

“Damn…” you whisper, running your fingers over the control pad connected to the tub. There’s a big bath cover propped by the wall. “A sauna button, too?”

“Not that I need it,” he muses, standing by the doorway, hands loosely interlocked as he observes you navigating his space. Intuitively, you get the sense that this is the beginning of a true paradigm shift. His offer had been the fork in the road and your agreement took you down a path soon to be irreversible.

You could survive seeing him at work or out with the mutual friends you shared. You’re not sure how you’ll weather the domesticity that comes with living together.

The reflection in the mirror shifts awkwardly and you grimace at how hard you’re trying to act like a normal human being. This is just Shouto: your good friend and longtime supporter. Just the man you might possibly be in love with.

“We should probably talk about ground rules and stuff,” you begin, hoping it’ll wipe that gentle look off his face before you say something stupid.

“Ground rules?” Shouto pushes off from the door frame with his back straight. He tilts his head, sight following you closely as you scoot past him back into the hallway.

“Like a chore rota and stuff. Rules so we can live in harmony or something. And you still need to let me know how much I’m paying you”.

“But I don’t want you to”.

You pause mid step and turn to stare at him in soft incredulity. “Why not? It’s only right I contribute”.

Steadfast, he holds your gaze and bluntly says, “I have a higher income than you. There’s no need for you to pay me rent”.

“Way to rub it in”.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” you laugh at the rare wobble to his voice and knock your hands together as a sign of forgiveness. His eyes squint into a smile. “It just feels unfair for me to ask that of you”.

The hallway falls dim as clouds gather, casting shadows that make the private bubble you’re in seem that much smaller. “But I want to,” you reassured him. “Come on— forty percent?”

“Thirty”.

You hold out three fingers up on the right and five on the left. You try again, “Thirty five?”

“Thirty,” he doubles down, covering the entirety of your left hand with his own. You feel his thumb skim your inner wrist and your resolve breaks.

“…Fine”.

Shouto grins boyishly and you do not acknowledge the flutter in your stomach.

The first few days are cautious despite your desire to behave as normal. At night you found yourself acutely aware of Shouto’s presence behind the bedroom wall. Your senses latched onto every muted bump and creak; the quiet drew thoughts you so valiantly avoided the surface and you could do nothing besides parse through them.

It made sleeping difficult.

You’d wondered if Shouto was having the same issue but the drowsy gait and hair plastered to one side of his head only ever spoke of a good night's rest. He wears loose silk pyjama pants to bed, low on his hips and an inch or so longer at the leg so they always caught under his heel as he walked.

Seeing him relaxed and fumbling like a fawn before his morning tea felt as if a big star was fizzing in your chest. It’s strange, in a tentative way, not an uncomfortable one.

The dust settles and a chore rota is scribbled out on a white board and pinned to the refrigerator with a worn All Might magnet. Your hours are less hectic so you offered to do the weekly shopping. Shouto volunteers for the laundry— his sister set the machines up for him when he first moved and he hasn’t moved the dials since— and taking out the garbage. Together you build a precariously clumsy peace, a mimicry of home.

Things started to change.

A kaleidoscope can take on an entirely new pattern with just the subtle turn of the lense. Weeks lapse. You stopped asking for permission and he no longer sought reassurance that you were happy. Existing parallel to one another, your lives fit seamlessly, though not without effort.

You’ve never known him to be a tactile type of guy— back when you rushed to hug him at graduation he’d brandished his diploma like a weapon before noticing it was you. Now, Shouto playfully hip checks you in the kitchen, he sits closer than he needs to on the couch and texts you at random throughout the day. He brings you a treat if his route overlaps your commute, keeping it hot in his left hand. He even greets you by the door on the rare occasion he finishes a shift first.

Your heart is fatter than ever and you aren’t quite sure what to do with it or where to put it down. After the city has rebuilt your apartment block and deemed it safe you’ll be returning to a normal you don’t recognise anymore.

You’re finalising the upgrade for Dynamite’s summer gauntlets when your phone buzzes on your bench. The vibration carries it closer to the edge and you scoop it up before the inevitable fall, cursing at the oil smeared around the case. The screen lights up.

shouto : 1 minute ago

There’s an image attached with no explanation. You are met with the open skyline, dense clouds of every shape and size dotted across a blue canvas. Shouto’s arm is in the shot, finger pointed towards one cloud in particular.

You squint at it. Zoom in on your phone, tilt it to the side, flip it in the editor and outline it— and nothing rings a bell. It’s a white blob. 

Another notification drops down at the top of your screen. You wipe your hand against your overalls and open it. 

shouto : just now 

ヾ(=^・ｪ・^)

Your nose wrinkles as you glance back to the photo. Granted, it does have two pointed edges that could be interpreted as cat ears if you squinted. Maybe. This isn’t new — he burned his toast three days ago and took a picture simply because it looked vaguely feline. 

you : delivered 

aren’t u supposed to be on patrol? 

The message turns to ‘read’ quicker than expected. You panic and click off the conversation, setting the phone face up on your workbench and reading from your locked screen. Lately, despite living together and seeing one another every day, Shouto seems to have more to say to you than ever. 

shouto : just now

Divine intervention. We should get a cat. 

The use of ‘we’ pings around your head like a pinball. Ever since the initial dubitation smoothed out he's become much more flippant about things— treating your situation as though it were permanent. 

An intern shuffles into the workshop with a thick binder. Not one of yours, you realise. One of Mei’s. They blink curiously as your phone buzzes again, loud where it clatters on the hard surface, and you bite down on your inner cheek, hard, keeping your feelings at bay. 

When handed the papers you breathe in recognition. They’ve been coordinated into two groups, and you’d know that logo anywhere. “The costume applications for the upcoming UA students! I wondered why they hadn’t come in yet”. 

“Yes, for 1A and 1B. Hatsume-san said these ended up on her desk,” they said, gesticulating nervously, “and that I— I should give them to you?”

“Well If not for you I’m sure these would’ve ended up buried under all her discarded prototypes,” you demurred, offering what you hoped was a reassuring smile. “Thank you”. 

Abruptly, your phone gives another violent jerk and disrupts the moment. The intern squeaks, rigidity returning to her posture, and scurries out with a rushed goodbye. You sink into your arms, forehead pressed to the cool metal. Surely you aren’t that scary.

Turning the screen, you read the texts and sigh fondly.  

shouto : 4 minutes ago

An older cat would be nice. 

shouto : just now

Should we order tonight? 

My treat. 

Your gaze lifts to find the time at the top of the screen. It blinks back at you, the hour changing. Not long until you can head out. 

you : delivered 

it isn’t a treat for me if it’s more cold soba. give me variety or give me death (งಠ_ಠ)ง

The cursor flickers. Your thumb hovers over the keyboard, hesitating on the final letter. Something so minor that feels bigger than it has any right to be. 

“Stop being ridiculous,” you mutter, sending it before your mind can change. 

you : read 

be safe ok? I’ll see you at home. 

When he doesn’t reply you figure he’s returned to his job, thus you return to yours. 

Dynamite was once again trusting you with his gear. Bakugo had been extraordinarily protective over his initial design in highschool. Great bulbous things strapped to each wrist, grenade-like appearance, so big that his arms became pendulous and swung away from his body as he walked. The shoulder strain was immense. 

You fought tooth and nail to get him to accept your adjustments. Now every summer you remodelled the gauntlets to be lighter and ventilated, and in winter you added in insulation and flexibility. 

Respectively, the gauntlets still weigh a lot without additional stored nitroglycerin. You lift, bending at the knees and groaning as you lower them both down into a protective case, slotting into foam padding for protection. No doubt they’d end up rough on the first day but you still wanted them to arrive without a scratch. 

Evening draws near. Closing the lid, it gives a satisfying click. You fiddle with the lock pad and calibrate it to open only for Bakugo’s thumb print before lugging the case to the built-in vault in your workshop, where it’ll be kept over the weekend. 

Mei’s lab is directly opposite your own. Despite the dense soundproofing and reinforced steel concrete the jarring screech of a saw echoes throughout the hallway. You press your hand to the towering door, muscle fibres wracked by vibrations. Bidding her goodbye would be futile— she’s been working on a new patent for months now. The rest of the world fell away when she got like this. 

Heading through to the main lobby, you greet those passing by with a nod, exchanging hurried words. It was always as though time didn’t exist here. People worked all hours, any hours. Flexibility was a point of pride for your company, and seeing someone eat breakfast after midnight wasn’t uncommon. 

You preferred a regular schedule. Routine keeps you moderately sane. A cool breeze gusts through the sliding doors as you duck into the street; you hiss at the immediate change in temperature. Patting down your coat pockets you dig out your phone, sending a one-handed text to Shouto while you slip in your earbuds. 

Cacophonous bustling of the streets now muffled, you scroll through a playlist and click at random. An upbeat melody carries you to the station, scooting through the throngs of people and tapping your card at the barriers. 

You pick up the pace, scurrying onto the train right before the doors close. A stranger glares, looking over your dishevelled state with judgement. You find a narrow corner, left standing on the far end of the carriage, squashed up against the window to make room for other passengers. 

Conscious about the volume. you turned down your music a tad and sank into the confines of your coat. Shouto’s apartment is miraculously closer than your old one, meaning the commute is much shorter, and your time spent in bed is much longer. Three stops pass and the sky begins to bruise. Purple hues blend gently into red, the sun a fiery hearth on the seam of the horizon that blinks abruptly between the passing buildings. 

When you reach home Shouto still hasn’t texted back. You bend to arrange your shoes, coat hung beside his terrible winter puffer. The floor is cold under socked feet, pottering through to the living room in search of the TV remote. 

You flinch as the newscaster's voice blurts out of the speakers. Shouto must have left it on the news channel this morning. Watching the scene unfold on the screen you feel your heart climb your throat. 

Shouto is a hero— a number of your friends are. Villain fights are not only inevitable, they’re a requirement. The truth of it doesn’t make reality any easier to swallow. Uravity is a welcome sight. She’s fighting diligently alongside Shouto, up against multiple villains seemingly working in tandem to destroy the area. 

You always thought villains were a good example of how versatile and powerful even the most innocuous quirks can be. Topspin can morph their limbs into a whirling top, and with years of training has gained the ability to form small tornados using momentum. Another you recognise is Cryo, a woman capable of making her body intangible similarly to Lemillion— though she is able to freeze you temporarily if she phases through your body. 

There are others, too. Criminals you don’t recognise. It’s been a long time since a big group tried to organise in this manner. You worry at your lip, bracing against the back of the couch for support. What you find most concerning is they don’t seem to have a goal. Just mass destruction, plain and simple. 

“Come on,” you think anxiously, nails digging into the cushion as you watch Shouto brace a falling building with his ice, creating an emergency slide for those left inside to escape. You’ve always marvelled at his parallel processing skills— Deku, too. Their thoughts must be running a million miles a second. 

The cameras switch to highlight the other heroes and you realise you’ve been holding your breath. You exhale, physically deflating, feeling the weight of your phone in your pants pocket. Clean up would take a while once the battle is won; curry night is off the table. 

That’s fine. You could forgive it as long as he came back in one piece. 

Evening sinks into night. Shouto comes home after you’ve retired to your bed, though you aren’t asleep yet; you took to staring at the ceiling, waiting for a call from the hospital that you hoped wouldn’t come. 

The distant sound of his boots hitting the floor has relief flooding through your system. You strain to listen as he makes his way through the apartment, deliberately quiet. You hear him head straight to the bathroom. The echo of running water muffles after the door closes with a soft click. 

You check your phone once more, scanning over the recent updates and not finding much. You consider leaving him alone. Villain fights are hard on the body and the heart. Shouto likes space to process things before he speaks on them, and so you don't want to overstep. 

That sentiment dissipates steadily. Five minute intervals that feel like hours. Shouto is in the bathroom for a long, long time. You are seated on the edge of your bed with the covers pulled back when he finally comes out. 

Warm light streams beneath your doorway. Muscles clenched, you daren’t move an inch as a stretch of shadow moves across. Shouto stands outside your room and you stare, silently urging him to knock and give you an excuse. 

After a beat, Shouto turns away. He flicks off the bathroom light and shuffles down the hallway, away from his own bedroom. Your feet tentatively touch the floor and you slide off the bed with hands held out, careful not to knock into any furniture on the way. 

Goose pimples raise across your forearms. You’re in sleep shorts and a ratty old shirt on a cool spring night. No wind and no clouds, the moon hung high and bright. You have never seen the city so eerily still at this hour. 

The air always retains the warmth of his body for a while, and you feel it lingering when you step into the hallway. 

Voice kept to a whisper, you softly called for him, “Shouto?” 

You find him sitting in the middle of the couch. The blinds are up, moonlight flooding in. Shouto is a solid silhouette outlined in white. 

“Did something happen?” 

The fight ended up dragging on for a while, so you’re in the dark. Details about casualties were steadily being released to news outlets as the heroes dug through the remaining rubble. You’ve yet to hear of any deaths, civilian or otherwise, which is a relief. 

He lifts his head, “I’m fine. Sorry if I woke you”. 

“You didn’t,” Shouto’s gaze follows as you shuffle towards him, footfalls loud on the hardwood floor. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

The silence is suffocating. Your vision adjusts to the darkness, stuck on the downturn of his mouth and pallid eyes. “We’re friends right? Friends share their burdens,” you try again, awkwardness leaking out with every syllable. “I’m here for you”. 

He looks away. There’s a dark, disquieting bruise blooming on his jaw. Subconsciously, Shouto presses a finger onto the bruise and the blood beneath it recedes, paling and returning like the tide. 

You don’t sit too close— worried proximity might be suffocating. The couch arm is firm under you, feet propped on the seat cushion. Shouto wets his lips, as if to alleviate the gravity of his words. 

“A group of school children were in the theatre when it collapsed,” he rasps. His hand curls into a tight fist, sparks of fire diminishing between his knuckles. “They were young. No older than ten”. 

“You blame yourself”. 

Turning to you, light casts softly across half of his face, pooling in his left eye. “I was a second too late and now—” he stops, the words caught in his throat. 

“Because of my mistakes those children are stuck with the traumatic memory of being trapped under all that rubble. I... I could hear them screaming”. 

