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#after everything i am okay only because other people made it so. and somehow it feels as if it could reach back

songmingisthighs · 6 months

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ateez reacts to you catching a bouquet at a wedding

group : ateez

pairing : ateez (individual) × reader

genre : relationship, romance, crack ?

wc : 3 k

warning : idk relationship ??

a/n : my impulse strikes again

buy me coffee ?

hongjoong

From the moment the mc announced the bouquet catching session, Hongjoong was tense. He sat slightly straighter and his eyes were wide as his attention was focused on you who joined the other people on the floor.

"Oh look, he's about to shit himself," Wooyoung snickered as he sip his cocktail. Seonghwa smacked his younger friend on the chest and shook his head, "Don't be an ass, bouquet toss doesn't have to mean anything," he said as he shifted his eyes to his frozen friend. "Is he even functioning?" Mingi asked, peering over to wave a hand in front of Hongjoong's face, noticing how the older only move to take small sips of his scotch. "I am, thanks for asking," Hongjoong answered in a monotonous tone, everything he had was put solely on your excited form, not knowing how to feel about you possibly catching the bouquet and expecting things.

What Hongjoong didn't expect was expecting for you to actually catch the bouquet and feeling happy when you did it. He couldn't possibly forget the look on your face as you ran back to him to show off the pretty arrangement. "Did you have fun?" He asked, can't help but cracking a smile as you sat down on your original seat next to him, making the others disperse to give you two a moment. "Of course I did, look!" You giggled, showing off.

From the corner of his eyes, he could see people looking at the both of you and he began getting nervous again. Noticing this, you reached your hand to grab his and smiled, "Don't worry Joong, I'm not expecting anything from you. It's just a fun activity to see if anyone would embarrass themselves," you leaned in to peck him on the lips gently, "So you stop looking like you're about to shit your pants, okay?" You said as you stood up and walked off to your friends.

It was at that moment that Hongjoong realized that he really do want to spend the rest of his life with you. You were so understanding with him and you could always seem to calm his irrational fears. Maybe people were on to something about wedding bouquets.

seonghwa

In all honesty, you never thought of joining the others in the bouquet toss because a. it's cheesy, b. it's barbaric, c. you're in heels and you'd make a fool out of yourself. But it seemed like Seonghwa REALLY wanted you to join in, failing miserably to "subtly" encouraging you. Who'd say 'It's good to get a bit of movement' ?? Your boyfriend Park Seonghwa, that's who.

So you found yourself amongst other people in the middle of the floor, looking at your boyfriend who was grinning at you by the sidelines. "I hate you," you mouthed at him to which he replied by blowing you a kiss, "I love you too," he mouthed back. You could've just walk away but your boyfriend wanted you to do it and honestly, you'd rather comply to the bouquet catching than the other thing he wanted to do. In public space. Semi-public place. Or an open space. Or basically just... A place.

You weren't even paying much attention but somehow you managed to catch the bouquet, it just fell into your hands after three people fought over it on top of your head. The whole crowd couldn't help but stare at you in your dumbfoundedness for a solid five seconds before errupting into a big cheer. The crowd made a path for you to go to your boyfriend and your body just moved on instinct, welcoming his awaiting hug and breaking out of your trance when he pecked your lips. "Seonghwa, I swear, I don't-" you wanted to explain but he just grinned widely, "Guess you're just lucky," he chuckled as he placed his hand on your back to guide you back to your seat.

Little did you know, Seonghwa pulled the bride to be in cahoots with him, making sure to aim the bouquet at you and hope for the best because in a week's time, you'd change your status from being his girlfriend to his fiance.

yunho

Weddings are always your and your boyfriend's thing because neither one of you can resist people in fancy clothing dancing like goofy dorks. And the celebration of love and whatever but mostly the goofy part.

That particular wedding, you and he were pretending to be someone else. Each of you have characters, personas that you assume to mess with people. It's not his fault that people believed that he's south korea's first classically trained didgeridoo player who won an award for breakdancing to mozart. You wondered why he and you hadn't got caught yet for making a mockery of someone's marriage ceremony. A mockridge ceremony.

Not even when the bouquet toss happened did you two start to pay attention. Because you both obviously didn't. You both were doing subtle goofy dances by the edge of the circle, completely immersed in the song they played to wind up the crowd, giggling at each other like lovestruck fools. The last thing you remembered was raising your hands in the air, hearing someone yelled 'the bouquet!', then when your hands dropped back down, you were holding said bouquet.

With wide eyes, you stared at each other dumbly for some time before Yunho broke into a fit of giggles while grinning dumbly. "Guess I really need to learn the didgeridoo so i can turn you into a didgeri-i-do," he joked. You rolled your eyes and slap his chest without trying to hold back your own wide grin from his lame wordplay but also the very unique situation. "What if it's a didgeridon't?" "Not possible, you love me too much," he teased, kissing your lips with the crowd cheering behind you two.

yeosang

You love your boyfriend but you sometimes hate how seriously unserious he is. For example, who would think about why perry the platypus was teal? Who would suddenly ask if you have a bandaid in your purse only to put it on Seonghwa's leg and ripping it along with his leg hair? And lastly, who would start a bet at someone's wedding? Oh yeah, your boyfriend.

"And what will you give me if I do catch the bouquet?" You challenged, raising an eyebrow with crossed arms as you leaned back on your seat. Yeosang pursed his lips for a moment before shrugging, "We can iron out the details later but for now, let's just say it's anything you want and same wager if you lose." "You're on," you pointed at him before standing up, leaning close to his face and squint your eyes, "Get ready to eat dirt, you no-good loser. Love you," you pecked his lips before skittering away to join the forming crowd, leaving Yeosang smirking in amusement.

San pulled Yeosang to get a closer look at you, standing a bit further away but close enough to see you clearly. "Look, she's standing a bit out, she's gonna lose this bet," Yeosang pointed at you to San who furrowed his eyebrows, "I don't know man, look at the determination in her eyes, she might kill someone to win your stupid bet," he stated. And true to what San said, you actually jumped into the air with no trouble despite your mid-length skirt and heels, catching the bouquet and landing safely in front of Yeosang, making eye-contact with him. Your boyfriend stared at you with widened eyes and when you raised an eyebrow at him before turning around to face the crowd, he could feel his lips curling into a grin, amused.

Laughing, San leaned back slightly and muttered to Yeosang, "You're so screwed man, she's gonna play you like a damn fiddle." And that's when Yeosang's grin fell.

san

Everything is truly fun and games in your relationship with San. In a good way, of course. He has a knack of finding the fun in everything, even the most serious situation.

"Honey, you have to get that bouquet," he panted after rushing from the dessert bar to your table. Your furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, "What are you talking about?" "The bouquet toss!! I heard Wooyoung, Yunho, and Seonghwa hyung are doing it so you have to do it too!" He said, grabbing your hand to tug you up. "Me? You're the competitive one, you do it!" You said, slapping his hand away to sip your champagne. San raised an eyebrow and spoke in a monotonous tone, "I heard Wooyoung saying you don't have it in you to win against them and the crowd." Well, that ticked you off just right. One second you were sipping your champagne, and the next, you downed the whole flute, "Move," you hissed, pushing San out of the way and stomp over to where they were preparing for the bouquet toss, San hot on your tail grinning like an idiot.

It wasn't even a real competition yet he was hyping you up like how a coach would. He even motioned for you to elbow Wooyoung and anyone else if you had to (which of course you won't because that's crazy, you're not an animal, and it's so not worth the hassle if you're charged with assault). But as much as he was excited for your participation, that excitement trippled when you really did catch the bouquet (and managed to "accidentally" knee Wooyoung in the gut). He couldn't help but run to you and spun you around. You grinned and let him hold you, liking the attention and utter pride San had for you. "That's my baby!" He exclaimed happily, causing people (mainly girls) to squeal and swoon at how sweet you two were being.

mingi

"Babe, what if I caught the bouquet?" You asked your boyfriend who had his eye on his cake but turned when you called him. "This bouquet?" He asked, pointing to the arrangement in the middle of the table. You chuckled and shook your head, "Sweetie, that's a centerpiece and I won't be able to catch that," you then nodded to the bride, "That's a bouquet and the thing she will be tossing. I wanna catch it," you stated determinedly. Mingi simply shrugged, "Then catch it, I'm rooting for you," he grinned, leaning down to peck your lips.

You knew you shouldn't expect anything, but you know the meaning of catching the bouquet. So in your wedding haze-infused head, you thought that it was Mingi's way of hinting about the future. Particularly your future together. So you excitedly skip over to join the others, determined to catch the bouquet and see if your boyfriend would do something about it.

Your determination proved to be fruitful because you did catch the bouquet and the moment you did, your friends (especially the male ones) went over to pat Mingi on the back and shook hands with him. He was looking around confusedly, not understanding why he was being congratulated when it was you who caught the bouquet. He wanted to ask you but you were still surrounded by people and there was no way he could get to you.

Thankfully, Hongjoong came over but judging from the smirk on his face, Mingi wasn't sure if he should be glad. "So happy for you man. When are you gonna do it?" Hongjoong asked. Mingi scoffed at his older friend and crossed his arms, "My sex life is not up for small talk, hyung. What are you, raised by animal?" Hongjoong rolled his eyes though he wasn't too surprised. "Not that, dumbass, I mean proposing! When are you gonna do it?" The confused look on Mingi's face was hilarious and concerning and to be frank, Hongjoong didn't know which he should address first. "You do know that catching the bouquet means that you're gonna be married next, right?" After hearing that, things started to make sense to Mingi.

Rushing to you once the crowd dispersed, you were surprised when Mingi grabbed your shoulders, "Does this mean I have to propose now?" You simply rolled your eyes and pat his cheeks, "Not right now sweetie, this is our friends' big day. But soon would be great and I hope it would be a grand gesture," you smiled sweetly and pecked his cheek before walking off to get a drink, leaving Mingi there dumbfounded.

wooyoung

It started off as a joke. You know your boyfriend and you know how he likes to play things cool like as if he doesn't care but he so does.

"I'm telling you, I will do it," you said seriously, crossing your arms and raising your eyebrows at him. "I know and I'm telling you go ahead," Wooyoung shrugged oh so simply with his arms also crossed in front of his chest. Quite frankly, you wanted him to be affected even if it's just slightly like raising his voice, squeaking, or even laugh like a damn witch possessed by a tea kettle. "I'm telling you, I will really do it," you took a step away from your boyfriend, closer to where people were gathering. But Wooyoung simply shrugged again, "Okay? Do you need me to change shoes with you? Trade outfits so you can move better?" Now he was starting to sound condescending so you simple huff and stomo away and as soon as you were away, Wooyoung cracked a smirk.

"You're going to hell for this," Seonghwa sighed as he sidled up next to Wooyoung who was watching you closely. There was still a stupid smirk on Wooyoung's face, "Might as well, hyung. It's about time hell has a new ruler." "You know this can potentially end badly right?" Seonghwa asked, "And a meteor could potentially hit earth at any given moment yet here we are still functioning as a society," Wooyoung said as he pat his hyung on the shoulder. Just as Seonghwa was about to answer, Wooyoung shushed him because the mc announced that the bouquet will be tossed and he wanted to see you succeeding.

As much as he was an ass, Wooyoung actually liked how you two interact. He loves you and he likes the relationship a lot. Which was why there were no question or hesitance to his plan.

It wouldn't even matter to him if you caught the bouquet or not but as it happens, luck was in his favour and you actually caught the bouquet. In the midst of your utter excitement what with cheering and jumping happily, you didn't even realize Wooyoung standing behind you until people started hushing and all eyes fell on you two. You turned around to see Wooyoung looking at you so intently and your eyes widened considerably followed by people gasping when Wooyoung got down on one knee slowly. "(y/n)..." He started, smiling gently at you which made your heart beat faster and eyes watering.

Then he looked down and tied his shoes before standing back up. "Come on, I wanna take a picture to show my mom," he nodded to the exit before walking away.

Not just you, but the whole crowd of bouquet toss participants were looking at you with their jaws slack while some people in the back (Yunho, Mingi, San, and Hongjoong) laughing their asses off.

"Jung Wooyoung!" You hissed as you followed him once you realized what had happened. Wooyoung was holding his laughter as best as he could, knowing that being riled up like this, you'd definitely like the surprise he has for you at home.

jongho

Never would anyone guessed that Jongho would be such a simp of a boyfriend. Then again, no one (his friends) thought he'd even be a boyfriend considering his aversion to skinship, cutesy talk, and any and all forms of love being displayed proudly.

"You're so disgustingly in love, it's sick," Wooyoung cringed, looking at how Jongho was looking at you with a dumb smile and lovestruck eyes. "Shut up hyung or else you'll die alone," he retorted, smile ever present and even widening when you turned to look and waved at him. "Can you not make googly eyes while she's about to seal your fate of marrying her? It's so... Simpy," Wooyoung stated again. Thankfully, Yeosang slapped his best friend on his neck to shut him up, "Let Jongho be happy with his premature engagement," it was then that Jongho realized that Yeosang was also making fun of him.

But he couldn't care less. He shrugged and crossed his arms, "If she wants that, I'll go buy a ring tomorrow," he challenged. Mingi then scoffed from his standing position behind Jongho, "You won't even buy me a candy ring, how are you gonna buy your girlfriend an engagement ring?" To which Jongho scrunched his eyebrows and turned to look at Mingi, "I think you just answered your own question."

No amount of noise could disturb how focused Jongho was on you. His eyes followed over your every move with curiosity, affection, and worry, a combination that got him teased endlessly by his friends. But it wasn't as bad as when you actually caught the bouquet and you immediately ran to your boyfriend who got out of his seat to wait for you with open arms.

"Jongho, look!" You showed him the bouquet with a happy grin on your face, "I caught this for you," you teased, wiggling your eyebrows at him. Jongho chuckled at your adorableness and nodded, "Thank you, darling, I appreciate your effort," he said before pulling you by your waist back to your seats. "No fair, I got him whiskey just now and all he said was 'where's the ice?'. It's favouritism!" San whined. Jongho simply pushed his chair closer to yours and draped an arm around your shoulder to bring you close to him, "What can I say? You're not (y/n), hyung," he smirked before leaning down to whisper in your ears, "And I'm willing to give you anything you want," he said before pecking ypu on your cheek, making your whole body heat up at the insinuation. From both the sfw and nsfw spectrum.

network :

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@chloepurpy

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notleclerc · 6 months

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I want to be appreciated

🖤Charles x Fem!reader

🖤summary: Charles reached his limit after his results at the Austin Grand Prix and needs his lover more than ever

🖤warnings: angst, fluff and a lil suggestive at the end ;) French sentences are translated

🖤a/n: this is my first fic so please have mercy on me. English is not my first language so i am happy for any feedback <3 ENJOY BABES

Charles was always a giver. His friends needed him to take them somewhere? Alright be ready in 5. His Team Principal called him last minute for a team meeting? Of course anything for Ferrari.

It never bothered Charles because that’s his way of showing care and appreciation to what he has. He loves seeing others being well and happy and him being the reason for that but what about his needs? Why is it so hard for people to appreciate him?

It hit him hard when he ended up in P6 and was later on disqualified at the US Austin Grand Prix. People rushed to him and tried to cheer him up but nothing worked and that’s when they realised, they‘ve got no clue on how to help the one that always WAS the helper himself. All Charles needed right now was the warmth of one person. You, (Y/n). His lovely girlfriend that somehow notices everything about him.

Charles enters his driver room and sees you already waiting for him with your arms wide open and a gentle smile on your face.

„Come here mon amour, laisse-toi aller, tu es en sécurité ici“ (my love, let it all out, you are safe here)

It‘s in that moment that Charles finally let‘s go and crashes in your arms with quiet sobs and a tight grip on your shirt. He keeps repeating „why me, why? what did i do?“ as he hides his face in your neck.

(Y/n) doesn‘t say anything and keeps softly caressing his back and scratching his head and let‘s him cry it all out. You remind him that he is safe here and that you‘ve got him. Charles slowly stopped and sat down on his bed and rubbed his eyes.

„It‘s always like this ma cherrié, i just want to leave…peut-on retourner à l'hôtel s‘il tu plaît?“. (can we go back to the Hotel please?)

(Y/n) nods and grabs his bag that she already packed because she knew charles wouldn‘t want to be around anyone. (Y/n) messaged Joris and Andrea and let them know that they are leaving. You handed Charles his sunglasses and hat and grabbed his hand.

„Lets go Cha, just follow my lead okay baby?“

He only nodded and followed you like a lost puppy into his rented Ferrari. Fans, journalists and photographers tried to take pictures and ask questions but you shieled him and asked for distance and respect. Once at the car, you wanted to enter the passenger seat but got tugged back slightly by Charles.

„Can you please drive… i just… i just don‘t want to…“

With no hesitation, you let him sit and took the seat behind the steering wheel and drove the two of you back to the hotel. Once there, you helped Charles enter through the back door and you both immediatly made your way inside your room and let him lay down on the bed. Charles heard your footsteps and turned his face to look at you and saw you disappearing into the bathroom.

(Y/n) tied her hair up and started to run a warm bath for Charles with lavender scented bubbles, a scent to relax the mind. While the bathub was getting ready, (Y/n) went back to Charles and started to take off his shoes and his clothes.

„Let me take care of you my love okay? All you have to do is enjoy and relax and nothing else“

You kiss his forehead as he looked tiredly and hopeful at you. Charles nodded and let you guide him into the bathroom that is filled with the aroma of lavender which immediatly calms him down slowly. (Y/n) guides him into the bath and let’s him relax his tense muscles.

„Close your eyes mon amour and let me massage you and take care of you. Tell me if you need anything ma vie“ (my life)

You kiss his lips softly as he closes his eyes and sighs in content. You start to massage his head and move down towards his shoulders and arms. You make sure to massage the sore spots and gently start to also massage the rest of his body. Charles felt like he was on cloud nine as he could finally relax and only focus on you and your touch. Usually it’s a big havoc inside his brain when its a race weekend but with this? He never wants to go back.

After cleaning and massaging his whole body, (Y/n) also washed his hair and made him step out of the bathub once finished. He put the towel around himself and you gently took his hand and brought him back to the bedroom. You helped drying him and made sure to moisturize is body and face gently.

During the whole process you would give him soft kisses and tell him how proud you are of him and encourage him.

Charles watched you with nothing but loving eyes as he felt his whole body feel the warmth of your kind soul. Every touch and gaze from you made him feel loved, cared for and… and appreciated… finally…He almost teared up again at the thought of having you by his side and how blessed he was.

You lightly laugh at his teared up eyes and hold his face.

„I love you Charles, whatever goes inside of that incredible brain of yours just know that with me you will always be loved and appriciated.“

(Y/n) kisses him and Charles automatically wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to him. You sit on his lap and keep admiring him with a soft smile.

„Merci mon amour, je t'aime du plus profond de mon cœur et de mon âme.“ (thank you my love, i love you from the deepest part of my heart and soul.)

You were about to stand up and grab some clothes for Charles but he held your wrist and gave you a pleading look.

„Mon amour… please…je veux que tu touches tout mon corps, qui brûle de désir pour toi.“ (I want your touch all over my body, its burning in desire for you)

You looked down and saw his bulge growing underneath the towel and Charles blushing red in need and want for you. His hold on your wrist gets tighter and his whines get into your head.

„Je serai un bon garçon pour toi, mon amour“ (I‘ll be a good boy for you my love)

There are definitely more ways of showing appreciation…

HOW YOU GUYS FEELING ABOUT THISSSSSS? This was hunting me all week long after seeing the results of the race :(

Reblogs, comments & feedback are very much appreciated!

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dashielldeveron · 4 months

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soulmate trope | shigaraki tomura

Shigaraki’s route of soulmate trope.

"post-canon shigaraki? canon isn't even finished as of when this was posted on 4 january 2024!"

yeah. thank god. gives us time to write our own endings. and obviously i will be wrong about some things. i recommend you read at least one other route, preferably dabi’s, before reading this one. warnings: female reader. manga spoilers up to around chapter 390-411ish, based on language used by others to describe shigaraki and his trauma. bodily consequences to his trauma (some things are intended to read as AFO having forced an ED on shigaraki, but this is not made definitive). sexual content. stalking. gore (in a game). reader is experiencing a type of gifted kid burnout.

~28k

There’s a hentai book lying on your bed.

You’ve never seen it before.

Flipping through it, you winced at the positions the large-titted, ponytailed woman was manhandled into, and though you were frankly impressed that she managed to wear such intricate lingerie underneath her everyday business attire, the protagonist only just got home from work; let her decompress for, like, ten minutes before railing her against the window, please.

Whom did you know who would read volume four of something called GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK?

Unfortunately, you were burdened with knowledge about your friends’ sexual habits, and some of them, therefore, were already ruled out: Shinsou only read erotica because he preferred his own imagination to any images hentai or live-action could provide, and Monoma only read hentai in which the woman’s eyes had hearts in them to let the reader know she’s enjoying it—not to mention Monoma wouldn’t buy a hard copy of it, let alone a story that didn’t have more plot and character development to it. There wasn’t enough drool for Sero to be interested, and the male protagonist wasn’t enough of a twink for Kaminari to project onto, so whose was this?

Moreover, who the fuck would come all the way back to your old school’s campus to break into your room to leave it on your bed? (Shinsou would be your best bet for that part, but whenever he finished a patrol nowadays, he went directly to sleep, and his and Monoma’s flat was across town.)

You cat, Dango, jumped onto the bed, slithering up next to you and bumping her head on your elbow affectionately.

“Is this yours?” you asked her, and she sniffed the book before climbing into your lap.

You tossed the book aside to pet your cat with both hands, and you resolved not to think about it any longer, even though the cringy way the mangaka depicted the female orgasm was burnt onto your brain.

***

Hopping to put your heel back into a ballet flat, you held the phone between your ear and shoulder while you struggled towards the lift. “I’ve got to cancel on you, Ochaco,” you said, flipping the back of your blazer collar down and adjusting the lapels, “I’m, fuck—I’m not gonna be able to make it this evening, so just go without me.”

Uraraka sighed on her end. “Okay. I know a lot of us were excited to see you after so long—there’s a card Tsu’s made us all to sign, and everything—but we’ll manage. ‘Spose we’ll just have a routine night at the bar and reschedule when you can make it. I miss you,” she said, “and I’m pretty sure I can say the same for everyone.”

The elevator door slid open, and you entered. “All of you are so clingy. I’ve only been away from the agency for around two months, and you know where to find me.” You mashed the button for the ground floor. “In fact, it’s embarrassingly easy to access me.”

“Well, we’re very busy,” said Uraraka, “People are very eager to conscript us for missions, even if they really could be done by the police. U.A. alumni have somehow upticked in their popularity even more since we graduated—”

“Ochaco, I know. I was there. Allow me to weep for your success. I am playing the world’s tiniest violin.” You shifted your bag’s full weight onto your shoulder and exited into the commons. “But listen. I’ve got to go; I’m running late this morning. I couldn’t find my pantyhose even though I laid them out last night, and they weren’t in any of my cat’s usual hiding places. I had to turn my flat upside down and still never found them.” The outside doors slid open when you approached, and the harsh, morning wind upset your hair on impact. “Give everyone my love, O. Tell Todoroki to smile in his next interview.” Eyes darting across your surroundings for any witnesses, you shrank in on yourself and bit the inside of your cheek. “And tell everyone I’m sorry, okay?”

By the time you arrived at U.A.’s administration building, the wind had been joined by a light drizzle that would probably morph into a storm within the hour, a prediction compounded by a plethora of faculty umbrellas in and beside the stand by the sliding doors. The front office was gloriously vacant, though, so you were able to slip behind the front desk without someone rebuking you for being—you shook the computer mouse to wake it up, the clock popping up in the corner—seventeen minutes late.

(You’d graduated with the rest of the class six months ago, and you’d founded the all-girls agency uptown, with most of the women in the graduating class joining to form an instant powerhouse of the industry.

Founding an agency appealed to a good deal of graduates, but you were the only one to go the distance: you were the one to actually make the calls, fill out the paperwork, get aggravating shit done, and by the time to move into the building, it had pleased you to no end that Midoriya had asked you for help on kickstarting his own.

And then two months ago, you’d pulled off, frankly, what was supposed to be an impossible rescue. For the first time, you were getting enormous amounts of attention, from civilians, from press, from other heroes—and you were being followed, never having more than a moment to yourself—always being watched, either from well-wishers or nay-sayers—and sometimes, the analytical critic, eager to point out your faults in the rescue mission to try to drag you out of the hero scene.

You hated yourself for this, but they won.

Too many expectations. All sinking down on you, as if no other hero existed while the light shone in your direction. [And you hated yourself for even daring to consider this—what reprehensible audacity, but—but was this how All Might had felt?]

You’d had something next door to a panic attack when a convenience store, a regular stop in your weekly routine, filmed your reaction to how they’d auctioned off your signed receipt for over nine hundred thousand yen. Breaking their cameras, Shinsou had to escort you out of there in a rush and call Aizawa for help.

Sobbing into Shinsou’s phone on the soggy concrete of a darkened alleyway, you did something you never fathomed you’d ever do, something you could never see any of your friends ever doing, something that seemed as alien and unthinkable as sticking your hand into a pit of needles: you begged Aizawa to get you out of the hero business.

You’ve been handled with care and relocated into a surprising covert secretarial job in the U.A. admin, Nezu’s logic was that you’d adjust to one person needing you at a time, say, over email or at the desk, and if you only answered the phone with only a shortened version of your name, then no intruding civilian would be the wiser.

The job was easy, anyway. Paid well for what it was, but perhaps that was simply standard for U.A. Nowhere nearly as well paying or exciting as working as a hero, but you were adjusting into mundanity. Some days had stretches of hours in which you didn’t interact with anyone, sitting at the front desk without a task, and you even had a few days in which you’d gone in, piddled around at the desk for your whole shift without seeing another soul, and gone home.

Your friends were always so busy. The two times you’ve been able to meet with them contained nothing but conversation about hero work, or else everything was somehow tangentially related to it, and you found yourself unable to contribute to the conversation. Both times, you’d left early, a little overstimulated, leaving Shinsou to make your excuses.

And Shinsou, bless him. Not avoiding you on purpose. In fact, you knew he’d drop almost anything for you to hang out, but you knew his schedule and how little rest he got. So, it was more of a self-imposed boundary on your side, taking into account that he needed sleep more than he needed to spend time with you.

So, yes, some of it was directly your fault, but you were achingly, astonishingly lonely, with an ever-lowering threshold for tolerance of outside stimulation, ultimately feeling like you didn’t belong here.)

Pens aligned. Coaster. Check the school email for—good, no emails. No voicemail. Get out your planner and write your hours in it to look busy. Hey, your water bottle’s nearing empty; maybe you could go fill it or even waste time brewing coffee. But where’s your work mug? You probably left it on the cleaning rack next to the office sink. You should go check.

“Hey,” said Aizawa out of nowhere, ignoring how you jumped out of your own skin, “Good morning. Are you doing a specific job at the moment?”

You gripped the arms of your swivel chair to ground yourself. Is this a test? “I was about to take a moment to make some coffee,” you said, because never let someone in a position of authority know that you were doing jackshit, “Is there something I can help you with, Aizawa-sensei?”

Frowning, he dipped his chin into his capture weapon, still tucked closely to his neck to shield him from the wind, and he shifted his weight to one leg, his fingers tapping in a ripple on the reception desk. “You don’t have to call me that anymore.”

“I’m gonna,” you said, “How can I help?”

Please don’t need anything. Please don’t need anythi—

“Permission has just cleared for me to assign you a long-term task.”

Shit, you thought, internally wincing at how he used the term task and not mission, as if you’d be plunged into the ice-cold water of a panic attack at the word. The kid gloves that everyone handled you with somehow both ingratiated and insulted you.

“You’ll be paid for it,” Aizawa continued, “and it’s low stakes interaction, not even face-to-face. It’s all online.” Aizawa clasped his hands on the desk and hunched over the top of it, the ends of his scarf trailing down onto your keyboard. “You’ll recall moving some boxes into room 310.”

“Of course.” Early in your first month back at U.A., you’d helped clean out and move some boxes into 310 in the same hall that housed Aizawa, Eri, and now you—you’d unofficially dubbed it as U.A.’s drawer to shove social rejects. “Is someone about to move in?”

