queer-obsession

[queer-obsession]

When I go read a fanfic, but then see it was last updated over two years ago

[queer-obsession]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 26) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25

Chapter 26

The mingled scents of disinfectant and antiseptic rouse you from unconsciousness, and your mind comes back online in pieces. The room you’re in is fluorescent-bright, like a hospital. The air smells like a hospital. You’re not lying flat, but reclining, the same as you’d be in a hospital bed. The evidence suggests you’re in a hospital. Whose hospital?

You open your eyes, but they’re blurry and crusted, and when you raise one hand to rub them, it stops halfway. You pull a few times, confused, before the answer occurs to you. You’re in the heroes’ custody. You might have gotten away from Hawks, destroyed Hawks’s quirk, but you didn’t escape after all.

How long have you been here? You blink until your vision clears and sit up as far as you can go, looking around the room you’re in. You’re alone in a room with white, featureless walls, the kind most hospitals have been phasing out because they make patients feel like they’re in an asylum. There’s a door in one wall and a window next to it, but you can’t see out of it, so either it’s specially treated or there’s no one there. It’s quiet in the room other than your breathing and the hum of the machines they’ve hooked you up to.

The door opens, and someone steps through. Or rolls through. The man is in a wheelchair, and his face looks familiar. You know he’s a hero, but he wasn’t at the battle, and there’s a reason — he’s one of Stain’s victims. “You’re awake,” he says. No kidding. “As you might have guessed, you’re in custody. I’m not here to ask you questions, just to explain your medical condition.”

You nod, and the man reads off a tablet, stumbling over some of the phrasing and terminology. “You came in with a spiral fracture of the right radius and ulna, as well as a superficial laceration to your throat. In addition, you sustained whiplash injuries when your fall was broken. You’re consistently tachycardic, and your blood oxygen level is hovering at eighty-nine percent, which is why you’ve got that thing on your face.”

You can’t see it or touch it, but you’ll bet it’s a cannula. It won’t matter. As long as Tenko’s out there fighting, getting injured, your quirk will sap your energy to keep him healthy. “You’re also anemic, deficient in vitamins D and B12, and experiencing the effects of severe sleep deprivation. We took you off of sedation three days ago. You’ve been asleep ever since.”

“I’ve been here for four days?”

The hero grimaces. Apparently he wasn’t supposed to tell you that. “Because of all of the above issues, you can expect your healing process to move at a slower rate than a healthy person’s would,” he continues. He glances down at the tablet again and an awkward, uncomfortable expression crosses his face. “Finally, you, uh — you had a miscarriage. It says you were four to six weeks, er, along.”

Your mind goes completely and totally blank. The hero looks even more awkward than before. “Sorry,” he says. “Anyway, that’s it. Somebody will be by to read you your rights soon.”

He turns and wheels out the door, and you slump back against the bed. You’re in custody. You’ve been here for at least four days, and somewhere out there, Tenko is still alive. The heroes have you, but they didn’t win — but you don’t know who else they captured, and you don’t know how whatever is happening is going. You’re not badly injured, but you’re not in great shape, and until recently, you were pregnant.

You’re not going to think about that. It’s not even slightly important. What’s important is figuring out where you are, how long you’ve actually been here, what’s going on outside — and more important than the rest of it, figuring out how to get out of here, so you can get back to Tenko, where you belong.

The hero said someone would come to read you your rights, but instead of that, a quartet of armed guards comes in. One drops a set of clothes on the end of the bed while another uncuffs your wrists, and then three of them turn their backs while the fourth one — a woman — watches you change out of the hospital gown. Out of the hospital gown, and into an orange jumpsuit, which tells you exactly where you are. You wonder what you’re being charged with. At this point, they probably have a list of things.

Once you’re changed, they don’t cuff you — just surround you, shepherding you down the hall. You do your best to orient to your surroundings, peering over the guards’ shoulders and trying not to trip over your own feet. The more you look around, the weirder things get. You might be wearing a prison jumpsuit, but you aren’t in a prison. You’re in a school.

You’re in a school, and the room the guards hustle you into used to be a classroom. There’s a chalkboard at the front of the room and a blond man you don’t recognize sitting behind the desk. He looks like he’s barely awake, but when you step through the door, he sits up, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses. “Over there,” he says, and the guards direct you into a chair on one side of the room, then set up a chair directly across the from you. “Thanks. You all can wait outside.”

The guards file out, and the man comes from behind the desk to sit across from you. “Under ordinary circumstances, we’d be able to hold you for twenty-three days without filing a charge or reading you your rights. Under martial law, however, we can hold enemies of the state indefinitely. Want to guess what kind of law we’re operating under, Saintess?”