You gulp and slide down onto the couch, guided by the urge to touch him, “Hey. But you got them out safely, yeah? They’re okay, Shouto”. 

His eyes crinkle a bit, if only a trick of your own, and you take it as permission to reach over. One by one you unfurl each finger, massaging your thumbs into his palm to smooth away the crescent marks. 

“We got them out,” he amends quietly, taking a brief pause to find the right words. You spend it appreciating the nicks in his skin, scars and rough edges, proof of his tenacity.

Shouto closes his hand around your own, staring dolefully at the point where your bodies meet. You see it for what it is— a request for comfort — and your palms kiss as you realign your fingers, holding on tight. 

“You know what I think?” 

He hums, curiously peering up through his damp bangs. 

“Those kids? They won’t just remember the bad stuff,” you smile, as tender as you feel, “I think they’ll remember how at ease they felt when Hero Shouto opened the way with his ice to save them. And now they know a hero will always come”. 

The strain bleeds from his bones and his expression opens up in quiet wonderment. “Really?” he asks, his voice small, mouth finally curling. Your heart gives a squeeze. 

“Really,” you affirm, knocking your knees together. Shouto’s smile widens, chin tucking to hide it. “Are you hurt anywhere?” 

“No. Just bruised up,” he says. An idea clicks into place. 

“Good. I’ve got something we can do to make you feel better,” you scramble to your feet, weight shifting as Shouto’s stare lingers on your bare legs. It feels as though the moon is casting a spotlight, and you resist the urge to pull your shorts down. 

“What is it?” 

“Mug cake!” you exclaim happily, bringing your hands together. Adding an afterthought, “and a movie, too. One you haven’t seen yet”. 

Shouto tilts his head, amused, but stands with you all the same. You notice then that he's changed into a pair of sweatpants, cuffed at the ankles. The t-shirt he’s wearing has a Pinky logo branded across his chest in bubble font. 

“Mug cake?” he repeats. 

“Cake in a mug,” you ribbed, poking at him. You start toward the kitchen. “Come on, it’ll only take like five minutes, tops!” 

“Do we have cake ingredients?” he muses, following close behind. You flick on the recessed light over the stove and root through the cupboards, trying to ignore the natural warmth of his body beside yours. 

“We have everything,” you insist. “I would know. I do the shopping, remember?” 

Hovering unnecessarily close by, Shouto leans back against the counter and observes you with fondness as you list off the ingredients under your breath. It shouldn’t be so magnetising— you can feel something in your chest being drawn in, as though you were two unlike poles meant to come together. 

Meeting his gaze, you look away and try to tame your giddiness. “Quit staring and find me two big mugs”. 

You breathe a little easier when he does as you ask. Two large ceramic mugs are placed on the counter— a hideously priced vintage All Might mug gifted by Midoriya, another with cat ears on the rim and a tail curled into the handle. 

“Will these do?” he murmurs. You startle at the closeness of his voice, nearly dropping the teaspoon in your hand. 

“Yeah,” you clear your throat. “Yep. Thank you”.

He nods, satisfied. “Tell me what else to do”. 

You grab another teaspoon and hand it to him. The joy in his eyes gleams, so pleased at the opportunity to help. “First we need to put four teaspoons of flour and caster sugar in our mugs, then add two teaspoons of the cocoa powder. You follow?” 

Shouto mirrors each action, always glancing back to your movements to check he was doing so correctly. It is unbearably endearing. 

“Now we add an egg in each— one sec,” the fridge light bursts through the dimly lit kitchen, and you squint, grabbing two eggs from the tray. You give him an egg. “Now crack it into the mug and stir”. 

You’ve ended up with the All Might mug. Using it is nerve wracking; all you can think of is how expensive it was, but the cat mug is Shouto’s clear favourite. Gently, you tap the egg on the counter. A hairline fracture forms on the shell. You push your thumbs in, prying it apart over the mix, letting the whites drizzle. 

Shouto is… faring well enough. There’s clear viscous liquid all over his fingers, and his shell is broken in three, but the yolk made it in. 

You laugh quietly at his sheepish expression as you pass him some tissue. He wipes his hands, leaning to observe while you add three teaspoons of milk and vegetable oil. “Where did you learn to make these?” 

“During my apprenticeship,” you admit. Graduation hadn’t led to immediate incredible offers like it had for Shouto. You needed to get your foot in the door first, which meant working awful hours with shit pay and little recognition. “I was trying to save up back then, so I ate a lot of crap like this”. 

“I’ve never tried it,” he says, repeating the steps as you had shown him. Your fingers brush with a pass of the milk. “I wasn’t allowed treats as a child so I guess I didn’t develop much of a sweet tooth”. 

“That’s just like you,” you grin, tearing open the bag of chocolate chips and shaking them in his direction. “Always gotta drop depressing lore in the middle of a nice moment”. 

The truth about the Todoroki family had been outed during your first year, right before the war. It’s a subject Shouto can joke about now that time has mostly healed over those wounds. Granted, his relationship with his father was cautious at best, and his older brother was locked away in a private facility for a good few decades, but things were better. 

“Did you hear me?”

You blink, startled out of your reverie, “What?”

“I said I have plenty more material but you zoned out,” Shouto raised a brow, dipping into the bag of chocolate chips and sprinkling them over his cake mix, “Where did you go?”

“Ah…” you take his mug and set it beside yours inside the microwave, turning the dial to the two minute mark. “I was just thinking I kinda want to kick your dad’s ass”. 

Your heart leaps. You will never be sick of Shouto’s laugh; it’s like hearing his soul. The sound is rich and warm over the loud hum, glass plate turning, mixture bubbling. 

“Don’t worry about that,” the laughter tapers off into an affectionate murmur, body naturally leaning into you, “he’s been kicking himself for years now”. 

“Good—!” the microwave pings, and your soul jumps out of your skin. “Jesus. Why is it always so much louder at night?” 

The mugs are still hot. You press a kiss to your stinging fingertips and step aside; Shouto takes each cake out one at a time with this left hand wrapped around the mug. “Show off,” you pout. 

A sweet aroma fills your senses. They’ve risen well. You lightly scratch the top with your spoon, pleased by the firmness. “We did pretty good,” you chirped. 

“Smells good,” Shouto notes, cradling his mugcake to his chest as though something precious. “Are we watching a movie?”

“Yeah. Let’s pick while it’s still hot”. 

You cast a fleeting look at the counter before you walk around the kitchen island, putting the minor mess to the back of your mind. Bouncing back onto the couch, you run your free hand down the cushions in search of the remote. 

“Where’s the—” Shouto sits to your right and passes it to you. “Did you pull that out of thin air?” 

“Yes. I have a third quirk called ‘remembering where I put things’,” he grins, dodging the half hearted swat you send his way.  

“You’re a real comedian. Just for that I’m picking what I want to watch”. 

Infuriatingly, Shouto looks happy about that, “You know what I’d like anyway”. 

In the end you choose Ponyo because he had not yet watched it— a fact you deemed criminal. You watch his expressions soften at the vibrant scenery, idly pushing the tip of his spoon into the cake. He scoops out a piece and brings it to his lips. 

You try not to beam when he visibly freezes, eyes widening with his spoon held in his mouth. Slowly, Shouto starts to chew. He makes a happy little hum. Three words crossed your mind, travelled down to your heart and diffused throughout your body. You feel them restless in the tips of your fingers. You don’t say them. 

Only then do you let yourself eat yours. The spoon sinks into the sponge, a faint waft of heat bursting from the centre where the chocolate chips have melted. It’s just the right side of fluffy. 

Comfortable silence hung over your heads, masked under the clinking of your spoons against the mugs. 

After the soft thud of an empty mug meeting the table, breaking through the quiet, Shouto speaks. 

“Bakugo mentioned you today,” he says. “Asked me to pass on a message”. 

You hum to indicate that you’re listening. “He said ‘hurry the fuck up or kiss my sponsorship goodbye’, verbatim”. 

“I’m not sure I like those words coming out of your mouth,” you laugh, shoulders shaking with it. Shouto tips his head back, lips twisted to hold laughter of his own. “What a bullshitter”. 

Bakugo liked working with you too much to pull out. Even if he didn’t, the man was a hard nut to crack and refused to trust anyone else with his gear. 

“Are you almost done? Working on his gauntlets, I mean”. 

“They’re finished,” you responded, cheek resting on the heel of your hand. Shouto repositions his hips, turning his body to face you in your periphery while you watch Sousuke and Ponyo eat ramen. “Good and ready for the summer. Now he won’t level half the city when he sneezes”. 

“Thank you for your hard work,” comes his mirthful reply. “Oh, and Uraraka says hello. She wants you to go to the get together tomorrow night”. 

“You know I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about, right?” 

He huffed a laugh through his nose. A soft sound that has satisfaction singing through your veins. “I wasn’t planning on going so I forgot to mention it”. 

You run your tongue along your molars. There’s still a lingering chocolate taste. “You aren’t going to go?” you ask, tone trended downwards, plainly implying your disappointment. It wouldn’t be so odd. While you’d befriended Momo and some of class B before ever meeting Shouto, you’re not sure you want to be there without him. 

“I will go if you do,” he eyes the way your shoulders relax at that, attentive to a fault. “They can pick on you instead of me”. 

You roll your eyes with exasperated affection and arms crossed over your middle. “Tomorrow?” mhm. “Is it at that place Denki likes?” mhm. “Thought it might be. Guess I can be your buffer for a few hours”. 

“I’ll let them know,” Shouto murmurs. Colour dances across his skin, shadows moving with the picture on the screen. Ponyo dunks her head into the depths alongside Sosuke and the room is suddenly awash with vibrant blue, and you witness an unwelcome epiphany cross his mind. 

Stated like a huffy accusation, he says, “You know, you’ve worked on most of my friends gear, but never mine”. 

“You never asked,” you reminded him. “And you had connections in my industry already because of your… Endeavor. But I would’a jumped at the chance to get rid of that first costume you designed”. 

Cheek pressed to the cushion, he smiles. “What, was the glacier too much?” 

“It was so ugly Shouto,” you bemoan, leaning closer with your dramatic outburst. “The worst part was it covered up half of your pretty face. Now that’s just bad for branding”.

A soft intake of breath. Shouto’s lips part and you are caught in his awestruck stare. His voice deepens as he asks, “You think I’m… pretty?” 

You swallow and muster up an easy grin, nudging his thigh with your foot. “Everyone thinks you’re pretty, you goof”. 

His eyes lower, pensive for a moment, and then flicker back to the movie. Ponyo is sleepy, and the boat has shrunk, and Sousuke has big tears rolling down his cheeks. 

You can’t help thinking it was the wrong thing to say. 

Eventually the noise settles into static; the kind that makes the shadows seem a little darker, dense branches spreading across the ceilings and walls into a daunting canopy. You burrow into your hoodie, pulling the collar up over the bridge of your nose as Sosuke and Ponyo are reunited with his mother in a vast underwater paradise. 

The earlier exchange weighs on you. Stealing a quick glance at Shouto, you feel your anxiety chip at the expression on his face. Somewhere there, beneath the scar tissue and laughter lines and eye bags, is a small boy watching in awe. 

Neither of you speak until the film comes to an end. Your head bobs along to the final song, drawn into a bubble of nostalgia. Through the thick of it, you hear a whisper. Shouto says your name and there’s barely any strength behind it, uncharacteristically timid. Blinking away the haze, your eyes adjust. You can see an inviting, wide open embrace, his left arm now outstretched, the intention clear. 

Shouto looks right back. Your vision has sharpened enough to make out the small smile on his face. You crawl across the couch cushions and curl under his arm, turning your cheek to watch the credits play out.  

“You looked cold,” he belatedly adds. “Is this ok?”

You hum in agreement. Compared to his body heat, you’d say it had been freezing. Despite all the hard earned muscle over the years Shouto is pliable when he’s relaxed, doughy, and he yields when you begin to adjust your shared position. 

Swallowed by warmth, you guide his arm down to cinch around your waist and nestle against his chest. You can feel his heart beating like a wing beneath your palm. 

“Better?” he murmurs, breath tickling your ear. A final shiver dances the length of your spine as the faint tremors dwindle and your bones thaw. Fatigue creeps up, making your eyelids heavy. 

Quietly, “Better”. Then you mumble, “And I do think you’re pretty, Shouto”. 

“Hm?”

“Was bein’ a bit of a coward earlier,” you continue, a sleepy drawl to your words. A yawn pulls at your jaw, nose flaring with it. You think you could sink right into him, like a hot bath. “Shouto’s pretty… all… all the time…”

Your weary eyes gave in to the rhythmic stroke of his hand, consciousness drifting away. Soft dreams undulate, drawing you in, pushing you out. There’s a familiar face. They turn into your palms when you cradle them. Your stomach clenches at the sudden weightlessness and you grasp at their shirt, worried you might float away. 

When you wake up you are in your own bed again. It returns to you in fragments— Shouto’s arms around you, his rumbling laugh, the tangible intimacy that had hung over your heads. Realising he must have carried you to bed you turn over to groan into your pillow. 

Eventually, what draws you out into the open is the smell. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you pad out into the living room, searching for Shouto. Leggings, your mind whispers. He’s milling about the kitchen in his workout clothes; a little pair of shorts overtop and a green hoodie. 

“Morning,” he says, placing a small plate onto a tray. You notice two bowls have already been prepared. “I made breakfast”. 

The greeting dies in your throat when he looks up. A stream of dewy morning light illuminates the room, reflecting on the pale surfaces, creating an ethereal view. He combs his hair back with his fingers, tucking the longer strands behind his ears. Your gaze strays from the bruise on his jaw— now turning a sickly shade of green— to the food on his tray. 

“Wow,” you mumble, feeling hunger twist in your stomach. “This actually looks edible. What’s the occasion?” 

It’s a traditional breakfast. A bowl of rice, miso soup with some vegetables, a rolled egg and a plate of grilled fish. Shouto sets a pair of chopsticks down. “No special occasion. I just wanted to cook for you”. 

“God. You are so…” you wave your hands at him, too overwhelmed by the sudden flush of tenderness. 

He blinks, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “You just gestured to all of me”. 

“I just woke up and there’s a prince using my shitty old rice cooker. Forgive me,” you remarked groggily. It feels as if your entire being is a soft spot that he won’t stop prodding at. 