“He’s been moved in for a while,” said Aizawa, pulling his capture weapon away from his neck, “Keep all of this quiet. You’re allowed to know because I’ve advocated for you, because I trust in you and in your ability to do this well.” Aizawa paused, the silence dragging on much longer than usual. His eyes glazed over, as if considering how to phrase his next proposal.

You waved your hand, prompting him to continue.

His eyes focused again. “The new person is a ward of the school, but All Might and I are his primary—caretakers isn’t quite the right term, and nor is supervisors, so perhaps it’s better to—”

“No, I get it,” you said, “This person is an adult, but they’re not quite independent. Go on.”

Aizawa paused, brow furrowed just slightly as he scrutinised you again, but he nodded slowly after a moment. “I’ll allow him to introduce himself to you. He doesn’t need me to set up expectations. What’s important for you to know, regarding your own participation, is that he’s very new to the hero scene and is receiving his hero training later in life than usual. He won’t be attending class but will be trained personally by select U.A. faculty, mostly All Might, Nezu, and me.”

“Is he officially a student?”

“On paper.” Something strange passed across Aizawa’s face, but you couldn’t name it. “Where you come in is his socialisation. He’s spent most of his life in disciplinary isolation. Because of the adults raising him, his instincts trend towards distrust and animosity.”

So, Aizawa wanted you spend time with him until he was no longer bad with people, like spending time with feral cats at animal shelters until they’re ready to be adopted. “So, he’s distrustful. Hostile. Angry,” you said, scratching the side of your head, “Is he—do you think he’ll bring up bad stuff I’ve done to use it against me?”

“He doesn’t know who you are, aside from someone trusted by U.A. with hero experience,” said Aizawa, shaking his head, “and you can choose what information you give him.”

“Does he,” you said, sucking in through your teeth, “Does this guy know about how you’re going about this? I think—wouldn’t he be insulted if he knew about how you’re socialising him like an animal?”

Aizawa looked over his shoulder at the empty office, but he bent farther over the desk and spoke softly, anyway. “Recently, when I was training him at night, he expressed that he never knows what to do when someone wants to talk to him after mission, whether it’s successful or not. He froze entirely when a senior citizen thanked him last week, and that’s when we decided something tactile needed to be done. Since he’s grown used to me, you’re the solution.”

Okay. A volatile man, someone who couldn’t go to U.A. at the average age but for whom Aizawa, Nezu, and All Might were making an exception, even going so far as to personally take him out at night to practise hero work.

Hm. Fishy.

But if the good, good men who took care of you wanted you take care of another misplaced person, then you’re going to do it to the best of your ability.

“I hope I can live up to your expectations,” you said, making a note in your planner, “What am I doing?”

“I need you to learn how to play a video game,” said Aizawa, “and I need you to be absolute shit at it.”

***

For you to help some loser with socialisation, he would be teaching you how to play some janky, twenty-five-year-old MMORPG called Cipherstone—and not even the current, polished version of it; you had to sign up for an account on the version preserving the game exactly as it was in 2007. Nostalgia reasons, apparently.

You nudged Dango out aside to check your bedside clock. The discord call would start in five minutes, and you were making your Cipherstone account, completely unable to come up with a suitable username.

“Don’t connect it to your other online accounts or your actual identity,” Aizawa had said that morning.

Dango’s tiny prance across your stomach was not helping, and you couldn’t use Dango in your username, because if someone knew about your cat (and hopefully no one did, because cats were not allowed in the dorms), then a Dango username could be linked back to the real you. You plopped your head back on your pillow, knocking against the headboard. What’s something that couldn’t be traced back to you? Slumping, you let your head fall to the side and sulked.

The hentai book peeked out from underneath a jacket on your dirty clothes chair.

GinsengTea

That username is unavailable.

Well. You couldn’t use your birthdate as added numbers. You kept typing.

GinsengTea69

That username is unavailable.

You’re not about to try Lustful Ballsack. Maybe if you put aside your secretarial propensity for being correct for a moment.

GinzengTea

Username available!

Oh, thank God. You sorted out your password and started customising your character, though you couldn’t do much with the negative six billion pixels you were dealing with, and oh, is that the noise discord makes for a call? You plugged in your earbuds and clicked the answer button.

“Hello?” you asked into the microphone on your earbud cord, narrowing your eyes at his profile picture of a rotund, cartoon mouse. Username Tenkopeito. Looks like he ran into the same spelling trouble you did.

“Greetings and salutations,” he said, his tinny, rasping, just-got-out-of-bed, gruff-from-lack-of-use voice striking you with about fifty psychic damage, “I am Aizawa-sensei’s pupil, here to teach you about the intricacies of Cipherstone. It will be my pleasure—”

“Cut that shit out,” you said, narrowing your eyes at his profile picture: actually, that mouse was so round because it had just swallowed an enormous piece of konpeito whole, with the little star spikes jutting out underneath its fur. “No one talks like that. You sound fake as fuck.”

“I see,” he said after a beat, tone deflating to sound resigned (and though he’d relaxed, it somehow sounded as if talking this way took more effort, like it physically strained his vocal cords). “Am I not supposed to be nice?”

“You weren’t exactly being nice. You were using a customer service voice—which is being polite, not nice. Not even kind. Politeness is usually some sort of put-on affectation of niceness, forced for the situation. I understand if that’s what you think you need to do when you talk to people as a hero, but in hero work, since the stakes are high, you need to be genuine, or at least sound like you are.” Dango crawled across your stomach again, but you lifted her off before she could settle into a loaf on your keyboard. “In the field, it’s often hard to be kind because of how involved you get as a hero; being kind takes effort and drains you emotionally. Kindness implies there’s some sort of reciprocity, some sort of ongoing relationship. You can choose to be kind if you want, but it may wear on you in the long run. What will probably be healthiest for you, on your side, is if you aim to be nice, meaning being honest in a gentle way, framing situations positively but realistically for listeners. The public doesn’t want to be lied to and told everything’s fine, but telling them the harshness of reality doesn’t go over well. Kills morale.”

“Holy shit.” He was scratching something close to his microphone—it must be a fairly good mic, since you could deduce short fingernails against a dry surface. “That’s…a lot.”

“It is. But you can do it. All it takes is practise, and that’s what I’m here for,” you said, moving Dango from your keyboard again, “And I didn’t mean to overwhelm you with all of that; it just came out—I, uh, I happen to know a lot about the way heroes present themselves.” Swallowing thickly, you ran your tongue over your lower lip. “Why don’t we begin with what you were saying before? But in the actual way you talk, please. You need to be comfortable in your own voice.”

His mic picked up the distant noise of slurping through a straw, against what sounded like the bottom of a metal cup, which clinked when he set it back down. “Have you played Cipherstone before?”

“Total newcomer. Though I’ve seen some screenshots in memes.”

“Cool,” he said in a way that was clear it was not cool, “I can’t add you to my in-game friends list until you get off Tutorial Island. Share your screen with me until then.”

All right. You can be bad at this. You can be so bad at this. “What’s a screen?” Not that bad, idiot! “I mean,” you said, fumbling, “How do I share my screen with you?”

The scratching grew louder. “Bottom left. Screen button. Right click. Share option.”

“Ah.” You should probably lure him into thinking you’re competent while there was a literal tutorial onscreen so that he would be more frustrated with you later. “Gotcha.”

For a few seconds after your avatar popped onscreen for the first time, nothing came through but the 8-bit tutorial music. “Is that what you look like in real life?” he finally asked.

“No,” you said, not exactly lying. The character had her hair down in her face (which you wouldn’t normally do when you were on patrol, since it could get in the way of physical hero work), and, hoping to endear yourself to this weirdo, you’d chosen the sluttiest shirt: while none of the horrible pixelated options showed any boob whatsoever, the poor rendering still managed to convey that the top was off-shoulder. Again, not great for hero work. “In real life, I’ve much, much more panache.”

Another silence, during which you assumed he was looking up the word. “So, you click on the screen to go where you want to walk, on either the overall game interface or in the mini-map in the corner. Your destination will show up—”

“Wait, what should I call you, screwboy?”

“—as a red flag,” he said, frown audible, his rasping voice screeching to a stop the way brakes are slowly applied to the wheels of a train. “Not screwboy.”

“I’m not calling you by your handle. Not only is it cringe, but you won’t have to answer to it anywhere else in your life. If you don’t want to give me your name, that’s fine. I could call you by your hero name, if you like; it’d help you get used to answering to it. But no, I’m not calling you your username,” you said, shoulders slacking once Dango finally settled in a ball at your hip, “Especially since you couldn’t even get the correct spelling of Ten Konpeito.”

“It’s—it’s not supposed to say that,” he said, sputtering with a groan coming in at the end, “It’s a play on my name, and including the n makes it harder to say aloud. I think these things through; I have to be aware of my public image and branding now; that’s the whole point of this stupid—my name is Tenko, you asshole.”

“Oh, you’re gonna call civilians asshole?” You clicked your tongue. “Bad. Bad and evil. Speaking from experience, people don’t like that.”

“Just fu—just click on the map.”

“Fine. But you can’t fool me with your medieval, point-and-click game,” you said, clicking to pick up a fishing net, “Incidentally, the oldest known fishing net is the net of Antrea, crafted of willow and dating back to 8300 B.C.”

Tenko paused. “What would be the socially expected response to that?”

Your avatar fished for shrimps. “Oh, usually people yell at me. Get mad for bringing up total non sequiturs. My friend Bakugou is fond of telling me that I’m a collection of those bottle caps with facts printed on the inside.”

“Would…would you like me to get angry? Am I supposed to? I was under the impression I was supposed to curb my anger. To be nice.”

Your inventory filled with shrimps.

“You only need one shrimp,” said Tenko.

“You’ll thank me when we have food later,” you said, continuing to fish for shrimps.

“It’s the tutorial,” he said, frown creeping into his voice, “You won’t keep any resources from it. You should go chop the tree down to light a fire.”

“Well, hell. I want my shrimps.” You clicked away from the fishing spot and onto a tree. “Nothing’s happening.”

Tenko cleared his throat. “You need to talk to the woodcutting tutor first. She’ll give you an axe.”

“I thought this game had magic,” you said, guiding Dango’s head away from blocking the screen, “Can’t I just get logs with magic?”

“No, it’s—you must want me to get angry. As a test.” Scratching. “Magic comes later. Not for getting logs.”

You interpreted that as a sign to make the rest of the tutorial go smoothly. You followed the instructions for a few silent minutes, proving to him that you could read, and when you reached the end of the tutorial, a wizard teleported you to the crossroads of a town centre.

“Ah,” you said, genuinely surprised as other players’ avatars, decked out in what must be high-level gear, dashed past, “I don’t know where I am.”

“You can turn your screen-sharing off now.” Tenko typed on what sounded like a mechanical keyboard. “I’m over here. I’ve got—by the fountain—white hair, all black clothes. I’m not—there you are.”

Dozens of other players were running past the two of you, the only bare, new players in the area. Tenko’s pixelated avatar waved at you. Cheeky bitch. He’s so poorly animated and so very 2007 that it gave no indication what he could look like in real life. But he’s chosen to have a black t-shirt as his default, so he has to be a slut.

You resisted the urge to ask to feel his pixelated bicep. “You don’t have any equipment. I thought you’ve played Cipherstone before?”

“My main account is max-ed out. I started a new account to grow at the same rate as you. Before anything else, notice where we are,” said Tenko, “We’re in the centre of the city of Renfield. Get familiar with it. Think of it as home. It’s where you’ll always come back to when you get lost.”

It’s a barely animated town centre, with a short path up the stairs to a castle door and a few market stalls split between fountains.

“I have no idea what that means, Tenko.”

“It means that—that,” Tenko said, and stopped.

You couldn’t stop grinning, biting at your lower lip to keep from laughing—he’d let out a flustered huff, sounding a little strangled, because you’d said his name for the first time—and, judging by how long this delicious silence was dragging on, Tenko was probably his given name, not the family name. Beautiful, really, that a guy his age (however old he was, but he’s at least the same as you, since he couldn’t attend U.A. at the usual time) could get this nervous over a woman calling him by his name.

Tenko recovered in a way that showed he didn’t: “It means that you are always able to cast one spell, regardless of magic level,” he said in a rush, “It is a homing spell that teleports you back to this spot, so even if you get lost, you can always get back to Renfield. You can teleport other ways, too, but that’s for another time, and I need a cup of coffee.” He inhaled sharply.

It's only the first day, so you should go easy on him. Let his moment of awkwardness go.

However, Aizawa gave you a mission.

Excuse you, a task.

“Do you plan on getting flustered every time a civilian calls you by name?” you asked, petting between Dango’s ears, “Or are you planning on avoiding as much publicity as possible by being an underground hero like Aizawa?”

“I don’t—they’re not going to—it’s different with you. I can already tell,” said Tenko (you froze, fingers curled into Dango’s fur), “because I’m going to have some sort of working relationship with you. I assume you’re here to stay.”

Putting it that way made your heartbeat throb around your ears. You decided you could ask directly. “Tenko’s your first name, then?”

“Yeah.” He must have covered his hand with his mouth, muffling his voice at first. “But people usually—people have been calling me something else.”

“Then I can call you something else, if you like,” you said, getting back to petting Dango behind her ears and resolving to treat him with the same tenderness—he must need it, since no one in his life knows him well enough to call him by his given name.

“No, I think you should,” he said a bit too quickly, “Call me that. Tenko. I’m tired of that other stuff. Click on something to keep from logging out, by the way. There’s a timer.” Mechanical typing noises. “No, Aizawa-sensei wants me to be better. Of all things, I need to learn to respond to my real name.”

You squinted at your screen, as if the methodical rise and fall of his avatar’s chest could betray how he was feeling. Something had to have happened to this guy to make him feel this way about such a basic part of his identity, to make other people avoid his real name so universally. Aizawa couldn’t’ve have assigned you this task just to socialise him; something else was unfolding here. How did you enter the equation? If you’re supposed to guide someone who’s also lost their direction in life, you’re a hell of a bad candidate.

But what if you fuck up Aizawa’s plan, whatever it was?

Your recent history is riddled with things going downhill. What if you somehow screwed over Tenko? You’d be dragging someone else down with you, down to…the beginning again, a humiliating re-start, back at your fucking school, when the rest of your friends were out living the dream you’d all crafted together, the dream that apparently could go on without you in it.

Well. Enough of that. Distract yourself. Distract Tenko, too. “Got it. I want a hat.”

“What?”

“I want a hat,” you said, clicking the space around the fountain for your avatar to walk, “My head is cold. How do we get a hat? Hats. You should get one, too.”

“Hats. Very well,” said Tenko, clicking to face you across the shitty fountain, “Do you want one that’s purely decorative or one that has some sort of stats? Decorative ones we can get within a minute, with good RNG, by killing goblins across the bridge. There’s a low chance we could get a low-tier wizard’s hat doing that, too.”

“Then it will be a pleasure killing goblins with you, Tenko.”

“Mm,” he said at the back of his throat, “First, we’ll need to obtain some sort of weapons, since bare-handed punching them will take forever. We could either talk to the melee tutor to get a temporary sword or start wi—actually, we should talk to the melee tutor. Melee will probably be the easiest fighting style for you right now, and it’ll be the simplest, since you won’t have to worry about running out of ammunition or runes.”

“Sure,” you said, leaning back in bed, “Do we go starboard or port?”

“You can just call them east and west, y’know. And we go north.”

To be obstinate, you clicked the opposite direction that Tenkopeito was going, and the moment you ran offscreen, Tenko spoke in a low, grumbling voice into his microphone. “No, don’t run away from me. Come back here.”

The rumble in his voice shot warmth straight to your lower stomach, the nature of the encounter between the two of you changing in a second. Your avatar kept running to her destination, your hand frozen and hovering above the tracking pad. You blinked, your throat drying. Snapping back into it, you ran back to Tenko, who seemed unaware of what he just did to you—and he almost negated your arousal in the way he kept talking about sword upgrades and something called RNG.

Uh.

“—now, it’ll take about ten minutes, but it’ll seem like two hours of hard labour. Follow me across the bridge. Follow—there’s a follow mechanic, if you’ll right-click on me.”

Oh, you’ll right-click him, all right. You needed to know more about Tenko—why you’ve been paired off, what Aizawa’s planning for him, what—a tinge of shame soured at the back of your tongue, because what currently gripped you were minutiae: more about him, what he looks like, what he likes, what he does for fun, if you’re…the sort of person he’d get along with in real life, if you hadn’t been forced together.

God, get over yourself. You spend two months away from men your age, and now, you’re thirsting over someone you don’t even know because he said one hot thing. You needed to be socialised—no, stop. This isn’t about you. Stop thinking about what his hands would feel like on you, what he’d sound like grunting into your ear as he ground against you—

“You’ve been quiet for a minute,” said Tenko, slashing the first goblin, “Are you all right?”

A very heroic question when you haven’t been thinking too heroically. The thought of his voice muttering against your neck still grasped you tightly. “I’m having—technical difficulties.”

***

Poking your head outside of your dorm/apartment door, you scanned the hallway for witnesses. You gripped the handle of Dango’s carrier, still hidden behind the door inside your dorm, and you nodded back at her when she meowed at you.

“I know, baby,” you said, listening for footsteps, “We’ll be outside soon enough. Gotta check for people, though.”

Okay, nothing coming. You shifted Dango’s carrier out of your dorm and pulled out your key, sticking it in the lock at the same time as a door opened down the hall.

Too fast—you had to prod her carrier back inside, your foot stuck in the crack between wall and door, just as—as Midoriya strode down the hall. Keys jangling. Civilian clothes (a Froppy hoodie, in fact).

“Oh, hello!” Midoriya only seemed to notice you once you were struggling to close the door despite the carrier being the way, and hopefully you thrust it fully inside swiftly enough for him not to catch the flash of burgundy. He trotted up to you, hands in the pockets of his worn cargo pants. “I didn’t think you’d be around. Do you not have work today?”

Dango meowed mournfully through the door, and you stepped in front of it. “It’s my lunch break. I’m going for a walk.”

Midoriya nodded, and he glanced over his shoulder back to the room he’d left. “Gotcha, gotcha. Good weather for it, especially after that storm earlier this week.” easy smile stretched across his face as he faced you again, but his gaze weighed down on you, as if the number one hero’s attention magnified your failures in comparison to his rise to the top—and the fact that he didn’t mean to pressure you only exacerbated the feeling.

“Uh,” you said, stuffing your keys in your backpack and setting it on the ground, as if you’re not waiting to go back inside, “May I ask what you’re doing here? Don’t you have better—aren’t you busy?”

Chuckling, Midoriya scratched the back of his neck (and oh, in that laughter, he was hiding something). “I make time. I’m just visiting,” he said, jerking his head back towards the end of the hall, “A friend. I want to take care to see him regularly. I didn’t know you lived on the same hall.”

“If you can call it living,” you said, and for some reason, Midoriya frowned, took a step closer to you, and said your name under his breath, eyes fucking wide and too damn concerned for your comfort. Fuck, you only meant to make a self-depredating joke, not make the situation serious.

“You—you know that you can reach out to us. I mean that. If you’re scared you’re gonna burden any of us—”

You’d squatted down to go through your bag, just to have something to do, to have an excuse to not look him in the eyes. If you were going to cry—which you were not!—then the number one hero’s not going to get to witness it.

“—then reach out to me, at least. I’ve got time, or else I can make it.” Midoriya was kneeling next to you, and you kept your eyes on the inside of your backpack. “If it makes you feel less like you’re bothering any of us, I could check in with you when I come see my friend. I’d already be on campus. I wouldn’t be going out of my way.” He sighed to fill the space when you didn’t answer. “What are you looking for?”

“I can’t find my planner,” you invented, and, acting like you were upset, you zipped your backpack again. “I think I need to go back inside to locate it.”

He shifted his jaw, and he glanced down at your bag and back at you. “Come with me to the vending machines, at least?”

The new symbol of peace, asking to spend time with you. You didn’t deserve it, so you shook your head. “I don’t have much time left in my break. I think I’d better let you go.”

Shifting his jaw, Midoriya tilted his head at you, his eyes glinting. “All right,” he said slowly, “You know yourself better than anyone else. Do what you need to. Rest up.” He started walking backwards towards the stairs. “And I want to see you more—we all do. I’ll see you the next time I come around. Maybe the three of us could hang out?”

“Sure,” you said, shoving your key in the lock to let a thrashing Dango out of her misery.

***

“The church. It’s the one with the altar icon in the minimap.”

You clicked enough so that your avatar would backtrack. “How am I supposed to know that’s the church? Is that icon supposed to be an altar? It looks nothing like an altar. It looks more like a steaming cup of tea.”

“That’s fair,” said Tenko into his headset, “but this is the easiest quest in the game. How are you having this much trouble with it?”

“Oh, stop that,” you said, reaching his character in front of the priest, “It’s intuitive to you because you’ve been playing this for years. Do we kill this guy?”

“What? No. He’s going to give us each the key to a dungeon underneath the church.”

“How can he give us both a key if there’s only one?” You clicked through the dialogue with the priest, and a key appeared in your inventory. “Also, how accurate is this dungeon? Because if this is a broadly medieval game, then the dungeons will be closer to underground bathrooms rather than, like, creepy and wet with shackles and bones. That was popularised by Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe.”

“How the hell do you know that,” Tenko asked flatly, “Ne—never mind. It doesn’t matter. Follow me to the trapdoor outside.”

You did, and it was locked. “Are we allowed to do this?” you asked, clicking on the key and then the lock, “Will we get arrested for trespassing?”

“Wha—no. No, we’re supposed to in order to progress the quest. In fact, our characters do a frankly criminal amount of breaking and entering throughout the game and never get checked for it. Hey, don’t go down there without me.”

Your character had only just gone down the trapdoor, prompting a blackout loading screen, but you popped back up to the surface before you could get a good look around. Your character stood next to Tenko’s, still next to the trapdoor. “What’s the holdup? I thought the only step was to use the key on the door. Did I skip something?”

“No, I—huh,” said Tenko, cutting himself off with a tinge of frustration creeping into his voice, “I lost the key.”

Raising a brow, you tilted your head. “What? How’d you lose it?”

“I don’t know. It was in my inventory one minute, and now it’s not. I didn’t touch it.” His mic picked up light scratching. “You’re not supposed to be able to lose the key, but I guess I can go back to the priest to get another. You wait—”

“Hold up,” you said, brow furrowed, “I have it. It’s in my inventory.”

“The hell? Are you sure it’s not just your own key?”

“Positive. I have two of them now. Same key, right next to each other. Want me to share my screen?”

“No, I—I believe you.” Tenko took a moment. “I’m not familiar with this sort of glitch, where an item from one player’s inventory randomly transfers to another’s. This doesn’t even happen, in my experience, but maybe it’s because this is one of the earliest quests coded into the game. It’s twenty-five-year-old code at this point, and it might have glitched because we’re both trying to perform the same quest actions on the same game tick.”

“Sure,” you said, “So, what do I do? Do I drop the key for you to pick up, or?”

“It disappears if you drop it. Trade me. Right-click, trade option.”

Once the key was traded, the two of you went down the trapdoor and wove your way back into the underground headquarters of a low-level cult, vacant for the moment but with evidence of rituals on the walls and floors, particularly in front of their bloodstained altar.

“Okay, we’re in their headquarters,” you said, making your character walk up the aisle, “What now? Priest guy didn’t give us any instructions.”

His avatar followed you and sat on the only programmed-to-be-sittable seat in the pew, his black cape (that he stole from a highwayman’s corpse) folding under his legs. “Actually, he did. You just clicked through his dialogue.”

“Because you’re here to tell me what to do, Quest Man.”

“Click on the—” Tenko heaved an enormous sigh, microphone sparking. “You figure it out. What’s clickable in this room? What has examine text?”

You hovered your mouse over most of the room, and nothing popped up with the examine option, except for something on the altar. “It’s this weird-looking, severed hand, isn’t it? This thing standing up on a slice of wrist by itself?” Your character walked nearer to it, fingers splayed widely enough to hold an in-game apple. “Weirdest ring-holder I’ve ever seen.”

When Tenko didn’t say anything, you glanced towards his character, but he was still sitting on the pew.

“Is this whole quest a pun? Because it’s one of the easiest quests, so they’re giving us a lot of guidance, so it’s like they’re holding our hands to get it through?”

That broke his silence: he scoffed into the mic. “I doubt it,” he said, “You need to grab the hand for the quest to keep going.”

“Fine,” you said, clicking the hand, and the instant your avatar touched it, a zombie spawned from the altar and began to attack you. “Dude! Did you know that thing was gonna jump me?” you asked, clicking away a few spaces but turning around to stab at it with your stupid bronze dagger, “And you just sat there? You could’ve warned me.”

“I did, and the priest did, and the duke who gave us this quest did. That’s why we went and baked all those pies in your inventory, yeah? For you to eat during this fight?”

Your character kept missing hits. “Yeah, but—like! I didn’t know the fight would be now.”

“Hey, relax.” Tenko’s voice sounded muffled, like his mouth was smushed as his fist dug into his cheek. “It’s only a level 12, and you’re level 9. Not too big of a difference. With your armour and weapon, you out-level it.”

The miss sound effect spoke for itself.

“You’ll kill it eventually. You won’t always hit zeroes, so it’ll pass.”

Though your character dealt her first damage, you frowned. “That’s…that’s actually really good advice, Tenko. The stuff you just said would work well if you were trying to calm someone down—reminding people of reality and emphasising perseverance over luck or natural talent are some of the better ways to encourage people.”

“Is that so,” he asked flatly, trying to put off a yawn and failing, “I haven’t—I wasn’t thinking about hero work. Just thinking about the game.”

“Well, it was nice,” you said, “and it seemed like it came naturally. Mind if I ask if something caused it?”

He yawned again, but he must have leant away from the mic so that you wouldn’t hear anything besides the initial inhale. “Nothing special happened today, but I’m too tired to get irritated. Therapy took a lot out of me today.”

Therapy. Therapy. Okay, so he’s got an official diagnosis somewhere. The word today implies that it’s a regular thing, and for some reason, this session was more intense. Intense emotionally? Physically? What kind of therapy? Well, they offered cognitive behavioural therapy on campus, but considering his non-traditional student status, his might be outsourced. Plus, if you, a former hero but technically a civilian, are being implemented into his care plan without being informed directly—

“You usually don’t go this long without saying some inane non sequitur,” said Tenko, that same, strange scratching picking up on the mic, “Snap out of it. You’re gonna get killed by the easiest quest boss in the game.”

Making an undignified noise, you shook yourself and spam-clicked on a cherry pie for your character to eat until she was healed completely, and then you clicked on the zombie to attack again.

“Why’d you pause when I said therapy? Surprised I’d go? Think that sort of thing is below me?”

“Of course not,” you said, trying to seem like you were focused on the fight so that he wouldn’t get nervous about sharing personal information, “Therapy good. Therapy great. Everyone needs to go to therapy.” Since he appeared to be taking this casually, you could probably ask after the type without it seeming too intrusive. “What kind? CBT? That’s what—”

“You think U.A. would arrange for me to get my cock and balls tortured? That wouldn’t qualify as therapy for me, certainly, and there’s no way that U.A. would pay for—”

“Not fucking cock-and-ball torture, you muppet; cognitive behavioural therapy. The sitting-down-with-therapist-to-talk-about-your-trauma-and-restructuring-the-way-you-think-through-practise type. You fuckin’ pervert,” you said, grinning at his avatar onscreen.

“Good to know. I didn’t know the name for it.”

“It’s good that you made this mistake with me instead of with Aizawa-sensei.”

“He’s probably more inclined towards bondage. Congratulations on killing your first boss,” said Tenko, and you blinked in surprise at your character: you’d defeated the zombie while staring at him. It fell to the ground, dropping bones and some sort of arrows.

“Take those. Check to see if they’re iron or steel. All right, equip them in your ammo slot for now so that they don’t take up an inventory space.”

You did so. “Why didn’t it attack me with the arrows if it were holding them?”

“There’s no logic to it besides that arrows are on its drop table. It’s coded to attack by punching you in the face, which doesn’t involve arrows.”