You don’t need to. If Hawks was right, if the country’s descending into civil war, then you know exactly how bad your situation is. “Still,” the man says, “at times like these we ought to be civilized, so I’ll inform you that you have the right to remain silent, as well as the right to an attorney at trial. If you can’t afford an attorney, the government will appoint one for you. Do you understand these rights?”

You nod. “Now, in the interest of transparency, I’m going to show you just a few of the cards in my hand,” the man says. “This is what we know about you.”

He starts with your name, then your age, then your birthplace. The schools you went to, the jobs you held in high school before starting your apprenticeship, your friends. “A bunch of delinquents, but given who you associate with now, these guys might as well have been angels,” the man says. You grit your teeth and keep quiet. “I already know you dragged one of them down with you. Kiyohara Kazuo. You know he used to be a hero?”

“It’s not my fault he isn’t one.” You won’t let a lie like that stand. “He didn’t drop out of UA because of me. That was on you.”

“You know what wasn’t on us? Convincing him to pass classified intel on to his ex-girlfriend who’s screwing Shigaraki Tomura.” The blond man’s mouth twists around Tenko’s name. “You’re listed as quirkless since birth, but you must have something pretty special going on to convince a hero to switch sides like that.”

“Or maybe you didn’t give him a good enough reason to side with you.”

The blond man scoffs but doesn’t challenge you. “Here’s the thing, though — our records have you living your perfectly boring little life until a year and a half ago. Then you show up at the ER with some weird injuries. Nine months later your clinic gets stuck handling casualties from Kamino, and three weeks later you blow up on a crisis counselor. She called it a case of PTSD. I’d buy that, maybe — except then a yakuza thug posing as a delivery driver collapses from radiation poisoning on your doorstep, and later that same day you drop off a kid the League of Villains kidnapped at the police station. The day after that, you vanish off the face of the earth. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, we started hearing about a member of the League of Villains none of us had ever seen. Or at least, we thought we’d never seen. Turns out you were right under our noses the whole time.”

He shouldn’t be surprised by that. You aren’t. Your quirklessness took care of everything — part shield, part invisibility cloak, ensuring that no one with the power to stop you would ever see you as a threat. “But I don’t want to talk about that,” the blond man says. “I want to talk about this.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a plastic bag containing one of your quirk-canceling bullets, needle exposed, already spent. “We’ve seen quirk-canceling bullets before. But we know damn well that these are manufactured differently than the previous versions we’ve encountered. Who made them?”

“I did.”

“Cute. Who made them?”

“I did,” you repeat. The blond man scoffs. “I made them. It was me.”

“Sure. And I bet you made all the Nomus too, right? And you’re the one who Frankensteined Shigaraki into the juiced-up psychopath he is today.” The blond man shakes his head. “Don’t make me laugh. Who made the bullets?”

“I made them,” you snap. Is this really where you’re going to lose your cool? Yes. You have to vent it somewhere, and nothing you say about this will damage Tenko’s position, whatever it is, wherever he is. “What, you think being quirkless means I’m brain-dead or something? I made the bullets. If you think about it, doesn’t it make more sense that a quirkless person would create something like this? The rest of you are too obsessed with quirks to even think about taking away someone else’s.”

The blond man laughs bitterly. “When you put it like that, it does make sense,” he says. “Most of us rely heavily on our quirks. Take them away and most of us are a lot easier to defeat. Leveling the playing field really is your only move. Tell me how you did it.”

“No.”

“Tell me.”

“No,” you say again. You cross your arms over your chest. They haven’t restrained you at all. There’s nothing to stop you from launching yourself at your interrogator and clawing out his eyes. “Is that really what you want to ask me?”

The blond man raises his eyebrows. “What else could I possibly ask you?”

You’re not going to give him ideas, but if you were in his spot, you can think of a few things. Anything about the League’s vulnerabilities. Anything about their quirks. Anything about the PLF’s strategy, capabilities, or ultimate goal. Based on the man’s response, he’s thinking along similar lines. “You mean, about what your friends are up to? Sorry to disappoint you, but we have other prisoners to talk to about strategy. We’re really not interested in Shigaraki’s pillow talk.”

He’s trying to bait you, you think. He wants you to blow up at him and reveal something useful. Your siblings used to do the same thing — needle you until you got mad, then use your anger as an excuse to try their quirks on you. “If you had anything useful going on, Hawks would have told us about it,” the blond man continues. “So you can either tell us who makes the bullets or I can put you back in your cell.”

“I told you who makes the bullets.”

“Then you’re going back to your cell.” The blond man summons the guards, and you get to your feet. “I wish I could say it was nice to meet you, Saintess, but it wasn’t. We’ll see each other again when you’re ready to be honest.”

“I was honest,” you say, but the man turns his back, and the guards hustle you out of the classroom again.