Gathering the tray in your grasp you avoid his stare and make way to the dining table, his quiet chuckle close behind. You sit, unnerved by his presence and fighting off dregs of sleep. The seat is cold under your thighs. “Thank you for the food,” you murmur. 

Chopsticks tucked in the crook of your thumb and finger, you pick up a rolled omelette. The egg tastes sweeter than expected— mixed with more sugar than required, you think, but it’s good, and you finish in the next bite. 

“Are you not leaving for work?”

Shouto hovers across from you; his hands rested on the back of another chair, and stood silently. “How is it?” he deflects. 

Your teeth sink into a tofu cube, umami flavours bursting on your tongue. You hum your approval, making a show of it. “It’s delicious. Thank you, Shouto. Really”. 

Over the years you’ve come to learn that Shouto reacts to praise in subtle ways, and often smiles without his mouth. You can hear it in the lilt of his voice and see it in his spirited stride. You watch as his shoulders straighten. He’s alight, peacocking his pride, and you’re not sure he realises it. 

“There’s a secret ingredient”. 

You pause mid chew, swallowing thickly. “If you say love I’m moving out”. 

Shouto tempers his amusement with a shake of his head. Stray hair falls forward to frame his cheeks.  The chair reclines back on two legs as he leans. “My mother told me that making a meal for someone is a simple way to show gratitude,” he continued. “Thank you for taking care of me last night”. 

Heat simmers under your skin, all buzzing energy and jitters. The sincerity is disarming. Had this been a dream you would’ve kissed him. 

Shoving another tofu cube in your mouth you chew it down to fine paste, vying for time to formulate a coherent sentence. “Don’t thank me for that,” your initial playfulness softened to reciprocate some of his vulnerability. “I know I’m not a hero but I’ll always be there for you in whatever way I can”. 

Whatever his response is, you don’t hear it. Shouto murmurs inaudibly, eyes falling closed with a long exhale. Your only respite is the warmth in his gaze when he looks back at you. “I need to leave now if I don’t want to be late. But I’ll see you tonight?”

You hum an affirmative, nodding around the white rice pinched between your chopsticks. It falls apart gently on your tongue. Covering your mouth, you say, “I’ll be there”.  

Shouto steps away with some finality, readjusting the hem of his shirt. The fabric hangs loose around his hips, emphasising how tight his shorts are. You mentally kick yourself. 

“I’ll text you, then”. 

The day passes frustratingly slowly after Shouto leaves. You technically could be sifting through the new student’s designs, but all you can think about is how charged the atmosphere had been this morning. Retiring back to your room to scream into a pillow or two, you eventually find yourself getting ready. 

Shouto let you know he would be going straight from the agency. He had clothes in a locker here— casual, some jeans and a sweater, which at least allayed the fear of being underdressed.  

You pull on one of your nicer jackets, holding the lapels close to your chest as you step out into the cold evening. Dark cumuli gather in sparse clumps across the darkening sky; as mercy has it, the wind is pushing them in the opposite direction.

The place isn’t far. You don’t frequent it very often but liked it well enough despite management being a bunch of rich guys playing dive-bar dress up. The low ceilings, vintage mismatched furniture and dim red lights created an intimate atmosphere. 

People loved the idea of finding a hole in the wall that nobody else knew about. The catch was everybody knows, but not everybody can get in. 

Flashing above the door in green neon lights is a sign grimly reading ‘The Love Shack’. The first thing you notice is the strong woodsy smell masking the faint scent of alcohol. There’s a floral tinge to it that you have trouble pinpointing. 

You head inside and greet the bouncer standing by the entrance. He’s a big guy, standing around 6 feet 9, mutton chops swallowing a great deal of his face. Resting on his bald crown are a pair of comically small sunglasses. 

Before he can ask for your name it is being hollered across the bar. A few heads turn and you dip your chin to shield from prying eyes. Uraraka is bounding over, Mina hot on her coattails. The pair topple into you with canorous laughter clear over the music. 

“You’re here!” Uraraka effused, grabbing at your shoulders and shaking them. “I haven’t seen you in so long! Shouto has been keeping you all to himself”. 

Mina slumps against you, echoing Ursraka’s words with a slurred whine. “Holy shit. Are you guys already tipsy?” unsteady on your feet you try to keep them upright. 

“No,” Mina tittered, pink lips jutting into a pout. She pokes at your cheek. “You’re just too sober!”

You startle. Another hand, large and hot, splays at the small of your back. The bouncer grunts and encourages you in the direction which they came from. That appears to spur the girls on— you’re dragged to the far end of the bar, a wide booth nestled just around the corner, hidden from view. 

You’re met with a chorus of cheers. Kirishima, Jirou and Shinsou beckon you forward. Bakugo is nursing a pint, offering you a wordless nod. Momo shakes her head as Denki attempts to climb out and greet you despite being trapped by the table, patting his back when the effort is fruitless. 

“Alright, alright. I missed you too,” you grin, helplessly charmed by your friend's excitement. Uraraka ushers you into the booth. You scoot up beside Momo, the group packed in like sardines to make room. 

Mina bends to press a wet kiss to your hairline. It leaves behind a sticky impression of her lips. “Let me go grab you a drink, babe!” she chirps, skipping off toward the bar and immediately draping her upper body over the black countertop to wave the bartender over. 

The conversations resume, an easy atmosphere settling over your group. Though you aren’t entirely from their world they do well to involve you, asking for your thoughts, trying to make you laugh. Jirou blushes under the red lights when you bring up her latest album, sending you an appreciative grin. Mina returns holding an impressive amount of drinks, her fingers slipping dangerously on the condensation. 

You are one strawberry daiquiri in. There’s a muted yet pleasant buzz under your skin, no doubt aided by the good company. Still, you cast an anxious glance around the room, curious about Shouto’s absence. A soft tap to the knee draws your attention. 

Momo turns to whisper in your ear, “Shouto said  he’ll be here on the hour,” answering that unspoken question. Your cheeks fill with an indignant breath, embarrassed by your own transparency. 

“We aren’t attached at the hip, you know,” you rasp childishly. It’s a lie— you’ve lived with Shouto for only three weeks and you have already forgotten where he ends and you begin. Momo laughs, hiding it behind the back of her hand. 

“Could’a had me fooled,” Bakugo interjects, scoffing behind his drink. The glass tips and he drains the last of it. “Your name is all I hear outta his mouth these days. Starting to think he doesn’t know any other words”. 

You hold up an accusing finger, “Quit reading our lips, dickhead”. 

The other bares his teeth, gums and all. He moves his hands in recognisable patterns at a deliberately slow pace, as if talking down to you. ‘Fuck you’ he signs. 

“Oh!” Kirishima claps abruptly. You startle, almost knocking over your drink. He’s so big that it rocked the table. “Check this, Bakugo. I’ve been learning more signs, you gotta tell me if I’m doing ‘em right!”

“Fuck do I look like to you?”

“Like my handsome best bro,” is his smooth reply. Cheeks red as his hair, a cocksure grin flashing his sharp teeth; Bakugo softens, clicking his tongue in feigned annoyance, betrayed by the twitch by the corner of his mouth. You think Kirishima is like an overgrown stray that manipulated Bakugo into being his human. 

Whatever he clumsily signs must have been obscene, because Bakugo roars with laughter.

“Who the hell taught you that, shitty hair?” 

The hour comes and goes. Rings of water collect under the glasses. Shouto is five minutes late. You displace the group, accepting Uraraka’s loose lipped complaints as she is forced to scoot back out the booth. Pinching the fat of her pink cheek, she’s placated by the promise of another round on you. 

“I’ll come with,” Shinsou offered with a lazy wave. 

“Thanks,” waiting for him to get to his feet, you smile. You liked Shinsou well enough. Working as an underground hero meant you didn’t get to see him too often. 

You approach the bar. The man working behind it has gossamer insectoid wings on his back, sprouting from two long slits in his fitted shirt. They glint in the light, colours refracting iridescent, reminding you somewhat of a church window. 

He comes over as he catches your eye, wiping down the sticky surface. You’re honest enough to admit he’s handsome. Rugged with a baby face, hair falling over his forehead in loose curls. There’s an easy air about him, and when he flashes a crooked grin you feel the alcohol a little too thick in your veins. 

Tattooed forearms brace against the bar and he leans into your magnetism, “What can I get ya?”

“They’ll have the same as last time,” you reply. “I think the tab should be under Kaminari’s name?” 

He nods, eyes skimming over your form, “Won’t be long”. 

You turn to find that Shinsou is staring, kissed by a reddish glow. His mouth downturns into a smirk. “I don’t think he even noticed I was here,” he drawls. 

Defensiveness prickles over you. “Don’t think anyone has,” you lightly knock your arms together. “You’ve been quiet tonight”. 

“Not my scene,” Shinsou sinks forward, propped up by his elbow, and rests his chin in the cradle of his hand. His heavy lidded eyes never stray. “But I can’t say no to free drinks”.

The barman works the taps in your periphery but you remain focused on Shinsou. There’s a new scar across his cheekbone, right where his persona mask ends. Another over his mouth, a thin line of rough tissue that cuts through his five o’clock shadow. The mass untameable hair on his head has been cut shorter, tapering around his neck. 

“Leech”. 

“Look who’s talking,” his smirk widens. You watch his gaze slide over your head and dread swirls in your stomach at the gleam in his eye. “I think your nepo baby boyfriend just got here”. 

“Not my boyfriend,” you hiss under your breath. He holds his laughter between his teeth. “And don’t call him that!” 

Shinsou laughs into his palm, low and rumbling. You hear the fond invocation of your name as the heat of another body appears at your back. Met with brilliant teal and stormy grey, Shouto greets you both apologetically. 

Perking up self consciously, you say, “You made it!”

“Hi. Sorry, I got caught up and lost track of time”. 

You’re happy to see him. He’s in fitted jeans and a dark button up shirt over an old black turtleneck. Heterochromatic eyes slide from your smiling face to Shinsou’s own disinterest, then drawn to the drinks that have steadily begun to accumulate on the bar counter. 

“Ah, let me get you a drink—” you wave over the guy who served you, though it is hardly necessary when he’s already observing. He saunters over with a pint of lager, setting it beside Mina’s garish rainbow concoction. 

“Everything alright?” 

Squinting at the messy kanji on his name tag, you think you can make it out. Kei, it reads. “Would we be able to add another to the tab? Our friend just made it”. 

For some reason Shouto crowds in closer, the cool press of his left side seeping through your shirt. Kei barely pays him any mind. “No problem,” a cold flush crawls across your back when he winks. “Anything for you. What’ll it be?” 

“I’ll have a highball,” Shouto interjects. You frown at his sudden sharp demeanour, and lean your weight back in hopes of comforting him. The air warms up. 

Kei’s enthusiasm fractures imperceptibly, “Alright. Let me get started on that for ya”. Shinsou snorted, his head dipped to his chest and shaking; you think you aren’t nearly drunk enough for whatever this is.

“Shit. You really are petty,” Shinsou speaks up after Kei departs to the other end of the bar. “I always thought Midoriya was exaggerating”. 

“Petty?” you echo, squinting at your roommate with a soft pout. Shouto fixes his gaze to the bottles lined across the wall and looks as though he wants the earth to swallow him whole. 

“Highballs are tedious to make,” Shinsou turns his back to the bar, leaning against it with his drink in hand. “You definitely chose that on purpose”. 

“I didn’t,” Shouto monotoned. “I like whisky”. 

“I’ve never seen you drink whisky,” your voice lilts into suspicion. Shouto narrows his eyes, pointedly avoiding yours. A terse beat passes, and you inhale with defeat. “Oh, whatever. Go say hi to the others while we bring the drinks”. 

Shouto blanched. “I can help—”

“I’ve already got a big strong man here to help me,” Shinsou scoffed. There’s an umbrella resting on the lip and a purple straw in his mouth. You put a hand on Shouto’s bicep and squeeze, “You need to let Momo know you’re here before she sends out a search party”. 

The contact visibly placates him. You watch after him as he makes his way to the booth. Slurred over the low music, he turns the short corner to be met with a cheer in much the same way you had. 

“You two are ridiculous,” Shinsou murmurs, amused exasperation clear in his tone. Splitting the drinks into two groups to carry, you ignore his remark and the fondness swirling in your chest. 

Kei appears and sets the highball down. A tall glass of liquid gold, three carved ice cubes fizzing at the bottom, a lemon garnish on the rim. “Thank you,” you tell him, pleased when he reciprocates your sheepish grin. 

You let Shinsou take it— your hands are already full and slipping. The others have pulled Shouto into the booth and sandwiched him between Denki and Mina, whose distinct voices are overlapping as they try to get a word in. 

Denki stops mid sentence as Shinsou slams the drinks onto the table. You do the same, albeit much more carefully. He lists them off one by one, sliding the glasses over to their persons. Shouto’s comes last. 

“And in a surprising turn of events we have Todoroki with a japanese highball”. 

Shouto accepts the drink with his right hand and a straight face, ignoring the harmonious ‘ooh’ that reverberates around the booth. 

Bakugo points his pinky at him, “And since when do you drink whisky?” 

Petulantly, Shouto mutters, “Since now”. 

Ultimately deciding to pull up a chair, Shinsou sits at the head of the table while you are squeezed on the end beside Bakugo; he side glances, raising his brow in acknowledgement. 

“Dude, now that we’re all here, let's have a toast!” Denki exclaims, literal sparks of joy bouncing from his crown. Everybody groans. 

“I’ll hear your toast bro,” Kirishima lifts his pint, the wonderful enabler that he is. Shouto meets your gaze across the table and raises his own with a shrug. 

“I, uh…” Denki shrinks under the pressure. “I dunno what I was gonna say”. 

“To a quick death,” Shinsou proposed, halfheartedly holding his sake in the air. 

“Hear hear,” muttered from beside you, Bakugo’s eyes fell closed. You snickered, alcohol weakening your inhibitions as you hook your chin over his shoulder. He allows it. 

Momo voices her disapproval and tips her glass, “To good health”. 

“To Chargebolt,” Jirou adds, a grin splitting her cheeks, laughter already bleeding into her words. “Seen him at his best, seen him at his worst, and still can’t tell the difference”. 