“Sure. Now, let’s get out of the cult basement; I wanna bake more pies until we can make apple ones. Did you know that the first record of fruit pies was around 1600? That means these fruit pies are anachronistic, since this game pitches itself as medieval.”

“Is that…” The hesitance had you beaming, daring him to actually ask it. “Is that not medieval?”

“Tenko, get your head out of your ass. For reference, 1600 is arguably the year the Azuchi-Momoyama period ended and the Edo period began. The game frames itself as medieval European, and 1600 is hard Renaissance-slash-Early-Modern. That’s Shakespeare times, screwboy.”

Only silence on your headphones. Character still on the pew. You made your character walk over to his to perform the curtsy emote, and in real life, you frowned. “Did I go too far there? Bit too annoying? I’m really sorry if I’m bothering you with this sort of thing; my friends say that I—”

“Nothing’s wrong. I needed a moment,” came Tenko’s voice, quiet and steady, “I could hear you smiling, and it was—it was good.”

Inhaling sharply, you pressed a fist to your mouth. Great. Fucking fabulous. Goddammit, you hadn’t aimed for it to go this way, but were you now the one getting flustered at something as simple as—

“Do most people consider a long pause in conversation rude? Did I fuck up with that?”

“No! No, of course not,” you were saying, trying to recover but still startled at how he was able to flip the vibe of your conversations in so few words, words that seemed so casual to him but grabbed you by the throat/cunt, “Especially since you followed-up with a check-in of how it might be strange; a lot of times, people will be comforted by checking to see if something’s okay with them personally…”

Frowning, you trailed off when another avatar entered the cult’s sanctuary and strode up the aisle. You hovered over the new guy’s stupid frog mask to see his username was Venomothman.

“Fucking great,” grumbled Tenko, “Here comes someone else to break our immersion. Ignore him. I’ll go ahead and fight the zombie so that we can get out of here.”

“The zombie’s dead. You don’t have to fight him,” you said, as Venomothman sat directly on top of Tenkopeito, with both avatars glitching as they took up the same space on the pew.

Tenko made some sort of noise in the back of his throat. “No, I have to kill it, too. It’s like each of us is the only one doing the quest, so in your version, the evil has been defeated, but in my version—it’s this thing called an instance—”

Venomothman: wow a couple questing together

Venomothman: bet ur one guy on two accounts

Venomothman: roleplaying that he can get a gf

The new guy’s in-text chat appeared in yellow font above his avatar’s frog-faced head, and somehow, the boggly, green eyes made his words more irritating.

Venomothman: leave the basement sometimes ya incel

“Some people are assholes recreationally,” said Tenko, making his avatar stand to go to the altar as the clatter of mechanical typing came through the mic, “Let me get rid of this fucking scumba—wait.”

Venomothman: ur doing too much work to stare at pixelated ass

“Would it be correct for a hero to insult someone online?”

You shrugged, even though he couldn’t see it. “Eh. You’re not on duty, and you’re not under any persona connected with your public branding. I would say go for it, but since you’re trying to be better with people, you may want to practise.”

Venomothman: somehow this is even more pathetic than never knowing the touch of a woman at all

“Then I’ll shut him down. The shit-talking isn’t bothering me so much as his breaking our immersion in the game,” said Tenko, grabbing the hand on the altar to start his instance of the fight, “I’m trying to cultivate a particular experience for you, and he’s a fucker who won’t stop yapping. Give me a second.”

Venomothman: is this what does it for you??

Venomothman: why no response

Venomothman: hard to type with one hand, isn’t it, ******* shithead

You laughed through your nose. “Cipherstone censors the word fuck?”

“It censors fuck; it censors cunt,” said Tenko, avatar casting a weak air spell at the zombie, slowly, slowly draining its health, “Everything else is fair game.”

“Will it censor variations of cunt? Like, if I typed in cuntbag? Or—actually, let’s find that out later,” you said, tapping the buttons on your earbud cord to turn up the volume, “Let’s practise navigating difficult social interactions. What’s our goal here in this conversation? Is it to continue to engage?”

“No.” His spell missed, and the zombie landed a hit on his character, prompting him to eat half of a pie. “It’s to close the interaction. Therefore, I need to say something concise that invites no response, right? I’m assuming that a simple fuck off is unacceptable.”

“You’re getting better at this, y’know?”

“Is that condescension I detect?”

“Only a little.” You slumped back against your headboard and reached for the bottle of water on your bedside table. “Actually—no. No condescension. Genuinely, Tenko, you’re picking up on this stuff easily, and it’s impressive. You’ll be able to walk little old ladies across the street with style and flair in no time.”

“Hilarious,” he said, voice restrained and tight at the mention of his name (too easy—he gives himself away aurally so freely; who knows what you could read off of him when you had a visual?), “I’m sure no one wants me touching them. Can I—hm.” He sounded like he was pressing his fist against his face somehow. “Why you keep bothering to compliment me? Most people bitch down to me like I’ve spat my own cum in their coffee.”

“Wha—how about because you deserve to be complimented? Listen,” you said, electing to brush over his vivid simile, “Silent admiration rots. By keeping in appreciation or gratitude, you’re not doing anyone any good. Kind regards are meant to be shared. Like, now, if I held back any positive thoughts concerning your growth, then you might not feel encouraged to keep going.”

“Like I’m gonna go around fucking complimenting ev—”

“I’m not saying you have to,” you said, “but consider trying it more often. See if anything turns out better. And be sure to be sincere about it—obviously.”

“This is bullshit.”

“Just consider it. So. What has he told us about himself based on how he’s insulted you?”

“He’s so low-level that it looks like he just created his account. His stats are even lower than ours,” said Tenko, speaking more quickly now that it was a subject he was more comfortable with, unequipping his wand to punch the zombie instead, “But he’s gone out of his way to get the frog mask.”

“His words, Tenko,” you said, unscrewing the cap and doing your fucking darndest to pinch your mouth from smiling at his slight hitch when you said his name, “I’m trying to get you to notice on whom he looks down and what that means for his personal social status.”

“Right,” he said a bit too quickly, a bit of a break in his voice on the word, “He’s debasing me for—oh, you’re brilliant. How the hell do you notice these things? He’s using basement dweller as insult, meaning he considers himself above that. Leave it to me.”

You muted yourself briefly to glug down water; you didn’t know how sensitive the mic was on your earbuds, but considering that you could catch onto Tenko’s occasional rustling of what sounded like plastic bags on his side or typing on his mechanical keyboard, as he was right now, you would prefer not to be emitting the same.

Tenkopeito: Your mom wishes you would come out of your room to talk with the rest of the family more often

You spluttered into your water bottle as the yellow text appeared above his head, and you unmuted yourself. “That is not what I meant for you to—”

“Was I being mean?” The mic caught the creak of Tenko’s chair as he leant back in it, and you could picture him defensive and pouting as he crossed his arms (and it struck you that you couldn’t imagine his face. Grimacing, you bit the inside of your cheek). “I wasn’t being rude. I could be so much crueller, but I thought this would be more of a devastating blow. Living on the same floor as your family isn’t the same as living in the basement, so I’m acknowledging his level of social power while still demeaning—”

Venomothman: i mean you right

Venomothman: lmao how tf did you know it was me

“I think we should log out,” you said, wiping the water off of your chin with the back of your hand and setting the bottle back on the bedside table.

Over Tenko’s microphone, you heard the shrill pitch of a custom ringtone and a startled but violent shuffle at the noise. “Hold on. I’m getting a call,” he said, voice coming through at a distance, as if he’d knocked his mic aside.

“Oh? Who is it?”

It took him a minute, but Tenko eventually replied, “A friend.”

That must be a damn good microphone, because you could still pick up on Tenko’s side of the conversation a few feet away. “Yes, hello?” he asked, a bit more brusquely than you’d heard him before.

“Oh. I didn’t,” he was saying, “How was I supposed to know that you’d—yes, that’s her. The one working with Aizawa-sensei.”

Very nice, you were thinking, as you unlocked your own phone to check your messages. Very good for him to have friends. Not that you would’ve pegged him as the absolute loner type, because he proved to be adaptable and quick on his feet, but since Aizawa’d recruited you for interpersonal help, you’d considered that he may not have friends. So, good on him for having at least one friend, it seemed, who cared enough to create an account on some stupid video game solely to annoy him.

“—cool of you to make an account to hang out with me. Stop fucking laughing; I am trying to be kind to you, shitstain. Okay. I don’t know. I haven’t been in contact with him in the past two days. I’ve been busy. Let me check.” Tenko leant back towards the mic to address you. “Do we have a schedule for the rest of the week? For instance, are we doing this again on Thursday?”

“I thought we were,” you said, scanning your room for your planner so that you could check your calendar, “Did something come up?”

“It’s not imperative that I go,” Tenko was saying into your ear, while you picked up your laptop to walk over to your U.A.-issued desk, “but another friend who’s been out of town will finally be back then. We might hang out.”

“Psh, go with your friends,” you said, delighted that he had more than one (fighting envy that it was so easy for them to meet up), “We can do this another time.”

“Understood,” Tenko said and backed away from the mic.

Venomothman: so have you sucked his dick yet

Tenko’s incensed shout of “Touya!” had you turning down the volume.

Venomothman: not to be the world’s worst wingman, but my dude is packing. and goes commando all the time.

Venomothman: and i would know. “i” sometimes “did” our “laundry”

You: what’s with all those quotation marks

Venomothman: and do you know the last time it was sucked? never

(Fucking hell. This Touya was walking you back into forbidden territory: the sexualisation of Tenko. After that first session, when you’d been turned on by his confident, rumbling voice as he’d given you an order, you’d felt guilty for sexualising him for the rest of the night. It was as if instead of friend-zoning him, you’d sex-zoned him, only able to see him as a sexual person/object. For the sake of your mission task, that felt unfair.

Or maybe you weren’t even sexualising him. Maybe your brain was appropriately interpreting what he’d done as sexual.

Whatever. Something in your gut was begging you not to see Tenko only through romantic or sexual lenses right now, and you couldn’t explain why.

And talking about Tenko’s apparently massive dick was not helping.)

Tenkopeito: Touya if you don’t ******* shut up I am going to tear off your other arm

Venomothman: no need, boss man

You heard Tenko sigh and say into his phone, sounding exhausted, “I’m not your boss anymore, Touya.”

Venomothman: no need, douchebag

***

Draped over the side of your bed, you dangled a shoelace in front of the gap in an attempt to coax Dango out from underneath. “Dango, sweetie,” you said, whipping the shoelace to the side, “Come out here so that I can look you in the eyes. Where is my planner, you whore?”

At a firm knock on your door, you shot up, dropping the lace. “Never mind,” you said, sliding off the bed, “Stay hidden.”

You opened your door on Aizawa, bare arm raised in mid-knock, wisps of hair plastered to his forehead by dried sweat, and a sweatshirt tied around his waist. He took two seconds to look over you before saying, “Get dressed. Civilian clothes. You have three minutes.”

Throwing on yesterday’s outfit, you rushed to follow Aizawa out of the dorm and off campus, nearly stepping on his heels while he wove through night pedestrians, pulling on his own sweatshirt to minimise skin contact once the crowd thickened.

You flipped up your coat collar to sneak a glance over your shoulder. “Is this a test?”

Aizawa combed his fingers back through his hair, gaze straight ahead. “Not for you.”

“Right.” You stepped more lightly, naturally falling back into patrol patterns: noting exits (narrow alleyways favouring the left side, underground into the subway station), checking vantage points (upper-storey windows in the resident buildings, non-industrial rooftops), honing in on light sources (yellow- and LED-tinted streetlamps, ambience from open businesses) and physical presence (close enough to brush shoulders with passerby [putting you on edge, because the slightest touch could be pivotal]). You had to consciously unclench your jaw, body flooded with stress it hadn’t felt in months. Swiping at the inner corner of your eye, you asked, “Does it have anything to do with the guy in the black hoodie and face mask following us?”

Aizawa laughed through his nose, once. “All right, then. What’s that ice cream place you and Shinsou went to all the time? Take us there.”

Bewildered, you changed directions to head towards Nekozawa’s, with Aizawa placing a hand on your shoulder to slow your pace, and by the time you pushed open Nekozawa’s glass door to the glowing, pink parlour, you were prepared to hold it open for your follower in the face mask. You watched his broad back as he ordered some ungodly, radioactive-blue ice cream with gummy bears before retreating to a table outside despite the dropping temperature, and Aizawa gestured you forward so that he could pay for the three of you.

Holding your ice cream, you hesitated at the door, swaying underneath the seasonal cat decorations dangling from the ceiling.

“Go on,” said Aizawa, retrieving the U.A. card from his wallet, “I’ve got to make a phone call, so don’t wait up. Don’t be too harsh on him; we’re here because he did a good job in the field today. Tailing you was extra practise.”

Nodding, you nudged open the door, bracing yourself at the cold, night air, and let it drift shut behind you as you approached the table, the farthest one from the pink lights.

Hood pulled up, Tenko bent over his blue monstrosity, face mask hanging by a loop over his left ear. Scuffing your boots on the concrete to announce your presence, you sat across from him, setting your cup on the cast iron before swinging your leg over the bench. You managed a cursory glance over what appeared to be a sketchbook before he closed it, and once he’d stowed it away, he swopped his spoon to his dominant hand to keep eating.

“You draw, Tenko?” To make him feel more comfortable, you kept your gaze towards Aizawa inside on the phone. “Do you think you’re any good?”

“Not yet. But I’m gonna be,” he said, clicking his pen and clenching it in his left hand, “I’ve got all these fucking artist’s gloves, so I might as well put ‘em to use.”

“Very nice,” you said, nodding, closing your eyes as you dipped your spoon into your ice cream, “But as a reminder, you don’t have to be good at something to enjoy it. I love doing stuff I’m absolute shit at. It reminds me of medieval bestiaries. They didn’t know shit about animals, but, boy howdy, did they have fun illustrating them. Did you know a weasel used to be called a polecat?”

Tenko huffed, his face mask fluttering. “It really is you.”

“Of course it is,” you said, beaming, and for the first time, you looked at him.

Tension flooded your teacup of a body and overflowed into the saucer and onto the floor. Heightened by the cold, a vein on the back of your hand strained and pulsed visibly, and, jaw locking, you lunged over the tabletop to grab him by the shoulders, shaking him.

“What the hell is wrong with you‽” You climbed over the table, pushed his ice cream out of the way (he shot out a hand to save it from toppling off the table, and he ripped off his face mask to set it aside before it fell to the ground), and planted your foot on his thigh and your elbows on his chest, caging him in as you forced him flat on the bench. “Why the fuck are you using your real name in your fucking Cipherstone username, you fucking moron‽ People could fucking track you!”

The man who had been Shigaraki Tomura eyed your fists in his hoodie and then his cup of ice cream. “You didn’t have a problem with it before.”

“I—” This idiot! “I didn’t know it was you. There are a lot of Tenkos.”

“Then there’s my logic,” he said, hands dangling by his sides, making no attempt to touch you—you didn’t know if you appreciated it or not. “I thought you knew who I was.”

“No, I fucking—I would have given you advice that was more specific to you, over the spiel I was giving interns.” Releasing your grip on his hoodie, you sat back up and scooted over on the tabletop. Though you wanted to keep holding him, to hug him after all he’s been through, he probably wouldn’t want that. “I’m—sorry about tackling you. I, uh—fuck,” you said, and, grimacing, you slid his ice cream back to him and reached across for your own, pretending with everything you’ve got that it was perfectly normal that you were sitting on a table next to Shigaraki Tomura, who’s been teaching you to play a video game, who’s apparently living at the end of the hall, who’s decorated his door with Eri’s silver tinsel for Christmas, who’s banned from drinking caffeine, who could rest his fucking head on your thigh if he wanted. Normal. Yeah.

“Again, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to keep doing that,” he said, fishing out a gummy bear like you hadn’t lunged at him, “Your reaction was reasonable.”

“It—it wasn’t, really,” you said, laughing nervously, “I wasn’t expecting you. I mean, no one knows what—what happened to you. Afterwards. It was really unclear.”

“It was that way on purpose,” said Tenko, “It was thought to be better to emphasise the total destruction of All for One instead of whatever happened to his leftovers.” He shifted a bear to his back molars to bite into the frozen gummy better. “Nezu-sensei decided it was better to keep it muddled for now.”

Muddled was a good way to put it. There’d been so much chaos at the end of the war that so much never was accounted for. You’d think that the location of Shigaraki’s body would be high on the list, but satisfaction was found simply in the splintered, spectacular remains of AFO. Shigaraki’s name wasn’t cleared, per se, but in the aftermath, Midoriya especially stressed that yes, Shigaraki committed atrocities, but he’d been abused, groomed, and literally bodily possessed by AFO to think that way. Didn’t excuse him, but wasn’t entirely his fault.

The locations of the other PLF members—well, the core of the League, really—were public, if not vague. Spinner was in the States at a rehab that specialised in heteromorph trauma; Toga was at a local women’s facility called Sakura Grove, and Dabi was living with his family—he must have been that Touya on the phone, holy shit.

So, here he was, sitting on the bench at the same ice cream parlour you visited with the same friends who fought him, hunched over in oversized, black clothes you suspected were Aizawa’s, broad shoulders and faded scars out of place in the pink lights, white hair pulled back in a blunt ponytail with his bangs flopping over his forehead, seemingly unbothered by the toe of your boot pressing against his denim-covered thigh.

God. He’s scratched at his neck so much that it looks like he’s been beheaded with a blunt axe.

Tenko’s eyes flickered up to you, their colour deepening to crimson in the tinted lights. “So. You’ve got questions.”

“Are you okay?”

Tenko swallowed with effort, scowling. “Don’t start with a hard one.”

“Right,” you said, throat drying, “Who knows you’re staying at U.A.?”

“Faculty and staff. My therapist. The police force. The ramen shop Aizawa-sensei and I go to. The intensive rehab I was at before. The top of the hero commission. Touya, Touya’s father, Spinner, Toga. Eri and Midoriya,” he said, tongue swiping over his lower lip, “You.”

Somehow both fewer and more than you’d figured. “What exactly…is the situation? Aizawa-sensei was vague.”

“Officially, I’m like Eri: a ward of U.A. My old rehab thought I was good enough to live off their campus, so I’m back here, where I can be watched by people capable enough to bring me down if I go crazy again,” he said, brow furrowed as he traced the side of his cup with his spoon, “I should resent that, but it’s not like I have anywhere else to go, especially somewhere as comfortable as this. This is fucking stupid to say aloud, but fucking—fuckin’ All Might is the closest thing I have to family now, along with Midoriya.”

“I’m not following.”

“My grandma was the holder of One for All before All Might had it.” He pointed at you with his spoon. “So you can make the connection from there. But it’s stupid; I’m stupid—” He was shaking his head and staring into his lap. “—because it’s like I have a brother in Midoriya and a goddamn father in All Might—and then Aizawa-sensei’s acting like a dad, too, to me and Eri, and Nezu-sensei? Nezu-sensei is so fucking cool,” said Tenko, dragging his hand down his face, “He’s got a driver’s license! I don’t even have one of those. And he can type fucking 210 words per minute with those little rat paws, and I’m still getting used to using all five fingers, fuck.”

Cute. You scraped the bottom of your cup. “Hey, I think you type well.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why it takes me so long to reply in the in-game chat function. Why I prefer communicating over voice call. Learning new habits, and shit.” Tenko stabbed his ice cream with his spoon. “Nezu-sensei has arranged for me to train as an aftermath-clean-up hero. I had been—” His fingers on one hand circled the thumb of the other. “—in discussion with him in rehab about what I could do, and we decided I could consistently help when there’s collapsed buildings after attacks; I could dust the wreckage so that we could find hostages or make it easier to clean up and rebuild, and Aizawa-sensei and All Might-sensei have been working with me to control what parts of what I touch gets dusted so that I could create pitfall traps for holding criminals. It’s…going. It’s going,” he said, curling his lips in his mouth to moisten them, and with narrowed, determined eyes, he took another bite of ice cream, the blue staining the inside of his lips.

“Tenko, that’s a really cool application of your quirk. I hope you can find more,” you said, tilting your head and smiling down at him, “but—I have to ask—aren’t you tired?”

Tenko rolled his eyes. “Of course. You’re part of the group ensuring I don’t have caffeine.”

“No, I mean,” you said, shaking your head, “I mean, you don’t have to be perceived as useful. You’re—you’re just fine if you wanted to rest. You’re worthwhile just as you, not as—as a job, as a, I don’t know, a redeemed hero or anything. You can just be Tenko.”

“I know. My therapist keeps reminding me. But one of the most vivid memories I have from when I was living in that house,” said Tenko, sneering, “is that I desperately wanted to be a hero and that I would pretend to be one a lot. While I’m aware that I can never atone for what I’ve done, if I did nothing but rest, I’d be alone with my thoughts. And with what I’m learning to do, as a hero, someday, someone might…need me. Need my help. I imagine that’s a good feeling.”

You sat back, leaning on your hands, the cast-iron pattern cutting into your palms, to survey him. “You’re very much re-writing my first impressions of you as my gaming buddy and as the post-war Shigaraki. You’re surprisingly well-adjusted.”

He snorted. “I shouldn’t think it’s surprising. I’ve had almost a year and a half in intensive rehab, and I’m still in therapy every day.” He started listing on his fingers, starting with his thumb. “I’m on antidepressants; I know where my next meal’s coming from and when I’ll get it; I consistently have a safe roof over my head, and I know my friends are getting that, too. I have mentors who care for me as a human person instead of as a tool. I get to stay in contact with my friends and get to make new ones,” he said, nodding curtly at you before quickly looking away, “I’m fucking away from that sadistic fuckface. He’s goddamn dead and burned away to nothing. That’s the main thing. Everything else is a bonus.”

Tenko sighed, bangs fluttering with the movement, his shoulders straining as he leaned onto both his elbows on the table. He sighed again and scooped the last gummy bear out of his cup, and you let the silence carry on while you finished eating.

“Long phone call,” Tenko said eventually.

An increasingly grumpy Aizawa was leaning against the glittery wall inside, phone between his ear and shoulder, and furiously scraping the inside of his ice cream cup.

“Yeah,” you said, “but it’s been good talking to you, Tenko. I really appreciate you telling me all of this.”

“I would’ve talked about it sooner, but I figured you knew who I was and didn’t want to address it,” said Tenko, tapping his fingers one by one on the table.

Pulling the collar of your coat closer to your neck, you frowned, hesitating on how to phrase it. You watched your breath cloud in the night air before settling on, “There’s an off-switch?”

Brow pinching very slightly, Tenko followed your gaze to his hand, with all five fingers coming to rest on the cast iron, and he tapped all five of them on it for emphasis. “Yeah. There always has been. All for One kept it from me. Power of belief kept me jittery and alert my whole life.”

“So long as you thought you’d destroy anything you touched, you would?”

He nodded. “That bitch.”

“Agreed. We should kill him.”

And Tenko laughed. Just for a moment, barely making any noise, but he smiled with his teeth, grin stretching across his face as he looked away and eventually closing his lips, the smile lingering for a few more precious seconds.

***

You closed your laptop to answer the phone at work, clearing your throat to ready your receptionist voice before you picked up. “U.A. University Administration; how may I help you?”

“I need you to fucking murder me,” Tenko spat through the phone, angry and panicked, “I need you to rip out my bones and suck out my guts through a straw. He fucking let me hold onto them, and I’ve fucking gone and lost such a fucking iconic piece of—”

“Tenko, please, take a breath,” you said, relaxing your customer service mode but clutching the phone to your ear, and after catching the eye of the woman with jars of strawberry preserves waiting to see Nezu, you slumped over in your seat so that she couldn’t see you over the desk’s overhang. “Tell me what’s wrong. We can fix it. Are you alone? Is everyone else busy? Do you need to come sit with me?”

“I—fuck,” he said, and you heard some deliberately slow breathing, but his voice still had an irate, twitchy edge afterwards. “During our practise patrol last night, Aizawa-sensei was talking about support equipment for me. I’d never given it much thought, because it’s always been just me and my hands. He leant me his Eraser Goggles for me to think about for my—and I don’t know where they fucking are,” he said, inhaling sharply on the last word, “I’d left them on my desk, but I’d taken them up to the roof to sketch them, and then I’d brought them back to my dorm—”

“And Aizawa-sensei must have swung by to pick them up since then,” you said, pushing yourself back to slide in your swivel chair to the back of the reception desk, “because he was here at the beginning of my shift to print something off, and the goggles are on top of the printer. Relax, Tenko.”

“Hooooooly fuck, you’re kidding,” said Tenko, audibly deflating, and you smiled to yourself as you slid their band around your wrist.

You kicked yourself back up to the front. “You’re okay. You’re not gonna get in trouble. I’ll bring them by at the end of my shift.” You sat up straight, and the strawberry preserves woman was shooting a concerned look in your direction. “I’m at work, though, so I think we’d better end the call soon. Anything else you need?”

Tenko hummed into the phone. “Not really. You can’t be that busy.”

You smiled again, feeling—feeling domestic, as if he were your boyfriend calling you during work hours. How strange, Shigaraki Tomura. How interesting. “Would you believe I was grinding in Cipherstone when you called?”

“And you don’t call yourself a gamer,” he said, clearing his throat multiple times, “What skills?”

“Woodcutting and firemaking,” you said, opening your laptop again, “Are you feeling under the weather? Your voice had a bit of a rasp there.” Sounded like his old voice for a moment.

“Further cementing that Aizawa-sensei’s right to be worried about you. He says your brain’s going haywire analysing any detail work you can get, because you’re not out in the field anymore,” said Tenko, clearing his throat again (?), “Am I your new project?”

“Tell me what’s wrong, lest I pick up some damn throat lozenges for you before I come home,” you said, and a voice in the back of your head screamed that that threat was extremely cosy and intimate, especially since you’re claiming both of you have a home in the same place—which, sure, you both lived on the same hallway, but so did Aizawa and Eri, and please shut up; Shimura Tenko needs a friend, not a lover right now. Besides, that stupid hallway wasn’t really home for either of you but was more like a temporary holding cell.

“Fine. I’ve been throwing up all morning.”

“Thank you,” you said, electing not to make a pregnancy joke, “Do you need to see Recovery Girl?”

“No, I’m used to it, and I’ve already talked to her about it. I threw up a lot out of anxiety and stress when I was growing up with All for One, and now I’m throwing up because my body can’t handle the amount of food it’s getting regularly, which is fucking ridiculous, since it’s still less than a normal person’s version of three meals a day.”

What. The fuck. How can he casually drop details of deep trauma like it’s nothing? How could AFO let a child keep vomiting out of stress for years and years and never interfere? Well. Yeah, he could. You supposed that Shigaraki’s voice, as you first heard it as the USJ incident, was the ultimate result of that heavy strain on his throat for years. Explains some things about his teeth back then, too.

God. If AFO weren’t dead, you’d strangle him. Keeping a child physically weak because he’d be easier to mould. It was known that AFO had been psychologically manipulating Shigaraki, but now that you thought about it, manipulating his physical growth would have served AFO, too, since he was planning to move into Shigaraki’s body.

And what did this guy do now that he’s got bodily autonomy? Oh. Just. Play some video games. Talk with his friends. Try out some new hobbies. Make crafts with Eri.

It’s a shame AFO didn’t have a grave, because you’d be skiving off work to drown it in acid.

“My stomach is killing me,” said Tenko, “I’ve got to hang up to drink something and go to sleep. Knock on my door when you get home. I want to start a new quest as soon as you finish work.”

Home. He’d said it, too. He probably didn’t mean it in the same, domestic way that you’d been entertaining, but it made your heart swell. “Okay, Tenko. See you then.”

***

His therapist had assigned him homework: go on a planned, public outing with a peer, and stay out for at least an hour.

It wasn’t exactly a picnic you were packing, you kept telling yourself, scooting behind Tenko to get to the spice cabinet in the dorm kitchen, because that’d be too close to a date rather than homework. But the two of you packed a meal to take, with Eri sitting on the kitchen counter while she nibbled at rabbit-cut apple slices, and she held the thermos of decaf tea in her lap until it was time to stow it away.