You weren’t in a cell before, but you’re clearly headed for one. The guards take you down a different hallway this time. One side of this hallway is made up of windows, and when you peer out, you can see columns of smoke rising across an unfamiliar skyline. The sky itself is cloudy, roiling, purplish-grey shot through with orange. If you didn’t know better, you’d say it looked like the end of the world.

You don’t know what kind of room your cell used to be, but whatever it is, it’s split in half. The other side of the room is full of fog, so thick that you can’t see through it. The longer you look at it, the more ominous it seems. “Who’s over there?”

“A friend of yours.” The guard who watched you change clothes tosses a blanket at you. “Have fun.”

A friend? Your mind goes instantly to Kazuo, who you know is in police custody, but it could just as easily be Mitsuko or Ryuhei. Or maybe it’s one of your new friends — someone from the PLF, someone from the League? Or they could have been sarcastic, and it’s one of your enemies. The door shuts behind you, and the fog begins to shift. You back away until you’re against the far wall, which doesn’t feel even close to far enough, and watch as an all too familiar figure emerges from within it. Your jaw drops. “Kurogiri?”

Kurogiri’s wearing an orange jumpsuit, same as you. Something about him looks odd, and the longer you look at him, the clearer you can see the outline of a face within the mist. His footsteps are unsteady. He looks disoriented, and when he speaks, it’s in the cadence you recognize as belonging to the older brother. “Where’s Tomura?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was he captured?”

“No,” you say. You’re sure of that. “He’s still out there.”

“Is he safe?”

“I don’t know,” you say again. “I’m sorry, Kurogiri.”

Kurogiri shakes his head. “I’m — not. Not —” he grimaces, eyes narrowing to slits. You’re not used to seeing him with facial features. It’s weird. “Not Kurogiri. Shirakumo.”

“Shirakumo,” you repeat, puzzled. “Who’s Shirakumo?”

“I’m the one who protects Shigaraki Tomura,” Kurogiri or Shirakumo or whoever he is says. “Like you.”

You remember him saying that once, a long time ago. “I tried,” you say. “I’m sorry.”

Shirakumo’s expression shifts. It looks like he feels bad, or something. It’s hard to say. “How long?” he asks. “Since they took me?”

“Months.” You think back. It was before you left Yokohama, during the League’s involvement with the Shie Hassaikai. The last time you remember seeing Kurogiri, it was when he brought you and Tomura back to your apartment from the crashed plane. “Six months. What have they been doing to you?”

“They’re helping me.”

That doesn’t sound right. “What?”

“My friends.” What little you can see of Kurogiri’s expression through the mist softens. “They want to help him, too.”

No, they don’t. If the friends Kurogiri is talking about are heroes, they want to kill Tomura. Heroes aren’t against killing people. Hawks was fine with killing you. “Who are your friends?”

“Shōta and Hizashi.”

That tells you nothing. “Are they heroes?”

“Teachers.” Shirakumo almost looks proud of them, even as his features shift, trying to settle into neutrality. “They teach here.”

You knew you were in a school. “Which school?”

“UA.”

You’re at UA. Since when is UA a prison for captured villains? Shirakumo is studying you, head tilted, concern breaking through the mist. “How did they get you? Tomura wouldn’t have let anyone hurt you.”

“He didn’t let anybody hurt me.” You feel your chest grow tight, feel your eyes begin to sting. “I’m the one who messed up.”

You did. You couldn’t get away from Hawks without winding up captured. You couldn’t keep Tomura from getting distracted during the fight — and getting hurt right now, if your slowed healing and symptoms of physical stress are anything to go by. You couldn’t convince the hero who was interrogating you that you were the one who made the bullets, which means they’re still looking for the doctor and his lab, which means access to the Nomus and the means to make them could be lost at any second. You fucked all of that up, and you got Kazuo in trouble, and maybe Mitsuko and Ryuhei, too. And then there’s the other thing, the smallest, stupidest mistake, the one that would have been so easy to avoid. You were stupid about sex, so you got pregnant, and you didn’t know it, and now you’re not pregnant anymore.

It’s not what you’re upset about, not really, but it’s the easiest thing to be upset about. Easier than thinking about how you might never see Tomura again. Your eyes well up, and when Kurogiri or Shirakumo or whoever’s in charge of the mind and body at the moment asks if you’re okay, you ignore him. You sit down with your back against the wall, draw your knees up to your chest, and rest your forehead against them as the tears drip down your face.

“No.”

You know, just from the voice, that Kurogiri is back in the driver’s seat. You look up and find him watching you from the far side of the glass. “No,” he says again. “They are watching. Do not let them see even a hint of weakness.”

Right. They’re treating you like a villain. You are a villain. Villains don’t cry. You wipe your eyes and sit up straight in a hurry. “Besides,” Kurogiri says, “you cannot believe that Shigaraki Tomura will leave you here. Which will be more beneficial to him once he has liberated you — your tears, or any information you might gather about your surroundings?”