“Oi!” 

“To a livable minimum wage!” Uraraka hiccups. All the blood in her body seems to have rushed to her face; expression comically determined, betrayed by her spasming diaphragm. Everyone lifts a glass. 

The night crawls on. Another round, then two. Kei refills your glass, never without a flirty comment. You feel thawed from the inside out, a silly smile fixed to your lips. Your cheeks hurt from laughing, from the too-forceful kisses given by Mina, the rough pinch of explosive fingers. 

You might as well be engaged in a game of musical chairs; the only one refusing to surrender his spot is Bakugo. Jirou and Momo slink away somewhere private— ‘private’ being behind the vintage jukebox right by the bathrooms— and Kirishima scoots over to wrap you up in a side hug and pushes all the air from your lungs. Uraraka drapes herself across your front. Shinsou surrenders as Mina sits in his lap. Being with them is as innate as breathing. 

Maybe you didn’t fight a war together but they still embraced you as their own. And Shouto watches with that terrible, awful, shoujo twinkle in his eyes; you flush hot whenever you catch him, inundated by the desire to reach across and kiss him.

Your pulse is quick and movements slowed. A pleasant buzz circulates around your body. After the third round Shouto begins insisting that you stay put. “Okay,” you conceded tipsily. “Tell Kei I said hi”. 

Shouto leaves with a vaguely constipated frown. 

Bakugo cackles and refuses to tell you what was so funny. Momo returns to the sight of you clinging to the stubborn hero’s arm, cursing his name. “What are we laughing at?” she muses. You notice a few things first: there’s a fresh bruise on her neck, a button on her dress undone, and a glass of water in her grasp. 

Disheveled Momo is a rare treat. You’d tease her about it, if Bakugo did not immediately jump at the opportunity to tease you first. “Just gearhead and halfie being oblivious idiots,” he surmised. Another snort bursts from his nose. “‘Tell Kei I said hi’. Shit. Should’a seen his face”. 

“Bakugo,” Momo chides, attempting to disguise her own amusement. “Go easy on them”. 

He clicks his tongue, shaking you with a rough shrug of his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel and fuck already”. 

Your mood tumbles, dampening as you sulk, “Shouto doesn’t want me like that”. 

“Yeah, right. And vice prez didn’t just get fingered by the jukebox”. 

“Bakugo!” Momo’s voice is stronger this time. She whips her head toward the other patrons and back, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. “I did not get… fingered,” she protested with a sharp whisper. 

“What’s that?” you feign ignorance, drowsy and loose lipped. “Momo got fingered?!”

Making Bakugo laugh feels a little like winning the lottery; having him throw an arm around you as he does it leaves you dizzy with accomplishment. You curl into his side, shoulders shaking. You mouth an apology across the booth and Momo stretches to take your hand, stressing her forgiveness. 

Shouto shatters the jovial atmosphere. He returns stiffly, his glare set in stone, and places a drink you did not order in front of you. After a quick sniff you realise that it’s water. 

“Once you’ve drunk that we should head home,” he says. It’s posed as a suggestion but you hear the instruction. Not wanting to irritate him any further, you begin to sip. 

Momo’s brow pinches with worry. “Is everything alright, Shouto?” 

He breathes harshly through his nose, coming out in a puff of cold air. ”Yes, everything’s fine. I’m sorry to cut the night short, Momo,” his face softens. “It was good to see you”. 

Astonishingly, Bakugo says nothing. His arm snakes from around your back. You finish the water with a big gulp, resurfacing for air. “Done,” you wipe the back of your hand across your lips. 

Shouto steadies you while you awkwardly scoot around the booth. Momo gathers you both into a hug, her kind hand stroking the length of your spine. “Text us when you get home”. 

“We will,” you promise, saluting as you’re gently pulled away. “See ya on Monday, great explosion murder god dynamite, sir!” 

The others have dispersed amongst the small crowd. You mourn not being able to say goodbye to them all. Shouto cinches around your waist and guides you to the door. You can’t complain— instinctively sinking into the embrace, surrounded by his cologne— but you do wonder what the hurry is. 

You waded through the mass of people until you both finally made your way out into the open air. The breeze encourages you closer to his front, cold and refreshing in your lungs. Already you feel as if some of your drunken enthusiasm is dissolving. 

“Shouto?” his pace slows mercifully, coming to a stop underneath a streetlight. The bulb blinks in five second intervals, dousing him in sickly orange. “Are you mad?” 

A warm hand hooks your chin, forcing you to look him in the eye only to avoid looking back. His lips part to speak, and when nothing comes they close. “I’m not mad,” he intoned quietly, thumb skimming over the line of your jaw. Your breath catches. 

He seems so… guilty. 

“I think you are,” you observe, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You bring his hand down and intertwine it with yours. The alcohol must be making you brave. “But if you’re not ready you don’t need to tell me”. 

Some colour returns to his skin. Shouto huffs a disbelieving laugh. “You’re so—” cutting off that train of thought, he tugs you forward and wraps you into a hug. The crook of his neck shields you from the cold, and for a few short moments all you can hear is your heart beating in your ears. 

“…Have you ever felt like there are things you want to say but there’s something that always stops you from expressing them?” 

You take note of how his grip tightens, warm nose squished into your cheek as if he thought you might run. Shouto is nervous— rather, he’s making himself vulnerable to you. “I have,” you murmur. 

He bows his head to burrow into your shoulder, “Then, would you give me the chance to say them?” 

What you hear is: will you be patient with me? 

“Now?” you ask gently. The light overhead flickers again and your vision swims. You’re realising now that his impulsivity might simply be because he’s drunk. “Don’t you want to talk at home?”

Shouto shakes his head. “If I say it now you can change your mind and go back”. 

That’s worrying. You chew nervously on your bottom lip, “…Okay”. 

You expect him to let go but he doesn’t, though he does loosen his hold, as if giving you the chance to leave. Following a deep inhale, Shouto solemnly admits, “That guy at the bar. Kei. He asked me to give you his phone number”.  

“He did?” 

“Yes,” he says. 

“So where is it?” 

Dread and fatigue curdled in your stomach. You hear the moment Shouto swallows his caution. The atmosphere sours as he admits, “I burned it”. 

You step back, leaving his arms limp at his sides. He looks betrayed. Like you’re testing the strength of a promise you don’t recall making. This was not a good time nor place to talk about this. 

“My feet hurt,” his eyes widened in confusion. “I’m cold and I’m drunk and my feet hurt, Shouto. I want to go home”. 

The request registers slowly. You watch his face fall, gathering a facsimile of a smile. “Okay. Then let’s go home”. 

Your chest aches. You want to cry. You scramble for his hand and squeeze it tight, hating the despondent tone in his voice. “We’re too drunk. We’ll talk about this in the morning,” and that seems to lessen the rigidity in his bones. 

From then on, the walk is done in heavy silence. Your thoughts are muddied and loud, emotions bouncing back and forth between resentment and uncertainty. 

Underneath all of it is a seedling of hope that you daren’t nurture. 

The atmosphere clings, following you all the way home, suffocating as you stand a metre apart in front of your respective bedrooms. You bid him goodnight, hand lingering on the handle. Anticipation sits like a stone in your chest. 

You lie in bed waiting for him to knock. 

He doesn’t. 

Next time you open your eyes you wince at the throb behind them; it pings around the inside of your skull and you groan into your pillow. 

There’s movement in the apartment. Shouto had always been an early riser. Cold relief washes over you at the confirmation that he was here. Last night filters through your mind. One scene after another you try to make sense of it all. 

Kei had been genuinely flirting— you didn’t really think to take it seriously at the time. It was harmless fun, and you figured he was just the type that enjoyed teasing. 

Shouto must’ve realised it early on. That was the reason he stepped in and kept you away from the bar. But that didn’t line up right with the reality you knew, because the only reasonable explanation for his behaviour would be that— 

You shoot upright, kicking off your covers, and immediately feel it rebound. Thumbs pressed to your temples, you massage firm circles into your skin until the pain dulled. 

Holy shit. Shouto was jealous. 

A strange blanket of exhaustion settles back over you, as though your muscles have atrophied. You slide down the headboard and stare up at the marks on the ceiling, all sprawled out like dropped skeins of yarn. Suddenly your bedroom was a refuge from an inevitable relationship altering conversation. 

Shouto had been jealous of a man vying for your affection. Your Shouto: gentle, placid, considerate, patient, funny, beautiful Shouto. 

“Fuck,” you whisper into the emptiness. You can hear the coffee machine brewing in the distance. You’re torn between screaming into your hands and jumping on the bed. 

You settle on getting up. Slowly. It’s clear you had been drunker than you thought; your pyjamas are on back to front. You tremble as you slip your arms through the sleeves and right the collar, padding over to the door. 

Shouto wanted to talk last night and you stopped him. Guilt gnaws away at you. All that courage was shot down. Pretending to forget about it isn’t an option— you had to do this. 

The plan to be stealthy is squandered by the hinge on your door. A harsh squeak reverberates through the apartment. You huff, lowering from your tip toes, and walk towards the kitchen. 

Another body enters the hallway. Shouto turns on his heel and nearly drops his mug as you almost collide. Reflexes hammered into him, he catches it in one hand and manoeuvres you away from the hot splash with the other. 

“Shit. Did it burn you?” he breathes, bringing your hand up to his mouth. A chilly puff of air blows over your skin and you shiver. 

You clear your throat and try to find your voice. “I think you got it. Thank you, Shouto”. 

The sound of his name pulls him out of his reverie. You try not to feel hurt when he drops your hand like hot coal. “Sorry,” casting a forlorn look at the half empty mug and the small coffee puddle at his feet. Lips pressed into a thin line, he says, “I was bringing you some coffee. Thought you might need it”. 

Delicate tendrils of steam dance and dissipate into the air. You gently cup your hands around his and receive the mug, a small smile pulling at your mouth. His eyes are keen and searching as you take a drink. 

“I definitely needed it,” you tell him between sips. The coffee paves a hot path down your throat to your stomach— the warmth spreads, seeking to fill the spaces between. All the earlier fear is washed away.

The time you spend observing one another feels like a short eternity. You watch hope visibly thread into his features, brighter; the way he always should be. 

Softly, you ask, “Do you think we could talk about last night?”

“Yeah,” the word comes in a whisper. Head inclining, Shouto nods in one slow motion. Then, louder, “I should clean up, first. Where do you want to…?”

“Where?” you repeat. The thoughts in his head are written plainly across his forehead and you longed to rid him of them. Tilting and raising your brows suggestively, you tease, “Bedroom?” 

Shouto gives an amused huff and the remnants of caution are blown away like seeds in a dandelion clock. His steps are lighter, a subtle bounce to them. Light filters into the living room and your spirit is buoyed by giddiness and wonder. 

What had you been so afraid of? 

You wait in the crook of the L shaped couch, legs curled beneath your body, facing the tall standing windows that overlook the city. Your headache has lessened into a quiet echo. 

While he mops up the coffee you finish off the last drops in your cup. You take a moment to appreciate your surroundings. The emptiness you once felt in this room no longer exists. Blankets strewn across the cushions, small crochet coasters, pictures put into frames, books left face down to save the page, things out of place— it felt so lived in. 

It felt like home. 

You sit up when footfalls approach. Shouto is pretty in the late morning light, under eye shadows and all. “Did you even sleep last night?”

“Not much,” he confesses. His weight shifts before he finally decides on sitting beside you, turning to mirror your posture. “I thought I might’ve messed things up”. 

You stretch to put your mug on the coffee table and his eyes follow attentively. “Shouto, you didn’t mess anything up,” he wrings his hands together in his lap, searching your face for dishonesty and finding none. “Though you probably shouldn’t have burned up that guy's number”. 

“Probably,” he affirmed. The hair on his left side is pressed flat to his head. You count the creases on his cheek, stopping at the healing bruise on his jaw. The movement of his full mouth draws you back, “I am sorry for that. It was childish of me and I took away your choice”. 

You hum, shuffling closer on your knees. Shouto’s expression is beautifully open, and you understand it, because your heart beat is thrumming just the same. “Next time, give me the number so I can ask you to burn it myself”. 

Shouto’s fiddling halts. It’s a relief. You thought if he pulled at that hangnail any more he might unravel in front of you. A crease forms between his brows, “What?” 

“I don’t want anyone else’s number. I…” losing some of your strength, you close your eyes for a second. Inhale deeply, continuing on an exhale, “Last night, you were jealous”. 

It’s not a question. Shouto nods, his hand making an aborted reach for your own but thinking better of it. 

You slide your palm against his. Your fingers fill the spaces between his knuckles. Shouto holds on tight and you ask,  “…Why?” 

A nail traces random shapes into his skin. You watch him watching your finger, mouth curled into a small, wobbly smile. He steels his resolve, an internal monologue you aren’t privy to. With spine tingling cadence, he says, “Because I’m in love with you”. 

You’re not sure what you anticipated. There isn’t much that could prepare you for such a long awaited admission— for something you’d only daydreamed about hearing. The hunger in your heart rears its head, seeing his words as permission to want. To take. 

Shouto carries on, incognisant to your plight. “I made peace with my feelings a long time ago. It’s not something I wanted you to worry about”. 

“You’re doing it again,” you tell him. “Deciding things for me”. 

“I don’t want you to make peace with them. I want you to share them. With me,” Your eyes meet as he peers up. There’s a stray kiss curl by his temple, white and soaking up the sun. He shudders when you twist it gently around your finger. “I love you too, dummy”.  

Heat prickles at the back of your neck, feeling the shift in atmosphere. “Oh,” is his eloquent reply. A slow blooming grin pulls at his mouth as the reality sets in. 

“Yeah. Oh”. Giddiness bubbles in your chest like water in a wellspring and you let go to cup his face. Shouto leans into the cradle your hands form, eyes fluttering closed as your thumb skims over the scar tissue. His ears are warm. 

Guided by fleeting impulses you press a quick kiss to his left eyelid, and he sucks in a shaky breath. You move lower, nose bumping his cheek, to press another to the corner of his mouth. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, feeling like you were on the delicate precipice of something incredible. His mouth turns to chase yours, bicoloured eyes peeking beneath his lashes. 

“Kiss me,” he murmurs, and it comes like a puff of steam. “On the mouth this time”. 