After a short train ride and a quiet walk through midtown, Tenko stopped you in front of the back gate to what appeared to be a restored, historical estate, judging by the golden shachihoko shibi on each corner of polished hip-and-gable rooftops of the extensively aristocratic—mansion? palace?—that you could make out in across the distance of its sprawling grounds, the immediacy of which was the excessively well-kept, traditional garden that you and Tenko were breaking into.

“Is this legal?” you asked as Tenko reached through the grate to unlatch the doorway.

“I have an in with the gardener,” he said, sweeping the gate open for you and gesturing brusquely for you to enter.

“No, that wasn’t a joke,” you said, taking the few steps inside, finding yourself planted onto a polished, level stepping stone, and staring down a squeaky clean tsukubai despite the thin layer of frost over the water’s surface as the whole bowl began to freeze, “You can’t be doing anything even vaguely illegal, Tenko.”

When you said his name, he closed his eyes, pausing for just a hair in his relatching the gate, before facing you and shifting the strap of his bag farther up his shoulder. “Prude. Yes, we have permission from the owner.”

He kept looking back over his shoulder at you as he led you through the gardens, hopping across stepping stones to pass over a carefully shaped brook that led to a tiny waterfall near stone lanterns, weaving through trellises with the wintry shells of wisteria vines and shaped evergreens. He tutted and rolled his eyes when you stopped at the waterlily-coated koi pond, its fish swimming and flicking their tails in the artificially heated water (for some, odd reason, what appeared to be a compact duck coop had been constructed near the pond’s edge, its wood new and un-bleached by the sun like the rest of garden décor). You’d been about to ask about it when Tenko had jumped out of his skin at the sound of a deer scare, bamboo tapping stone.

“Stop laughing,” Tenko said, cheeks burning (and you tried not to take too much pleasure in that, but you couldn’t help it).

“Oh, a sensitive boy, a delicate boy,” you said, grinning as you hopped onto the same stone as him, cool, clouding breaths mixing together in the proximity, and you yourself could feel heat rise to your face. “Nothing to be ashamed of. Good traits to have, actually. Means you’re feeling secure and comfortable in your surroundings, if you’re off-set that easily.” Feeling bold—it was the cold; it was how the proximity already flustered him; it was how his hands were full because of the bag; it was—whatever—you reached for his silly All Might scarf and re-tied the front, fluffing it up to cover more of his neck.

You made the mistake of making eye contact: full of caution, his eyes kept darting from your hands to your face, searching for something, his lips parted, otherwise completely fucking frozen.

Were you making him uncomfortable? You stilled, your fingers still in the fringe of his scarf, tension tightening in your chest and jaw (clenching).

Tenko noticed. And—and to this day, you can’t believe he fucking did this—he ran his tongue over his lower lip and lifted his chin, exposing more of his neck to you. He then was suddenly very interested in the koi pond, the ruddiness spreading from his cheeks to his ears.

Throat dry, you gave his scarf a final tug and patted it (?) to show (??) a job well done (???). “Yeah,” you said, smoothly, like a smooth person, like someone who adjusts scarves of hot, in-process-of-reformation villains on the regular, “Where are we going?”

Tenko spun on his heel and strode away, muttering what sounded like, “Right into my grave.”

You pretended not to hear it and let him lead you to the only building unattached to the main house: a small, traditional teahouse that had a recent addition to it in the back. The creak of the bamboo engawa when you climbed onto it was muffled underneath the bright pealing of windchimes strung across the covered porch. Tenko was already kneeling at the tearoom’s sunken fireplace inside, its handle carved into a fish, fiery as its kindling, and was unpacking the travel teacups from the bag as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the cold, enveloped by the comfortable heat trapped inside by the cushioned walls.

Tenko must have arranged for this space to have been prepared for you. A kotatsu with floor cushions was tucked near the fireplace, pre-heated, with two further space heaters in the unoccupied corners, cords trailing into what must be a hallway linking the traditional and modern rooms, the latter of which was shut off from view. Beside a red-tinted wooden dresser stood an oddly empty tokonoma, and instead of a scroll or painting, amidst bits of pieces of scotch tape hastily half-torn off the back was a shittily cut-out, paper heart.

Shaking your head, you took a step towards Tenko, and the floor chirped at you, freezing you in place.

“Yeah, I don’t know why they do that,” said Tenko, pushing on his knees to stand, “They just do.”

“These must be nightingale floors,” you said, crossing to the kotatsu, a bird under each step, “The chirping’s caused by the way the nails rub against the v-shaped clamps holding the floor together. Have you been to Nijō Castle in Kyoto? These are in the hallway—supposedly used as a security measure, but who knows.”

“You need a hobby.” Tenko ripped the paper heart from the back of the tokonoma, crumpling it in his fist. A shred of it remained under the scrap of tape on the wall, which he bent towards to scrape off with a blunt fingernail.

“I have several,” you said, easing down onto a cushion and unfolding your legs underneath the kotatsu blanket, the luxurious heat swaddling your legs and hips. You fought the urge to curl up underneath it entirely.

“How many of them involve getting your ass thrashed by me in Cipherstone?” Tenko retrieved the bag from the sunken fireplace before returning to the kotatsu, and he sat on your left, resting the bag between the two of you.

You took the thermos of decaf tea when he handed it to you. “Tenko, you’ve been playing that game for years, and I just began. Of course my ass is gonna be thrashed by—you know how the game works. You have all of this previous information about the game that I don’t have.”

Tenko scoffed and slid your teacup across the kotatsu’s surface. “As if I could conceal any information from you. You’re too…eh.” He waved it off, shaking his head.

“I’m too what?” You unscrewed the thermos lid, and steam surged upwards, rising to caress the planes of your face.

“It’s been unfair of Aizawa-sensei to make me tail you,” said Tenko, leaning your way, all five fingers curled around his own teacup as he stretched across the tabletop. “I’d have a chance of success if it were anyone else.”

“I’ll give you that,” you said, pouring steaming, amber tea with slices of yuzu into Tenko’s cup, “You’re getting quite good at it, not that you were bad in the first place. But yeah, it’s a bit mean of him to test your tracking skills on me.” He’d never said to stop, so you poured until liquid almost overflowed at the rim.

He gasped at the heat but nudged his teacup back to his place at the table, unable to hold it in his palm anymore. “I think I would’ve preferred working with Hound Dog-sensei for that. He’s less detail-oriented. I could win, if it weren’t you.” Jutting out his lower lip, Tenko glared down at his tea for a moment before slumping in his seat to slurp at the tea without picking it up.

“Don’t feel bad about it. It was literally and actually my focus for hero work, profiling and detail shit and being aware of my surroundings. Information stuff. Infiltration stuff.” Setting the thermos on the far corner, you cupped your hands loosely around your teacup, appreciating the warmth and getting cosier by the minute.

Tenko was rooting through the bag for the other thermoses, full of sukiyaki for each of you. “It’s clear you’ve worked hard to hone your skills. Were you this talented as a student?”

You accepted the new thermos, fingers clenching tightly around it. “Uh. I think I may have been better back then. More focused. More passionate, anyway. I had to think about it really hard back then, make conscious decisions to notice things, and now I think I do it instinctively. I think I’m slipping because of that.”

“Hm,” said Tenko, tongue rubbing over his teeth behind closed lips, and he opened his mouth to say something but shut it, instead twisting off the cap to his soup thermos. He took the first sip of sukiyaki broth and—and was absolutely beautiful (you couldn’t make sense of it beyond that; he was a mess of details that you couldn’t fit together into a larger picture that made any sense: white eyelashes light against his cheeks as they fluttered shut, face muscles relaxed, scars overlapping with laugh lines, cracked lips becoming moistened by the soup, both hands cupped around his thermos like a child, no strain to his posture, baggy hoodie swallowing him up, kotatsu blanket yanked up to his hips to cover his crossed legs, scar on the corner of his mouth delicately shifting with his baffled smirk when he caught you staring, a strange pink rising to the tips of his ears). “What?”

Uh. Hm. You pinched the bridge of your nose and then moved to rub your eyelids. “What were you going to say about me?” you asked, and you withdrew your hand from your face to raise the soup thermos to your lips, taking a mouthful of noodles and the sweet, salty broth.

Tenko shook his head. “I’m trying to avoid thoughts that fall back into my old habits.”

“Try me,” you said, holding his gaze when he met it, “I won’t tell.”

Weary, he broke eye contact, and he fixated on fishing out a certain slice of green onion. “We needed someone like you back then.”

Back then? When he—oh.

Back in the League.

Though you attempted to hide your grin by taking a sip of sukiyaki, you caught his eyes flicker to it. “You would’ve taken me? You would’ve let me in?”

“Would you have joined?” he shot back, a bit too quickly.

“No,” you said, rolling your shoulders and settling down farther underneath the kotatsu, “Never. But since you shared something you shouldn’t’ve, I’ll do the same.” You set your thermos down to rub your eyes again—God, you couldn’t look at him for too long, lest your intrusive thoughts hand you your ass. “I thought about it. About joining you.”

You dragged your hand down your face, peeking between your fingers at a muted clink. Tenko was staring at you, something fucking unreadable in his scrounched eyes, and both hands lay five-fingered and flat on the kotatsu, steam from his open thermos fluffing up hair on one side of his head. “You’re not serious. You wouldn’t have.”

“Not in the way you think,” you said, tilting your head back, “but I often thought, in the aftermath of the Paranormal Liberation Raid, what I could’ve done, if I’d known what I know now. And as the rest of the war was unfolding, I only wanted it more.”

Tenko blinked, slowly. “Tell me what you would’ve done.”

“Oh, you would’ve hated me, down to the dregs of my very soul,” you said, shifting to sit on your knees, “I would’ve started after your fight with Re-Destro, after the PLF was established. When you were letting allllllllll those heroes in, the sidekicks, the nobodies, anyone who seemed like they were with the cause. I would’ve infiltrated. Slipped in without notice. Hawks did, with the Commission, but I would’ve been going in as a free agent.”

“No one notices a U.A. student slide in between the masses. Re-Destro’s lackeys wouldn’t notice you at the door like I would. You get in,” Tenko said, taking his thermos in hand again but still engrossed in you, “What then?”

“There was a short period of time between the PLF establishment and your procedure, right? Around a month? That’s when I go. I worm my way into the good graces of some of the nine lieutenants—I’ve decided my pipeline would’ve been Geten to Toga to you. You’d just come out of an enormous battle, with Re-Destro and that city and Gigantomachia for a whole month. I heard you were bandaged up, on crutches, that you’d lost fingers that you regrew in that regeneration tank,” you said, eyes on his hands, one in a fist in his lap and the other around his thermos, five fingers pressing onto the grip but the pinkie finger hitched farther up than the rest, “That you’d given a speech and made your appearances regardless. That you’d pushed yourself to your limit and then broke yourself a little more. And you would’ve loathed me, because I would’ve come in, earned my way to your side, and I would’ve put my hand on your shoulder, slid it up your neck to cup your cheek to ask Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to rest?” You smiled and huffed, shoving it down, and though his hard stare should’ve pinned you to your seat, you pushed on the corner of the kotatsu to edge yourself over to his side, a knee on his cushion. “I like to think that you’ve sighed, sulked a bit, reluctant to admit anything was wrong at all, because back then, you had no use for moonlight. But I would’ve made you look at me, taken you to a bed, made you lie down until your eyes fluttered shut and the tension swept through your body and left. And you would rest,” you said, finding yourself leaning over him very slightly, knees touching his, just enough so that he leant backwards just a fraction, “I would’ve made that month so soft for you. I would’ve taken care of you, when nobody was fucking paying attention to you in the way that they should’ve. I fucking—I wanted it.” You gripped the front of his hoodie, fist grasping more fabric than necessary to shake him. “I wanted it. I wanted to care for you. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know. And you were fucking alone, in an unfamiliar place, and it kills me to think about that.”

You ducked your head to wipe your watery eyes on your sleeve, taking a breath—and realising what you were doing. You loosened your grip, but before you could pull away, Tenko was cat-like quick to grab your sleeve—why won’t he touch you?

“I wouldn’t have accepted your help,” he said, quiet, controlled, holding you down with his eyes, hand shifting to curve under your sleeved wrist, signalling that you could escape at any time, “That was after the worst month of my life, fighting Machia, and I wouldn’t have accepted it. I had too much to do. I would’ve shaken you off.”

“No, you wouldn’t’ve.”

“I would’ve,” he said, a bare finger, featherlight, skimming over the tender, bare skin of the underside of your wrist (oh, wow), “I wouldn’t trust that easily in that short of a time. You’d have met me, and that’d be it. If you’d persisted, I would’ve ripped you to shreds and tossed you aside.”

“Tenko,” you said, both relief and tightness blooming from your wrist, “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

The hallway shoji slammed open, somehow rattling as it slid in its tracks and shook the walls, and you and Tenko scrambled apart, with you jolting backwards on your hands, grappling for your seat cushion, and Tenko banging his thermos on the kotatsu, hastily wrestling with keeping it upright as he flung his body to the side.

“Hey, fuck you, Touya,” Tenko spluttered out, elbowing himself upright as—as fucking Dabi strode inside, hands in the deep pockets of his black sweatpants. “You said you’d stay in the main house.”

“Don’t mind me,” said Touya, cool as you please, raising both of his hands in defence, “I had to ensure you’re not fucking in my bed.”

“What is—” Tenko clambered to his feet to cross to him, chirping with each stomp, and whisper-shouting once he’d corralled Touya into a far corner. “I said we’d hang out later today, Touya. You swore you’d stay inside and watch Naruto this afternoon.”

The polite thing to do would be to appear fascinated by the tea. You returned to your cushion and poured yourself another cup.

“Yeah, but I’ve been told I’ve got shit to do later. I’ve got to go to this fuckin’—fuckin’ family stuff. I don’t wanna get into it,” said Touya, at full volume, “and I wanted to check that your girl was real. Y’know, she looks nothing like someone who’d have GinzengTea as her username. Have you given it to her already?”

“Shut the fuck up. I was just about to do that, if you hadn’t interrupted, cockhead.”

“Cool,” he said, a bird-note as he shifted his weight, “I wanna see what she thinks.”

“Hell, no—”

“I helped pick ‘em out. Let me watch and have an ohagi, and I’ll leave,” said Touya, chirping towards you before he finished the sentence, and Tenko followed him, muttering under his breath.

Touya sat on the bare tatami next to you, joints cracking as he yanked the kotatsu blanket up his legs, shooting you a small salute and a concerningly charming smile. “Hey,” he said, tilting his head, eyes half-lidded, smile stretching to show more of his even, white teeth, “I’ve seen you before, yeah? When was the last time you laid eyes on me?”

Tenko pelted him in the chest with a plastic-wrapped ohagi, cutting off the ooze of charisma. “Show-off,” he said, nudging another sweetened rice ball your way.

You nodded but didn’t move to unwrap it, since you were still working on your sukiyaki. “I’m surprised you remember, Touya,” you said, the name feeling strange on your tongue, “It must’ve been years since I elbowed you in the tit.”

Eyes lighting the fuck up, you snapped towards Tenko when he laughed into his plastic wrap: still not loud, still not making any vocalisation with it, but releasing a heavy, sharp burst of air with a wide, open grin. He hunched over to hide more of it, using both hands to unwrap his ohagi—and in the moment he realised he’d been unwrapping it with only his pointer fingers and thumbs, he dropped the rest of his fingers onto the rice ball, still smirking to himself.

Biting your lip in your own smile, you turned back to Touya (you caught his moment of mild alarm at how thrilled you were when Tenko laughed—or maybe it was alarm at Tenko laughing at all—but Touya relaxed his eyebrows and shut his mouth the second you faced him again). “God, yeah, it must have been before that last battle that we’d met in a fight, and I’d gotten close enough to hit you, and…” You shook your head. “Actually, I don’t wanna talk about that stuff. It’s not who we are now.”

“That’s fine.” Touya nodded towards Tenko and took a bite of his ohagi. “Shimura, don’t you have something to give her?”

Shimura. That was his last name, you supposed, but wasn’t it odd that Tenko called Touya by his given name and that Touya called Tenko by his family name? Tenko didn’t make you call him Shimura. Well, you supposed that there’s only one Shimura now, and because of the number of Todorokis, it paid to be specific—

“Here.” Tenko set a flat box in front of you, flipping the buckle of his bag back over. “I was going to give it to you with more formality, but since this bastard showed up, I’m doing it like this.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, brow furrowed, you unpacked a pair of pale blue headphones, soft to the touch with a mesh headband so that your head wouldn’t ache.

“Noise-cancelling,” Tenko said, gabbling, frowning very slightly, “Rechargeable. There’s a detachable microphone so it can function as a headset. I wanted to do something good for you.” His eyes darted towards Touya, and they dropped to his ohagi’s bulging filling, seeping out onto the plastic wrap. “You need them, anyway. I’ve been sick of hearing you through those shitty earbuds; their sound is terrible, and when you said you’d lost your only pair—which I don’t fucking understand how you can lose those things, because they just fucking show up in my shit all the time, like a goddamn plague—I thought you needed something quality—just to make it easier on my end, obviously, so that I don’t have to tell you to yell into that shitty, built-in micropho—”

“Tenko,” you said, reaching over to place your tea-hot hand over the back of his, fingers curving with his along ohagi’s edge, “Thank you so much. I adore them. I’m really grateful that you would think of me.”

Tenko froze, the same as he had when you’d adjusted his scarf. Unable to look you in the eye, like a prey animal, stiff, shoulders tense, colour rushing up his neck to his face and ears again—but this time, he lifted his hand just a hair from his ohagi to press back into your palm, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Hoo, boy,” said Touya, startling the both of you when he slammed his hands on the kotatsu to push himself up, “I’ve had enough. I’ve had my little snack. I’m leaving.” Once on his feet, he stretched, pressing his hands to his lower back and arching it, grunting.

“Good fucking riddance, cocksucker,” said Tenko, rising and grabbing Touya by the elbow to haul him to the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Touya, dragging his feet, chirping slurred and confused by his movement, and when Tenko had him at the wall, trying to shove him out, Touya, smirking under your watch, whispered something to Tenko while forcing something into his palm. Touya ducked out as Tenko looked at what he’d accepted and, letting out a yelp, dusted whatever it was before he hurried back to the kotatsu.

(When you left the teahouse half an hour later, you discovered that he’d decayed only the wrapper and not the condom itself.)

***

“One moment, please. Nezu-sensei is in a meeting right now, but he’ll be out momentarily. Please take a number—yes, the ticket puncher when you first came in,” you said to yet another impatient and pissed client in the admin waiting room, packed to the gills with parents, press, vendors, potential sponsors, and, for some reason, Mt. Lady’s entire representative team. “By the door. If you’ll take a seat, we’ll be with you shortly.”

God, you could punt Nezu for this. Not that there was anything wrong with establishing a new, annual event for U.A.—a cherry blossom garden-set, competitive scavenger hunt coming up in the spring—but because of his casual comment that it would rise to the same importance as the Sports Festival, you were swamped with those eager to invest early. Unable to take a break, you had to work with your head bowed, desperately hoping none of these people recognised you and your failure, when all you wanted was to reply to Tenko’s messages on Cipherstone that morning.

Tenkopeito: You’ll like the next quest. You can pet a dog in it

Tenkopeito: Come over to my room this evening so that we can talk in person

Was he intending to speak with innuendo or with such sincerity that it cut right through you? Moreover, was he aware he was even doing it? Based on what you’ve observed, Tenko had no idea what he was doing to you, nor did he know how hard you were trying not to act on your attraction, though you weren’t even doing a great job of suppressing it.

It’s strange: Tenko evoked some strange, unnameable emotion in you like nothing else. You wanted to coddle him; you wanted to play stupid video games with him; you wanted to sweep his hair out of his eyes, and though you kept telling yourself that you didn’t, you wanted him to tell you how to touch yourself, how to touch him. You brushed it off. Another time. Perhaps never.

“Oh, hi!” Former pro-hero Ragdoll squealed your family name, making you jump in your seat. “It is you. I couldn’t tell from farther back in the line.” Fuck, Ragdoll would recognise you, since she and the rest of the Wild, Wild Pussycats trained Class A, and she specifically spent time with you on your tracking skills because of her Search quirk.

Don’t cause a scene. “Hello, Shiretoko,” you said, doing your best not to let your face be seen from over the reception desk’s overhang, “It’s good to see you. How can I help?”

When she beamed, she was as bright as ever. “Oh! The Pussycats want to offer our services for the scavenger hunt! We wanna get back into charity and civilian events now that we’re back from our mission for—but wait, you know all about that!” You didn’t. But her cheerful voice carried, and people were already turning towards Ragdoll, part of a hero team ranked in the top thirty. “I wanna hear more about what you’ve been up to! Since you left the hero business, no one’s known where you’ve been! Gosh, have you been behind this dreary old desk the whole time?” Ragdoll leant over the overhang, flicking at a loose strand of your hair. “I thought you were sent out on missions out of the country! Like, really important, top-secret stuff. It’s weird seeing you in an office, especially since I consider you a mini me. Why are you back at your alma mater? Did your agency not want you anymore?”

She wasn’t meaning to be cruel. Her loud, blunt sincerity, though, drew the attention of onlookers, and their flashes of recognition, subsequent judgment, and turning away made your chest tight. “I needed a break. That’s all.”

A thin, blonde woman in a burgundy overcoat leaning against the wall immediately next to the reception had been evaluating you, scanning you from top to bottom during the exchange. She didn’t bother hiding her curiosity, and when you shakily handled the rest of the conversation with Ragdoll, she turned to the short, softly featured man beside her. “You know her?” She hadn’t even tried to quiet her voice; it jolted you from Ragdoll, but you steeled yourself and continued printing off a schedule for her—and from the depths of your brain came the woman’s identity: Uwabami, the snake hero, one who usually flaunted her celebrity status but currently dressed down, without her hair snakes (a rattlesnake, a yellow king cobra, and a Japanese rat snake, which—shut up! You don’t need this information right now! Can you be fucking sane, please?).

Her sidekick—no, an intern, a student at U.A., some fuckin’ twink in the year below you, name escaping you at the moment—had some iota of tact when he looked you over, slanting his body away, as if he weren’t staring. “Yes,” he said, trying not to let you hear, “She’s my former senpai and nothing more to me. We didn’t run in the same circles. She’s the one who made that rescue a few months back, the one that got a lot of online backlash.”

“No, seriously,” Ragdoll was saying, “Why are you back at U.A.? Don’t you have somewhere else to go?”

“My—” People behind Ragdoll in line were listening. Trying not to show it. Your throat ran dry, and you couldn’t think of a lie or a pleasant half-truth. “My flat was compromised. My address was leaked, and eventually, people were—look, Shiretoko,” you said, forcing the words out of your mouth, “I really don’t want to talk about this. Here’s the printed schedule. I’ll talk to you later.”

You slid the paper across the counter, and she took it, waving goodbye and still beaming.

“Is this what happens when a hero career doesn’t work out? They just shove you back where someone will take you? At any old office desk?” that fucking twink was asking Uwabami, “I can’t—it honestly scares me to think I could lose myself and be misplaced like that. It’s wasting talent, don’t you think?”

“How can I help you?” you asked the next person in line through gritted teeth.

When Uwabami lowered her sunglasses to glance over them, you inhaled sharply and swung your swivel chair so that you wouldn’t see her. “I don’t know about that. Maybe this dreadful administration office is where she’s meant to be.”

Biting his lip, he shifted his jaw and crossed his arms, slumping against the wall. “You’ll always have a place for me, right, Uwabami? I don’t want this to happen to me.”

“Yes, I can print you out a copy of the same schedule. If you’ll allow me a moment to print.”

“Of course, Kakeru,” Uwabami said, ignorant of how you were gripping a pencil so tightly that it could snap any second, “You’ll never be left behind.” But then she fucking stared you down, deliberately holding eye contact while you were at the printer, and she said, “You’ll never need a place to hide. I’ll make sure you don’t fail.”

“Hey, how about you shut up?” you hissed, ripping the printer-warm schedule from the tray and storming back to your current client to shove it into their hands. “Aren’t Japanese rat snakes supposed to be in hibernation this time of year, anyway?”

***

Someone in Mt. Lady’s group recorded it. Someone posted it.

wizardjenkins11: jesus christ who knew u.a. had its own island of misfit toys

emotionalsupportdynamightsweat: nice to see that she kept her snark, but what is she doing back at school?? don’t heroes have some sort of paperwork component to their work. why isn’t she still at an agency

blood-is-thiccer: lol ua’s the only one who’d take the bitch. she’s being rude as hell to an actual pro hero. lameass quirk anyway and ass flat as hell lmao she fucken deserved that guy lighting her mailbox on fire

LynchianTiddies: You’re encouraging domestic terrorism???

blood-is-thiccer: that’s not domestic terrorism

LynchianTiddies: Then what, pray fucking tell, is it??

blood-is-thiccer: wikipedia.org/wiki/Vandalism

XylemPhloemBuckaroo: no but I get what that guy was saying about wasting talent tho. Out of everyone in that class a, she’s the only one not topping the fucking hero charts rn. She’s the only one who’s left hero work. What makes her weaker than the rest of her classmates? What happened to her to make her like this?

koiboi69: wouldn’t you quit if people were camping outside your house/work/grocerystore? And also FUCK, man, there’s no fucking need to say she’s fucking weak. that’s kicking her while she’s down

XylemPhloemBuckaroo: I’m not kicking her while she’s down. I’m stating facts and asking reasonable questions.

koiboi69: bro wouldn’t YOU feel down if you’d didn’t have a home to go back to??? going back to u.a. is like admitting defeat, like you couldn’t handle it on your own and need protection

mawatadaddysgorl: i love seeing updates on her bc it makes me feel so good about what i’m doing with my life

***

Uraraka and Shinsou texted you but couldn’t call, let alone come from across town. Aizawa was AWOL, and Dango was hiding under your bed, so you, blotchy-faced and damp, were crumpled on the floor outside of room 310, eating vending machine bullshit and waiting for Tenko to return home.

Exactly all the insecurities you’d been stuffing down for months and months, brought out to air in front of everyone. Instead of doomscrolling, you locked your phone and slid it across the hallway carpet, burying your face in your hands and stomach lurching to the thought that you might soon be plastered everywhere in sight, again. Another round of intensive laying low loomed on the horizon, especially now that your location was made public. Your little secretary job was good enough, and relocating elsewhere on campus would lead to more job training, which would be a bitch.

Where was Tenko? You needed him here to say something irreverent and vindictive. Something unhinged. Or you needed him to hold you, pull you into his lap, and bitch about the whole thing while watching a movie. Tenko had messaged you to come by after work, so why wasn’t he…?

The staircase door hissed open, Tenko pushing it with his back, reusable grocery bags on his arms, and—and wearing a cape? Who the fuck wears a cape casu—oh shit he’s in his hero costume.

You’d heard that he had one, designed by the same company that’d made Midoriya’s and Shouto’s, and the similarities were clear: a boxy sort of design due to thick fabric that still somehow hugged his chest, a minimalist utility belt, and sturdy, knee-capping boots, positively flaming scarlet in contrast to the dark greys of the rest of his jumpsuit. The most obvious connection with another hero, though, made your chest throb: his cloak fastened with the same clasp his grandmother’s had. His dust-blocking respirator lay around his neck for the moment, but what was most embarrassing for you was how your brain fucking wheezed like a boiling kettle at his bare arms, biceps bulging, every fucking inch of skin down to his fingertips completely on display like a goddamn slut.

Whore behaviour. Whore behaviour! You had to duck your head when he squatted next to you, because oh, now you could see the stretch marks on his upper arms, because he’d gotten large way too quickly to be healthy, and smell his fading Old Spice and sweat from being out on what must have been an emergency call, and he was setting his grocery bags aside, reaching out to graze your shoulder, and wow, he’d been complaining about how he didn’t have abs yet despite working out five days a week now that his stamina had increased, but that fabric clung to his lower abdomen, looking very, very flat.

Initially pinching the fabric of your sweater, he shifted his jaw and laid his hand on your shoulder. “Who am I dusting?”

“God, Tenko,” you said, trying to look anywhere but his arms, or his abdomen, or his fucking lips, but he was leaning so much over you that he occupied most of your line of vision, and the only way to avoid seeing anything besides wisps of white hair was to gaze at the popcorned ceiling. “You’re not supposed to do that anymore.”