Kurogiri’s right. Tenko won’t leave you here. He’ll come to find you, and when he does, you want to be ready to help him as much as you can. Crying won’t help at all. You make eye contact with Kurogiri and nod once. He nods in response. “We are the ones who protect Shigaraki Tomura,” he says. “Welcome back, Saintess.”

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

There aren’t windows in the room they’re keeping you and Kurogiri in. Kurogiri gets to leave more often than you do, and he always sounds like Shirakumo when he comes back — and because he sounds like Shirakumo, he’s a lot more willing to talk to you about what’s going on out there. Shōta and Hizashi tell him a lot more than your interrogator tells you, at least. You spend hours staring up at the ceiling, turning it over and over in your head, watching the picture of what’s happening in Japan come together slowly. It’s not pretty.

You never expected it to be pretty. You weren’t that naive. But the scale of the destruction you’re hearing about is horrifying. Every time Shirakumo comes back, it’s with the report of something else that’s gone. Shiroiwa — gone. Musutafu — gone. Morioka — gone. Nagano — gone. Civilian casualties are lighter than expected, courtesy of the PLF giving mountains of advance warning of where they’re headed next, but heroic casualties are sky-high. No matter who they throw at the situation, the heroes don’t have a good way to stop Gigantomachia. And if what Shirakumo says is true, most battles end the instant Tomura sets foot on the field.

You and he had talked about ways to destroy the old world, and you’d agreed on wanting at least something left to work from, but it sounds like Tomura is leveling cities to the ground every other day, leaving nothing there but dust — or, in the case of the city the two of you were born in, leaving a crater in the earth two miles wide. You can always tell when there’s been a heroic counterattack, because you can always tell when he’s being hurt. You get nauseous, lightheaded, tachycardic, short of breath, as your body strains to match whatever punishment Tomura is taking. The vast majority of the times you’ve been allowed to leave your cell, it’s to receive medical treatment for a condition no one can diagnose, a condition whose origin you wouldn’t admit to even under torture. They might have a way to erase quirks. You can’t breathe a word without risking Tomura.  

Even with Super-Regeneration, he’s suffering. You’re starting to think that the injuries he takes during each battle are the only reason Japan hasn’t been completely laid to waste already.

Your interrogator is getting frustrated with you. Frustrated with Shirakumo, too. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he explodes, after you ask him about the rumor that more heroes than civilians have died in the fighting. “Does he just run to you with everything?”

“There’s not much else to talk about in there,” you say. “If you don’t want him to talk to me, put one of us in a different cell.”

“See, we can’t do that,” the blond man says bitterly. “We have to keep Shirakumo on the straight and narrow. Part of his rehabilitation is giving him someone to look after.”

“And you picked me?”

“Yeah. He knows you, you look pathetic as all hell, and you’re the closest he’s going to get to Shigaraki in this lifetime.” The blond man rolls his eyes. “Somebody who’s not me decided that the constant information leakage is less important than helping him feel like himself again.”

You agree with them, whoever they are. It’s not like you have anyone to tell. “Who’s himself?”

“Shirakumo?” The blond man raises his eyebrows. “Why should I tell you that?”

“There’s not much else to talk about in here,” you say. “You ask me about the bullets every time. My answer doesn’t change.”

“Because it’s true.” The blond man rolls his eyes, like he does every time, then hits you with the last thing you were expecting him to say. “It is true. The bullets haven’t made an appearance in any battle but the first one, and nobody we’ve captured from your side has known the first thing about them. Even the highest-ranking creep we bagged — silver hair, blue eyes, bad attitude —”

“Ice bitch.”

Your interrogator wheezes. “What?”

If you ever see Dabi again, you’re going to tell him about this. You clam up, and after a few seconds of poorly muffled laughter, your interrogator sobers up. “Even he doesn’t know about where the bullets came from,” he says. “So either it’s somebody we’ve never heard of making them, who’s suddenly stopped in spite of the fact that they’d be an invaluable weapon in this war, or you’re a mad scientist in addition to being Shigaraki’s quirkless arm candy. Which is it?”

“I answered you the first time we talked,” you say. “The answer hasn’t changed.”

“Well, the questions are about to. How’d you do it?”

“Why would I tell you that?”

“Things will maybe go a little easier for you once this is over if I can tell the prosecution that you cooperated,” your interrogator says. “And since we just found out you haven’t been lying to us the entire time, your case for being a trustworthy source is pretty good.”

You are a trustworthy source. You haven’t lied at all. But you don’t buy your interrogator’s change of tune for a second. “Are you hoping to make some of the bullets yourself?”

“Are you joking? We’re not all savages like you.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “I know the charges you’re holding me on. There’s some serious stuff in there. But it’s taking quirks away that makes me a savage? Those are some messed-up priorities you’ve got there.”