Your lips tremble as you try not to laugh, aligning with his. You kiss him, petal soft and gentle, and feel it when he smiles. Tentative, derived from uncertainty and unfamiliarity. 

Shouto’s cool fingers slide around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. Don’t go anywhere. You answer in kind— hands sliding down to his chest to guide him back into the cushions and feel his heart racing as you settle your knees either side of his hips. You barely part for air, and Shouto follows your lead. 

“Again,” he mumbles. 

The intensity grows. Shouto kisses like it’s his last. Strong arms wrap around your waist, wandering hands mapping out the topography of your body. Somewhere between, your tongue dips into the seam, biting his bottom lip and plucking a whine right from his mouth. Heat flutters low in your abdomen; hips squirm between your thighs, his chest pressed to your own. 

“Shouto,” you groan, pushing harder, needing to be closer, threading into the soft hair at the back of his head. Fingers curl into the fat by your hips, they pull, rocking you into his lap. Invigorated, Shouto nips at your lips. Arousal spikes through you at the cool exhale— his tongue slides over your own and along the grooves in your teeth, wet and cold. 

“Fuck, is that—” you pant, head falling back as he begins to leave a trail of hot kisses down your throat. “S’that your quirk?” 

He hums an affirmative. The sound is resonant, deep in his chest and satisfied. Smug. You feel the impression of his smile against your jugular. Static fills your brain. Your thighs clench, rutting forward to relieve the ache between your legs, imagining all the things his mouth could do. 

At some point you part to catch your breath. Your foreheads come together, sharing awed laughter. Shouto cheeks are pink and there’s a soft smile on his swollen, kiss-bitten lips.  His hand moves to cup your jaw, rubbing small circles into the cheekbone.

“We should… slow down…” his chest heaves, eyes swallowed by his pupils. They fall to his lap, right where you’re pressed to his cock. You file away the lazy slur in his voice and wonder if that’s where all his blood went. “…I want to do this properly”. 

Figures that he would have more willpower than you; though you get the sense if you pushed, he’d give, and every surface in the apartment would see you laid out. Gathering your thoughts is made much more difficult as he kneads at your thigh, heedless to your struggle. 

“Okay baby,” you murmur, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to his brow bone. His ears turn red and you’re alight, “You like that?” 

Shouto tucks his grin against your shoulder. Like before, he locks both arms around your back and holds you close. You comb your fingers through his hair, overlapping white and red, a long tender moment passing. 

“You love me,” he whispered apprehensively. Then again, thick with wonderment. “You love me”.  

It’s unbelievable to him— and that’s unbelievable to you. Shouto is easy to love, moreso than anyone you have ever met. All clandestine glances, soft spoken words and inside jokes; a book of every witty little thing you’ve said, keeping your words close, giving importance to the things you enjoy; he’s gag gifts and thoughtfulness and open arms, the reason all your hot drinks never go cold, he’s the cream that never melts. He’s home. 

You cradle him to your chest with no intention of letting go. The sun crawls higher, casting a warm blanket over your shoulders. 

“I do,” you reply. “How could I not?” 

[ssahotchnerr]

hello hello, aaron thought incoming: i just KNOW aaron would destroy every single one of the team members during a game of beer pong, which leaves them all standing there like 😦 and reader finds it incredibly hot (bonus if reader and aaron are a couple and flirt throughout the entire evening)

if you don’t want to write something about this, it’s totally fine!!! just wanted to share this thought with one of my favorite writers <333 hope you have an amazing day!!!

thank you for thinking of me and for sharing!!!!!!! and omg yes yes YES

i feel like in college, aaron went to the occasional party, BUT in high school, he went to parties weekly. if someone was throwing a house party on a friday or saturday night, he was 100% there. all his friends frequented parties. like he had just gotten back from military school, and while it shaped him a ton, he still wanted to rebel a bit - his bad boy tendencies hadn't gone away completely, he just had a bit more control over it. like in his high school, he was the guy who was a bit nerdy and followed the rules and all, but he got along with everyone. and so he was always invited to numerous things, and he wasn't afraid of letting loose at such. he was one of the cool not-so-cool guys, if that makes sense. AND everyone totally had a crush on him 🤭

when he and haley got together, he mellowed out a bit and stopped partying as much, but when they would go to the occasional party together, she was always his beer pong partner 😭 UGH just the vision of a young aaron at a party >>> 😵‍💫 with haley glued to his side, his arm around her waist at all times </3

and so, he's had a ton of practice and experience when it comes to beer pong:

SO now, you're all having a get together at penelope's apartment - like one of her day of the dead parties - she and derek set up the beer pong table. it's a few games later when aaron's asked to play; he agrees but mentions how he "may be a little rusty" and everyone thinks he's saying that simply as a cover - like oh he's going to be shit at it but that's his excuse why 🙄 BUT clearly they're wrong and HE destroys everyone.

and while everyone else is dumbfounded and questioning everything they thought they knew in life LOL, you just can't pull your eyes away from him 😮‍💨 aaron's wearing a short sleeved shirt, so you can see his muscles flexing every time he raises his arm to toss a ball. or you can't help but stare at his neck every time he raises his head to drink a cup 😵‍💫😮‍💨🤤 he's just oozing confidence, he's cocky in a nonchalant attractive kinda way - like he knows he's good and isn't afraid to show it <33333333 and he's showing off for you, to impress you and he's just glowing every time you cheer him on, it just urges him on 🥰 he's laughing and smiling and just looks relaxed for once, simply enjoying himself.

hehe i love to think this would take place when aaron and you are just in the very beginning of your relationship too 🤭 nothing is labeled just yet, but you know he has a thing for you, and he knows you feel the same 🥰 the two of you have shared some kisses, spend your weekends together, AH hehe and all the beginning-of-relationship nervous jitters are still there 💓💕💓💓

he's driving you home (he didn't drink too much and isn't tipsy or anything - don't drink and drive 🫵🏻) and you turn to him, all flirty, amused, still a bit in shock, and say, "i didn't know you were a master at the art of beer pong"

he chuckles a bit, eyes shift from the road to you for a moment 🦋, a small smirky smile tugging at his lips and he responds, "there's a lot you don't know about me" 🤭 <33333333333333

[ch0wen]

Hi!!!!!!! Loooooove your writing!!!! May I ask Tangerine x reader (fem if you want!), hot "Thank god you are safe!" kind of sex?

Thaaaaaank you for your support and for sending this over!! 💕 I am so so so happy to read comments on my posts and I really appreciate receiving these messages. Please accept this work as a token of my gratitude -

Request: Gunpoint - Tangerine x gn!reader

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), smut, & cursing

“I’m okay. I promise.”

“He held a gun to your head, Y/N.”

He has a serious look on his face but his dick is sliding deliciously in and out of you. He’s thrusting slowly. Analyzing, not admiring, your body to ensure there aren’t any hidden cuts or marks he may have missed from earlier. You’re clenching down on his cock to try and savor the feeling of him filling you up. Gripping him to hold onto the feeling of being full to avoid the emptiness from him slipping out.

You’re grateful Tangerine is so doting. It’s an entirely different side to him that not many people see. He’s generally caring and listens to you, but his worry is not an emotion you see often. In reactive situations, when the cause for the stress is over, he gets clingy and has to state verbal reminders that you’re okay, but they're mostly for himself. It's been a while since you've seen this side of him, but today put him in a position he hasn’t been in before and you could tell it shattered him.

Earlier, you opened the front door of your apartment with a smile, thinking it was just Tangerine meeting you for your agreed date. However, you were staring down the barrel of a gun with a sweaty, blonde man’s hesitating finger dancing on the trigger.

Moments later, Tangerine’s pounding footsteps were heard down the building's corridor. His tight facial expression faltered once he got a look at the scene now in front of him. Blondie had swooped in behind you and put you in a chokehold; the pressure of the gun prodding at your head.

The look on his face paired with the gun made your stomach twist. He paled whilst trying to fight off any trace of worry to not give Blondie the reaction he wanted. But you can pick up on any of his micro-expressions, except he wasn’t successful at fully hiding some of the changes to his demeanor. Contorted eyebrows here, a quivering lip there, hands stuttering with the flexing then balling of his fists, and a command to let you go with a slight quiver to his stern tone. And when he locked eyes with you, you could read his silent plea for you to stay calm. He was helplessly trying to figure out a safe way to free you from being Blondie’s hostage without having said man react and shoot you. You never saw that clear emotion wash over him before. It didn’t make you feel good at all. You felt horrible to be in a position where your smart, always confident Tangerine was unsure of himself and what to do next. To feel this way being the one with a loaded weapon pressed against your temple says a lot.

But you’d do anything to never have him doubt himself or for you to be labeled as a damsel in distress. So, you took initiative to defend yourself against Blondie by throwing your head back into his nose as you’ve seen in the movies. Honestly, what they don't tell you, is that the impact causes whatever part of your own head to throb. But arguably that was the preferred pain over the harsh smack of the gun to your face. Your body hitting the ground with a quickly forming welt set Tangerine off, and now Lemon is currently out God only knows where to dispose of Blondie’s corpse.

Tangerine embraced you over the cooling body, followed by a quick text to Lemon. He iced your cheek/eye in the kitchen. Leading to more kisses that finally wound you up on your bed for him to 'assess' how bad your injuries are. Now you're here.

“Tan, I’m not gonna break. Fuck me, baby.”

Wordlessly, he is moving back to sit down near the end of the bed and pulls your body with him. You’re now straddling his lap; being wrapped in his arms with his dick never slipping out of you. His hands soothingly stroke up and down your sides as he continues to thrust his cock rhythmically. Fingers ghost over the bruise on your face. He’s afraid to apply any pressure to it. This close you can see how genuinely concerned he was and still is. There are traces of tears around his baby-blue eyes. You're not sure if they’re from now or earlier in the hall, and he would deny having ever welled up if you tried asking. But you carefully stroke under his eye with your thumb to wipe them away and now he’s staring at you.

“I was so scared I was going to lose you,” he admits.

You kiss his fingers as they sweep over your lips then replace the sensation with a soft kiss to his own. A silent message that that didn’t happen. You’re alive.

“I’m right here,” you whisper promises against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

His mouth quirks into a smile and nips at your lip,

“Oh, yea. You’re an absolute bore to be stuck with,” he teases.

Your giggle turns into a hearty moan as he gives you an unexpected firm fuck up into you. Oh. His pace has impressively sped up and his hands keep alternating where he's holding you. Like he wants to constantly touch you to physically confirm you’re here with him.

“You’re safe,” he whispers; moans escaping past his concerned tone.

“I’m safe.”

“You’re mine.”

“Yes, baby. I’m all yours.”

“Mine,” he nods then sucks a love bite into your collarbone. Then moves to place one onto your skin just above your left nipple. Taking a moment to pay attention to the sensitive bud by licking and suckling on it. You’re writhing against him; pushing his hair back from his face to watch him pay attention to your chest.

Your nails bite at his shoulders with each drive up into you. The bed creeks and shakes with his hips pistoning into you from below, creating the sickest, dirtiest slapping sounds in the room. What he's doing with his lower half is a stark contrast to the gentle touches he places on your face. The overwhelming sensation of your creeping orgasm and being cradled so close to Tangerine is your confirmation that you’re here and today really drove in the fact that you know Tangerine will always strive to keep you out of harm's way.

[unicyclehippo]

one word prompt: falling

‘hey, bea?’

ava talks at night. you learned this fact while sharing a bed with her, night after night, tucked up in a bed that had been exaggeratedly labelled a double. wrist to wrist, shoulder to shoulder (ashes to ashes). on some nights, when ava was feeling lonely or mean, she would hook her ankle around yours too. or wriggle, making frustrated breathy noises, onto her side like a fish on the sand, and throw an arm across your waist and her face right into the curve of your neck. and then she would talk.

(you can feel her lips against your neck when you concentrate. you have been filling your mind with other, better, safer things instead. like how many hours it’s been since you left switzerland. like miguel being michael being doctor salvius’s son. like how many hours it has been since you prayed, since you emptied out the vessel of your heart and mind, entrusting it’s contents to God. it has been twenty-three days, four hours since my last confession, you think, and stop precisely there.)

‘bea?’

‘i’m here.’

‘how’s your leg?’

you hum. flex the muscles carefully working up from ankle—twinge—calf, knee, thigh. your thigh hurts in a dull way you recognise. it was the strike that staggered you, numbed your leg to the point where it couldn’t bear weight. it would be bruised for a long time but shouldn’t cause you any trouble.

‘much better. and yours?’

in the dark, you can’t see the way she kicks out with both legs but you feel it, the way the bed shakes and the sheets pull and give way, messily. she kicks again and the cool air from the air-conditioning floods beneath the sheets, now fully untucked. her heels thud back down to the mattress. the sheets settle more slowly, falling around your limbs.

‘ava!’

‘gotta test them. all good again.’

‘you’re worried,’ you say, because that was another thing you learned in switzerland. anything you say to each other in the dark can be forgiven. anything you say in the dark is only as real as you want it to be come morning. ‘about the halo. about being paralyzed again.’

‘yeah. and a lot more than that.’

it’s not a perfect darkness. when you turn your head, her profile is outlined by the glow of the balcony lights. anything you say in the dark is forgotten, forgiven. what about what you might do? you reach out. touch two fingers to her forehead. she gasps. doesn’t move as you follow the light, the path laid out in front of you. you chart her forehead, dip at the bridge of her nose. such a light touch. she doesn’t move. when you reach the tip of her nose, she scrunches it just to make you smile. you’re still smiling as your fingers drop to her lips.

ava breathes out. hot air against your fingers. you trip over her top lip, lightly graze the bottom, and when you make it to her chin you’re breathing like you ran a marathon.

‘bea,’

‘i would stay,’ you tell her. ‘if it went out. if you wanted me to. maybe,’ you say, because you can be mean too, ‘even if you didn’t want me to.’

[rentumblsstuff]

NIGHTMARE TIME: ABSTINENCE CAMP BLURB :]

~*~

Stephanie and Peter were not supposed to be in the mess hall right now, but who gives a shit when Peter is in the middle of a medical emergency?? Camp Idontwannabang kept all the food-based contraband that they collected at the beginning of summer in the kitchens, so she knew there had to be something with more sugar for him than a pack of stupid raisins.

