“Wade and I have a tradition whenever one of us turns out not to be dead.” She smiles at Cable politely. “Would you like to stay for dinner?” “And by dinner, she means bare minimum twelve hours of the most animalistic ravaging of each others’ naughty bits that you can see outside Bangkok, big boy. Really putting the freak in fan-freaking-tastic multi-orgasmic cum-marathon.” “So what do you say?” Cable grinds his jaw for a second, but honestly, who would pass up these A-listers? “Why the hell not?”

Shouta’s plan had been ill-defined and desperate from the start, but he figures the important shit boiled down to, “Change as little as possible, make sure Midoriya doesn’t get himself killed, and stock up on lychee jelly pouches because that flavor got discontinued three years from now.” Keeping it simple’s always better, and he’s normally good at improvising. Somewhere along the way, he must’ve fucked up since now he has: A quirkless problem child hanging off of his every word His best friend going through a sexuality crisis thanks to said problem child’s mom His other best friend clinging to him like a security blanket Some two-bit mob boss threatening him with bouquets of daffodils To wring the number one hero’s fucking neck for not telling him anything useful before sending him decades into the past All he did was walk Izuku Midoriya home. It wasn’t meant to turn into whatever mess this is.