“Someone who’s quirkless wouldn’t understand.”

“I understand just fine,” you say. “I understand that you’re asking me how I made them to see if you can reverse the process.”

Your interrogator stays quiet for once. You can’t tell if you’ve thrown him or not, but you can’t resist taking a final potshot. “You’re at war. You aren’t winning. And you’re here questioning me about how to get four people their quirks back. Like I said — your priorities are really messed up.”

“Four people,” your interrogator repeats. “You hit five.”

“Four confirmed quirk cancelations. I’m pretty sure Eraserhead cut his hand off in time, and I didn’t get a chance to shoot him again.”

“Oh, so you would have?” A spark of anger flares in your interrogator’s face. “It wasn’t enough to end two students’ careers before they began? You had to take out a hero, too?”

“I’m not the one who brought kids to fight a war,” you say. You’ve triggered something here. You don’t know what it is. “Targeting Eraserhead wasn’t personal. It was strategy.”

“You just said you were going to shoot him again. Didn’t you trust your bullets to work on the first shot?”

No, you didn’t. You didn’t end up adding All For One to the mix inside them, which means there was a time lag of about four seconds before the cancelation occurred. Eraserhead almost certainly cut his hand off in time. “I wanted to make sure.”

“You disgust me.” The interrogator laughs. It’s an awful sound. “You’re quirkless. The world you live in would be hell if it wasn’t for heroes. Your life has probably been saved by heroes more times than you can count. And how do you repay us? By quite literally hopping into bed with the villains and —”

“Repay you?” You can’t lose your temper. You can’t. “Being a hero is a choice you made. I didn’t ask you to do it. And I’m going to take a wild guess that you didn’t choose to become a hero just out of the goodness of your heart. There’s big money in being a hero, isn’t there, Present Mic?”

You weren’t quite sure when you said the name, but Present Mic makes a mocking bow. You keep talking. “The government takes my taxes and pays you to be a hero, and you make money off your radio show and sponsorships, but that’s not enough, is it? I’m supposed to kiss the ground you walk on, too?”

“Given where your mouth has been, I don’t want you kissing anything I’m going to touch.” Present Mic’s mouth distorts into a sneer. “Lifting the Hero Killer’s talking points now, are we? Have you ever had an original thought in your life?”

“Have you?” you fire back. “Villains don’t just fall from the sky. Society creates them. You have to, or else you and Eraserhead would both be out of a job.”

“And now we get to it,” Present Mic says. “I’ve been wondering how somebody who looks like the dictionary definition of civilian could justify siding with Shigaraki. You’re going with the “it’s our fault for not saving him” defense? Really?”

“I wouldn’t give you that much credit.” That should be enough, but the words slip out of your mouth anyway. “It’s my fault, too.”

Present Mic gives you a weird look, opens his mouth — and then his phone pings. He glances down at it, and when he looks up, his expression is full of rage. “That abomination you’re defending just obliterated Yokohama. Why don’t you stop pontificating and start telling me exactly how to get the heroes you crippled back into the field?”

Yokohama’s gone. Your apartment’s gone, the clinic’s gone, your friends’ houses are gone. Are your friends gone, too? Did they get out? You sink your fingernails into your palm and try not to let it show. “You’re a hero. You’re fighting a war, and you’re losing. Why are you wasting time talking to me?”

Present Mic’s eyes flash. A low hum travels through the air, and for a moment, you’re certain he’s about to unleash his quirk on you. Then the air stills. “You’re right, Saintess. You are a waste of time.” He turns to leave the room, throwing the words back over his shoulder. “Midoriya should have let you fall.”

You’ve been wondering who caught you. Which of the heroes would see a falling villain, a villain who’d just crippled a beloved hero, and decide it was worth it to catch her. You’d assumed it was someone who was thinking of your strategic value — if Hawks saw you as important enough to use, then clearly you were worth keeping around. But somehow you don’t think that was Midoriya’s reasoning. Everything you know about Midoriya Izuku, everything you’ve heard Toga swoon over or listened to Tenko bitch about, tells you that Midoriya Izuku acts on instinct. He wasn’t thinking about strategy when he saved you. He saw someone in trouble and wanted to help.

That reminds you of someone else, too. Someone who’s just wiped the city you found each other in off the map. You dig your nails deeper into your palm and wait for the guards to bring you back to your cell.

But they don’t come back. You sit there for ten minutes. Half an hour. Two hours. No one comes for you. You aren’t chained to your chair — you can move around — but when you try the door, it’s locked. There’s nothing in the room but your chair and the one Present Mic usually sits in. Four hours. There aren’t windows, either. Five. Six. Seven.