Steph made her way back to the table Pete had sat at and cracked open a can of soda, quickly thrusting it into Pete’s hand. “Drink up, man, you gotta be really low right now.”

He only responded with a groan that’s no doubt meant to sound appreciative and tipped his head back to drink the whole can. She sat down across from him, watching worriedly and hoping that her only friend here will be okay.

He had a hand gripped onto the edge of the table, muscles tight as he chugged the sprite or whatever it was- Steph didn’t pay attention. She still couldn’t tell you what brand the soda is as she saw the arm around the table flexing hard, and my god, he’s jacked. Not completely shredded, fuck no, but there’s clear muscle definition there that Stephanie has never noticed before. Shit, she wants to know what that arm would feel like wrapped around her-

Wow, this camp can play tricks on your mind. Outside of this camp, she’d barely give Pete a passing glance, but here? He’s accidentally become a regular Adonis, if only because he’s the only other person who hasn’t been brainwashed in Camp Idontwannabang. If they wanted Stephanie, the most demand-avoidant person she’s ever met, to refrain from impure thoughts, preaching baseless facts about the consequences of not being abstinent is achieving the exact opposite of their goal. Now, Pete can be doing something as wholesome as chugging a soda because he’s having a low and the concept of sex is impossibly close by when they linger in silence.

Steph averted her eyes from his arm to keep watching him finish off the soda. His adam’s apple bobbed violently with each heaving gulp; no embarrassment to be found as he satisfies his needs, and shit, with that line of thinking, she has to look away again. Stephanie focused on the label of the drink. Oh cool, she got him a Mountain Dew. Hopefully he likes that, although she imagines that he’s not picky when he’s desperate for any sugar.

A dribble of the colorful liquid dropped down the side of Pete’s chin and it’s embarrassingly enticing to Stephanie. She had the absolutely vile temptation to wipe it off of him… with her tongue…

She just looked down at the middle of the table, trying to completely ignore him, until Pete finally set the Mountain Dew down, sitting in silence until he sighed and rested his head in his hands.

“Thank you…” he said shakily.

“Feeling better?” She asked. He only nodded. “You um… You have a little something right here?” She pointed to her chin and he perked up to see where she’s pointing.

“Oh…” He wiped the couple drops of soda away himself, and Steph could finally breathe easy. “Thanks…”

She nodded, but still, she’s stuck in the moment before. “I gotta go…” She muttered as she stood to leave the mess hall.

“O-okay… See ya ‘round, Steph.”

She tried to force a friendly smile. “See ya ‘round. Get outta here safe, okay?”

“For sure.”

She carefully shut the door behind her and ducked into the closest secluded area out of line from both the mess hall windows or any potential passerby’s. She let gravity give way, leaning against the wooden wall behind her, and groaned in frustration.

“Fuck, I gotta go make a wallet…”

[jaembun]

i can’t get over you.

you’re not together, and you never check your inbox. he carries on anyway ！⠀⸻⠀lee donghyuck x gnr ⠀ angst (?) fwb au voicemail format ⠀ cw mentions of drinking & vomiting suggestive (ish) ⠀ wc 1.6k ⠀ now playing . . ☆

생각⠀writing a whole ex fwbs smau aint enough nooo i gotta write ts too 🤦‍♂️

⠀☆⠀00:12 AM

wow. that was—great. i had a good time, and i hope you did too. i think your phone’s dead, because you were all over chenle asking to borrow his, so maybe you’ll only hear this in the morning.  [he laughs]  i hope the hangover isn’t too awful tomorrow. my hip doesn’t hurt too bad from whacking it on that counter, in case you were wondering. i didn’t know you were gonna lift me like that, that was crazy! mark gave me a weird look when i came back to the others, but he always looks like that after a few shots—like he’s just sucked on a lemon. anyway, goodnight. get back to me soon, yeah? maybe we could do that again—it doesn’t have to be serious, no labels or anything. just a bit of fun between friends.

⠀☆⠀11:35 PM

[whispering]  my phone’s the one nearly dead this time. eight percent, so i gotta make it quick. tonight was.. really nice. thanks again. the takeout was really cool of you too, and i’ll pay you back when i get in. i’m talking so quiet ‘cause im in an uber, and i think i just saw the driver giving me a dirty look through the mirror. he has his own playlist on—i mean, unless there’s a new radio station called ‘on the grind’ with two fire emojis and, like, the one of the arm flexing? it’s all been pretty bad stuff so far, but there was this one song, and—it kinda reminded me of you, a bit.  [a pause, before he brushes over it]  i tried to shazam it because i’d look weird leaning over the console to see what it was called, but it was over by then. bummer! we’re coming up on my street now, though, and i’m on three percent now, so i’ll go. see you soon?

⠀☆⠀09:47 PM

injunnie asked me about that mark you left. i made up something about my kitchen cabinet door, but i know he didn’t really believe me. he had that look in his eye, you know? that one where it feels like he sees right through you. anyway.. maybe we should keep them somewhere less noticeable next time? we’re not—you know.

i’m going out with mark and chenle tonight. they’re doing a two-for-one on cocktails and there’s karaoke, so i think it’ll be fun. i probably won’t see it ‘til tomorrow, but call back when you hear this.  [he laughs]  or if i am still up and drunk when you call then you can sing me a lullaby, yeah?  [an awkward pause]  uh. i’ll just—talk to you later.

⠀☆⠀10:26 AM

[hesitant]  oh my god. i didn’t—sorry. i should’ve told you i had someone over. i completely forgot about the brunch thing, it’s my fault. kind of a dick move, too, i really am sorry. i don’t know how to.. i’ll buy you dinner, or something. to make it up to you.

[a prolonged pause]

[haltingly]  that—that was just a one-time thing, though. just.. just in case you were wondering. it won’t happen again. 

[another pause, and the sound of him shifting in his place]

so, um. yeah. i just wanted to apologise, ‘cause you were gone before i could get the chance. call me when you hear this? if you want to, that is.

⠀☆⠀00:03 AM

i guess.. i guess you’re busy, or something. sorry. i know it’s late. you’re probably asleep. or working? renjun told me you’re on night shifts now.. did it slip your mind with me? or maybe you’ve told me already, i don’t know. i think my memory’s been getting worse lately.  [a scoffed laugh]  fuck, maybe you’re with—you know. someone else? that’d be fine, obviously, i know we’re not.. yeah. hell, i was the one who said we weren’t gonna be exclusive.

[a pause]

i haven’t been, um. seeing anyone else, though. not since that last time. it’s just you. but if you were, then.. anyway. i heard jeno tell you his friend was single the other day. that jaemin guy? and that restaurant downtown would be nice for a night out, tonight. they do that salad you like, and—and the side dishes. 

[a second pause. he takes a breath in]

i think.. i think i need a drink. text me once you listen to this?

⠀☆⠀11:58 PM

[sounding a little breathless]  hi! i think im going to fill your inbox up at this point. maybe the reception’s bad in the taxi. but anyway—i had fun tonight. again. i.. i missed you, you know?  [a giggle]  wow, i think i feel a little light-headed. in a good way, obviously. i almost forgot what it was like with you. oh! and the actual reason i called—you left your hoodie here. better come grab it soon, or i’ll have it for myself. you can never have too many clothes.  [he stops for a moment]  does that sound too.. ah, nevermind. i hope you get home alright. talk to you tomorrow, baby.

⠀☆⠀10:49 PM

renjun asked me what we were doing. i knew he probably knew—or at least, like, had an idea of what was going on—but it still surprised me. nearly choked on my drink when he sprung it on me out of nowhere. i thought he just wanted to get lunch. i told him the truth—that we’re just.. messing around. he’s not gonna tell any of the others, so don’t worry. he thought—  [a stilted laugh]  he thought that we were together. but.. well. we’re not, obviously.

[a pause. he mumbles something to himself, cuts himself off, then tries again]

did jeno give you jaemin’s number? he had that gross grin on his face the other night, that same one he did when he kept trying to set chenle up on a blind date. and you never did tell me if you were out with him the other night. not that it, like, matters. but still.

[a second, longer pause]

anyway. i think i’m gonna go to bed. can we get dinner soon? i’ll pay.

⠀☆⠀11:18 PM

hey.  [a small pause]  i don’t know why i’m calling, really. i’m just at my apartment. watching reruns and drinking through that wine chenle gave me—which is awful, by the way. i think he was just trying to get it out of his fridge by offloading it onto me.

that movie you told me you watched all the time back in uni was on earlier. i would’ve called then, but my phone was dead, so i kept it on. it was pretty good, actually. kinda.. sappy. but in a good way. romantic, i don’t know. romcoms have never really been my thing, but i know they’re yours, so.. yeah.  [a tired laugh, and a pause. the tv is faintly audible in the background]  i didn’t know i could get wine tipsy this early. maybe that’s why i called out of the blue? ah, i don’t know. i’ll go now, though—this episode’s just starting to get interesting. let’s talk later.

⠀☆⠀01:21 AM

[he’s yelling, almost, struggling to be heard over the beat of the song blasting through the speakers]  yah, why did you dip? i was—i was looking forward to tonight, you know. jeno is boring, and mark is a lightweight, and jisung steps on my feet when we dance. it would’ve been way better with you here. and i miss you, baby. they need to fire the DJ here, because they’re seriously awful. i might just ditch the rest and come find you instead.

[he stops, considering it]

actually.. yeah. you won’t mind, will you? yah, pick up, c’mon. call me back, ‘cause i’m on my way to your apartment. i’ll buy a bottle of malibu on the way so it won’t taste as awful when we throw it up later, and you can set up that speaker chenle got you last year, because i know you probably still have it stuffed in a closet somewhere.  [his voice returns to normal volume, and the music is abruptly significantly quieter]  get your dancing shoes on, baby. and.. take your shirt off?  [he giggles, and his laughter interrupts his goodbye]  i’ll be there soon!

⠀☆⠀02:17 AM

fuck. can’t you just—can you pick up? please? i need it, i need you to hear this. i feel like i’m going insane, it’s fucked up.  [a pause, and a slightly shaky breath]  why did i say that? why did i say no labels? fucking.. fucking mark and shots and that bruise from that fucking counter. i’ve drank too much, and i hope i forget i’ve said this in the morning, but i—i need to know. it’s just you for me. that time with that guy was stupid, and i should’ve kicked him out as soon as i woke up, but i knew about brunch and i knew you’d be coming over and i was feeling petty so i just thought.. i thought you’d get jealous, i don’t know. it was stupid. i’m sorry for lying, baby. i didn’t mean to. is it—is it just me for you too? did you save jaemin’s number? did you text him? please tell me you didn’t. he doesn’t know anything about you, not like i do. i still have your hoodie, and renjun thinks i need to get my shit together, and chenle nearly threw up on my shoes on the way out the bar, and i just.. i want you. i want you so bad, it’s killing me.

[a long pause. his mumbling is inaudible]

call me back when you hear this.

[gojo-mochi]

OOOOO BESTIE !! Can I give Law a treat ?! 🍬🍬🍬🍬💖💖💖 🤭🤭🤭🤭 you're so precious AA

Geez, Law, How come Softy let you have two treats?! (See law other treat here hehe)

And HII SWEETIE MWAH MWAH THANK YOU &lt;3

“That’s salt not sugar, sweetie. Now, I know just because you’re usually grumpy and salty that you like things on the more salty side, but no one is going to eat these cakes if we add in 2 cups of salt.” You grab the container of white powder out of Law’s hand and replace it with a different container also containing a white powder. Law exhales out, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he whips the bowl of ingredients together. “That's why I said you should label these, they all look the same to me.” Law voices call out to you as you go to set the oven temperature. 

“Then you know how I feel when you ask me to help out in the lab.” You retorted back with a smile. “Oy! At least I label my items.” “Yeah, but I can’t tell the differences between ‘Aripiprazole’ and ‘Anastrozole’ when they sound the same.” You bend down to grab some trays when you hear Law mutter under his breath; “They don’t sound the same..” You roll your eyes at him, setting down the tray as Law finishes whipping the batter together. 

You were thankful that Law had a keen eye for measuring out ingredients even if he couldn't tell the difference between them, after working in the lab and measuring precise measurements for pills and liquids. He was quite useful when it came to baking just as long as he followed your directions to the letter, that is, with some grumbles here and there, your confectionery creations were always a big hit with the crew. Today was a special kind of bake day as you were making red velvet cake with ‘bloodied’ raspberries sauce on top and in the filling, in honor of the holiday spirit. 

The cake batter was ready and whipped to perfection by law, as you ogled his biceps for a bit, wanting to take a bite of it as well. He looks over at you with a knowing smirk but you said nothing as you took the bowl from him and started to pour it in the cake trays. Around four of them to be precise, two double layered cakes for the whole crew to enjoy later. Law helped you pop them in the oven as you get another bowl ready for the raspberries filling. 

The raspberries were already diced and simmered down and cooled so you just unceremoniously dumped them in the bowl with the rest of the things you needed and began to whip them together yourself while Law watches. “You sure, you don’t need help with that, Y/N-ya?” He leans down to your level, propping an elbow up on the table. You bump your elbow into his side; “I think I can handle some raspberries by myself.” You made a show of turning the whisk extra hard to show off but whiffing it and causing some of the filling to splatter out onto Law’s face. 

A smear of red and fruity sauce painted itself across Law’s nose and cheek. You gasp out, holding a hand over your mouth as you struggle not to laugh at the sight. “Sorry, honey, let me get that for you.” You took some paper towels and went to wipe the sauce off while Law stared down at you, when your hand got close to his face, he grabbed your wrist and tenderly bit down on your finger. “Hey! What was that for?!” You shivered and almost moaned as Law swiped his tongue around your finger, 

Draggin you forward to meet with him, chest to face, as he tilts his head down, his lips hovering over yours. “Close your eyes..” He whispers, voice husky and flowy. You followed his command, closing your eyes down and waiting for his lips to meet with yours. When you felt an odd, wet, and sticky feeling on your lips instead, opening them to find Law swiping some of the raspberries sauce on your lips, “He-mmph!” As you part your lips to yell at him, he shoves his finger in, coating your tongue in the sugary flavoring. 

