Suits, volleyball, and all the headcanon in between.
[Terushima, Futakuchi, Noya, Tanaka, Ushijima and Tendou here] [Akiteru, Kei, Kageyama and Hinata here] [Ladies of Karasuno here]
Black on black. No tie, open two-buttoned suit jacket that hugs his waist, the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Tailored wingtip derbies, black and matte- polished to perfection.
He’s actually the one who dislikes wearing suits the most (I mean, have you seen the guy, he literally looks like he throws on whatever he has lying on his bed).
Oh, but if you challenge him, or if the need arises- he’s going to be the sexiest guy in the room because he sure as hell isn’t going to lose at anything.
Hours of research and a lot of changing rooms is not going to be for nothing. If he’s going to suffer, he’s going to do some real damage before he goes (namely to your short-circuited brain and perhaps severe blood loss via nosebleed).
He tried the red and black combination once, until a girl actually came up to him and asked him which host club he worked at, and he’s stuck to black from then on.
Those undone buttons on his shirt? Collarbones. They’re so sharp that they can slice through paper, and it makes his neck slimmer and his smirk all the sexier.
Everything’s been absolutely tailored at least twice, and it’s so on purpose. Can you imagine those legs- miles and miles of slim height and oh, he knows you’re staring. He’ll wink right back.
Now that he thinks about it, he’s never had to buy his own drink before, and thus Kuroo’s legendary alcohol tolerance was born.
The suits headcannons are 😩😩🙌🙌WOBDERFUL!! LLIKE SERIOUSLY, THE WAY YOU DESCRIBED THEM WITH SUITS IS JUST 🙏praissee. Please do continue them!!! Possibly terushima, futakuchi, noya, and tanaka?? THANK YOU SOM MUCH
Sure! And I see you have a type. ;3 Bonus Ushijima and Tendou for you.
Three-piece, a brown so impossibly dark that under the wrong lighting it’s almost certainly black. Notch lapel and two buttoned, his jacket’s loose and open on top of a pristine white shirt. The kickers are his tie and accessories- a rich, metallic dark gold with matching watch chain and pocket square, highlighting his bronzed skin and blonde undercut. A pair of simple cap toe derbies finish the look.
You see, he knows, that you’d expect him to wear something flashy to match his personality and his wicked tongue piercing, but he also knows that he looks like an oasis in a desert in black and gold.
He does indulge his flashy side with his surprisingly smart-casual array of clothes- another formal favourite of his is a black and white checkered jacket on top of a simple black turtleneck with black pants and shoes.
He’s a naturally slim person, but his suits are structured to give him the confidence to match his smirk. Pants slim fitted to shape around his sleek calves, it makes him look miles tall.
His hair, when he actually tries, is slicked back firmer than usual, and there are absolutely no wisps of hair blocking the sinful expression he shoots at you.
Playing with his cuffs when he’s bored just doesn’t kick it for him. He prefers to rest his weight on one leg and slide the tips of his fingers into his pant pockets cockily.
He’s always the first one to get asked to dance, with his rough undercut and slick outfit, and boy are they all surprised because this man, despite looking like a million dollars, dances like he’s earning his keep dollar by dollar.
Give him a pole. Give him a fucking pole, and you’ll be going home a few items of clothing short tonight.
AU, I hope you will like it!!! tell me what you think about it…. Looking forward to hear from you!!!
Breathlessly, I open the compartment, all my belongings in my hands. I enter the warm cabin, smiling at the other traveling passengers. A wealthy man stands up, helping me with my battered suitcase. With a slight movement he stows my suitcase away over my head.
I thank him, falling exhausted in my seat. He takes the seat opposite me; tiredly I smile, watching outside. With a loud toot, the railway signals that we’re ready to leave.
My hands are still clad in my new lace gloves. Carefully I pull on the fingers of the right hand, sliding out of my right glove, doing the same with the left. Holding both gloves in one hand I place them gently on my lap; in the same movement I bend forward to remove the hairpins which are holding my hat in place. Putting the hat on my lap too, covering my gloves, I close my eyes,feeling how the heavy machine starts to move.
AA cools off in El Paso, TX with a little dip in the pool.
Grab a pair of Andrew’s skate shop exclusive signature Slip On Pro colorway featuring our rubberized toe cap. Cruise over to vans.com/skate to see more and to locate a skate shop near you using our Store Locator.