You’re hungry, and thirsty. Something must have happened to Tenko in the battle for Yokohama, because your heart is racing at a hundred and forty beats per minute, and no matter what you do, you can’t catch your breath. You lie down on the floor as spots fill your vision, elevating your legs to try to keep some blood flowing to your head, and stare up at the ceiling. The connection between you and Tenko is omnipresent, but blind. You can’t see where he is, feel what he feels, know what he’s thinking. All you have are memories.

Tenko didn’t use to have nightmares. Not as a kid, not when you met him as an adult — but after he came back from receiving the quirks, he did. You always knew when he had one, because he’d lie there shaking in the dark for long moments before he turned to you. It felt like he was trying to drown himself in you afterwards, sometimes with sex, sometimes through kissing, sometimes just by crawling into your arms and holding you tightly enough to make your bones ache. If he stayed awake long enough, he’d tell you what he dreamed about. Never the whole dream. You knew that by the way he hesitated. But enough of it to give you nightmares, too, if you didn’t already have your own.

It was the quirks. Even the copied quirks carried imprints of the last moments their owners possessed them, and sometimes a little more than that — and the last moments before a person’s quirk was stolen by All For One were terrifying. You remember holding Tenko close in the dark, your body folded around his, trying to soothe him. “It didn’t happen to you,” you remember saying. “You’re safe.”

“It happened to them.” Tenko sunk back into your arms, pressing even closer. “When this is over. Promise.”

“Promise what?”

“You’ll take them away.” Tenko’s voice caught for a split second, then blurred almost into incoherence. “I don’t want them anymore.”

You didn’t even know where you’d start. “Tenko —”

“Promise.”

“I promise,” you said. “I love you.”

“Love you.” Tenko settled even closer, already falling asleep. You were glad he could sleep. At least one of you needed to rest.

You didn’t know how, but you started thinking about it. You’re still thinking about it now — how to remove the quirks the doctor transplanted into Tenko, which ones you’d leave, which ones he’d let you leave. Would he want Decay gone, too? How would you get rid of something that’s in his hands? You don’t know. But there has to be a way. As the hours tick past, you let it consume you, the question of how you’ll bring Tenko back to himself, how you’ll make sure the nightmares leave him for good. He’s winning the war. You’ll find each other again. Everything will be fine. If you tell yourself that enough times, maybe it’ll come true.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but when you wake up again, you aren’t in the classroom anymore. You aren’t in your cell, either, or in the room where you first woke up after you were captured. You’re in what looks like a proper infirmary, with softly painted walls and multiple beds. The ones that are occupied have curtains drawn around them, and you can hear the soft hum of life support machines. You’re not on life support, are you? You raise your hand to your face, surprised to find that you aren’t being restrained, and find a cannula tucked under your nose, again. That’s not great. But it’s not life support, either.

“You’re in our medical bay,” a weirdly familiar voice says from next to you. You glance over at the chair next to your bed and nearly jump out of your skin.

It’s All Might. All Might is sitting there, looking like a skeleton with a mop of blond hair, eyes sunken and shadowed, with a file and a tablet folded in his lap and what looks like a nurse’s call button in his hand.

<- Chapter 25

taglist: @frog-fans-unite @enyaaa2222 @tannyr98 @shigarakislaughter @deadhands69 @f3r4lfr0gg3r @lvtuss @issaortiz @evilcookie5 @aslutforfictionalmen @lacrimae-lotos @xeveryxstarfallx @stardustdreamersisi @koohiii @cheeseonatower @shikiblessed @warxhammer @agente707 @handumb @boogiemansbitch @baking-ghoul @atspiss

[queer-obsession]

people ever talk to you in the craziest way or are just straight assholes and you have to be like, who the hell do you think your taking too? Cause it's not me.

genuinely do not understand mf who think i'll sit there and take their shit. that's crazyyyy. i barely take shit from my family, you think I'm gonna take it from you 💀 a nobody? i don't care if we're dating or even friends, the minute you start saying shit like that it's over. idk where people get this idea that people will just stick around while they act like a dick. i'll fuck off so fast after flipping you off and you will never see my ass again 😭

[queer-obsession]

How I feel after skipping past all the smut in a fanfic cause I’m only in the mood for fluff

[queer-obsession]

the i love you thing is so real. he probably started it with his grandma and now he just does it with everyone because it's habit and he's lowkey the type to be like, "you never know what's gonna happen. i could die in the fields tomorrow. gotta make sure my people know i care about them." literally overthinks everything so he's gotta make sure the boys know he cares in case lightning comes to strike him down 😭

KITA SHINSUKE HCS ⋆˚࿔

was scouted for pro volleyball and multiple other high paying jobs but turned it down because he wants to spend the rest of his grandma’s life by her side

even after graduating, he still trims his hair and nails like theres weekly checks. 