“Oh, yeah? Who am I dusting?” He squeezed your shoulder, stretching his thumb out to rub at your collarbone.

“Unless you can dust everyone in the country, I don’t think decay will help.”

Tenko clicked his tongue. “I have been explicitly told not to do that,” he said, shifting to sit on his knees, “I have—” He dug into a grocery bag for a moment. “—this for you. You like this shit, right?” Tenko pressed a bottle of pink lemonade into your hands.

“Fucking. Fuck. I do,” you said, passing the condensation-coated bottle from one hand to another, chest tightening, blinking to keep the water levels low, “Thank you. You didn’t have to get me this.”

“I know that,” he said with a dismissive wave, and he paused, fists in his lap. “Would it help if I gave you a hug?”

(What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the—)

“Yeah,” you said calmly, like a calm person, and when Tenko opened his (muscular) arms, you crawled into them, wrapping your own around his back to rest between his shoulder blades. You rested your chin in a fold of his cape, cheek pressing against the side of his respirator, and you frowned as his embrace tightened, pulling you closer in a sloppy, unpractised sort of way, grounded by the steady rise and fall of his very solid chest.

(This felt…affectionate. Romantic, even.

But Shigaraki Tomura didn’t do romance, and you don’t—you’re not—you wouldn’t dream of being conceited enough to read someone’s perhaps thoughtless actions as flirtation, because why would someone be flirting with you? No one did that in general, and being U.A.’s humiliating problem child exacerbated the fact.

Moreover, why would the man who was Shigaraki Tomura, in the middle of his rehabilitation and re-discovery of self, even in the microscopic chance that he had the mental energy to experience romantic feelings, aim that romantic impulse towards you? It would make more sense if he liked someone he’d known for a while, like Touya or Spinner or Toga, and if his romantic feelings leant towards recuperative trauma-bonding, wouldn’t it be more apt to feel for someone at his rehab? His therapist, maybe? He’d idolised Aizawa before he’d met him, and even that would make more sense than latching onto someone as late in the process as you.

He’d gotten flustered when you’d tied his scarf, and Touya’s played terrible wingman. But still. You couldn’t know. You can’t read into this, even though reading into things had been your job, because—because no one would want you. You’ll have to…You’ll have to gather more evidence. You couldn’t be certain.)

Tenko hummed, chin digging into your shoulder, blowing strands of your hair out of his face. “I calmed a kid down earlier by hugging her. Is this working for you?”

(…oh.)

You sniffled and hid your mouth in his cape so that he couldn’t catch your pout. “That’s—that’s good that a kid allowed you to comfort her. What happened?”

“Pipes broke in an old apartment building in the Takoba district. The third floor collapsed under the pressure, and it trapped families in part of the building. I was called out to dust the rubble trapping them,” Tenko said, tapping his fingers high on your back in a ripple, “and they had me dust some other walls to help start the repairs. It was cool. And this one little girl who’d gotten out before the rest of her family was really nervous, and she was sticking to me, holding onto my cape. I was telling her that everything was gonna be okay, like you’ve taught me, and when I asked how she was doing, this fuckin’ kid extended her arms to me. So, I fucking hugged her. Picked her up so she could see what was happening better. It was weird, but it felt good.” Tenko sighed. “I hate how it wants me to be kind more.”

And fuck, fuck, that’s the last straw to this horrible day, and you’re crying, silently, controlling your breathing to keep Tenko from finding out, because goddammit, this idiot bastard man was surprisingly easy to love.

You buried your face fully in his shoulder, hoping he couldn’t feel any wetness through his costume, and you and Tenko sat in the quiet of the hallway for a minute, interrupted only by the A/C kicking in.

Tenko tried to part the two of you enough to look you in the face, but you doubled down, curling your fingers into the fabric of his jumpsuit and keeping your head bowed. Scoffing, he sat upright, making you follow his movements to stay hidden. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong yet?”

“Forget all that shit I’ve taught you,” you said, grumbling to his tits now that he’d changed positions, hating how stopped up you sounded already, “It doesn’t matter what you fucking do in the public’s eye, because there’s always gonna be someone who hates you. You can’t please everyone, so just fucking be yourself. That’s funnier, anyway.”

“Did you psychoanalyse some press member’s pathetic sex life, or something? Deduce an affair based on the way he knots his tie? Announce the state of his dick to the whole room because of the length of his pants?”

“Fuck off, Tenko. I’m not some pretentious-ass Sherlock Holmes bitch,” you said, pursing your lips and instinctively pulling back to glare at him—

And the moment you did, Tenko cupped your face in his hands, soft at the palm and strongly calloused along his fingers, keeping you facing towards him no matter how hard you tried to jerk away, struggling to stay upright. “You are crying.”

“No, I’m not,” you said, just as a falling tear touched his thumb. As you adjusted to his grip, your hands fell to his thighs, pressing against them in fists.

“Hm. Well, you don’t have to tell me,” he said, eyes on another tear trailing down the other cheek, “but you’re joining me to watch a movie with Eri. I got snacks on the way home.”

You sighed, taking in how big his hands were and how much of your face they encompassed, trying to memorise their feeling until they were snatched away forever. “I thought we were gonna start a new quest tonight. I was excited.”

Tenko balked and shifted into a sceptical grin. “You wanted to play Ciperstone tonight?” he asked, both thumbs rubbing your cheekbones and moving to swipe underneath your eyes.

You sighed again, shoulders heaving as Tenko released your face to flick tears off of his hand. “I didn’t want to be myself for a few hours.”

Tenko pushed on his knees to stand. “That’s actually related to what I originally wanted to talk to you about. Furthering the working-with-others mission,” he said, and he extended his hand to help you up. “What do you know about Dungeons and Dragons?”

***

“God fucking dammit!” Tenko slammed his palm to his forehead and leant back to balance on the kitchen chair’s back legs and then combed his fingers back through his hair, upsetting some strands from his ponytail. Groaning, he crooked his face your way, smushed his face against the chair back, and pointed towards his forehead, where a red splot was forming. “Hit me as hard as you can.”

“Being bludgeoned won’t change the fact that you rolled a three,” you said, nodding towards his d20, “I ignore his whining and continue to drain the fig tree to charge my spell.”

Behind the DM screen, Shinsou rolled his own dice, and once his eyebrows had shot up to his hairline, he turned to Midoriya. “I need you to roll two d12s and a d4.”

Tenko bolted upright, hastily sweeping his bangs out of his face. “Wait, what does Midoriya have to do with it? He’s across the fucking grove! He’s engaged in close-ranged combat.”

You turned away from Shinsou’s sly grin and towards Tenko, mouth nearly a straight line, yanking another cluster of grapes from the communal bowl, and shoving two grapes in his mouth. He pinched at his lower lip as he chewed, twisting and peeling at dead skin, frowning as he focused on his character sheet, scanning it for some sort of information he was forgetting and absentmindedly raising his knee to his chest, the heel of his foot propped on the seat of his chair (thank God his jeans were from Best Jeanist’s Moulded to Your Ass line: the denim strained with his muscles. Your eye twitched). In this particular morning, with the five of you squared off at Aizawa’s kitchen table, papers and dice strewn among grocery store bakery cinnamon rolls and coffee cups (Tenko’s was full of gatorade instead of coffee, much to his chagrin), as Tenko was throwing grapes into Touya’s mouth while Shinsou did math, the narwhal house slippers dangling off Tenko’s feet, it struck you that Shigaraki Tomura had become just some guy. One who went for walks to clear his head, who spent hours failing to do a kickflip on Present Mic’s skateboard, who used emoticons over emojis, who got nervous in fast food drive-throughs, who collected hero merch (of Aizawa fervently and Present Mic against his will), who was losing his sensitivity to foods like leeks and onions, a man who was growing more and more exquisitely mundane.

And goddamn, he’s clever and perceptive and patient and cheeky in a devastatingly attractive way, and he’s flustered easily, eager to do a thing correctly, and utterly, totally captivating in his endless discoveries of what it means to be alive.

You timed it so that the shudder and shock crossing his face could pass as response to Shinsou’s description of how Tenko’s enchanted crossbow bolt missed the Spirit Realm Necromancer entirely, instead sinking into the sacred Grand Oak and instantly shattering the tree as if it were glass, its elaborate root system holding up the floating grove splintering into thousands of tiny shards, the ground beneath your party’s feet crumbling at the slightest suggestion of the shifting of weight. But really he curled in his lips with a furrowed brow and stuttering breath when you reached underneath the table to graze the back of his hand, and when he forced himself to relax, shoulders slackening, frown fading, Tenko spread his fingers to cover more of his denim-clad thigh, which you took as a timid sort of consent. Biting the inside of your cheek, you eased your palm over the back of Tenko’s hand, lacing your fingers through his and going through the motions of reacting to Shinsou’s shattered earth. Neither of you looked at each other while Midoriya’s character suffered the Necromancer’s spell to increase gravity, each movement of Midoriya’s bulky, steel armour accelerating the fall of the floating grove. By the time each of you had had enough turns to land on solid ground, preserving little of the sacred grove but all surviving, Tenko finally squeezed your fingers back, curling his own to grip them more firmly, keeping your hand pinned to his thigh, steeling himself, sitting up straight, and proposing getting close enough to the Necromancer to drive a crossbow bolt directly into his skull.

Midoriya was already muttering to himself over the effectiveness of the action while Shinsou worked, and Touya irreverently flicked his dice at Tenko, chugging coffee with his other hand. “You plunge the bolt by hand into the Necromancer’s head,” said Shinsou, “but with your strength debuff still in effect, you only nick him.”

“I try stabbing it through his ear.”

“It goes through,” said Shinsou, nodding and running his hand back through his hair, which sprung back into place, “It doesn’t pierce the neocortex, so he can still summon another—“

“I stomp him to death with my hooves,” said Touya, picking at his teeth and running his tongue over the spot.

The rest of you turned to him slowly in various states of incredulity.

“You don’t have hooves, Touya,” you said, tilting your head at the same time Tenko rubbed his thumb over yours, prompting your breath to hitch and a strange warmth to travel through your body, making you feel dizzy.

Touya grimaced and reached for a cinnamon roll. “I take off my leather breeches and boots to reveal my hooves. I have been a satyr masquerading as a human this whole time.” He leant forward on his elbow, glaring at Shinsou and gesturing with his cinnamon roll. “I stomp him. To death. With my hooves.”

Tenko sneered, his teeth cutting into his lower lip, but he merely opened his mouth and closed it, poking his tongue into his cheek. “I suppose maiming a party member wouldn’t coincide with my character’s chaotic good alignment,” he said, heaving a huge sigh to—oh, that cunning rat bastard—to conceal how he flipped his hand over in yours to touch palms, weaving your fingers back together and squeezing again, planting them back on his upper leg, massaging between your knuckles with his thumb.

“What’d you just roll?”

“Nineteen,” said Touya, casting Shinsou a slice of his most charming smile.

Midoriya let out a little laugh as Shinsou bitterly plopped his head on his fist. “Fuck you, Touya. Congratulations. You clomp over to the Necromancer and stomp all over him. Stompy stomp stomp stompy stomp. It’s difficult to watch at the insane speed you’re going, so no one stops you from doing such a good job pounding him that he’s ground into dust. Bits of him drift away in the wind.”

Here Midoriya winced. “Weren’t we supposed to retrieve the soul crystal embedded in his gauntlet? We can’t get our reward from that Silver Age dragon rider if we don’t have it.”

“Correct,” said Shinsou, glancing down at his notes, “It has been stomped to smithereens. You can’t even make out what parts of the pile of dust were once flesh.”

Ready to bolt, Touya was getting up from the table and holding up his hands in defence, but before Midoriya could start a speech that would have been more apt for the number one hero to use on patrol rather than during a DND game, the door to Aizawa’s flat opened, and in he walked, covering his yawn with the back of his hand. He halted at the sight of the five of you around his kitchen table, taking in the scattered papers and remnants of breakfast before settling on your DM. “Shinsou,” Aizawa began, disappointment outweighing the exhaustion in his voice.

“You’re the only one with a table that could fit all of us,” Shinsou said, spinning in his chair to face him, “This dormitory doesn’t have a good common area like the student ones do. Would you really prefer us to—”

“We can find you a table; there’s plenty on campus.” Aizawa lifted his goggles over his head to set them on the counter. “Is this why Monoma kept slowing me down during patrol?”

“No,” you and Shinsou said, while Tenko said, “Yes.”

Aizawa actually smiled as he unwound his capture weapon from around his neck. “Look who’s the only one telling the truth.”

“Why would I lie to you, sensei?”

Touya smacked Tenko on the arm. “Suck-up.”

“You promise?” Tenko shot back, nose wrinkling with his grin.

“This coffee had better be amazing, because it’s the only thing keeping me from kicking you all out right now,” said Aizawa, rubbing a dry eye with the heel of his palm, other hand outstretched for someone to pass him a mug.

Tenko’s thumb bent inward to swipe the inside of your palm, a silent protest while he drank from his stupid little mug of gatorade, and when he noticed what was at the bottom, he flinched. It must have been Touya who’d put your dice in Tenko’s cup.

***

Following the video of you insulting Uwabami, you’re garnering an unnerving amount of attention again, but it’s clearly someone different than last time. Whoever your stalker(s) was this time around, they were careless and unsubtle—and this confidence to be careless left you jumping at the slightest sound when you were alone.

Furthermore, you legitimately couldn’t deduce your stalker’s motivations, because no clear message linked his actions. At first, you chalked it up to the dorm’s shitty dryer eating your bright blue thong, but when you couldn’t find your lip balm or trolley pass or eventually your favourite sweater, you concluded that something else was at play here, further cemented by more and more tiny things going missing—things that, if you were stalking someone, you would’ve selected as small enough not to miss.

But bizarrely, your stalker left shit of his own lying about. A phone charger appeared underneath your pillow; loose change and a travel pack of alcoholic wipes showed up in your bathroom sink. Hello Kitty band-aids, a hair clip that looked like one of Rumi’s ears, deep-moisturising hand cream, a tiny lizard keychain with a white hamburglar mask drawn on. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. What could your stalker be trying to say besides he could access your personal space with ease? Hoarding it all in the drawer with the GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK hentai, you were struck with the notion that this may have been going on even before the video.

God, you missed when this school felt more like home instead of a holding cell, back when Shinsou and Uraraka and the rest were all still living together with you, when you could simply turn the corner to the common area to demand who took your laundry detergent and get an answer immediately (you also missed taking Aoyama’s bougie food, though you suspected that towards the end he was buying extra specifically for you). You sent an email to Aizawa about the potential break in security, and he promised to monitor the situation, though there was no evidence of physical entry.

Evidence. It’s been on your mind.

Sure, Tenko’s done stuff that could be read as romantic: how he plops your hand onto his head to demand you play with his hair, how he hovers whenever Touya stands too closely to you, how he gets upset on your behalf when people glare at you in public.

(Tenko grabbed your elbow, breaking your focus on the clothing rank. “We’re going.”

“But we haven’t found you a red coat yet.”

He lifted the hangers from your arm and slid them back onto the rack, despite belonging elsewhere. “Don’t care. I don’t like the way the cashier’s looking at you,” he said, jerking his head their direction, and when you tilted your head to glance at them over his shoulder, Tenko tapped your chin twice, guiding you to look back at him. “You shouldn’t have to be on guard when I’m with you.”)

If you were reading into it—and you were—Tenko was being so careful with talking about the pro-hero scene around you that it was almost as if he’d gotten a mission task from Aizawa to distract you from anything that might make you feel bad about yourself.

(“I hear you’re causing a lot of paperwork for my old man,” said Touya, pulling out another floor cushion from the storage space in the teahouse wall, “He hates that you’ve had to dust so many structures near his agency. He’s a decrepit creature of habit, and now that his commute is different, he’s—”

“Hey, Touya, tell us what flower bulbs you planted this winter,” Tenko said abruptly, clamping the lid on the pot hanging over the sunken fireplace, “Tell us what your garden’ll look like in spring.”

You shut your book, even though you’d just opened it. “Wait, are you saying that Touya is the one who keeps this garden? That’s—”

“You like it, sweetheart?” Touya dropped his cushion next to yours, ignoring the way Tenko was glaring daggers into his back. “Think it’s impressive?”

“Holy shit; I thought we were in the back of some professionally restored historical site the first time we came here,” you said, smiling at how Tenko’s petulant stomps to his seat chirruped, even when he scooted his own cushion towards yours (adorable; you’d think he didn’t like you giving attention to anyone else).

“Well,” said Touya, propping his hands on the kotatsu so that he could get a better view of Tenko, “With enormous pride and a huge erection, I’m pleased to announce that this garden is all my hard work.”

“Stop that,” barked Tenko, jabbing a finger towards Touya, “Stop bringing up your cock.”

“I could talk about yours, if you want. His monster cock is excruciatingly leaky and so shaped.”

Groaning, Tenko clonked his forehead on the kotatsu’s tabletop before Touya could say anything else, arm still outstretched. He peeked out from underneath his bangs towards you, tension leaving his body at your burst of laughter.)

He’s also taken your comment about silent admiration to heart. Over the discord call (through very comfortable headphones), you’d made a dumb joke about not being able to play for long, and he’d shut up immediately. When you’d confessed to lying and hoping you’d scared him, he’d replied seriously: “I want to protect my time with you. I don’t like it being taken away. I feel better when you’re with me.”

You’d frozen in the middle of weaving bowstrings while his character continued stringing them onto bows. You’d never have gotten that sort of remark at the beginning of your relationship. Tenko must genuinely be listening to you.

Anyway. You decided in the event that Tenko was collecting evidence, too, that you would leave him some.

The first time you’d been in his room had been for a specific purpose, which was to help him rub in his new facial scar moisturiser (not to take them away, or anything, because Tenko wanted to keep them, claiming he wouldn’t recognise himself in the mirror if he didn’t have his scars—and you thought they were devastatingly attractive, anyway—but just to keep them hydrated enough not to itch), but now you were here just to spend time in the same space. You were reading on his bed (oh, hohoho, his bed), and Tenko was drawing in his sketchbook on his couch by the window. With his mouth pinched in concentration, he squinted down at his paper, swiping away eraser shavings with his artist-gloved hand.

Drawing by natural light. Tenko was in room 310 because of its wide windows. It had been his one request when U.A. was placing him.

AFO had deliberately raised him in a bedroom without windows. You’d kill him if he weren’t already dead.

Thankfully, AFO’s influence was absent from Tenko’s dorm: Naruto sheets from Touya, an old Nintendo DS on his bedside table with Nintendogs in the cartridge slot, Present Mic’s skateboard propped against the coatrack that held only a black hoodie, unfolded but clean laundry in a basket next to a dresser with prescription bottles atop it, a mirror that served more as a bulletin board of Eraserhead merch than as a way to check his reflection, red shoes by the doorway, books borrowed from everyone from All Might to Shinsou to the ramen delivery guy strewn across the room, on shelves, his computer desk, his rug. The thing Tenko’d had to explain to you was a therapist-assigned painting hanging over his desk: he’d painted a murky, purple-blue, abstract sort of thing, and you were strangely touched when he’d explained it was Kurogiri (and now that you were looking, among his bulletin board of Eraserhead, a few drawings of Loud Cloud were mixed in).

There’s a lot of people in Tenko’s life who care about him now, and you’re happy to be one of them. Setting your book aside, you got up to sit next to him on the couch.

He paused when you sank into the cushion next to—well, no, you were basically sharing the same cushion, especially since he unfolded his legs from underneath him so that you could get closer. You scooted over so that your shoulders touched (scandalous) and looked over his drawings.

He’s drawing your DND characters. While his sketches aren’t exactly good, you can clearly tell who’s supposed to be whom, and they’re fun to look at, so that’s all that matters. At the centre is your character, Ginseng—you named it after your Cipherstone account because why not—in the process of spell-charging. Your character relies on the traditional ritual of tea ceremonies, from the growing of the tealeaves to serving it, summoning whatever tools you needed, like the table and dishware, and if an enemy got caught by the conventions of politeness of the tea ceremony, they were trapped in it until they’d drunk their teacup dry. Tenko had drawn her early in the spell-charging process, with branches of tealeaves sprouting from underneath her skin, with her harvesting them from her forearm. It’s rather flattering, the way her determined expression lit up her face.

Next to Ginseng was Tenko’s character, Peito, also lifted from his Cipherstone character. He was sitting on the same log as Ginseng in the middle of camp, backs touching while he cut feathers as the first step in the fletching process. His carved-willow quiver leant against his knee-high boot, red even in a fictional universe. Peito’s hands were bare, five fingers pressed against his knife and arrows.

Further back in the camp (really just towards the top of the paper, since Tenko wasn’t good at foreshortening yet), Midoriya’s character, Jackrabbit, was holding up two hangers, one with his steel and the other with sleek, black leather armour. A nice touch, really, since Midoriya had swopped Jackrabbit’s primary armour to the more lightweight leather since the shattered grove incident, and wow, you could even tell it was leather based on the pencil strokes.

Seated nearby, Touya’s character, Granddaddy Slapkins, roared with laughter at him. His shoes lay next to him, his hooves out. For some reason, he’s not holding his pet duck; he’s instead cradling what looks like your character’s wild shape, a cat with the same chocolate-point markings as your real cat (your character’s shapeshifted form was just Dango, but Tenko didn’t know that. He still didn’t know Dango existed, because cats were still illegal in the dorms, and Tenko, that little brown-nosing shit, would probably tell Aizawa about her. Cute how he’s only a suck-up to Aizawa, though).

Your favourite detail, though, was how his character was smiling. Unabashedly. As if it were a no-brainer, as if doing anything else made no sense at all.

With a stab of affection, you nuzzled into Tenko’s shoulder, resting your chin there while he sketched loops of chainmail onto Granddaddy Slapkins’s shirt, and a shiver racked through him.

“Oh, are you cold?” you asked, sitting back up and heading over towards the bed, “Let me get your blanket.”

“Wha—no, I—sure,” said Tenko, setting his pencil on his sketchbook and the whole thing on the arm of the couch, eyes half-lidded as you returned with his throw blanket.

And without thinking, you moved on impulse, as if all higher orders of cognition had checked out for the night, because you behaved like you did in your head whenever you thought about Tenko: casually, intimately, and domestically. You wrapped the blanket around yourself and knelt on the sofa before swinging a knee over his lap, and you snuggled into his chest, clutching his shirt and nosing at his neck.

Your eyes snapped open.

(What the fuck?

If this had been a planned attack, then it would’ve been a thing of brilliance: casual, seeming to meet a physical need [heating a chill] in the name of physical closeness. But you fucked it. This wasn’t planned, and thus you don’t have a way out of it without otherwise betraying your romantically-motivated interior.

Thank fuck he’s frozen up, too. But how do you get out of this? God, you really shouldn’t be teaching him how to navigate interpersonal relationships when you get yourself into shit like this.)

You swallowed thickly, pulse pounding in your ears.

“I need your advice.” Tenko’s chest barely rose when he took his first breath since you climbed onto his lap. “What would be the socially expected response to this?”

“Uh. That depends on if you’re into it or not,” you said, forcing yourself to sit back in his lap to give him some space, “If you dislike it, then it’s to get me to get off of you, and if you welcome it, then, uh. Anything else.”

Tenko unclenched his fists at his sides and—a pause, shifting his jaw—he let his hands rest at a barely-there touch on your hips, dragging them upwards to your waist, applying enough pressure there for you to feel all ten fingertips through your shirt. “Is this,” he said, wetting his lower lip, and he couldn’t continue, instead swallowing saliva.

Gathering your nerve, you wove your hand through his hair to scratch at his scalp in the way he’d liked when you’d played with his hair, and at the familiarity, Tenko huffed, shutting his eyes tightly and pressing his forehead to yours in a rush, almost knocking them together. He took another breath, heat washing over your face, and you slid your other up hand to cup his cheek.

Tenko shivered again, and he clamped his hand over yours to keep it there. “Are you sure this is what you mean to do?”

He seemed receptive enough to it, but you couldn’t be certain. “Yeah,” you said, “If I’m reading it right.”

“But it makes no sense. I’ve got to be reading it wrong,” Tenko was saying, frowning, “No one would willingly like me—”

“For fuck’s sake, Tenko—”

Practically slapping your other hand to his cheek, you kissed him, pulling him closer, one of his hands still over yours with the other now gripping your waist as if he’d never let you go. Tenko grunted into it, surging forward to keep his rough lips (sticky from his freshly applied pineapple-beeswax chapstick) seared to yours. You felt, more than heard, his miniscule whimper at the back of his throat when he opened his mouth, sliding his tongue into yours, and you could hardly keep kissing him for smiling. But he needed a breath before you did, so you broke it, sensing he wouldn’t do it out of wanting to keep you nearby.

Panting, Tenko tried and failed to push your hair behind your ear in an attempt to be suave. “Now, I perceived that as romantic.”

“It was romantic, you muppet,” you said, thumping his chest with the back of your hand.

“Good.” He cleared this throat. “Cool. Excellent,” he said, shifting underneath you (with difficulty, under the constricting denim of his Moulded to Your Ass jeans), “I want it to be, when it comes to you.”

“Thank God, I really want that, too,” you said, sighing, “but, like, I really don’t know if it’s ethical to pursue a romance this early into your recovery—”

“The fuck is wrong with you? I want it. I want you.” Frustrated, Tenko grabbed your hips in an iron grip and ground up into you, slowly, and that tight-ass denim let you feel precisely where in the drag of his hips his cock touched you, letting you feel the shift in pressure at his tip, down his shaft, to the first curve of his balls. “I thought I was alone. I thought no one else would ever be able to understand me, having fallen from what I was raised to be. Fallen,” he said, spitting, “Such a nasty word for what we’re actually doing: we’ve been reborn together. We get to build our lives back up together. We get another chance at it. I wanna spend mine with you.”

He strained his neck upwards to kiss you again, insistent, moving with confidence when he took your lower lip into his mouth but only nibbling on it once, despite being posed to bite down with vigour.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass about what anyone else thinks of you and what anyone else thinks of me. I—”

“That’s not true,” you said, your turn to catch your breath, “You care so much about what Aizawa-sensei—”

“You know what I mean,” he said, shaking his head, hair falling out of his loose ponytail, “You think of me as me, and that’s all that matters. If you’re really that fucking worried about me getting into a relationship too early, go talk to my therapist. She says you’re good for me. A good influence, anyway.”

“Holy shit,” you said, mostly in reaction to how Tenko started trailing frantic, dry kisses down your neck, and, realising you should probably be doing something back, you rolled your hips, feeling awfully warm under the blanket.

He bucked back up into you, more out of desperation to keep you close over a need for friction but still giving you a taste of what it would be like to have him thrusting into you. “Fuck,” he said, almost grumbling, “I’d say fuck being ethical about it, because I’ve wanted you for a long time. I got hard when you shook me by the shoulders outside of that ice cream shop; I thought my soul was gonna leave my body when you adjusted my scarf. Hell, I—” He cut himself off, grinning in a way that, back before you knew him, you might have described as maniacal. “I wanted you back during the war. I saw you fucking elbow Touya during that battle, and the way you made him crumple to the ground was so fucking sexy. And you recovered from when he swiped at you so easily; you slipped around his attacks like it was fucking second nature. I thought it’d be cool to have you by my side, having you—” He realised what he was saying, and he relaxed, smile fading into a curious, pensive sort of look while he brought his thumb to your kiss-swollen lips. “And now I get to.”

You kissed the pad of his thumb, blinking slowly.

“So. Yeah,” he said, dropping his hand to your shoulder as he broke eye contact, a little red, “I think it’d be cool to be with you, even if we have to be careful.”

“That’s the thing, Tenko,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek as you gathered your thoughts, “I’m scared, because while I know that we should, because that’d be safe, I don’t want to be careful. Since I’ve quit being a hero, every single thing about how I’ve been living has left me feeling empty and alone, because it’s like I’m wandering through limbo. Everything screams that whatever I’m doing now is temporary, that it’ll pass, that I don’t truly belong in this situation, because I’ll find what I’m supposed to be doing later and my real home is somewhere down the line, but—fuck.” You rubbed your eye with your fist. “You, Tenko. You don’t feel temporary. You feel forever.”