I mean Tony and Rhodes had to meet T’Challa properly before the airport battle right? Like how did that even go down. “Your Highness, hi. You here to kill Barnes?” And then T’Challa stares at them through that dope-ass mask and Rhodey’s like, so done by now, just “Can you not?”
Meanwhile Spidey’s like in the corner with Vision discussing the giant cat man in the quinjet with them. Is that a Furry? When did the Avengers get a Furry? Vision zones out after that, he’s connected to the internet to find out what a Furry is. He is bewildered. Further research may be necessary.
Tony and Nat like, talking strategy about ‘going easy on them’ and Nat’s kinda miffed that her spider motif is being infringed upon by the twelve year old. Tony and FRIDAY arguing about what shoe boutique to preemptively buy out for Pepper Potts because he’s got a bad feeling about this.
Ian sets the coffee
machine going as he eats his banana and then knocks back a handful of
pills. He watches the coffee begin to drip into the clear glass and
and the brown liquid start to rise, pressed up against it’s
confines. He thinks how easy it would be to simply sweep the machine
off the side and smash it to pieces, letting the coffee spill and
spread and go wherever the fuck it wants to go. Why does the coffee
always have to go into the glass and just hang around waiting for
someone to pour it out? Why can’t the coffee just be left the fuck
alone to be coffee?
Ian clenches his jaw
and bows his head taking low, deep breaths through his nose. He
completes his mental health check-list and realises that he is
obsessing on a minute detail to avoid dealing with his actual
He remembers the
first time he explained that portion of his check list to Mickey and
the way his boyfriend had closed his eyes and tried the method
himself before flapping his hand and scowling
“Shit. If I stop
doing that I reckon I’ll stop thinking all together. Maybe I got a
little bi-polar in me too? Make a change from having a fuckin’ huge
bi-polar in me, eh?”
Ian snorts and
smiles and then his lip trembles and he is pressing his shaking
fingers into the wet crease of his eyes trying to keep the tears at
He wants nothing
more than to keep Mickey and Yevgeny safe, to protect them from
everything that would ever seek to do them harm and destroy anything
that causes them even an ounce of pain. But he can’t and looking at
his trembling fingers and the pill box on the counter and realises he
was a damn fool for ever thinking he could.
The machine gurgles
and spits out the last of the dark roast. The kitchen is full of the
scent of happy mornings and hushed memories. Ian pours two mugs as he
hears Mickey make his trip to the bathroom. He isn’t humming today
and when he appears on the stairs he is not in his usual morning
attire of boxers and loose-fitting t-shirt, he is dressed in a black
button down shirt which is tucked into black jeans, secured with
thick leather belt. He has steel toe cap boots on his feet and a
small frown creasing his brow.
Ian tries to smile
and Mickey bravely lifts his own lip in response but his eyes won’t
quite meet Ian’s own.
How you doing?”
encouragingly but doesn’t trust his voice. He tries to hand Mickey
his coffee but his hands won’t cooperate and he spills it across
both of their hands, peppering the floor with thick drops.
sorry! I’m sor…”
You burn yourself?”
Mickey plucks the
mug from Ian’s fingers and sets it on the side, roughly wiping his
hand on the leg of his jeans.
“No, I’m fine,
just fucking clumsy.”
Ian shakes his head
and dries his own fingers on the hem of his t-shirt. Finally Mickey
glances up at Ian and their eyes lock and hold. Mickey licks his
bottom lip anxiously and his shoulders rise and fall in an almost
infinitesimal sigh. He looks exhausted and wound up too tightly and
suddenly Ian knows what he can do to help.
He steps forward and
wraps Mickey tightly in his arms, cradling Mickey’s head in his
hand and resting his cheek lightly on the top of Mickey’s hair.
“I love you so
much, Mickey and you are really fucking brave. We’ll get through
today and we’ll take Yev to McDonalds tonight and we will be fine.
All of us.”
He injects as much
certainty into his voice as he can and feels Mickey melt against his
chest with a sound that could almost be called a whimper if Mickey
Milkovich made such noises.
“You gonna nag me
if I have one of those vanilla frappe things with all the cream and
Mickey mumbles into
Ian’s shoulder and Ian kisses the top of his head fondly, squeezing
him a little tighter.