the only man in the world who actually uses real bookmarks in his books

once went a whole week without realizing he had a fever because he thought he was just “a little off.”

stress baker

doesnt really believe in astrology but will listen and keep it in mind if someone tells him

sudoku warrior. doesnt actually like playing it but is deathly afraid of dementia/alzheimer's

not competitive in the traditional sense, but sets high standards for himself and feels guilty if he doesn’t meet them.

also has mildly toxic standards, such as not celebrating when he gets a high grade/wins a match because he feels thats his ‘responsibility’

the equivalent of the modern tote bag girl. has everything you could ever need in his bag 

has never bought anything full price ever in his life, and only gets rid of clothes when they dont fit him anymore

either donates them or turns them into rags

has really warm hands. theyre calloused, but somehow the softest anyone has ever felt

self-sufficiency is very important to him.

will sit at the same place every single time and if his ‘seat’ is taken at a restaurant he’ll straight up leave

talks to his grandma about everything. she’s the reason he’s so emotionally aware.

has the worst sense of direction ever like he’d probably use google maps in his hometown if he knew how to

once had a dream where he lost all his teeth. woke up and brushed them three times.

actually the best person you could ask to cover for you

not even a dnd warrior he just straight up turns off his phone when he doesnt need it

sometimes stands outside in the rain barefoot just to feel something

double knots his shoelaces

doesn’t really know how to flirt. says what he means and means what he says.

never takes the last serving, even if someone forcibly puts it on his plate

calls his grandparents every sunday

once nursed a stray kitten back to health and gave it to a friend because he knew he didn’t have time to care for it long-term.

still misses that kitten.

post timeskip, his whole house is basically like a zoo because he takes in any hurt or stray animal, but doesnt force them to stay if they dont want to

has a natural instinct for when someone’s lying. doesn’t call them out unless it matters.

holds his breath when he passes a graveyard

says ‘i love you’ at the end of calls and doesnt understand why his teammates think its weird

doesn’t like clutter but keeps a single drawer of things too sentimental to throw away.

[queer-obsession]

Diamond: Shigaraki x Reader

Warnings: Reader is GN, Shigaraki refers to you as a bitch in his head once but I lowkey feel like he uses bitch to insult everyone 😭, regular shiggy warnings, reader is lowkey unhinged, knives and swearing, talk of marriage, canon events are very vaguely referenced, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAV LOSER SHIGARAKI!!

Shigaraki leans back on the couch, legs spread, arms along the back in the couch, as he watches you. His fingers twitch as he resists the urge to scratch the shit out of his neck. His office at the PLF base is simple. A desk, a couch, he doesn't need anything else. He's rarely in here anyway. He does enjoy the privacy it enables however.

You look up at Shigaraki with a grin as you push yourself off his desk. "So, basically you're proposing to me," You say with that coy tone you love as your eyes glint.

Shigaraki stares at you for a moment because, where the hell did you get that idea, before a sneer overtakes his face. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

You laugh as if you've never been afraid of him, as if he hasn't killed, and you hold up a knife. "You got me a knife." You trace your fingers along the black blade, the metal cold. "It even has thorny little roses on it. This is basically a diamond ring," You tell him with a grin as you prick your finger on the tip of the knife.

You really have lost your damn mind now. "You're starting to sound like Toga," Shigarki grunts as he reaches up to run a hand through his greasy ass hair. "It's just a fucking knife. You asked for one after you broke your other one."

You hum with a smile and roll on the balls of your feet before you slowly walk to him. "It's custom though," You retort as you spin the knife in your hand. "You're literally asking for my hand in marriage."

Shigaraki gets that ugly scowl on his face and he tugs his hair. "One of the fucking NPCs here can make custom knives. Stop being fucking aggravating," He hisses at you as he pulls his hands from his hair. His eyes follow your body as you spin around in front of him.

You hum and step between his legs before poking the corner of your mouth with the knife. "You don't want to be mine, Tomura~?" You tease with a quirk of your lips.

Shigaraki scowls at you. Why is he always surrounded with crazy bitches? "Marriage is a project of this fucked up society. Who cares about it?"

You tap the knife against your cheek. Hmm, that is true, isn't it? Well, good thing you know something that would be better than marriage. "Well, you'll let me destroy the world with you, right?" You bend your knee and place it on the couch right in front of his crotch.

Shigaraki scratches his neck for a moment before reaching out to snatch your shirt in a fist. He tugs you roughly onto his lap causing you to giggle. It always amuses you when Tomura manhandles you. "You can destroy this degraded society with me and rule the new one next to me. That's better than any fucking stupid marriage," He hisses to you as you settle into straddling his lap. He reaches a hand down to squeeze your hip. "Now, shut the fuck up."