Underneath you, Tenko stretched to pop a crick in his back, and he tilted his head to lie on the back of the couch. His ponytail had come loose, and his hair splayed against the fabric as he stared at you, one hand idly rubbing at your waist.

“Well. You’ve got to belong somewhere,” he said eventually, and he tapped all five fingers onto your thigh. “It could be with me.”

***

Dango was missing.

Incredible how the best evening of your life preceded the worst day you’ve had in years. You called out of work and spent hours scouring the dorm and then campus. A gruelling, miserable sort of day, anyway, grey and rainy and cold, and the campus was swarmed with people setting up for the scavenger hunt event later this month, populating the area with non-U.A. personnel and construction. Your cat was out in that mess, and you didn’t even know where to search first. It’s loud, scary, and wet, so Dango would most likely be hiding and not come when she’s called.

Had Dango escaped your flat? Had your stalker stolen her? Had she been confiscated by U.A.?

You couldn’t call any faculty for help; they’d get onto you for having an illegal cat on campus—and Hound Dog, the one who’d be the most help, might just scare her to death. Too early in the morning to call any of your friends, and you doubted they’d alter their busy schedules to help you out of a situation you should be able to fix yourself. But damn it, how come your own tracking skills only worked on people?

You shook yourself, coming out of your spiral the best you could, and you were close to hyperventilating. You sat down on a curb.

You found yourself calling Tenko, despite it being too early in the day for him to be out of training, filling with dread about never seeing your cat again and having to clear out her stuff from your room. Pulling your soaked jacket closer, you wiped at your nose and waited at the dial tone.

“Hey, I thought you couldn’t call during work. Miss me that much?”

The second you heard his strangely chipper voice, you started crying into the speaker.

He inhaled sharply, tone shifting. “Tell me who the fuck I’m stomping to death with my hooves.”

Ducking your head, you managed a smile but continued to fucking sob. “You don’t—don’t have to kill anyone, Ten—Tenko. I’ve f—fucked up.”

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“I’m on cam—campus,” you said, unable to speak for a full sentence without having to cut yourself off to keep bawling, ugly and loud and getting snottier by the minute, “It’s my fucking fault that I haven’t been ta—taking my stupid sta—stalker seriously, and I should’ve reported it, but—but I—goddammit!” The rain picked up again, coming down in rapid, fat drops, and, shielding your eyes, you rubbed your phone screen on your sleeve, not that it did much. “Sor—sorry. Rain got heavier.”

“Where on campus?”

“No, Te—Tenko, I’ll get up. I’m coming to you,” you said, sniffling and pushing on your knees to stand, wet and hungry and ready to crawl into your sock drawer to sleep for days. “I—I’m just so fucking pissed at myself, because my cat is fucking lost, and I could’ve sto—stopped it if I hadn’t been so secreti—tive.” Hands shaking, you yanked your soaked hood over your head and trudged towards your dormitory, and you kicked gravel, rocks scattering over the path, before losing your footing on it and nearly falling. Fuck this.

“You have a cat,” said Tenko, losing his fervent. “What’s it look like?”

“Beautiful.”

“I need more than that.”

“She fucking—I based Ginseng’s cat form on her, okay? She’s this enormously fluffy thing, mostly whitish with a brown face and legs, and it makes her look like she’s wearing a mask and thigh-high socks like God’s sluttiest little jester,” you said, knocking on your dorm’s mailboxes for luck out of habit as you passed them, “And you can’t tell Aizawa-sensei about her, because if she’s taken away the moment I find her, then I—”

“I have her,” said Tenko, “She’s in my dorm with me.”

You ran the rest of the way to his room, panting and absolutely disgusting by the time you got there, and when Tenko opened his door, there was Dango, loafing on the back of the couch and watching raindrops race down the window.

“What the fuck,” you said, dropping your wet coat and toeing off your shoes, “How the hell did she get in here?”

Tenko shrugged and hung your coat next to his hoodie. “Can she open locked doors?”

“I hope to fuck she can’t,” you said, and you rounded the couch to wrap your arms around that dear little loaf, and Dango jumped off the couch to crawl underneath it before you could fully hug her. “Oh, good. She’s fine. Acting like normal.” You sat on the couch’s arm, adrenaline evaporating to render you boneless.

“She was in my room when I came back from training. We ended early today, since Aizawa-sensei has something.” Tenko stooped to yank two bottles of gatorade from their plastic rings and headed towards the sofa to offer one to you. “She didn’t seem upset or hurt. She’s been sitting there, napping on and off.”

You accepted it and twisted off the cap. “So, who put my cat in your room?”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“I don’t know,” you said, taking a shallow sip, careful not to overwhelm your agitated stomach, “They’d have to know about Dango in the first place, and I suppose my stalker would, since they’ve theoretically been breaking into my room.”

Tenko paused mid-sip, and he hastened to swallow. “Someone’s been breaking into your room?”

“Yeah,” you said, easing down the arm of the couch and onto its cushions, “I think. There’s no physical sign of entry, but my shit keeps going missing, and stuff that’s not mine keeps showing up. Let me tell you, I need some of that shit they’ve stolen; it’s hard to replace—”

Tenko touched your lips with three of his fingertips to quiet you, and he gestured for you to stay put while he scrambled over to his closet, where he stood on his toes to retrieve a wicker basket from the top shelf. He dropped the thing into your lap. “Are any of these yours?”

All of it was, missing things you blamed on everything from Dango to your stalker to your own forgetfulness: your favourite sweater, your trolley pass, lip balm, your shitty earbuds, your good pantyhose, your planner, your d10, and, among many smaller things, even that bright blue thong you’d lost in the wash (Well. It’s better to find your thong with your new boyfriend over finding them returned to your dorm coated in your stalker’s cum, you supposed).

“I was losing my goddamn mind,” Tenko was saying, “Stuff kept showing up. I thought it was a test at first—”

“I don’t have a stalker,” you said, absentmindedly rubbing the fabric of your thong between your fingers, “Your shit has been—you read that GINSENG TEA X LUSTFUL BALLSACK shit? Tenko.”

“Oh, you have that?” Tenko scratched the back of his neck, but not in his self-harm way; it reminded you of Shinsou’s nervous habit more than anything. “Haven’t you read it? Isn’t that what you were naming your characters after?”

“Ah, ha, ha. Moving on. What is important, though, is why and how this is happening to us.”

“Yeah, I don’t…”

The two of you spitballed for a while, long enough for the both of you to finish your bottles of gatorade and for Tenko to start another, and neither of you came up with anything substantial.

“Hell with it,” said Tenko, standing to stretch, his movement disturbing Dango from her nap in his basket of clean laundry, “Let’s go ask Aizawa-sensei.”

Aizawa was not pleased when he discovered the both of you waiting in his kitchen, but he listened to the story, and when you were done, he stepped out of the room to make a phone call. When he came back, he looked even more exhausted than when he’d first come in.

“I’ve just gotten off the phone with Sakura Grove,” said Aizawa, wincing when his bones creaked as he sat in his chair, “Tenko, do you remember villain in-fighting within the PLF? In particular, I’m asking if you remember breathing in a pink dust cloud. It would’ve been in Deika City, in the month between your fight with Re-Destro and your body modification surgery. If our sources are accurate, you would’ve been with Touya.”

Tenko scrunched up his face. “Why would I have been—hm.” Frowning, he reached into the bag of popcorn you’d commandeered from Aizawa’s cupboards. “I know what you’re talking about. They were only letting me eat healthy stuff in the week before I went under. Touya was taking me to scrounge for something salty and shitty for me, because I couldn’t take it anymore. He started hitting on someone he thought was a waitress, and she—this is why I remember it—she compared the width of her hand to his thigh and said no thanks.”

“That’s Ito,” said Aizawa, sighing and crossing his arms, settling his chin into his capture weapon, “When did she use her quirk?”

“She shoved her hand on Touya’s face when he opened his stupid mouth again, and he passed out with swarming, pink particles floating around his head. She turned to me—and she must not have recognised Touya, but she knew me, because her face lit the fuck up. She never touched me, but I remember having to sneeze.”

“She never told you what her quirk did?”

“I woke back up in the PLF headquarters. I assumed whoever picked me up had killed her and that her death negated any effects.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why? What does it do?”

Aizawa let out a soft laugh, muffled through his capture weapon, and he jerked his head in your direction. “You tell him,” he said, snatching the bag of popcorn and heading towards his bedroom.

***

He’d been nervous about wearing a suit. They reminded him of AFO.

But you’d strayed away from dark colours and too much structure, so his light greyish-blue suit jacket stayed unbuttoned even as you leant across to the passenger seat to adjust his All Might tie for him (a Put Your Hands Up Radio tie had been offered, but Tenko had already closed his fist around the striped tie Midoriya would loan him). Part of his bangs had been pinned back to show off his annoyingly handsome face, especially in how his sharp, red eyes observed caught every movement of your terrible attempt to tie the tie based on the pictures Aizawa had sent you.

“We’re not gonna be late, are we?” Tenko drawled out, the corner of his mouth quirking upward, hand resting on the car ceiling as he angled his chest towards you.

“Shush; we are in the parking lot,” you said, looping the larger end. Or were you supposed to be looping the smaller one? “Besides, the world won’t end if we’re a few minutes late to my class’s annual reunion.”

A flimsy excuse for a party, one made because hero agencies needed some sort of named event as an excuse to dismiss your friends en masse. But it was spring again, and they were coming out of the winter blues, and they wanted to see you again, so, hey, why don’t we work something in around your schedule? If you can’t come to this date, then we’ll reschedule it until you can.

And, like. They knew. They knew Tenko was your soulmate. You suspected they all wanted to see what he was like now, too, because no one but Shinsou, Midoriya, and, apparently, Bakugou had known.

You undid the loose knot and tried again. “Are you nervous?”

“No,” he said, scrutinising the tacky balloons and streamers swaying in the night breeze outside of the otherwise intimidatingly elegant venue, “but those kids might be.”

“Those kids happen to be friends my age,” you said, “and I’m barely younger than you are. They know you’re coming. You’re fine.”

Tenko sucked in through his teeth, tapping the roof of the car one finger at a time. “The last time they saw me was as a thing. An object of destruction.”

“Well, they’ll definitely see you as a human person when I spill how you designed a unicorn DND character for Eri.” You pulled the fabric taut but kept it from lying closely to his neck (a boy didn’t like feeling constrained). “You know what? This tie is as good as it’s gonna get.”

He ducked his chin to examine its knot. “It’s shit.”

“It adds to your devil-may-care, reformed-bad-boy sort of charm,” you said, giving the tie a final smooth-down and poorly suppressing your smile when you felt his muscles through his shirt. “Mathematically, there are only 85 ways to tie a standard tie knot. I don’t believe we’ve reached any of them.”

“How do you know these things? You’re unbeliev—” Tenko jerked his face out of view of the window as Aoyama and Kouda, gesturing wildly, strode past the car and into the venue. “Listen,” he said, clearing his throat, “I know I don’t care and that you don’t care, but other people will. Your reputation is gonna plummet right into its grave if we’re out in the open together.”

You shook your head, letting your smile show. “So, I fucked part of a rescue job almost a year ago. So what. So I’m dating my soulmate. Am I supposed to do otherwise? Honestly, Tenko,” you said, curling loose strands of hair behind his ear, letting your fingers linger around his cheek and neck (he leant into the touch), “I don’t care. I would’ve chosen you even without the soulmate bond. You’re too endearing to pass by. You’re too…babygirl.”

Tenko had been guiding your hand to his mouth, and he snorted before it got there, warm air scattering in a short burst. “Don’t call me that,” he said, pressing his lips to the centre of your palm and waiting until you met his gaze to retract them.

A different warmth shot to your lower stomach, but you had to keep pressing, for the sake of the bit. “Oh, then what should I—darling? Honey? Pookie bear?”

He scoffed and nipped at your pinkie. “None of those are good.”

“Tenko.”

He breathed in, shoulders rising, eyes fluttering shut. Taking a moment to kiss the tiny bite mark on your finger. “Yeah,” he said, opening his eyes in a slow blink, catlike, “Feels good. Feels—like coming home.”

Beaming, you reached down to lace his fingers through yours. All five of them squeezed back. “Then let’s go.”

soulmate trope taglist: @bakugouspsycho, @pansexualproblemchild, @doonaandpjs, @sunsetevergreen, @the-coffee-is-on-fire, @liberace2, @ladymidnight77, @nonomesupposedto, @gooooomz, @kissmebakugou, @pachiibatt, @celestair, @tiredkittykat, @cheshireshiya, @90s-belladonna, @infjsnightmare

#bnha #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki/reader #shigaraki imagine #shigaraki fic #mha #shigaraki headcanons #shigaraki fanfiction #shigaraki fanfic #soulmates #soulmate au #soulmate #dash it all

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churipu · 4 months

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Hi, may i request jjk men s/o is like roxana agriche ? If you don't know her, she was described as a ravishingly beautiful young woman with wavy golden hair that reaches below her waist and long lashes framing her crimson eyes. She often wears elegant dresses with butterfly motifs. Thank youuuu,! ❤️

ROXANNE ! — JJK MEN AND THEIR "ROXANA AGRICHE" PARTNER

featuring. gojo satoru, toji fushiguro, sukuna ryomen x reader

warnings. cursing

note. hi anon! i took some time into looking into roxana agriche and her personality. i could see sources saying she's a cunning person and somehow manipulative to get what she wants + she's mellow voiced and poised too. i don't read the series, so i hope i didn't butcher your request. thank you for requesting anon, i hope you enjoy this!

GOJO SATORU. he loves how calm you are at times — but with his energetic nature, on other times he feels like you should try to loosen up. sure you do laugh at his jokes, or pop a smile every once in a while. gojo loves you.

he just wishes you'd loosen up, with him. only him.

he finds your personality endearing and unique. that's why he fell in the first place, you managed to fool him the first time you both met — and ever since that day, he's been so interested in you (eventually falling in love with you).

you're such an unique person, with your various colored butterfly motive dresses that's now carved into a personality, your cool as a cucumber personality.

believe me when i said he took a long time chasing after you, trying to make you fall for him, he's done everything. get you chocolates, get you flowers, pizza, kikufuku. and one day you just accepted him and boom! he's your boyfriend.

but sometimes, he feels like he isn't. and it's starting to etch into his mind that you were just using him.

"satoru, are you listening to me?"

"are you using me?" you looked at him with that eyes of yours, that somehow looked so empty it scares gojo sometimes. you were silent, so gojo decided to speak again, "did you accept me out of pity?"

no. the answer is no. you do really like him, you're in love with him. people around you perceive you as someone cunning and manipulative — that you just had to...keep up with it. you felt like showing other things would be such a weakness.

"why are you saying that? have you been watching those sappy weird dramas again?" gojo heaved out a sigh.

"just because you say that you love me, doesn't mean i feel loved by you." okay, your relationship was in a verge of crumbling away right now and you honestly didn't know what to do, "are you listenin' to me. y/n?"

"i am."

"say something about it then."

it was either this whole personality, or gojo, "i do love you, satoru," you tell him, "and i apologize if i don't make you feel loved, that is completely a mistake in my part. you do a lot of things for me, and..i don't do as much for you. i apologize for that."

it will always be gojo over this whole personality, weakness and stuff.

hearing the word "apologize" made gojo flutter, you weren't really the type to apologize in the first place, so this all seemed like a fever dream to him, "i know 'm not doing much for you right now, but i do love you— and, i just...don't know how to show it to you. i'm so sorry."

you're a person of your own words, gojo felt loved, and you felt loved. it was a total win for the both of you.

TOJI FUSHIGURO. he could care less about your whole personality or how much people hate it, in fact, your personality is one of the thing he loves most about you. other than that, there is one thing that he doesn't like about you.

he hates how beautiful you are. let's be real, as much as toji tries to show himself off as a bold and macho man — he's human too, and i feel like sometimes he feels a little insecure and scared. scared that you'll find someone better than him, then leave.

although he's never said that directly to your face, he shows it to you. and you knew, but also said nothing about his behavior. toji is an assassin, he's a sorcerer killer, he gets missions that required a long time. and in those times, he couldn't help but to think that you'll leave him to find someone better.

someone who could be there for you. someone obviously more perfect.

and as much as you don't show it to him, he's the most perfect. you'd never tell him that indirectly, but you show it through your actions. after all, actions do speak louder than words, right?

"what is your motive, toji?" you murmur into his shoulder— the male has been indubitably clingy for the past couple of hours, it was starting to get suspicious.

"what? 'm not allowed to hug my own partner now or something?" he retorted back.

"you're acting quite odd."

toji stayed mute. and it was obvious what he was doing, when everyone couldn't see right through him— there you were, reading him like an open book, "don't understand what you're talkin' 'bout."

you rubbed your hand on the back of his head, "i know you understand what i'm talking about," his body visibly flinches, but you paid no mind to that, your fingers trailing small circles on his nape, "what is it that you're afraid of?"

toji knew he could never lie to you, "you. leaving."

you pressed a kiss on to the side of his face, "well, you're worried over nothing. i'm not leaving you, not now at least."

toji pulls away, narrowing his eyes at you.

"hey, you never know when i'll die."

like hell toji would let that happen.

SUKUNA RYOMEN. like toji, he loves your personality — he's a brash person, and you were a cool headed person. name a better duo than that. often he'd find himself the one to ramble a lot in the relationship, complaining about how people are such shitty beings and how he'd rather be a rock.

one thing he despises is when people turn their heads to take a double-look at you whenever you both go out, it always annoyed him how people don't understand why he was there with you. or how it wasn't obvious enough that you were taken. by him.

"fucking shits."

you couldn't help but to smile at his fits of cursing, smiling lightly as you look up at him, "what's the matter?"

"'m seconds away from gauging their eyes.." sukuna mumbles out, scratching the back of his head sheepishly — he's a jealous person, there's no doubt to that of course, it's quite obvious is it not? what belongs to his is only his, nobody else's.

"how adorable."

sukuna despises it when you call him adorable, or how calm you are even if you know people turn their heads to look at you. he never asks you about it or why you never said anything to them, but he didn't like it, he wanted you to say something; show him off to these people, show him that he's yours too.

"are you jealous?"

"..no." hesitation was his enemy, with the slightest bit of pause — you could tell that he's lying through his words.

"do you perhaps want to go back home then?" home was the best place for you both (sukuna thinks, because he has your full attention and he doesn't have to worry about other people). he nodded his head and rolled his eyes.

"you should stop wearing these..dresses. wear them just for me," he mutters out.

"so you are jealous?"

"'m not. just saying."

he is jealous.

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anaslair · 3 months

Note

Hiii, I wanted to give the match ups a try cause why not. I go by she/her and prefer to be matched with a male character, I’m also underaged. Oh and I’d prefer to be a demigod, personally I think I’d be the daughter of Hestia or maybeee Hephaestus or Apollo, idrk 😭. Anywaysss, about me. I loveee music/art/film, really anything creative, like I have a deep appreciation for them and artists. I actually used to go to a performing arts school. I also love nature and appreciate that as well. Like, I love going on hikes when I can and even just looking at the beauty of the nature wherever I am. I’m not really much of a sports person, like I love playing but I wouldn’t do anything professionally. I do martial arts though, which is definitely a biggg passion of mine. As a person, although it doesn’t necessarily feel like it to me, sometimes I’m pretty sure I’m fairly outgoing, at least more than other people I know. But I’m also the type of person to really open up and become more social and talkative the more you get to know me. Oh and final thing, I think I’m pretty books smart but not very streets smart, if you know what I mean. 😀 Anywayssss thanks for reading all of this if you did, it’d be really cool to hear back from you!! 🫶🫶

OKAY HEAR ME OUT!! HEAR ME OUT ON THIS ONE!!!!!!!!!!!

So, it’s not that well known, but Hestia is actually one of the virgin godesses of Olympus (like Artemis and Athena). But!!! We COULD pretend she has kids like Athena does 👀 ✨just because she wants to✨

Like, Athena’s kids come from her mind… maybe Hestia’s could come from her heart? Like figuratively maybe? She’s the goddess of hearth & home so it could kind of make sense? Pls bear with me this will go rlly well with who I’m matching you with so let’s just go with it 🤓

Also the nature thing UGHHH, I always had this head cannon that Percy became a bit of a nature activist after witnessing Pan’s death 😩😩😩 Anyway let’s get to it, I really hope you like this 🫶

Tysm for requesting!!! Have a great day <3

I match you with…

Percy Jackson!!

-Disclaimer-

The requester is a minor and so is Percy at this stage of the books!!

After the second titan war ended, Percy started to value some things way more than he did before it all went down

Not to say he was an ungrateful person, far from it. Percy really did have a heart of gold and often put his loved ones above his own personal needs. Loyalty was his fatal flaw after all

But there was just some things he felt he didn’t pay much attention to before the war, like Hestia for example. The goddess practically lived on camp grounds and he barely even acknowledged her before she saved him when he needed it the most, reminding him what was most important when everything was falling apart during the war

Or Pan. the god of the wild had practically died in front of him, telling him and his friends that the future of nature, of the world they lived in was actually in their hands. Everyone had to do their part for it to survive

He had to pay them back somehow, honor them

So that’s why he was THRILLED when the first Hestia kid arrived on camp after he made the gods promise they would claim all of their kids and send them to camp Half Blood, where all of the gods would have cabins for their descendants

This was his chance to pay back Hestia for her help!! So he promptly asked Chiron to mentor the new girl and teach her what she needed to know about self defense and sword fighting, since she was practically his age and had to survive until now with the mortals without proper training

In fact, how did you manage to do that anyway?

He didn’t really know, but he felt he was the best man for the job. His sword fighting skills were unmatched, only bested by Luke’s

So, not gonna lie. He was kind of waiting to show off his skills on your first lesson and help you with whatever you needed

He told you he would first show you some hand to hand combat moves before y’all could move on to sword fighting, to which you shrugged it out, being cool with it

Too cool even, you seemed super comfortable with it 🧐

“Okay. First, I’ll come at you slowly and you can try and stop the blow however you feel is right. This will be kind of a warm up to start things off. But don’t worry, I won’t actually hurt you, if you feel uncomfortable in any way, please let me know okay?” He said, smiling kindly at you while taking an offensive stance

You nodded, waiting for him to start

He slowly swung at you, being careful to not scare you out

Imagine how completely and utterly bamboozled he was when he found himself lying on the ground, the arm he swung at you now twisted and pressed on to his back, just enough to keep him on the ground

He was like 🧍‍♂️

And you were like 😄 so what’s next?

Bro what the fuck

That was honestly so impressive that when you offered a hand to help him get back to his feet, his cheeks where slightly flushed

He cleaned his throat, fixing his camp Half Blood necklace back into place

“Okay so I guess you’ve got that part covered” He said, giving you his signature sarcastic smirk

You let out a small laugh in response, explaining to him that you actually loved martial arts and that stuff came easy to you

He was completely fascinated, asking you to help him better his hand to hand combat skills after you guys finished

That was the start of a kind of chaotic friendship between the two of you. You helped him better himself in your area while he gave you sword fighting lessons

You weren’t really a fan of it but Percy was so talented and so patient while teaching you that you were winning sparring duels in no time

Y’all were a power duo in capture the flag for sure. You knocked people out and Percy wouldn’t let anyone get even slightly near you with riptide

You knew some strategies in theory from some books you had read and Percy knew how to put them into action

Iconic

You quickly developed a strong bond, getting closer and closer to each other every day

You always ranted to him about art in general, he didn’t really understand most of the things you told him but he always listened attentively, even memorizing some of your favorite artists to get you stuff related to them when he went home for the school year

You often hanged out by the lake, you absolutely loved how it looked when the sun hit it just right, with the trees reflected on it

One time, Percy took you to the bottom of it, putting an air bubble around you both so you could see how beautiful it was underwater

Your eyes shone bright at the view, but you frowned as soon as you saw a couple of plastic wrappers at the bottom

You asked Percy to lower the bubble so you could collect them and properly throw them out at the surface

That made Percy stare at you with such intensity and admiration that you wondered just what the hell you had done to get him looking at you like that

You avoided his eyes, ears tinted red

It was no secret that you had developed feelings for him, he was so sweet and kind

You wondered if he felt the same

Suddenly, his warm hand met yours as he slowly interlaced your fingers together

You looked at him, eyes wide

The smile on his face made his intentions pretty clear

#percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson fanfiction #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x reader #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue #chalice of the gods #percy jackson books #pjo hoo toa #the heroes of olympus #annabeth chase #piper mclean #leo valdez x reader #jason grace imagine #matchups #fanfiction #fanfic

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saintmagx · 8 months

Text

I Knew you were Trouble❤️‍🔥

Part 2

Pairing: Jimmy Uso x reader

AN: if you would like tagged let me know 💖 Trinity is still with WWE. No specific timeline

⚠️ Warnings: 18+ , swearing, violence (this is the WWE after all) slight smut, infidelity, jealous Jimmy, bad writing, cringe story telling, the Usos (because they are a warning in themselves) ⚠️

The privilege of being a WWE superstar is you can get in almost anywhere and tonight was no different. LIV a well know nightclub in Miami is one of the toughest places to get into due to the high calliper of clientele - and somehow we made the cut.

The music was pumping, the air thick with stress and tension being danced away. We found our way to the back of the club to sit in one of the enclosed booths, accompanied by a server bringing over a bottle of their finest champagne.

Josh quickly fills the glasses up and starts us off:

“A toast, to these two badass ladies, congrats on your title win. It’s only up from here.”

“Josh, we haven’t actually won the titles yet, in-fact it doesn’t even feel right celebrating before we even have them, isn’t it like bad luck?”

“Yn, girl, let’s just enjoy the moment, we can worry about actually getting the titles tomorrow - tonight is about celebrating. Celebrating success, our future title reign, our new found friendship and everything in between.”

I hadn’t known Trinity long but her positivity and light is captivating. People gravitate towards her because of how she makes them feel. She loves and gives with her whole being.

“Okay enough of the chitchat, let’s dance”

Before I know it I’m being dragged to the dance floor by Trin. We dance the night away, laughing and having potentially a little bit too much alcohol.

“I’m going to use the restroom, I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Trin just smiled and nodded - I want to say she heard what I said, but at this point I can’t even register my own inner monologue.

The bathroom was at the back of the club and it was hidden well - not sure how safe that was. Distracted by doing a bit of social media stalking, I walk into something solid.

“Ouch” I say.

I’m so embarrassed - praying no one saw me do that or worse having caught it on camera.

“I think I should be the one saying ouch”

Stunned, i look up and see Jon who is towering over me, with a lustful darkness lingering in his eyes.

“Jon, shit, sorry, I thought it was the wall or something. Are you okay?”

“Well except a bruised ego, I’m fine.” He pauses then continues “A wall huh? You think I’m that built?” His signature smirk creeping onto his face. My cheeks instantly flush pink. Does he know what he’s doing? Or even the effect he’s having on me? Am I reading too much into this? Wait, shit - becoming aware of the the fact I’ve been staring at Jon blushing, I have to say something, anything.

“Trin seems to be having a good time, I left her on the dance floor if you wanna join her.”

He inches closer, his scent fills my nose. My mind, body and soul is hypnotised by him.

“Well that depends, will you be coming back to the dance floor?”

Will i? Technically I wouldn’t be doing anything wrong, On one hand I can be close to him, looking and not touching but then on the other hand, he’s married, married to Trin, I couldn’t do that to her, right?

“I’m not sure that’s such a goo-”

“Yo uce, come get your wife, she’s had one too many drinks and I think she’s ready to start a fight.”

Saved by the bell.

Jon looks me up and down one more time, as if he’s trying to tell me we have unfinished business, he then heads off to get Trin and play the doting husband once more.

“I think I’m going to call it a night Josh.” He agrees and we head to the main entrance to wait on Trin and Jon before heading back to the hotel. I’m not sure what happened back at the club, I’m torn between wanting to find out, and just ignoring it, act like nothing happened - because nothing did happen right?

Trin

(8 New Messages)

I had so much fun tonight, we gotta hit the club more often.