“Damn right! You
don’t floss often enough and those things will rot your teeth.”
“Nah, my teeth are
“Because you don’t
have weird sugar syrup all over them.”
Ian lectures and
peers down at his boyfriend, glad to see his cheeks rounded in a
“I could get us a
bottle of wine for after Yev goes to bed? That red one you like with
the funny Italian name? Ah … Monty-pull-chee-ano Da-bruise-o.”
Ian grins and Mickey
pulls back from his embrace nodding happily.
“Yeah that one.”
“I’d really like
Ian neatens the
fabric across Mickey’s shoulders and tugs lightly at the collar,
straightening the edges.
“I’ll text you
when we’re on our way back.”
“Call me instead?”
“Sure babe, I’ll
Mickey almost never
uses that sort of pet name and Ian’s heart jumps a little with the
thrill of it.
They sit at the
table and drink coffee together. Ian keeps his knee lightly brushing
Mickey’s and when he carries the mugs to the sink he brushes his
lips across Mickey’s neck as he stands.
Mickey cooks eggs
and they eat side by side, maybe a little closer than usual but
neither of them comment on it. Mickey switches his fork to his right
hand and ditches his knife, he free left hand coming to rest on Ian’s
thigh beneath the table.
Ian busies himself
with the dishes as Mickey goes to his junk drawer and deliberately
keeps his eyes averted as Mickey checks the pistol and tucks it into
the back of his pants and then slips a smaller gun into a holster at
“We won’t be
more than a couple of hours.”
“Sure. I’ll be
Ian kisses him
softly and Mickey responds just as delicately. Ian is reminded of the
old films when wives send their husbands off on a train to war.
He watches Mickey
leave and notes how he pauses on the porch,ostensibly to light a
cigarette but his eyes are scanning the road and the cars parked,
looking for anything amiss. Satisfied he twitches his nose and bounds
down the steps.
Ian watches until
Mickey’s tail-lights disappear around the corner and then goes back
inside. He decides to make another coffee though he is sure his
anxiety would do better without it. He wanders into the kitchen and
stifles a groan as he spots a familiar iPhone on the counter.
“Damn it, Mick!”
Ian knows if he
runs, he can probably get to the Alibi before Mickey and Yev leave by
taking the back alleys but if Mickey realises he’s forgotten it and
doubles back only to find Ian gone – yeah. That’s a whole shit
storm Ian does not need.
He picks it up and
tosses it lightly from palm to palm considering but is saved from the
decision by the sound of heavy boots on the porch step.
He rolls his eyes
and hurries to the door, a conciliatory smile on his face, he knows
how pissed off Mickey is going to be that he forgot the thing. He can
hear muttered cursing and the door handle rattles but doesn’t
“Did you forget
your keys too?”
Ian laughs, opening
“No. Guess I’m
just lucky you were home.”
grunts, shoving the barrel of his shotgun under Ian’s chin.
Mickey pulls up
outside the Alibi, leaning on the horn with his usual two quick
blasts before getting out of the car, another cigarette already
dangling from his lips.
Yev barrels out of
the door and launches himself upwards into Mickey’s outstretched
“Hey little man!
How you doing?”
Mickey kisses his
sons forehead and switches him onto his left forearm, carefully
holding the cigarette in his right, away from Yevgeny and blowing the
smoke over his shoulder away from the kid.
“We’re going to
meet Grandpa, right?”
“He’s your Papa,
Mickey forces a
smile and frowns impatiently at the door, wondering where the fuck
“Is Mom comin’?”
“Yeah she says
it’s respectful to look pretty for Grandpa so she’s just doing
Yev informs him and
Mickey barely stifles his derisive snort.
“You do your make
He teases and is
pleased when Yev punches his shoulder with a well-curled little fist
pretty enough without, just like me.”
Mickey flashes him a
cheesy grin and sets Yev down, patting his butt lightly.
“Go tell Mom to
Yev dashes back
inside and Mickey finishes his cigarette. He is exhaling the last
dregs through his nose when Yev and Svetlana appear and Mickey
chokes, coughing heavily.
“Do not say a
word. I am beautiful and that is all.”
Svetlana is in full
hooker regalia. She looks gorgeous but in a slightly menacing way,
and Mickey is sure that whatever effect she is hoping for is exactly
the effect she will have on his father.