This time, moans came out freely as Law took his finger out, soaked in your spit and replaced it with his tongue. Catching a few licks of the remaining sauce on your tongue. Wet slurping noises filled the kitchen air as you two stayed in this moment for a while, only breaking apart to catch some air. Law licks his lips as he takes the bowl away from you and starts whisking it himself.

 “The sauce tasted good but a little lumpy. I told you, you needed my help.” The kitchen was later covered in a strange red liquid as you took the bowl back and threw it at Law. The both of you disappear to ‘help clean each other up’, forgetting about the sweet treats you planned to bake and indulging in a different kind of treat for the night…

[sandandstarz]

Love You No Matter What

Daryl Dixon x Transmasc!Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, dysphoria, unsafe binding methods, mentions of transphobia? Reader being insecure, horribly written southern accent, ooc daryl? sorry this is kinda bad

Sorry about this being kinda rushed I just had the idea and wanted to wright smth self indulgent.

The hot Georgia sun beamed down onto the broad shoulders of the man next to you, beads of sweat forming on the flexing muscles of Daryl's arms. Your eyes unfocusing from the fence of a pigpen you two were working on guiding to admire him, they trailed up from his arms to the collar of his worn tank top. The fraying seams giving way to his neck and the edges of his unruly dark hair, all the way up to his stormy eyes.

Slightly shaking your head, you tried to concentrate on the task and hand to get out of this heat as soon as possible, and not on the captivating sight of your boyfriend.

You had harbored feelings for the southern man since the second he pulled you away from a herd of walkers at the quarry camp. He had felt the same way, enthralled by the way your eyes caught the sun rays like stained glass, the small scars that littered you like the words on a novel and, he could have gone on forever, but he would never admit out loud. It hasn't been till the fall of the CDC that you both truly realized your feelings for each other were mutual. From that point on you had an unspoken bond, not a label, it didn't matter in the apocalypse, but you were together, a packaged deal.  After sleepless nights on the road, the scare of his brush with death at the farm and whispered conversations in your shared cell in the prison walls, you and Daryl were nothing if not in love. Yet out here in the striking heat of the prison courtyard, a spike of pain from your ribs right under the tightly wound bandages of your chest was a stark reminder of the one thing you were too scared to divulge to the man who knew everything about you.

The fence finally completed, rose to his feet, offering on hand to help you and your accompanying tools up with him.

"Y'all right there?" his southern drawls laced with a hint of worry and you wobbled a bit on your feet.

"It's nothin', just lost my balance a bit" you smiled at him, a bit of a laugh in your voice as you saw the way his bangs stuck to his sweat covered forehead in a heart pattern.

"Good, can't have yeh' gettin sick out here cus of some bastard sun" He placed the tools into his own hands and you two trudged up the hill the cold prison walls. Just imagining the cool stone and water that waited for you there was putting a pep in your step.

Entering your shared cell you flop onto the bed, arms stretched above your head to relieve some of the pressure on your shoulders after the day's work as the taller man beside you goes to lay next to you. Even though you love him with all your heart you still throw the pillow at his face.

“Shower first dirt man”

He shoots you a mock offended look before giving you a kiss anyway, and heading on his way to the showers.

“The things i do for you” You can hear his slightly annoyed tone under his breath as he leaves and you smile.

Now alone in the makeshift room that is the prison cell you close the curtain in front of the barred doors as some sort of privacy. Peeling your shirt off slowly the bandages you had been using since the beginning of the end wound tightly around your chest where now revealed. Angry red marks peaked from tier edges as you tried your best to ignore their stinging. Untying the knot of the bandage gingerly you began to unwrap the cloth, each time relieving a bit of the pressure on your ribs but increasing that feeling of dysphoria uneasiness that settled in your stomach. It was slow, each layer of bandages painstakingly unraveling into your hands. Too focused on the task at hand the heavy footsteps growing closer in the prison hallway reminded you of the unknown to you, until the jerk of the curtain being pulled aside brought you back into reality. Holding the portion of unraveled cloth close to your still bound chess you stared into Daryl’s eyes like a deer in headlights.

His dark hair still dripping slightly onto his threadbare tank top, his eyes raked over you in worry, quickly approaching you even as you began to startle back, there was slight anger in his gaze as well, scaring you even more than he had startled you.

“Y/n wha’ happened” His voice was stern with the slight hint of fear he had used anytime you were injured.

“Did this happen on the last run? We gotta get you to Dr. S” He again walked over to reach for you, not understanding the way you slightly cowered with your arms firmly gripping your upper torso.

“Daryl I'm not, I'm not hurt it ok, dont worry Im fine '' The words stumbled out of your mouth with a tint of fear and uncertainty you'd never used with him.

“You got bandaged coverin half your body can you expect me not to’think your hurt!” His tone raised slightly and you knew he was worried, but you couldn't tell him, you didn't know how.

Your eyes started to wet as you sunk to the floor, you were strong, you always were, but with this it felt like a hit to the back of your knees. You could almost feel the hesitation and concern on his face when he knelt down next to you. 

Daryl was never good at comforting people, but seeing you on the verge of tears he was trying his best. Your body stiffened slightly when one of his strong arms wrapped around your back, but you melted into his touch quickly as his rough voice spoke with a softness barely anyone had heard.

“S’alright sweetheart, m’sorry for yellin” Your brain almost couldnt for the words to tell him it wasn't his fault, he had done nothing.

“D, it isn't that” Your voice wavered in the conversation you were starting.

“I really ain't hurt, it's just..” Trailing off your words got caught in your throat, it was almost petrifying. You knew Daryl, you knew he was accepting, that he would do anything for you, but that fear of rejection’s grip was tight on your heart. The confused tone in his voice was evident as he ushered you to go on.

“I wasn't born like you,

like a man”

The words escaped your throat, strangled and painful, shaking at the thought that this could be it, he wouldn't be ok with it, it would be the end of everything you've fought so hard to build together. 

“Oh sweetheart” His voice was softer than you anticipated, his calloused hand holding your face up with a touch gentler than a down pillow. Your teary eyes met his stormy blue ones and you could almost see every emotion, every unsend word, every feeling he held onto behind them. Your faces close, he sounded almost like a whisper.

“That ain't stoppin’ me from loving yeah” You could have died happy right there, tears breaching the border of your eyelashes and flowing down your face, your lips formed into a smile, it was ok, he was ok with it, he's not mad.

Daryl's gaze turned to worry at your sudden crying but your hands not matching his own on your face you lips met. The closest you could have been to your hearts being connected the kiss was soft and passionate and you couldn't have thought of a better outcome.

Fun fact of the post:I just got a super cute hellokitty airpod case (^-^)

[soonie-doongie-and-dori]

Rock-star thoughts

Ok, so. Rockstar came out. And it was, as expected, awesome. I have so many thoughts about the comeback, a lot of which are *incoherent screaming*. But, I also wanted to write about what I thought of the songs overall. So, enjoy the word vomit <3

Megaverse

I've said it once, I'll say it again; the first tracks on skz albums always go HARD.

Absolutely in love with the beginning- Felix singing in french, and I'm in love with Bangchan's verse, it reminds me of the 'break the wall' ateez fanchant for some reason

This is the ultimate hype song, very much following in the footsteps of it's predecessor Hall of Fame

Lalalala

This title track ROCKED (pun intended)

Often, I find that I like the b-sides of skz albums far more than the title track; which really frustrates me, but Lalalala did NOT disappoint. It is the epitome of what a title track should be, since it represents skz so well; unapologetically loud and fun

I absolutely love the wordplay in this album; La means happiness but it also sounds like rock buts it's also la in the sense of lalala. I'm an absolute sucker for wordplay, and this made me feel so happy.

Another hype song, it embodies it's message so well; even though negative emotions exist, joy always comes out on top

I loved the pirate concept of the mv, but I would have absolutely lost my shit if the mv was an actual rock star concept. But pirate skz is also pretty cool

Blind Spot

Our genius Quokka did it again guys

But seriously, I'm absolutely in love with this song. It's my favourite, I'm absolutely addicted to it

This song is Mixtape 2/Behind the Light pt 2. I can't explain myself, it just is. (If you don't remember it, go listen to it!! fr one of the most underrated skz songs)

Bloody hell, I love "Shining, we are the champions,Trying to make a difference" It's truly so good

The opening instrumentals are NO JOKE, they're short but they are so vital to the song

I also love the imagery of a 'Blind Spot' in the song, like it's a part of them that we don't see. I really want to write an entire essay on this song. I might.

Comflex

WORDPLAY AGAIN, 3racha are fucking genius

It's exactly what it says on the label, a(nother) hype song, this one about embracing your flaws & insecurities and being proud of them

It's a self love song, in the most skz way possible. Reminds me of the meme of someone yelling 'HYDRATE OR DIEDRATE' while throwing water bottles at people

If Youtiful was skz telling us that they love us, Comflex is skz screaming at us to love ourselves

Flex your complexes guys!

Cover Me

When I first saw the credits for this song, I screamed a little. I've been waiting for a song written by Hyunjin since he talked about getting into songwriting in the 5-star intro. I was so disappointed when I saw that none of the 5-star songs had Hyunjin as a writer, because I was so sure that one would be there, and then I forgot all about it, so Cover Me hit me like a brick to the face

This song quite literally feels like a warm blanket covering you

Something I found really interesting; I'm usually pretty good at figuring out who is singing when, but damn did this song stump me. It's probably because it was a mainly vocal song, unlike most of skz's songs, but it's still interesting

In a similar vein, FELIX USED HIS MIDDLE REGISTER! Don't get me wrong, I love Felix's deep voice as much as the next simp, but I loved Deep end because it gave Felix a chance to explore range other than the deep voice he always gets handed in songs. I was praying for some songs to allow Felix to use his mid-upper range and I was hopeful when I saw the intro, and Cover Me delivered. I love Hyunjin so much for this

Leave

Skz's latest break up song! Reminds me of Ex

Being honest, I didn't find much special about this song, but it is genuinely a pretty good song

But, the angst is quite nice and it's an excellent song to sob to

Overall

Skz just outdoes themselves every time. I'd describe this album as very evenly split between Head-banging hype songs and ugly crying songs. If they'd have swapped Blind Spot and Comflex, the album would literally be 3 songs of pure hype followed by 3 songs that you're sobbing to. Skz continues to display their range by giving us whiplash with every album. I'm so, so in love with this comeback. The rock ver of lalalala was also a pure genius idea, it brings the album together so well, and it's just plain fun

[antitheticallyargumentative]

🔥 and 🍒 for the fanfic ask game!! MWAH 🫶

okay its been like five days but i'm finally getting to it!!

🔥- dealer's choice of a quote from a wip

from the jamie study

But the kicker— his dad only came ‘round cos he was born with his right foot kissed by God and was just learning how to use it. So maybe that’s a moot point. A fucking joke of a coincidence. Consequences of his own actions, and all— he’s not sure if that makes it better or worse. But it’s something. A reminder— laid out in the instep of his boot as he flexes his ankle and leans into the pain. That Jamie could’ve been good long before his dad decided to make certain of it—

🍒- favorite sweet quote from a wip

also from the jamie study because thats my main focus until its done

“Heard they’re flying you out to Brazil with Keeley,” he says.  Jamie swallows his mouthful and eyes him from the side, picking at the label on the bottle. “Uh, yeah. They want me to do this photoshoot thing. Keeley looked over the contract, said it was cool. Figured she’d keep me from doing’ something stupid, keep them from fuckin’ it up, like—"  He waits for it, but Roy just nods, “That’s smart. She’s fucking thrilled. And she’s good at that shit.”  Jamie relaxes. “Yeah, she is.”  “Jamie,” The tension comes back. He forces himself to look at him. Roy takes a very deep breath. Lets it out. “Whatever happens on Sunday, I want you to know that I’m proud of you."

imagine if they just acted like the actual adult human characters we know and love in this scene instead of fighting another actual adult human! imagine! (anyways consider this my spoiler for those of you who don't know that the end of this fic is not exactly canon compliant)

love youuuu <3

[liesmyth]

Lol that person made a big show about blocking you and they’re now on their 2nd day of throwing a massive hissy fit about how “people are being so mean to me” and “if this is how people are going to take my gentle, good faith posts then maybe I’m just gonna leave this website and stop talking about TLT.” They’re seriously threatening to leave tumblr. Man I don’t know how to tell you that calling random people racist for no reason does not tend to go over well.

Listen. I have never interacted with that person in my life, I haven't checked their blog since reblogging that post. I blogged a bit, went running, had cool conversations in my DMs and went to bed ✨

From my point of view, someone I don’t know hijacked my post and then immediately blocked me for choosing not to engage with their wordsalad wall of text. I think jumping on a joke post labelled as such, made a week ago by someone you never talked to, to #flex your intellectual prowess is a dick move. Their reblog wasn't meant to be educational, it was meant to scold me and to show off. I'll also say that the addition was incredibly dense, and doesn't actually come across as particularly smart or well written if you're familiar with literature on the topic. There’s a reason why academic writing emphasizes clarity, and I’ll leave it at that.

Also I find it hilarious that beating people over the head with the moral stick when they’re just having fun in fandom is like. The antithesis of everything Tazmuir has ever said. Creator is dead and all that, but if you’re reaching deep in the author’s backlog to validate your takes, listen to what they actually are saying. And what Tamsyn is saying is, usually, do fandom however you want & don’t be a dick.

Anyway, this is the last anon I'll publish on that subject because I’m behind with  a TLT exchange fic treat and also genuinely do not care. Some people in this fandom have an intellectual superiority complex, I hope they have fun with it. I’m not responsible for whatever they’re getting in their inboxes. Happy weekend.

[gachadiy]

DIY CD - Part 2

CD Tutorial directory // Part 1 (burning the CD) // Part 2 (designing booklet & cover) - here // Part 3 (printing & assembly)

Official references (skip if designing your own)

Here's a quick reference for what the different series' album covers look like:

It’s hard to find pictures of the actual CD cases, so imitating the official will mean a lot of winging it. Flex your creative muscles and design a cool album layout! At the moment (July 2022), here’s some image references I can find for different series. Yes it favors my favs.