We should think of a cool tag name

Oh and matching outfits

Should we come out together or separate

Omg there’s so much to think about

I know we haven’t known each other that long but I’ve got a feeling we are going to be such good friends

Jon says I’ve to leave you alone and let you sleep

Goodnight girl

Okay, my decision is made, whatever this is or isn’t stops now. Trin is a sweetheart and doesn’t deserve any of this.

I never understood people who said working out is good for the soul, I thought you had to be mad to enjoy it. However over the past few years an early morning hotel gym session has become my inner peace. Whether I’m running on the treadmill or lifting weights my mind is in blissful state of serenity. No craziness, no fuzziness, no overthinking and no Jonathan fucking Fatu. Calm.

Sitting on the gym floor, a sweaty mess from my workout I take a quick look through social media, trying to catch my breath. Trin had posted photos from last night to her private Instagram, guilt washes over me, I quickly shake the feeling and type a cheesy comment on her post - cheese is good, more focus on Trin less focus on Jon.

“Well shit, didn’t expect to see you down here this early.”

“Well Josh, early bird gets the worm and all that jazz.”

He walks over to join me on the floor, Josh is such a great guy, why couldn’t it have been him I was so captivated with and not his married brother.

“Did you have fun last night?”

“Honestly yeah, it was good to let my hair down and just enjoy myself.” Pausing for a second, “what about you? I didn’t get to see you all night.”

“Aw, did yn miss me?” He laughs

“Shut up loser” I say while nudging him.

“What’s going on here?”

I stiffen, Jon.

“Yo uce, about time you got yo ass down here, we ready to work out?”

Jon sits on the floor right next to me, the heat from his body already surrounds mine.

“I’ll take that as a no, I’ll be warming up for whenever yo lazy ass decides to join me.”

Josh gets up and heads towards the gym equipment to start his workout leaving just me and Jon, an awkward silence lingers.

“So last night was fun” I say trying to break the silence.

He just stares at me, looking into his eyes I see conflict, tension, desire? Finally breaking his silence.

“Yeah, it was a good night, shame it was cut short.”

Playing blissfully ignorant I push him for more information.

“It wasn’t cut short? We had been there for hours.”

“Let me rephrase that, our time was cut short.”

My heartbeat picks up - I’m playing with fire here and I know I’ll get burned if I continue.

“I guess I was to busy dancing with Trin to spend time with you and Josh.”

He smirks, his pinky inches closer to my hand, finding it’s destination he starts caressing my hand.

“No, our time. Me and you. If J hadn’t have came in…”

“Jon, come on we ain’t got all day.” Josh interrupts

“I’m coming I’m coming.” He replies back irritated.

Jon leans over inches from my ear he whispers “This ain’t over.”

And with that he is gone, away to join Josh to start their workout. Leaving me confused, conflicted and a little bit hot. Im definitely getting burned.

tagged: @southerngirl41 @missfamilyjeweles @jeyusos-girl @christinabae @jeyusosgirl @raya-hunter01

#wwe fanfiction #wwe smut #wweedit #wwe x reader #wwe x you #solo sikoa x you #solo sikoa x yn #solo sikoa x reader #solo sikoa smut #solo sikoa #jey uso x y/n #jey uso x reader #jey uso #jey uso smut

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badasgirlfriend · 4 months

Text

paper rings ₊ ⊹ - bada lee social media au

the nasty bitches - golden squad - extras

masterlist

"Hi Y/N, welcome to Dwight High School!" said a girl with bright blonde hair and warm smile, greeting me right when I stepped out of the principal's office. "I'm the school's president Park Sieun, and it's my pleasure to give you a tour today. Let's get started!"

I was relieved that my time with the principal was finally over, he was beginning to annoy me with the school's history and how it was formed. Being a new student is tiring

And boring

I nodded along as Sieun explained every little detail, and when Sieun said "everything," she really meant it

"This is your locker" she said with a bright smile as she pulled the locker key out of her pocket and handed it to me. "I'll take you to the cafeteria next."

In my opinion, Sieun was a nice girl. I can see why everyone respected her so much. Everyone greeted her with smiles and happy looks every time they turned a corner or passed someone else.

She's the school's president after all

However, this all felt like an act. The whole nice, bubbly girl personality felt fake, like a mask being worn by a much harsher person beneath. The kindness did not feel like genuine concern. I'd notice after every smile she gave to everyone an eye roll came after it

But I could be wrong who am I to judge

"Alright" Sieun said with a clap of her hands, prepared to explain the cafeteria. However, she couldn't finish her sentence because someone shoved her hard in the shoulder, making her stumble a bit.

I looked behind her, my eyebrows furrowing in concern and surprise. I was struck by an amazing sight.

Three beautiful girls stood behind us, their flawless appearance capturing my attention and making me unable to look away. They were breathtakingly perfect, their beauty overshadowing anything she'd previously seen.

They were wearing the school uniforms like everyone else, but somehow they made it look so expensive

The smirking tall girl who probably shoved Sieun smirked at her "Sorry miss president, I didn't see you there." she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm as she made it clear that she had done it intentionally.

The two other girls began laughing and that was it for Sieun, she was fuming

"I can report you three-" Sieun attempted to make her way outside through the crowd of students, but the dark haired girl who stood in the middle of the two other girls blocked her path. She moved over to Sieun's left, completely preventing her from passing. The girl's smile was gone now

"You and I both know you dont meet the basic requirments to be the president of this school" she said coldly and even I was scared for Sieun "So know your fucking place"

She then turned to me and looked "New kid hm" she paused "Cute bag" was all she said and then they were gone

"That fucking bi-" Sieun stopped herself, taking a deep breath as she tried to regain her composure.

She then turned to look at me me smiled slightly. "Sorry about that."

I mumbled a "it's okay" as my attention was drawn to the three girls who were sitting in the middle of the cafeteria. Everyone seemed to be looking at them with different emotions, ranging from hatred, jealousy, admiration, and even more.

"Who are those girls?"

Sieun scoffed at her question. "I thought it was obvious," she responded with a dismissive tone.

"They go by many names, people call them the queen bees, the cunts, the plastics, you choose. But my favorite one is the nasty bitches."

Sieun spoke with pure annoyance in her voice "They make everyone's life a living hell. The three of them talk shit about each other but still stick together. They will do anything when it comes to ruining someone's day, whether it's gossiping about them or spreading rumors just to ruin them."

"The pinkish girl, that's Jang Wonyoung"

"She's the quiet one. She usually only follows what the other two do. Don't get me wrong, she's still a fucking cunt but I think it's all just an act for popularity." Sieun stopped and thought about it "She's a whore she fucks every man she sees I wouldn't be too surprised if she fucked her friends boyfriends

"Don't say that" I murmured

The blonde shrugged "It's true. Anyway she usually does the dirty work. There's a rumor that one girl called her friend annoying, and she ordered Wonyoung to get them suspended. Wonyoung then stole the school's winning medals and put them in the poor girl's locked locker"

"The blonde one, that's Park Chaeyoung also known as Rose"

"She should be grateful of her boyfriend, she spends all his money. Her favorite thing? To spread rumors so be careful." Sieun told me "She's the devil's spawn"

Sieun continued "She's the most backstabbing bitch you'll ever meet. If it means ruining your entire life, she'll do it in a second if it'll get her something good. The only goal in her life is to be like her friend, the one with brown hair. Everything her friend does is her life, she emulates everything from her. It's like they are the same person, she's so dependent on her."

Both our eyes moved to the only one who was left

"Speaking about the devil, that's Takahashi Yui"

"The leader of the group, as you might say, for some reason, people idolize the ground she walks on. Whatever Yui wants, Rose and Wonyoung will immediately agree to it. They're her dolls." Sieun's tone turned darker as she spoke about the Japanese girl. "She's the fakest person ever, just because she has money she thinks she can buy everything and everyone."

Sieun took another deep breath, the anger in her voice growing more intense with each word. "She's the worst person out of all of them, if you just look at her the wrong way, she'll use all of her influence to destroy you. She is the true devil of that group"

"Wow" was all I could say as I watched the Yui and Womyoung laughing loudly at Chaeyoung who was actively teasing the poor girl who was forced to sit with them.

My attention was caught by a loud burst of laughter coming from across the hall. I turned my head in the direction of the sound and saw a group of people laughing and having fun, seemingly without a care in the world.

"What about them?" I ask pointing at their table

Sieun turned to look and she almost melted "Oh they're the golden squad"

#talking with eli #bada lee #bada lee edit #bada lee imagine #bada lee fanfic #bada lee x reader #swf #bada lee x oc #gxg #paper rings smau #bada lee imagines #bada lee bebe #bada lee x y/n #bada lee au #bada lee fanfiction #lee bada

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ikanasocking · 8 months

Text

A supportive friend

I guess this is the most erotic story I have written so far. It contains inanimated tf, gay activities and to some degree mind control. If you are not interested in these topics you should maybe not continue reading it. Enjoy this new story.

Ron and Chris were friends for as long as they could remember. Doing mischief nearly every day. In school after school whenever they were together. But sadly it was not made to last. It seemed like Chris was developing feelings toward men, more then to women. So when he had his coming out, Ron was furious. He wanted nothing to do with a gay bitch, and broke every contact to Chris.

Chris was not taking it very well. And who would? Your best friend you trusted all your life rejected you, because you were into people of the same sex. Ridiculous. But this was all a thing of the past. Many years both guys did not hear anything from each other. And truth be spoken, they did not even want to. Chris passed collage with ease and found a rather lucrative job as a manager in a company. His superior was also the son of the CEO and gay as well. Both guys were like made for one another. But they kept it secret. Chris did not want to make the impression that he just got his job, because the gay CEO’s son liked him. And for his new boyfriend Kai it was okay to keep a low profile. Work was work, and after that, they could do what they wanted. More years went by. Kai and Chris made it official at one point. At least to Kai’s dad. Chris was welcomed into the family like their own son. And so they moved into their own flat.

At work it was no problem at all. People were happy to work for the both of them. They were a good team supporting each other, whenever they could. One day, Kai told his friend that they would get a new worker. He would start tomorrow and be in Chris team. Curios Chris wanted to greet his new employee the next day. Only to find Ron standing in front of him. A totally new Ron. He let himself go. He got fat. So fat that Chris would never have believed. They stood in front of each other just staring.

“Ah I see you met each other already. Chris, this is Ron your new assistant.”

“Hello”, Chris said and hurried into his office.

A lot of feelings were coming back to him and he could barely hold back his tears. Seeing his once best friend now here working for him as an assistant.

“I am sorry, I don’t know what got into him. Anyway, Nora will show you the building and give you insight into your future work. I am sure we will see each other later”, Chris heard his boyfriend say.

Not long after he got into Chris office and looked at him.

“I wanted to ask what was wrong with you, but I guess I can save this question, honey. Who is this guy?”

He asked and went over to him to comfort him.

“My childhood friend who broke every contact when I had my coming out.”

Kai took Chris into a comforting hug, while he let his feelings all out. Tears were running down his face. Kai did not know about all of this but guessed that Chris must have been hurt very bad, back in the day. When he calmed down, Kai released him.

“Everything okay?”

“Somehow”, Chris sad still shaken by the moment.

“Okay, why don’t you go home and get some rest. I will handle the rest here, for the day. Sounds like a deal?”

“No I can’t go now. I have some”, Chris began.

“No you have not. You go home now, get comfy and wait for me. I will bring dinner today. Nothing is more important to me, then you being happy and able to work. I will take care of the introduction of Ron and the presentation we prepared. Leave everything up to me, please.”

Under another protest Chris gave up and went home in a hurry. Leaving Ron and his boyfriend alone. He trusted Kai but not Ron. Nevertheless he got home changed clothes, got on the couch into a comfy blanket and started watching some shows.

Kai on the other hand took care of everything. First on the agenda was talking to his father about what happened. Then the presentation for the stakeholders of the company. And then he met back with Ron.

“So, Ron was it, right? I hope Nora showed you everything?”

“Yeah she was quite the darling. But I got a question.”

“Sure ask right away.”

“For whom will I be the assistant?”

“Oh I guess you met him earlier today. From what I know an old friend of yours”, Kai said with a big smile.

He wanted to be as polite as possible and not show that deep within he was furious this guy had the nerve hurting his boyfriend.

“For Chris? Oh I thought I would work for a real manager”, he said and Kai laughed.

He ordered Ron to follow him.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean someone like Chris cannot be a real manager. He is not even a real man.”

“That is an interesting view on things. Mind telling me why you think so? I mean if what you say is true, then I might have a new job offer open.”

“Gladly. He is straight as a circle. Only hunting to be dominated by another man. Maybe someone like me, a real man” Ron said with a proud tone in his voice.

Kai looked at him. Did you recently looked into the mirror? A real man would not say things like this. You might be a bear and even a daddy bear, but not a real man, was all he could think.

“Oh really? I did not know that he is gay. But loving men is not an indication for him not doing his job right.”

“Sure you will see it in short time. He will disappoint you. Me on the other hand will be the perfect guy for this position. I am everything he is not.”

That’s for certain, Kai thought and laughed.

“Well since you seem to have such a high opinion of your skills. I am sure you will not disappoint me. Do your best and show me you can do his job better then he can, and we might think about a promotion. Sounds like a deal?”

“I cannot lose anything, so sure. Deal.”

“Excellent. Since I send Chris home, get to know the office and your working place. If you got any questions just ask Nora or me. Have a nice day.”

With that Kai turned and went to his office. After the door was closed he had to take a lot of deep breaths to calm down. The nerve Ron had talking to him like that was infuriating the least. He never thought an attitude like this would even exist in this times. Slowly he went to his desk before someone knocked on his door.

“Yes?” he responded only to see his dad coming into his office.

“Everything all right?” he asked while Kai took a seat.

“I guess we will pull through it.”

“The new guy?” his dad asked and took a seat for himself.

Kai’s father was sprouting the perfect dad body, if this even existed. He kept his facial hair trimmed and short. A mother was not in their family anymore, as far as Kai knew. His father loved him more than anything but it turned out he was gay himself and got himself a husband, after his wife left him. At least this was, what Kai was told.

“Yeah.”

“Is he the reason my soon to be son in law was not able to do his presentation?”

“Kind of. They met and Chris was shaken to the bone. I send him home and took over. He was in no constitution to hold it.”

“I see. So who is the guy?

“A homophobe asshole”, Kai summed up.

“Oh really?”

“I guess he did not know about Chris and me and the only thing he told me in our conversation was how Chris would not be able to fill his role and he would be the much better pick. I must say, I am beyond mad at the things he told me.”

Kai’s dad nodded and got up then. He went to the door and opened it.

“Come in honey”, he said and Kai’s stepfather came in.

A lean guy with some girly attitudes. He was one of those guys you would look at and say, yes he loves men. The door was closed and both men came back to the desk.

“Okay, Kai. I think it is time to let you in on a little family secret. Your mother and I never really parted ways. We just had to use this excuse to cover up what really happened.”

“You and mom are still married? So you have two”, began Kai but his dad shook his head.

“No I am only married once. To the same woman that brought you into this world.”

“I don’t understand.”

“See? I told you he would not understand. Kai, I am your mother your real mother.”

Kai was taken aback. Why should they say something like this?

“This is impossible”, he said.

“We thought so as well. But there is something in our family. A special gift. You could call it even power. We can change people to out will. And since your father told me he would be more interested in man, I decided to become one myself. So we were able to stay together and live our live happily. And now we want to teach you how to do this. Or better we want to teach Chris and you how to do this. You are old enough and I guess this new guy deserves some punishment. Let’s have dinner together and talk about everything then. Okay?”

“Sure”, Kai said but still did not believe his father nor his stepfather.

After both left his office Kai wrote Chris about the plans tonight and carried on with his day. Luckily he was not disturbed by Ron again.

The evening came. Kai and Chris went to his father’s house, which was not far away from the place they lived. His father’s house would have been big enough for three to four families and he even offered Kai to stay with his boyfriend here, but he refused wanted to have some time for himself. The dinner was already served when they arrived. After they finished it they got into an old office room.

“So, we already talked about it. Chris, I guess Kai told you everything?” Kai’s dad asked.

“Yeah he did, but I cannot really believe it.”

“I am sure it is hard to accept but it is the honest truth. I am inherited this gift from my mother and well passed it on to my husband and son” Kai’s stepfather said.

“How? I can understand that you passed it on to me, but how to my dad?”

“We don’t really know. I talked to my mother about it and she said that it might be that this gift is passed on by having, you know what.”

“I still can’t believe it. You can change from man to woman by pure will?” Chris asked.

“Yeah I can. But I could do much more. Just a moment.”

With that Kai’s stepfather closed his eyes and began changing. His features became more and more girly until Kai’s mother stood in front of them. The clothes stayed the same and were way to big for the slender woman.

“Mother”, Kai whispered and she smiled at him.

“See and you didn’t want to believe us”, she said and smiled.

“This is against every logic.”

“Sure it is. But it is called magic, my dear.”

With that Kai’s mother changed back into her male self.

“That is unbelievable”, Chris said.

“We know but we want you to learn this as well.”

“But how should I be able to do this? I am not from this family”, Chris said.

“True but we are sure that Kai and you already had some fun. So you should be able to do it as much as Kai should.”

Chris turned red.

“So how do we do this and can we only change ourselves?” Kai asked eagerly.

“Wow slow down, son. First of all, you can change everyone you want into everything you want. With the years we used this skill to teach a lot of homophobic assholes lessons in respect. Nora for example would normally be Norbert or my office chair. Nearly everyone in our office was recruited for a purpose. They all went to a rash teaching. And now the next one would be our new guy Ron” Kai’s dad said.

So they began to explain how the boys could use this gift. After some tries it worked. For both of them. The ultimate proof for the fun, Kai and Chris were having.

“One thing before we let you go to sleep. Make sure that no one sees you using this skills. No one who is not supposed to be changed. The changed persons are unable to speak with anyone else but you about what happened. So it is vital no one sees you doing it”, Kai’s mum told them.

“We are careful”, Kai said.

This night they did not return home but stayed at the house. In the morning all four of them went back to work. Like usual they were the first in the office. Kai and Chris went to Chris office.

“Honey, before he shows up. I want you to know that I played Ron’s game and promised him that, if he could proof me that he is more capable then you he would get your job. With no intention of giving it to him. But just so you know.”

“Don’t threat honey. I have some ideas of improving his supportive skills.”

“Wanna tell me what you are going to do?”

“I thought about turning him into a condom or a dildo. But I guess I have another idea.”

“I am curios. Can I watch?”

“Oh sure you can. I plan to do it after work. In private.”

Kai laughed and left the office. The day want on and Ron showed up in time. He did not try to hide his disgust towards his new boss and did the bare minimum. But Chris was not paying any mind to it. It would be the last day Ron would be working for him. He invited him to a company dinner at his place together with a person of Ron’s choice. He agreed wanting to show his new “friend” Kai that he was dedicated. And so the evening was coming and Ron showed up at Chris and Kai’s home. Together with a friend of his.

“No ladies escort?” Kai asked with a laugh.

“The lady had already ladies night. So I thought of bringing a friend. This is Mark.”

He greeted everyone and so they went to dinner. After they finished Kai went to get some alcohol. Ron and Mark did not turn it down and began drinking the expansive whine and whiskey they were offered.

“You know, Chris, I am sure I can do your job better then you”, Ron said after being drunk.

“Is that so? Well then follow me to the office room. Then we can discuss the business part.”

So they went to the room next door. Chris closed the doors and looked them. He just hoped the little training he had yesterday would be enough.

“So what did you want to talk about?” Ron asked completely losing his words.

“If you want to have my job so desperately I am sure you will do everything you can to get it. So here is the deal. You blow me and you can have it. Does this sound fair?”

“Pfff sure a faggot like you would ask for only a blowjob. Get ready to surrender your job to me”, he said and staggered over to Chris.

“That is right, Ron. Come here. Get on your knees.”

He obeyed and looked into Chris eyes.

“Now then open my pants and pull them down.”

Again he obeyed. It was like Chris voice was like what his brain wanted. He was not able to set his own thoughts and Chris commands apart. They were one and the same for him.

“Get your nose into my crotch and start sniffing it”, he commanded and Ron obeyed again.

Eagerly he went on sniffing and licking Chris dick through the fabric. Chris watched for a few minutes.

“Tell you what, Ron? I guess you want this, do you? Being down there worshipping me and my meat. Does it fill you with joy?”

“Yes it does”, Ron answered completely oblivious to all the signals in his body telling him to stop.

“So why not spend every day there? How about you become the supportive friend you should have been all the years? You want to be my boxers, do you?”

Ron looked up in Chris face and pulled himself up. He got close to his bosses face and looked into his eyes with lust and oblivion.

“I want to be your boxers, Chris. Take me as a supportive friend.”

“With pleasure. Get down there and worship me”, Chris said and Ron went back down.

He began to lick Chris penis through the pants again and sniffed like it was the most beautiful smell he ever had experienced.

“Now blow me through the boxers”, he commanded and Ron did as he was told.

Chris used his hands and put them on Ron’s head. Slowly he pressed him closer to his crotch. With every push Ron seemed to sink deeper and deeper into the fabric of the boxers. First his face, then his whole head and the rest of his body followed. He was now nothing more than a boxer at Chris crotch. Suddenly sober he noticed something in his mouth. It was Chris erection that was so big. The taste was in Ron’s mouth and he wanted to spit it out. Shout at his boss what kind of sick game he would be playing here. But nothing came out. He could not even get the penis out of his mouth.

“Now you are supportive, Ron. Are you happy? This will be your live for the next years, I guess. Maybe I will change you back one day, when you have learned where your place is. But only if I not forget about you. Welcome to your new life as my boxers.”

Chris hand was stroking his dick and precum began to soak into Ron’s body. The taste was totally new for the boy but he could not escape it. The smell as well. This was his life. Chris put his pants back on and for the moment Ron’s world went dark. Happy and satisfied Chris went back to the other guys who were sitting there. Kai waited for him and smiled when he saw him coming back alone.

“So it is over with him? What about Mark?”

“I am somehow sad to do this to him, since I don’t know this guy. But he is a witness. Even though he is completely drunk. But he leaves me no choice. He can thank my boxers for his fate.”

With that Chris went over to Mark and woke him up.

“Come with me, boy” he commanded and he got up and followed him to the sofa.

Chris sat down and Kai as well.

“Now tell me, Mark. Do you like what you see?”

“I am not sure what you mean.”

Chris put his feet on the table and looked back at the guy.

“I mean my feet. Weren’t you checking them out all evening?”

“I no, I did not, did I? I mean they are somehow cute in a strange way, but I would not check them out. I am not gay”, he said.

“Well satisfying your curiosity has nothing to do with being gay. If you like my feet, why not play with them?”

Like Ron before him, he went on and began to play with Chris feet. He was so entranced that this was the only right thing to do for him. He went on and began sniffing, massaging and licking this foreign guys feet like there was no tomorrow. After a while one of his hands went down to stroke his dick which got hard. The perfect moment for Chris.

“You are enjoying it, do you? Why not experience it every day. Become my socks”, he said and Mark nodded.

He used both hands again and pressed his face as hard as he could into Chris feet. And so the magic began. He began to fuse with the socks and in the end Mark was nothing more than a pair of socks with a wet cum spot on Chris feet. Chris was satisfied and smiled like he had not in years.

“So are you happy now?” Kai asked and began fondling his boyfriend.

“Yes I am more than happy. My past is now over and I can look forward. With you, Ron and Mark.”

Kai smiled and began kissing his boyfriend.

The next morning Mark wanted to get up, but noticed he could not move. Suddenly it got bright and it was like he was lying on the ground, with a big weight on his body. He tried to talk but nothing came out. Suddenly he saw something. A boot coming close to him. This was when it hit him. He was a pair of socks. He did not dream it. It was real. The boot covered him and turned his world black. The smell was nearly unbearable. As was the constant sweat that was soaked up by his body. Even if he wanted he could not change it.

After a few weeks Ron and Mark got used to being worn every day by Chris. Mark used his time licking at Chris feet, even though he had not tongue it was still a pleasant feeling for Chris. Mark had tried to fight it as well but now he had nothing better to do then sucking his owner’s dick. Life was simpler for them this way. And for Chris and Kai as well. Not long after they got married and moved in with the rest of Kai’s family.

For now the story ends here but who knows? Maybe Mark and Ron will be released one day or get more company? Who knows?

#gay sock #inanimate transformation #inanimate tf #straight to gay #mind control

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maspers · 8 months

Text

Bionicle is weird yall

Okay so let's talk Bionicle. The Lego action figures with surprisingly deep lore and themes, and basically one of the coolest things to ever exist. You either love Bionicle or have not read Bionicle.

Who's your favorite? Mine has got to be Kopaka. For various reasons, including his general competence throughout the whole story. He's just pretty rad.

Now, you might be surprised I like Kopaka, since all things considered he's kind of a prick. He snarks at basically everything that enters his line of sight, and largely acts kind of stuck up due to his (admittedly justified) belief that he's the smartest person around. He spends the entire story fed up with everything else. He is completely and utterly convinced that he is the only sane person in the entire universe, and that nothing in the entirety of Mata Nui is behaving in a logical and rational way.

But see, here's the thing: all of that bluster about being the only rational thing around is complete bullcrap and lies, and here's why:

Kopaka, like all the original six Toa, is an amnesiac. He popped out of a magic canister in the ground and basically has no backstory to speak of since before he woke up he essentially didn't exist. And we know he's not a possible exception to this since, unlike the other Toa, he's the one we actually see it happen to. He has legit no idea who he is until Nuju tells him. What this means is simple: KOPAKA HAS NO FRAME OF REFERENCE. You can't judge something to be insane if you have not experienced sanity. Nothing is "irrational" in the abstract, you need context. Most people have extremely well-developed context obtained by living, but since Kopaka had not yet lived until he woke up he has NONE OF THAT.

And even if he did, he'd still be a massive hypocrite. Sure, the Matoran society and the Makuta are kind of weird, but Kopaka is a TOA, and Toa are a whole new kettle of craziness. Kopaka is a magic space warrior robot with the power to control the very concept of THIS STUFF IS COLD. His face is a magic mask that grants him X-ray vision and then gets even more powers later on. He can physically combine with other Toa to create a weird mega fusion Toa. Heck, after his first upgrade his primary weapon was skis. SKIS. He basically shapeshifts into a new body every time he goes somewhere else. And, as noted before, he legit just popped out of the ground one day, which makes him and his sibling Toa objectively weirder than all other Toa ever, since all the rest are transformed Matoran. Kopaka's entire existence is really freaking weird. He has no legs to stand on in his "I am the only rational being in the universe" belief. So where the heck did he get it from?

The simple answer: Mata Nui himself. When designing the Toa to act as a sort of internal anti-virus for all the weird garbage in his system, Mata Nui decided "You know what let's make the Ice one a prick who thinks he's sane" and somehow that idea perpetuated to the very end of the design process. The only reason Kopaka has to deal with everything else seeming completely bonkers to him is because Mata Nui, massive benevolent Troll that he is, *made him that way*. I bet when Kopaka finally made it to Bara Magna he was probably internally extremely relieved, because now he could judge the Agori by comparing them to the Matoran and vice versa instead of judging the Matoran on no actual justification whatsoever.

TLDR Kopaka is my favorite Bionicle because the entire premise of his personality is absurd and he probably spent the entire plot trying to internally justify it. Also ice powers go brrrrr

#bionicle #kopaka #mata nui #for once i actually DO know how to tag this #typically i'm not as much of a fan of the “i'm the lancer and i make snide remarks” character #but kopaka just has that special something #it's a brain cell #gali and onua also have brain cells #team toa nuva has a surprising brain cell ratio #but gali uses hers a little too much #and onua thinks its funny when he DOESN'T use his #kopaka has the balance #smaht boi. biologeh.

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jamisonwritestf2trash · 7 months

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Your tf2 headcannons make me smile :), how about the mercs going into their favorite game for a day and they have ti survive

Would The TF2 Mercs Survive In Their Favorite Video Game World? (+ Their Favorite Video Games)

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Awe! I'm so glad I can make you smile 😭Honestly makes me so happy in general to be able to make stuff people enjoy! For the sake of this to make seance I'm going to pretend that all these games work on real human time and take 24hrs for a day to pass (If the game takes more than one day to beat) or the game to be finished. (If the days passing is unspecified)

Also! Mutual appreciation comment time! Thank you for being a mutual I love your asks and thank you for all the likes 💖

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Okay enough of that to the prompt!