“You even gonna be
able to walk across the grass in those?”
Mickey nods to the
spiky heels on her feet and Svetlana tosses her hair over her
throats … I walk across them all.”
“You charge extra
bending down into the back seat to help Yevgeny buckle up. Svetlana
glances down at his backside and considers kicking it but she notices
the handle poking out from the waistband of his jeans and is suddenly
glad that Mickey is with them.
“Let’s go. I
don’t want to be late.”
“Oh yeah. Me
neither. This is gonna be a blast.”
Mickey ruffles Yev’s
hair playfully and straightens turning to look up at Svetlana with an
expression that makes her roll her eyes and raise her middle finger
The park is full of
kids and parents and a birthday party is happening by the picnic
tables. Mickey’s eyes dart every which way, scouting for the
unmistakable aggressive swagger of his father in the crowd of
twenty past, where the fuck is he?”
He mutters, drumming
his fingers on the hood of his car impatiently. Svetlana shrugs and
shifts her weight a little.
“He’ll be here.”
“Mama, can I go
Yev asks. He has
been sat between his parents on the bonnet for twenty minutes
watching the play park and is practically beside himself with his own
impatience. Svet glances across and smiles to herself at the
identical looks of irritation on father and sons faces. She had not
really been sure that Yevgeny was Mickey’s until he was nearly a
year old. The blue eyes had suggested it but many babies have blue
eyes. No, it was the development of that particular stubborn little
expression, an expression that dares the world to defy him, that was
when Svetlana was certain.
“No, you will get
dirty. Just wait.”
“But I’m bored!”
Yevgeny tips his
head back and looks imploringly at both his parents in turn
“Please? I won’t
Mickey clears his
throat and nods distractedly, peering at a fat old guy who could have
been Terry except for the pastel roll-neck sweater.
“Go ahead bud,
just stay close.”
Yev is gone before
his mother can counter, tearing into the play park with a confidence
that makes both his parents smile.
“He gets more like
“Nah. He’s more
watching Yev negotiate a turn on the swingset with a couple of other
“In some ways but
he has your gentleness. Not soft. Just gentle.”
Mickey looks at her
in surprise and Svetlana shrugs, reaching across to pluck his
cigarette out of his fingers and take a drag on it.
“I appreciate you
being here, Mikhailo. You can be a good man sometimes.”
Mickey’s voice is
gruff and Svet smirks to herself wondering if of all the things Ian
has taught him, he will ever manage the acceptance of a compliment.
They watch Yev play
in silence for a few minutes and then Mickey pats his pockets and
swears loudly earning him a scandalised look from a mother with three
children gathered around her like ducklings.
“Forgot my fucking
“You are supposed
to call Carrot?”
Mickey nibbles at
the corner of his mouth, thinking and Svetlana sighs and reaches into
“Here. Use mi…”
She breaks off
scowling at the screen.
“No. We need to
“What? Why? My dad
Mickey tries to peer
at the screen but Svet stuffs it back into her purse with trembling
She bellows and
Mickey flinches away, scowling at her.
yell at him like that!”
Yev is running
towards them looking thoroughly chastened although he has done
going. Get in the car. I am driving.”
“What the fuck is
Mickey snaps and
grabs Svetlana’s arm as she kicks off her heels and tries to move
Mickey. I will fix this.”
“For what? What
the fuck is … Wait a minute.”
Mickey yanks her
forcefully back as she tries to detach herself from his grip
beginning to get a little freaked out. What the fuck just happened?
Did Terry text you?”
are huge and frightened and Mickey’s grip tightens.
Mickey grabs her
purse and Svetlana closes her eyes as he rummages through finally
managing to grab her phone.
The screen comes to
life as he pushes the centre button and in front of the background
photo of Yevgeny a message preview sits in green:
“Keep M with you.
Don’t let him leave.”
Mickey’s blood seems to freeze, cold sweat breaking out beneath his shirt. The world shrinks away from him as the phone
falls from his numb fingers, hitting the gravel with a dull thud.
Everything he feared flashes through his mind.
A car pulling up
outside their house.
Ian bouncing toward the door.
Ian’s face contorted with pain and awash
Ian gasping on the floor, curling protectively around what is left of his
Ian forced into the trunk of a car, barely conscious.