Unit CD series:

Spines for 1st Unit series, and outer spine band

Front and back for 1st Unit series, Ryuseitai

Spines for 2nd Unit series (with the spine band)

Front view of 3rd Unit series for Ryuseitai and Knights (no outer spine band, but spine is hard to see)

Front & CD, 3rd series Ryuseitai and Knights - shows how certain accents are in a separate plastic layer, and the image & color background is on the booklet itself

Front of Crazy:B and Alkaloid, inside of Crazy:B

Back of Crazy:B

Album series - see here, or watch waterfudge’s Ra*bits or Ryuseitai unboxings

Anime & Idol Song series:

Front view of the 4 most recent series (Anime, Idol Song season 1, Fusion units, Idol Song season 2)

Spines for Anime series

Front view of all Idol Song Season 1 cases (with outer spine band)

Inside & CD for various Idol Song season 1 series

Full detail of Idol Song season 2 Crazy:B

Shuffle unit series:

Front & art print, set 1 (AtoZ, XXVeil, Branco)

Front, Branco and back of set 1

Front & art print, set 2 (Getto Spectacle, Ring.A.Bell, La Mort)

I found these by scrolling through a lot of image search results for “あんさんぶるスターズ! CD”, sometimes with a unit/series name. Here’s the series names in Japanese for easy copy-pasting:

Unit CD (replace the [] with 一, 二, or 三; for Crazy:B or Alkaloid, replace it with “Extra”) - ユニットCD第[]弾

Album series - アルバムシリーズ

Anime series - TVアニメシリーズ

Idol Song series - ESアイドルソング and add “season 1” or “season 2”

Shuffle unit series - シャッフルユニットソング

Fusion unit series - “FUSION UNIT SERIES” is written in English

Design tutorial

Pretty much just watch A Crafter In Training - if you want the same tutorial I followed (there’s other ones for slip cases, CD jackets, all kinds of customization), watch this video in particular. Here’s some tips I found while testing:

The template from this video is huge (1000 dpi). EnStars rips are not. I made new templates at 350 dpi - download them here.

On that note, construct patterns yourself, find high-res versions of imaes with Google image search, and upscale with waifu2x if you like that look (I preferred upscaling right in my art program, felt crisper)

Use this website to help make sure your text will be readable. I went for at least 6.00, and it’s easy enough for me to read (using Montserrat, 6pt).

Lyric booklet specific tips:

Optional: If you have an even number of spreads and you’re done with lyrics, make another spread - maybe full character profiles, CGs, your art, “ads” for other merch you’ve made or will make...

English lyrics take up more space, so each song will be 2 pages at least.

Decide on your formatting standards ahead of time. When there’s multiple voices for a line, should it use & or /? Spaces between (Rinne / Niki:) or not (Rinne/Niki:)? When there are multiple lines by the same voice, do you repeat the label each line or only put a label when the singer changes?

When you're done designing, go on to Part 3.

[thelensofyashunews]

A.CHAL Brings Peruvian Customs to the Concrete Jungle in "PIRITU" Video

Channeling deeply personal stories and otherworldly forces into his art, Peruvian-American singer-songwriter A.CHAL was born to make music. Returning refreshed and ready to release a new album, the artist born Alejandro Chal Salazar shares "PIRITU," his new video single. A hypnotic concoction built around Rhodes electric piano and an easygoing, lightly-swinging trap beat, the Milanezie-produced "PIRITU" (slang for "espíritu," meaning "spirit") explains how A.CHAL's ancestral pride contributes to the restless creative spirit that keeps him going. He switches effortlessly between English and Spanish, taking a moment to flex and explain his zen life philosophy: "Take an L with a smile, even when I'm down they wondering why/Pour one up in the night, and look at the sky, this life is a ride," he intones in a fast-paced triplet flow.

"This song is about keeping your essence, no matter where or how you go," says A.CHAL. "I'm not roaming the mountains in a robe, but I'm out here in Timbs representing my inner self in a raw way."

In the video, directed by fashion photographer Sam Nixon, A.CHAL brings the traditions of his ancestral homeland of Peru to his current home of New York City. Rocking his custom Avirex bomber jacket, designed by A.CHAL himself and developed by Al-Hassan Tour and Kwasi Kessie, which pays homage to both his love for NYC rap (particularly the Diplomats) and his ancestral home of Peru, A.CHAL makes a trip to the banks of the East River to perform a holistic ritual. He adorns a knit blanket with sacred stones, before preparing and inhaling his herbs, his first step on a spiritual and creative journey to find himself. At the end of the video, A.CHAL walks to the edge of the riverbank and gazes upon the skyline of his adopted home with pride.  

"The video was shot in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, in the same place where Biggie shot that iconic photo with Faith Evans," says A.CHAL. "Originally, the footage is just BTS from an album cover shoot. I had this image of doing a Shaman ritual with the city in the background. I wanted to evoke my two backgrounds: both the concrete jungle of NYC and the Shamanistic background I have from my Peruvian roots. I am a holistic person, so I thought it was cool to flex my mind and my spirituality instead of my material possessions. My jacket is inspired by Dipset, and their custom-made Avirex bomber jackets, and mine–which I designed with my boy Kwasi, who is a Harlem native–bears the logo of the Peruvian soccer team."

Alejandro Chal Salazar spent years making his own way in the music industry, building an audience with his evocative, trap-influenced sound that produced hits like "000000," "Love N Hennessy," and "GAZI." Now, after departing his major label and two and a half years of soul-searching, A.CHAL is preparing to release his most introspective record yet, exposing all sides of himself and he attempts to find his place in a turbulent world. Late last year, A.CHAL released two singles that hinted at the direction of his upcoming project: "Saico," covered by Office Mag, borrows elements from psychedelic rock as it interrogates his reckless behavior, while A.CHAL's December 2023 release "Walk On Everything" (and its accompanying video, directed by Xavier Scott Marshall) radiates extreme confidence as it rides a propulsive "beach goth" instrumental. Most recently, A.CHAL teamed up with Jimmy Whoo for the fiery single "6 de la Mañana."

Stay tuned for many more announcements about A.CHAL and his upcoming project in the near future.

[lilyellowsongbird]

Song Of The Day - Feb 14th '23

Trapped By A Thing Called Love - Denise LaSalle

It's Valentine's Day! Or rather the day after. I had a rather busy Valentine's Day, so I forgot to write a post. I couldn't pass up the chance to write about one of my favorite love songs. Personally, I love Valentine's Day, even though I've never had the chance to celebrate it for what it truly is. I've never been in a relationship that occurred during the month. I've only had summer flings, I guess. However, I always look forward to it. I guess I find the aesthetic pleasing. All the pinks and reds and purples. The candy hearts, the passing out of cheap paper valentines. It's all so sweet to me. Trapped By A Thing Called Love fits perfectly with the holiday. The slow, swaying rhythm matches the cool winter air.

Trapped By A Thing Called Love is a gentle, desperate plea encased in an RnB song. The horns, bass, and guitar blend together perfectly as Denise sings her troubles over them. The song isn't particularly sad, but rather an acknowledgement of feelings. The singer knows she's trapped by this man, but not in a dangerous way. The singer just knows that they're in love, and they don't know why. Denise's clear, passionate voice perfectly portrays the feeling of falling in love. Those moments when you're just sitting there, thinking about this person. When you'll do anything for them. When you never know the right thing to say. Then you snap back to reality and wonder why you're doing this. Why am I so attached to him and why can't I let him go? That melancholy feeling slips in and you can only sit there and pine after them.

Apparently I have entered my hot girl phase where everyone wants to fuck me (This is not a flex, merely an acknowledgement). People keep coming to my best friend and asking her if I'm single. Why not just come straight to me? I don't bite? Anyways, this latest one has been troubling. I've labeled him my mystery suitor. From the clues I've squeezed out of Emma, I have an idea of who it may be. I had feelings for him for over a year, I only just lost them. Now I'm thinking about him again. Maybe he's the mystery suitor, maybe not. Either way, I refuse to be trapped again. I know that feeling all too well. It's kind of comforting, but in the end, it strangles you. I think Denise understood that very well.

Listen to the song here:

[wrestlezon]

liveblog containment zone for aew dynamite 8/31/22

its aew time. i better see a convincing explanation for this cm punk business. also im 15 minutes behind because i waited for my friend to get home

ooo we startin with moxley ring promo boos!! well, he IS in chicago he sassin it UP OOH BIG WORDS to be honest i think its fine moxley is champ. hes a cool guy. i do want some sort of explanation/resolution for the punk side of things tho. you know, as a punk fan. ooooo paper match contract on the ground… whos gonna get it they should turn the lights out and then have the contract vanish. maximum cliffhanger im so curious… who… OH ACE STEEL POCKETING IT… THE CM PUNK CONNECTION… they cliffhangered it. mad lads wait maybe they'll come back to this tonight. im sitting up in my seat.

backstage promo with jericho okey dokey daniel garcia……….. ooooh hes pledging to the JAS but putting his cards on the table: no cheatery. win legit if you want my respect love to see it. the drama… all is fair in wrestling and romance huh

bryan danielson vs hager whoa table tackle already huh danielson trying SO hard not to kick hager in the dick lets go bryan chants im trying to imagine a crowd chanting for hager and its making me laugh. in what universe would this occur man that slap was loud tho hager doing his heel kiss moves, the crowd doesnt even have it in them to boo him ok now they perked up to boo him for his little walk around flex YOU SUCK chants lol bryan revvin up bryan danielson kick moves! bcc elbow moves! oh theyve been countered flips! grabs! ok lmao hager just casually took his hand out of that hold danielson cant lock him his head is just far too slippery ok he got the lock now hager really does have really long limbs tho. danielson wins with a knee! yay

uh oh its 2point0. time for the big faction beatdown oooo everyone got chased off now its jericho's time to sneak in. for the sneak attack GARCIA!!!!!! OHHHHHHH LMAO garcia's "oh i fucked up again -_-" face LOLLLLL

the wingmen are protesting in the ring huh whos theme is this oh!!! its morrissey! hes back to beat up a bunch of annoying chumps. for community service whoa! stokely is here too hiring morrissey… but for why stokely. to what ends!!! tony schiavone asking the questions i want answers to. what ARE you up to stokely! WOW AGGRO im so curious to see what becomes of the Stokely Faction

backstage with united empire whoa! don callis is here doing evil don callis stuff is he going to turn on omega, or are they both just trying to get ospreay's goat hmm :/c thinking…

whoa! kip sabian video! throwing down against pac

HELL YEAH MIRO VIDEO PROMO!!!!!!!!! darby trying to turn malakai's minions against him whoa. sting is saying stuff even. that black mist did a number on him

AHHHH CULT OF PERSONALITY??? CM PUNK!!!!!!! aww look at this sad boy (staring at a polaroid labeled DO NOT BELIEVE HIS LIES) hmm dang thats a lot of plates and screws lmao crowdguy got owned "i probably shouldnt have said that" hee hee oh youre still trying to be a good guy. keep up the terrible work at it king my foot is fine. turns out my 100% is just weak now sorry punk but also lmao how can punk turn heel he loves the crowd and the crowd loves him he could blame the crowd for encouraging him to do dumb bullshit but i feel like thats too much of what kenny said last or last last week punk in his sadlad era. he is soooooo sad and dejected ohhh!! ace steel is here. pep talk your student mr steel PUNK LOOKS LIKE SUCH A POOR LITTLE MEOW MEOW LOLLLLL ohhhhh PUNK IS GETTING BULLIED AROUND A LIL jacket: OFF nips: OUT cm punk sadlad hours are OVER suddenly. just needed to get pushed around and yelled at a bit lmao ok dude really did just crumbled last week arbitrarily then huh either he oversold it or he is overly gassed up and gonna get owned again or win via the magic of Chicago (which uh. i mean. sounds lame when its just like that. we'll see)

JR arbitrates an argument between jungle boy and christian cage the spooky ambience in the background is making me laugh. opposite effect unfortunately youre not wrestling jungle boy. youre wrestling… JACK PERRY oh my. jack perry…

wardlow + ftr vs uhhhh whoops wait i wasnt looking sorry i tuned out at this point i was trying to get ingredients for lunchables

WHOA MOXLEY IS BACK the rematch is official i hope its a vicious bloody hell match i literally dont care who wins or who loses i just want a good fucking match which is what i THOUGHT i was going to get last week >:/ for dicking me around like this they will have to pull off an EXTRA good match to make it worth it. they could have just had a regular good match, but nooo, they did all this nonsense instead. now they have to make a legendary match to make up for it. is that what you wanted? pressure and expectations from me, the random viewer? biiiiiitch

backstage with the dark order oh no! preston vance is injured! evil uno is filling in to replace him! what the. andrade is here money??? the idea of andrade legitimately wanting to hire the dark order for any ends besides to sabotage them is so funny though they are not even the most competent out of the incompetent goofballs out there (the best friends, imo, are the most competent incompetents) oh i see andrade just has a compulsion, an obsession, about unmasking guys thats so funny because 10 and evil uno are like so not even REMOTELY in his path or field of view so andrade literally went out of his way to find the nearest masked guys and bully them i dont like the unmasking bits though but i can appreciate the concept of stupid badguy obsessions esp when andrade is doing them so incompetently just walking up and is like look money. hey. wanna take your mask off for me baby also 10 is always hanging out without his mask in vlogs as 10 so the privacy violation is less of a thing for him. not evil uno though leave him alone lmfao did 10 just no-sell that TASER

rush vs dante martin vs rey fenix vs yuta a taste of the ladder match on the ppv i see oh! yuta winning with the seatbelt! love to see it

backstage with alex reynolds and john silver oh no… your backups have been taken out. what now :)c oh hiiii hangmannnnn how unexpected

BEST FRIENDS ARE GOING TO LOSE 100%

i hope they at least give us a banger match on the way out though

excalibur forced to announce 10000 matches im glad they gave him more time this time around at least

the big semifinal! the elite vs united empire lmao kenny's entrance just DIGGING at ospreay there are so many crazy moves happening. im trying to pay attention however that spinny frontflip thing on ospreay though, yeowch did he get got for realsies with that "the basic sidestep" is my absolute favorite wrestling countermove ospreay just yoinking kenny's shirt off. im down for it oh kenny omega does cupping too. man's got a case of the pepperonis they pulled out all the stops i thought the elite were actually gonna lose for a hot second there