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TW: BLOOD, GORE, AND MENTIONS OF DEATH!

SPOILERS TOO FOR, OUTLAST, UNDERTALE,

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Demo- Borderlands 2

Of course Demo would love a game with mayhem, destruction, and humor. He also loves the fact that (for him at least) the game never gets boring, or dull. He always has fun when ever he loads up the game, so waking up one day in the game was both super exciting, and terrifying. I think he would survive, but then die as soon as the day was almost over, like he's not dying the second he wakes up, he's pretty good at the game after all, but he'd get confident, and then two seconds before the day his over he's shot in the head or something 😭

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Engie- Minecraft

I know, I know. It's not a fresh, new, or even controversial take, it's just what everyone assumes, but I wholeheartedly agree Minecraft is his favorite game. He loves the freedom to build, he thinks it super cool he can use things that he would normally not be able to build with. He also loves being able to play with his friends (Pyro and Scout) specifically. He's beat the game at least ten times, and knows the game inside and out. Waking up in the game was suppressing, but to be honest, I think he's had weirder situations happen. He immediately knows what to do, and is on it. After only twenty minutes of being in the game, he's already working on a house, by time the night is actually here he's somehow found diamonds and is working on his nether portal, is so upset to wake up in his bed the next day. He's bitter he couldn't finish the game. Doesn't die, obviously, but did have strong words with a skeleton after receiving an arrow to the back of the head.

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Heavy- Animal Crossing New Horizons.

I'm going to say it, this man doesn't really like violent video games. I know, controversial. My thing is, I don't think some of the mercs want to spend all their time killing, and then come back and kill fictional characters. But I could be wrong, but that doesn't matter because Heavy like Animal Crossing. He loves the villagers, loves the mundane tasks, loves how just, relaxing playing the game is. If he woke up on his AC island he'd be so happy. Hugs all the villagers, fishes, catches bugs, talks to Blathers about literally everything he can. This man is just having a great time, and I for one, am happy for him. Doesn't die (Even if he could, he still wouldn't) But did get stung by wasps at least once trying to catch them.

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Medic- Outlast (For the sake of the game being finished in the way Outlast is played medic is forced into the same confines Miles is put in)

Are we shocked that this man loves one of the most iconic horror games ever made? Loves how many boundaries it destroyed, how gross some of the parts are, and how bloody other parts can be. Giggles at all the gory scenes. ALSO WHEN SEES THE DOCTOR??? When he wakes up in the world, he's very excited until he remembers how pretty much useless Miles is. He still, remains confident in his survival skills, still goes through the physical issues Miles goes through, and finds that to be rather inconvenient, (Regrets always complaining about how upset Miles seems to get, but he understands now that maybe, just maybe, when you aren't able to heal almost immediately, that losing a finger or two isn't super easy to cope with) but regardless, he does survive, he doesn't die because of a lack of skill or overconfidence, but dies do to the plot advancement, you know?

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Scout- Apex Legends

I think in the same vein as Engie, this probably isn't a fresh take, but it still fits. Scout is good at Apex, like really good. I think it's easy to make him a silly little guy, but he's ruthless when he wants or needs to be. This man is an Apex champion more than most people, has more kills than you'd ever think, and is honestly a better teammate in Apex than on the field with the other mercs 😭 He wakes up in Apex world and he's so thrilled, he's ready to put his real-world skills into his favorite game and does pretty well until he's knocked down by an enemy, he hides behind a box and waits for his teammates to come help him, they start moving father away, he moves over to them, they move again, he bleeds out as his two other teammates walk away from him. (Totally never happened to me) then they didn't pick up his banner, so eventually, he just woke up after dying and is so pissed. It did make him a bit kinder when it comes to helping out his teammates, in hopes that he'll never go through that again.

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Sniper- Superhot

Way too good at Superhot, it's almost troubling how many hours he's put into the game. You'd swear you could see the enemies shaking anytime they appear on camera. Sniper sometimes uses this as an opportunity to practice dodging, but also just has fun fighting against an enemy. Loves the slo-mo shots he can get. Loves splitting enemies in half with different weapons. Also love the mind control and weird story setup of it all. If he woke up suddenly pixilated, fighting other pixilated entities, he's either freaking out or shrugging it off. Probably the latter, knowing him. He survives well, with only a few close calls, it's a lot easier when your hitbox isn't an entire VR headset after all. Genuinely has fun being put in the Superhot world for a day.

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Spy- Hitman

Now, I thought I'd be so clever and come up with original ideas, but I was wrong. I think Spy plays Hitman plays for ideas, how weapons would look, how messy a kill would be, etc. Also loves being able to have very minimal risk when he's "killing" It stresses a guy out when you live life trying not to get caught every day, you know? As much as this man likes this game, he is so pissy when he wakes up in this game. He's basically just living a full 24 hours of his regular day job and is exhausted by the end of it. He does a good job, doesn't get caught, and manages to keep his suit clean. Has never been so received to wake up.

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Soldier- Call of Duty Modern Warfare

A man who loves war likes a game about war, who would have guessed? No, but in all honesty, the military aspect is one of his favorite parts of it, he also loves the range of weapons and all the different roles you can play in the game. I'm not going to lie though, if he woke up in the COD world, he'd probably have a breakdown. Like he'd freak thinking everything before this was a fever dream, but he'll eventually figure it out. He would kill at any task he was given, and survive, he'd wake up and immediately feel better because as much as he loves the game, he never wants to go back.

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Pyro- Undertale

Pyro loves Undertale so much that it's insane. Has played his game, at least 30 times. Has never, not even once, played the genocide route. They cannot bring themselves to kill a froggit, let alone Papyrus or anyone else. When Pyro wakes up in the Undertale world they are thrilled, jumping up and down, giggling, screaming, you know all that fun. Literally gives Toriel the biggest hug ever. They have the best time of their life. Manages to do a deathless run, somehow, probably because of the insane amount of times they've played through it, but is heartbroken that they wake up after only being able to get through the neutral route.

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I'm sorry this took so long! I loved this prompt but I hit a slump, and I've been fighting with myself to get it posted, I'm sorry if it's not great, I hope you like it though 💖

I'll try and be more consistent I promise 🫶🏻

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 headcanons #team fortress headcanons #tf2 hcs #tf2 demoman #tf2 engineer #tf2 heavy #tf2 medic #tf2 scout #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #tf2 soldier #tf2 pyro

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lunar-years · 5 months

Note

and like, the thing about the amsterdam james lore was that if they wanted a james redemption, they could have used that as an opportunity to soft launch it! "my dad took me to amsterdam and we actually had a good time, but after we got back home he started drinking again and things got bad again." i still dont think thats justification for jamie reconnecting with him, but at least we could have canon evidence he was an okay dad when sober. but no, they doubled down, and made trying to kill a main character somehow *not* the worst thing james had done

Yeah I think what's most crazy is that scene solidified in my own mind so many missing pieces in my own headcanoned Jamie lore. We learnt SO much in that scene and not one single piece of information pointed towards "this is a character who is going to not only recover but act as a non-negative presence in Jamie's life."

New information I gathered from the Amsterdam scene:

As you pointed out, physical/emotional abuse of his son and nearly murdering Beard are not the topmost crimes on James Sr.'s scorecard.

leading into, Jamie is a csa victim

Jamie doesn't remember it happening. we've discussed at length what that could stem from and yes there are multiple explanations but. well. uhh. none of them are good. i think.

Others disagree, and that's completely fine, but I very much think the scene is coded as This Is The First Time Jamie Has Told Anyone What Happened and Roy is Now the Only Person Who Has this Information.

At the time of taking Jamie to Amsterdam, James Sr. was trying to get back together with Georgie and playing up the "Superdad" routine

Others disagree with this as well, but I read that line as Jamie implying it was neither the first nor last time James had tried those tactics (and possibly been successful at one or more points, we don't know one way or another)

Georgie allowed Jamie to go to Amsterdam with James and then presumably allowed James to continue seeing Jamie afterwards (we're given no information to the contrary, anyway)

So taking all of that together, to me it's not just the confirmation that the abuse Jamie suffered at his father's hands was even more abhorrent than we thought or that Jamie's trauma runs deeper than we previously thought. It's also evidence that Jamie has never been in a position where he's felt comfortable with confronting that trauma and has yet to unpack all of the things he has gone through.

Furthermore, the scene hints that what we see at the end of s3 is (imo quite possibly) not the first time James has been in rehab or at least claimed to have sobered up or shown signs of recovery, only to fall back into his old ways shortly afterwards. This is indicated by Georgie allowing him to take their son out of the country, which (considering we meet her later in the season and get a sense of her character, including her deep love for her son) I cannot imagine her doing had James been obviously still a drunk. This is also why I personally believe Jamie hasn't told her what happened, because he continues to see his father after he returns. I just can't see Georgie allowing that had she known.

None of this sets the scene for a successful James recovery arc. In fact, for me it makes the whole thing worse and so unlikely to end for good because 1) Jamie forgives his father before even processing everything his father did to him, and without informing any of the people closest to him, let alone consulting an actual professional. This to me does not indicate Jamie is in the right mental place to be embarking on this new journey. 2) There is absolutely a more-than-plausible chance James Sr.'s current rehab stint will follow the same cycle as times previous: he's better for a while. he's superdad! until he's not. and Jamie as usual becomes collateral damage.

I therefore am forced to conclude Jamie could very well be opening himself up to more hurt and more pain at his father's hands, when he hasn't even dealt with his current backload of hurt and pain. If we were supposed to feel hopeful in the final scene where Jamie visits him--I have to say, because of what THEY told us and wrote about their backstory, I feel anything but.

#jamie tartt #james tartt sr #tw csa #tw abuse #tw rape #asks #ted lasso #ted lasso critical #it's just. so badly written if they wanted us to be hopeful.#obviously I think anyone can recover even if they haven’t from past attempts but.#they gave us every reason to be worried about Jamie!! they did that!!

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lesbiandanhowell · 2 months

Text

Special episode of Sam reacts!

Sam reacts to: We're All Doomed Movie

Since this is long, little summary of thoughts at the beginning. I didn't love the editing at the beginning, because it felt too fast paced/ too jumpy? But it changed in the second half and seeing the contrast in the editing of it being much slower during the emotional bit, it does make sense. I think the movie for sure did the performance justice and showing the audience interactions added a lot for me.

Also this show is so important on every level and I adore Dan so much for making it and being so proud of it.

- Immediately started looking for myself but I don't think you can see us, cause we sat on the balcony. I have however already spotted @energeticwarrior and @danrifics like less than a minute in lmao

- I love seeing how many of the camera positions I identified correctly.

- I wish they would let shots linger more, the cuts are quite jumpy.

- Oh this brings me back so much. Hearing the audience laugh at certain moments I remember laughing in that moment. I get the same excitement and urge to clap and cheer.

- I love seeing his expressions, cause I didn't get to see those up from the balcony!

- The person with the boob hair sweater in the first row, I love you!

- "Believably sad, lonely and horny. Dan Howell!"

- Okay they somehow really managed to capture the energy of the room which I was worried about. The sound leveling between audience and Dan is really well matched imo.

- He is SO SWEATY what the fuck how stressed was he because the venue really wasn't too hot honestly.

- My attention span is so much worse than when I was there in person holy shit.

- "After the show talking about what a good time you've had" and none of us have been able to shut up about just how much we loved it since 🥹

- The overalls are so bad for Dan, he has like no ass in them.

- Okay admission that @personthattoleratesme made fun of me for: during the YouTube swipe Montage I didn't realize all the other like Crafting, Baking, Shipping Container YouTubers was Dan the first time I saw the show...

- I am SO GLAD Froot Loops Tucan made it and the persons reaction and confidence is incredible.

- Dan's ability to go between talking about wanting to fuxk the Duolingo owl to the very real danger of social media influencing political elections is unparalleled.

- "Human communication. We want to come together with real people. Share stories, move each other emotionally with our words about depression and pensis."

- Imagine Dan Howell calling you hoe...

- Something about Dan calling himself a ditzy bitch gets me so bad every time.

- "Miscellaneous mentally ill nerds of London" best title I have ever been given.

- I liked Sundays madlips better :(( But wasn't faggots Sunday I am so confused now

- The screams for every Phil mention, we love him so much.

- I love Blame Game so much, some of my favourite parts from the whole show because the energy is unmatched. The fact that JKR gets a more severe reaction than Musk is actually so funny.

- Sunday crowd was the best, you can so clearly hear that the majority of people is calling freedom for Dan at the end aww.

- I need more bravery to fuck shit up, to not be so agreeable and complacent and be more disruptive honestly.

- After the calender bit his voice is so shakey and broken, I didn't hear that at all in person but fuck that just broke me.

- Yeah the last few minutes always get me so not much of a reaction to those other than I cried, again.

- What I found interesting was the parts that were left out? Cause I definitely noticed a few moments that didn't make the cut which I find surprising! Moments I noticed were the first mention of him only using two emojis, that's referenced again with the cowboy hat emoji and also he didn't include the iconic "Because time changes everything".

- I am so glad they managed to get All Star because it is simply part of the experience honestly. Nothing hit's quite like sobbing and then being hit with that song.

EDIT:

- I remembered something else I really loved: the music, I really think they choose such a good score, made such good little sound effects and the reaction I had to hearing it all live was amazing.

#wad #we're all doomed #wad premiere #dan howell #sam reacts #dan and phil

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starry-blue-echoes · 2 months

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Okay, I just got here. Sorry for intruding and I'm kind of freaking out about part 4 of Star Swap.

Because there are two Jotaros. Why is nobody talking about the fact that there are two Jotaros? Am I missing something???

Unless I am completely failing in Star Swap lore, in order to not become super convoluted and insane, a universe is localized to a Swap… probably? Anyway from what I understand three universes have an event happening in them and Star Swap is a series… except there's also an OLDER Jotaro here in Part 4! which would be the same Jotaro that experienced part 4 as Josuke! Which is causing problems in my brain.

… I was thinking it's either Joseph and Giono is the exception -Thanks to Hermit Purple Rrequiem- and swaps actually jumps across universes making Older Part 4 Jotaro have that Canon backstory.

…Or… hear me out..

JoJo

Specifically, Jotaro gets some of that Time Jumpy Amnesia and has not a single fucking clue what happened to himself.

JUST HIM

No one else

He is the sole one that gets bonk with a forgot stick

For all Jotaro knows: he blacked out, got possessed, and went to Egypt. Everything went well. His mom got cured and people survived, but STILL. said person that possessed him made a bunch of friends and now Jotaro has to deal with them. HE has to rely on other people's information to figure out what the hell HAPPENED.

Jotaro still gets that Battle Experience in and gets those cryptic forgotten fog of memories from the trip But Yeah

Jotaro has no idea what happened to him when that guy was possessing him. Jotaro doesn't know! he doesn't remember shit!!! All people got is theories.

I have a lot of thoughts and this is probably not even an issue.ARGGGG

.. I'm here thinking that for The Star Swap parts 3 and 4 to connect in an interesting way is Memory Blockage or else Part 4 Older Jotaro would have to walk on fucking eggshells if something wasn't blocking his memories because if he talks or says anything that doesn't link up then he breaks time. Jotaro's fault for actively getting involved!

Probably. I don't know!!! I'm just thinking!!!

you're correct, Parts 3 and 4 have been criminally neglected amongst all this chaos, so this is p e r f e c t

to clarify the universe shenanigans of everything: I've always been thinking that each "set" exists in its own universe. 1 and 6, 2 and 5, and then 3 and 4 all exist in their own sort of "pocket universe" just so we don't need to keep track of of all the inevitable changes and how they influence each other

that being said, funnily enough what you've brought up with Jotaro is REALLY close to what I've been imagining too!

Jotaro is So Fucking Lost when he wakes up back home. He feels like complete and utter shit and is covered in more bandages than he's ever had before. The last thing he remembers is his mom leaving after visiting him in the prison cell after he tried to shoot himself with Star Platinum

only...... when did Star Platinum have a name? When had it stopped being an evil spirit?

when had he stopped being scared of it?

Kakyoin and Joseph are of course INCREDIBLY worried by Jotaro's apparent and very sudden shift in personality. And of course, this panic only multiplies when they find they think Jotaro's stand has been changed as well. They immediately think it's a Stand attack......

but then Holly steps forward and denies this. That this is how Jotaro normally acts and more importantly, that she remembers seeing Star in the jail

now, technically this might be bending the rules a little bit, but I think it would be interesting to give Holly some..... memory weirdness. Maybe we can tie it into her Stand somehow, or maybe it's just For The Plot, but Holly has two distinct sets of memories before she collapsed from her illness

One where Jotaro comes home with her, quiet and awkward and open in a way he hadn't been since he was a child. And another where he refused to leave and shot himself in an attempt to goad a spirit hovering over his shoulder

this then raises the incredibly uncomfortable idea that the Jotaro they'd gone to Egypt with was the imposter. That there had been a fake in their midst the entire time and they never knew. Was he working with Dio? Another group? What was his goal? Why had he done it? And of course, the biggest question of all, where was Jotaro the entire time and why doesn't he remember?

because it's obvious Jotaro was somewhere. He has skills and knowledge he hadn't before. He's different, he's grown in some ways, but has receded in others

Electricity and loud sounds terrify him in a way that can't be described as simple fear

they do what they can to help and figure things out, but they can never find any leads. It actually during these investigations that Jotaro decides to start working with the Speedwagon Foundation on the side and "rekindles" his friendships with the Crusaders

(he finds himself drawn to Kakyoin at times. Or to be more specific, he's drawn to his Stand. The colors and shapes and eyes all feel so tantalizingly familiar, and sometimes he finds himself talking to the being as if expecting a response)

years go by, and the fog around his memories stays. It bothers him less as more time passes and he makes new memories with people who had a headstart on their relationship, but there's always a quiet niggling in the back of his mind about what could've happened

and then a decade later he finds a boy with a different face but identical Stand and temperament to match

#star swap #jjba #jojo’s bizarre adventure #stardust crusaders #jjba part 3 #jjba jotaro #jotaro kujo #star platinum #jjba kakyoin #noriaki kakyoin #jjba holly #holly kujo #sb answers #angstaceanon

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laf-outloud · 8 months

Note

Hi,

Here is the European Anon (or Troll as I am called at the moment). I would like to clarify a few things. I am a fan. Of the show, of the characters, of the two J's. That's the reason why the info about the contract could hurt me so much in the first place. Because this time it affected me myself. I've worked with stars who showed up to work (con) drunk. Who spent more time on Grindr than signing autographs. Who treated their Händlers like crap, while up front they were the loving, attentive star. You learn two things quickly in the businees. The manager is always right, and the star is never the bad guy. We had two guests from an equally famous CW show. The managers had agreed to a duo shoot. The problem was that they hated each other. In the sense of, we had to separate the two spatially, because otherwise it would have come to fisticuffs. The managers of both parties tried everything to make the duo shoot possible somehow and while one star finally agreed to get it over with "professionally", the other remained stubborn. The end? The duo was canceled with the reason "unforeseen scheduling difficulties" Well, sounds familiar? (No it's not Vampire Diaries, Paul and Ian are really like brothers, lol).

What you also learn very quickly. The fans forgive everything and the star is perfect in their eyes. No matter whether stars were bad-tempered, bitchy or sometimes even downright unfriendly, the fans always found an excuse for them, or in the end made us organizers responsible for it. Well, we can live with that, as long as people still pay for their tickets. At the end of the day it is a business.

Why am I writing this? So far it has never really affected me. For me, most of them are just people like you and me and I could deal with most of the stars in a really friendly or business way. But I've been a fan of Supernatural since the beginning. And then such an info is no longer professional but hurts.

I want to make it very clear that no SPN star I have ever dealt with has been unprofessional or unfriendly. Even though Misha's manager is a terrible woman, he himself was always polite to us as employees. And even from colleagues who have worked with J2 so far, there has never been a negative word.

That is why I was so looking forward to working with them. To be able to experience this famous friendship directly.

I am not so high in the hirachie that I get to read a direct correspondence of the management. I also can't say which Con I work for without risking my job. I know it's easier to make me out to be a liar than to accept that I might be right. I realize that and I can even understand that.

I've been sitting on this information for weeks, but who am I going to tell? Who believes me? I've talked to two close friends about it who are also fans and they didn't believe it either.

The trigger was the first reports from Charlotte. I have friends who are on site and yes, probably their euphoria and two glasses of wine on my part made me write to two people. Patrick (TFW) and LOL Jackles . Who I have found through Tumblr several times to be relatively fair and interested in facts. But there was no response. I was honestly taken aback by this, because even if they won‘t believe me, why not share the info anyway? Or at least respond to it? If there is nothing to what I say, then it could be quickly invalidated or? Unless the two know exactly that I'm right and are afraid of when it comes out.

I have written to you days later. you can look it up. I read post that you and others wondered why jared and jensen only come to different cons. That's why I thought, okay I'll send it again. I found your explanation of not posting it understandable and at least you didn't immediately ignore it. Thanks for that. that's also why I'm replying exclusively to you.

Again, I understand if you don't believe me. After all, I didn't want to believe my boss either. I thought he was just not willing to pay the 300 K (And that's what they cost each).

But now exactly what he said happens.

If I am telling the untruth, then why is Jared actually appearing at the same promoters (Monopoy Events, Entertainment Events Etc) on a different date than Jensen and always including Gen? And look at the line up of the English cons and tell me that you could not have paid Jared‘s fee to run various duo shots! If I'm lying, why is Creation now releasing the second convention for 2024 with only Jensen as headliner but not with Jared? It can't be the money, because Creation takes the same amount for the tickets as usual. And schedule difficulties during an official strike ? Hardly. You can call me a troll, but I am a fan as well, I know that you want to believe until the end that everything is good. But I just think the fans have at least a right to hear the truth. And that is that Jared's management will get away from creation cons in the future and will favor cons that Jensen doesn't attend.

Thank you for writing in, again. I'm sorry that because of the multiple asks, you've been classified as a troll. I've been on Tumblr long enough that I've seen multiple copy/paste asks and they most often are a troll, but I can see your reasoning. (I will say that TFW2.0 is a fan of Jensen first, so anything that could put him in a negative light will be summarily dismissed.)

I decided to post this response since your original ask seems to have been seen by multiple other people despite not being posted and I'll allow people to make up their own minds about what they want to believe.

I will say that Jared's absence from the con in July could be due to other reasons, like his standard summer vacation or birthday stuff, and June could be because he anticipates that they might be filming Walker into the summer, depending on how long the strike lasts.

When it comes to doing cons with or without Jensen, I know my initial response was regarding Jared's mental health, but it could also be a strategic business decision. Jared may want to distance himself from SPN (and Jensen) to open up other acting/producing opportunities. It's not always advantageous to just be known as "one of those guys from SPN." He's said before that he enjoys producing and I'm sure he knows Walker isn't going to last forever. An actor/producer's career shouldn't be defined by one role. He may also be promoting Gen to help increase her profile if they plan on producing together in the future. I'm sure there are some who, if they believe it's true, will take it personally, but it really may just be a business decision.

Either way, thank you for sharing. And if there are people who agree/disagree and decide to write to me with their rebuttals, please remember to do so respectfully. I won't post anything with accusatory language, insults, or outright dismissals.

#ask box #european anon #convention discussions #tfw2.0 critical #jensen critical #just in case #jared and gen convention appearances

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stevenbasic · 7 months

Text

Growing into the Job, Post 351: That was Then, This is Now, p3 (Gianna Interlude)

Jesus Christ look at this place. I can’t believe what a fucking mess it is. When was the last time I cleaned? The thing is I just don’t care anymore. My life was once neat and orderly but it all started slowly falling apart the moment I got put on this project. I really can’t fucking believe it. What’s happening to me?!? I used to be a smart, driven chick, headed for great things. Now…it’s like I can barely think straight! All I can think about is him. It’s like my brains are now all in my tits…which, to be honest, should make me a fucking genius.

I’ve been with Evolution for a few years now. I was hired onto the Quality Control team, and now I’m a Project Manager. The gig looked good, originally, they sounded serious. Well, they are serious. They’re fucking really serious. They seriously have made my life suck.

Okay, so it seemed great: I got to try out this new Product they wanted to push out. They made me the clinical coordinator, but I also got to be a study subject myself. It sounded so fucking awesome. This shit was going to make me a fucking queen, after all this went down. They were using it, in these trials, for like politicians, and CEOs, women of influence, girls who were in important positions. To make approval easier they presented it to the FDA as an OTC (over the counter, of course), non-Rx (nonprescription, duh) supplement which is like a joke, because it’s a fucking bioweapon. They had the right people in the right places and they somehow got it through, approved for OTC. But in the end it’s not going to be available for just anybody. It was going to make women they choose - like me, if it worked - better. Better at what they do. Better at meeting their challenges. Better at what they need to be to help us fucking win.

I don’t totally understand all the science, but I understand some of it (and all the witchy stuff I only half-believe). I do know that it’s next-level shit and totally sketchy from a safety-profile standpoint. It was all to help ‘the movement' though, and blah blah blah, of course I’m all for that, who isn’t? So, yeah, I’d take the trial. It sounded great. And it’d make me better at my job; that’s why they wanted me on it in the first place.

It was just some shots, and I knew that if this panned out I’d be, like, ascending. Like I’d heard others have, like the chicks I’d seen in the clinics. When all this is said and done I’d get my own team with the company, fuckloads of salary, and a promotion up and out of this bogus job.

They just need to wait with me, they said. They need me to run this clinical trial, but not affect it. So I can’t show up in person. I can’t have my influence change what’s going on in there. In fact, they wanted to keep me isolated and out of the offices so I didn’t affect anyone there, or out in public. Like, I can’t even see my own family. They’re still all back East so it doesn’t really matter. I don’t really want to see them anyway.

So I’ve basically been in quarantine, alone, for like, months now. Sure it sounded great at first - I get to work from home, and I get to set my own schedule. I get everything delivered, you know, food and whatever. I don’t have to deal with any of the fuckwads out there in the world. But I’m so fucking bored. Months of this. Months, while life goes on in the outside world. The elections and all that? I just ended up celebrating here by my own fucking self.

I mean, yeah, I’m working for a good cause. But jesus, look the fuck at me now! I was always a busty girl, but I’ve gone from a double-E to an - I dunno, double-G - to whatever the hell I am now. Fucking huge is what it is.

Why? Because the dude, this doctor likes…no, loves…no, worships tits. Because women with big tits get him to do what they want, I guess. Sound familiar? That’s fucking men in general, but I need this specific one to do what I tell him to. My only interaction with the guy is, like, here and there on video conference calls, and all he sees of me is like from the waist up. So, my ass is still my plain old ass, but now my tits are like a porn star’s. And they keep getting bigger! And that’s not the worst of it! Now he’s all I freakin’ think about! I feel like a goddamn braindead lovesick bimbo mommygirlfriend sometimes and-

Gah!

I mean, I know I’m no different than other girls. Women everywhere want this sort of thing now. A shorter boyfriend, a weaker guy, a dependent husband, all vulni- or whatnot. The shorter, weaker and more dependent the better. We all want them to need us for money and safety, for warmth and nutrition. For everything. It’s just fucking sexy. We’d love to be able - if we could - to pick them up like children, like infants, hold them in our hands or haha nnnngh stick them down our dresses and hide them in our tits. Honestly we all want our men to be like little embryos. If we could shove them up into our wombs, we fucking would. It’s, like, nobody’s really talking about it out in the open, but it’s normal now, to feel this way. We’re all looking for short, weak, totally and utterly dependent men.

But, fuck, this product has got me. I don’t want it to be just anyone. I want it to be HIM. I think it’s because I don’t see any other guys It’s imprinted him on me. And since my pheromones can’t get to him he doesn’t feel the same He’s like enamored/suckled onto this Melissa person and it fucking burns my hooch to think about. Jealousy is not a good color on me, well on anyone I realize, but I can’t fucking help it I want him to nnnnnnngh fucking shrink for me so I can shove him into my tits, up my cunt, into my bra. I want to make him just stick to me and I’ll fucknig absorbbbb him ahhhhhggg

fuck.

Get your shit together, Gianna. You’ve got a job to do. Back to work…