Mickey clenches his fists so hard that his nails bite into his palms as a thick, cloak of absolute fury settles around him, warming him back to life.
If Ian is hurt in anyway, someone is going to fucking die.
The thought comes unbidden but it gives him something to cling to and loosens something in his chest, making it possible to breathe around the edges of his horror; and the world comes roaring back toward him, startling in
Svetlana watches the play of emotions across his face and shudders. She would never tell him so
but in this moment she sees the cold ruthlessness he is capable of and
thinks that Mickey has never looked so much like his father. It is an utterly terrifying
“Let me drive. You cannot in this state.”
He brushes her hands off, unable to stand being touched.
“Get in the
fuckin’ car or don’t. But get the fuck out of my way.”
Mickey pushes past her and gets into the drivers seat. She scrabbles to get into
the passenger side and is barely seated when Mickey hurls the car
into reverse, the passenger door slamming closed as he swings the
“Yev - you belted up?”
Mickey jams the stick forward and floors the gas pedal, roaring out of the parking
lot back toward the South Side.
Can you do something where 2d meets reader at a riot or a protest? Like something in the 80s when punks would flood the streets and cause total mayhem. Ily punk sister!
Honey, you are speaking my fucking LANGUAGE. This is based in 1999, btw, so Gorillaz has literally just gotten together and 2D is only 20
2D sprints down the street, gasping for breath, his calves aching with the speed and length of time he’s been running. Behind him, he can hear the heavy footsteps of 3 policemen, and even further away, he can hear the roars of some riot going on not 4 streets away.
He turns and bolts down a relatively quiet road, dodging between the light of the lampposts, trying to put the policemen off. He doesn’t know why he’s being chased. He just wants to get home. He only needed a bottle of vodka from an off-license, but he’d been targeted when he’d walked out, and one of the policemen now on his tail had roared “CATCH THE LOOTER” before haring after him.
The street has clearly already been marched through. He leaps and slips over piles of rubble, and he passes a car with all of its windows smashed in, thinking nothing of it, continuing to run. He can’t even bring himself to look over his shoulder to see if he’s still being pursued; all he knows is that he can’t keep this pace up much longer.
A hand suddenly bursts out from behind burnt out car and seizes him by the collar of his jacket, and with a loud yelp, he’s yanked down behind the husk of the car. After a few moments, his eyes adjust to the darkness. A hand clamps over his mouth, and he looks to the side, just about able to make out the shapes of three people, the closest of whom has their hand clamped over his mouth. The figure turns their head and reveals their profile to be a man with a spiked red mohawk and multiple piercings. A bolt of fear lances through 2D’s gut, strengthened only as the figure on the end stands up and launches a brick across the street with a soft grunt, and then drops back down.
2D hears the clatter as the brick lands, and the yells of the policemen as they turn towards it, away from the car further down the street.
Outside of the classroom but still within Hogwarts (his dungeons, McGonagall’s office etc), I always imagine him as semi-suited. I think this is a throwback to how my teachers dressed at school, because I know canon hints at Snape wearing robes and not much else underneath - but I like the idea of him being rather respectably dressed below his robes.
And to take that a step further, I love the idea of him enjoying the frippery of the outdated wizarding world, and embracing the outlandish along with his suit trousers, shirt and waistcoat - so braces, metallic sleeve suspenders, buffed black cap toe Oxfords (quarter brogues when he’s feeling fancy, and he’s got a pair of wingtips for very special occasions), and a tie.
At Spinner’s End, if he has to venture out amongst the locals, he throws on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt; it’s the easiest way to blend in and not be bothered. If he heads to the pub, he puts a shirt on instead of a t-shirt, but that’s as far as it goes.
If he’s going further afield - into the city, or if he needs to deal with Muggle authorities (e.g. banking), he dresses as he would at school - he commands far more respect that way, even if he misses his robes billowing behind him.
If he’s home alone, he walks around in his shorts for most of the day. It’s an old habit he can’t rid himself of - when he returned home from Hogwarts as a kid, he found it wound his dad up if he lay around the house half dressed. After spending the winter in a cold dungeon in Scotland, summer in England felt oppressively hot - although his mum insisted he wore a t-shirt to the dinner table. Besides, there’s no house elves to do his washing at Spinner’s End, so why dirty a shirt unnecessarily?