You giggle again and lean down to press your forehead to Shigaraki's. That's better than anything you could ever ask for. Who needs a diamond when you can have the whole world? Tomura really is the best lover. "Yes Sir~"

[queer-obsession]

[queer-obsession]

┌─ ⟢ VISITING HIS PRACTICE WITH THE KIDS

𐔌─ cw. fem!reader. pregnancy. mentions of reader breast feeding. suggestive in oikawa’s.

𐔌─ characters. atsumu. oikawa. bokuto. rinatarou

bokuto omegaverse when?!?

Miya Atsumu

Everyone loves Miya Atsumu’s little family. The media is obsessed with his cute babies that go viral almost every time they step out of the house—almost as much as they’re obsessed with how much you glow during your pregnancies.

He’s almost positive there are about as many pictures of him and his twin combined as there are of your bump. He’s not jealous. Nope. Totally not jealous that when he gets approached by fans, they’re asking what stretch mark cream you use instead of asking for an autograph.

So it’s no surprise when you come to the gym to bring his forgotten lunch, and before he can even take a bite of his sub, half of his team has surrounded you.

“Aren’t you just the cutest little thing,” Bokuto grins, picking up your toddler son and mock-throwing him in the air.

“Careful!” You chastise him before relaxing when you hear your son squeal a chorus of “Again, again!”

Aren’t you supposed to say hi to me first son? Atsumu thinks, pouting slightly before turning to his daughter with a smile—only for that smile to be immediately wiped off his face when he sees her in the arms of Hinata, blowing slobbery kisses.

“What the hell?!” He gasps.

You look up at him from your spot next to him. “What’s wrong, baby?” You frown, rubbing your small bump.

“Nothin’, angel,” He sighs, placing his calloused hand over yours. At least he’s got the attention of his wife and their little grape.

“How’s the b—”

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you! My wife keeps bothering me to ask what stroller you use!”

Later, when you leave, you find a text from Atsumu; I'll be coming home for lunch next time ! >:( .

Bokuto Koutarou

Back in high school, Koutarou was nicknamed “The Owl,” but now, well into his professional volleyball years, superfans have taken to calling him The Wolf.

Not because of a dry, stressed-out personality—no, because it seems like he has three hundred kids.

Every year, he’s posting another skin-to-skin picture with a newborn and a sappy caption. His team jokes that he needs to get off of you (he’s��pretty sure some of them are serious), but he doesn’t care. Especially not when his pups start cheering for him, even after he hits the ball out of bounds.

Screams of encouragement—and a few screaming just to see how loud they can get—echo throughout the gym. You would’ve thought the stands were packed. Nope. Just his fan-proclaimed pack.

“KILL! KILL! DESTROY THEM NOW!”

One of his sons starts choking himself out. His daughters jump up and down on the bleachers, and in the middle of the rowdiness, he hears a small baby screeching just because his siblings are.

“Thank you, pups! I didn’t do great, but A+ on the enthusiasm!” Bokuto shouts from the court. A teammate beside him flinches at the sheer volume. So that’s where the kids get it from.

“YES, DAD, YES!” His kids scream back.

In the middle of it all, you sit there, giving Kou the biggest smile—the same one you gave him when he asked you out, the same one you gave him when he married you, the same one you gave him every time you announced another pregnancy.

And he’s so overcome with love that he can’t help but think about having another baby—just to have somewhere to spill all this love into.

Suna Rintarou

You and your daughter watch with bright eyes as Rin walks out of his gym building and makes his way toward the car.

The moment he slides into the passenger seat—despite being sweaty from hours of practice—you both grab onto him in a hug, your daughter unbuckled and leaning over the console.

“Hi, Daddy!” She runs a hand over his stubble and giggles when Rin pretends to bite her.

“Hi, princess,” he grins before turning to you. “Hi, queen.”

He teases, leaning over to kiss you, and you can’t help but smile into it.

“How was practice, Daddy?”

Suna breaks the kiss to answer, but before he can, he notices another small body in the backseat—headphones on, eyes glued to the game in his hands. Suna reaches over and pulls off one of his son’s headphones.

Like his father, his son merely glances up with a questioning expression.

“No hey Dad, glad you didn’t break your wrist at practice, so we don’t have to go homeless and move in with Uncle ‘Samu and starve to death because he eats all the food?” Suna mimics his son’s unimpressed face.

“You’re so dramatic, Dad.” His son grumbles but leans in when Suna playfully messes up his hair.

“Imagine the horror. No snacks, no food—we’ll all be forced to wake up at five in the morning and work all day at the restaurant.”

A chorus of mortified groans fills the car. The Suna family was not made for early mornings.

He turns back to his daughter. “It was good, baby.”

She smiles, murmuring something that sounds like that’s good before settling back to watch whatever her older brother is playing. Like his son, she wasn’t much of a talker either. You were the talker of the family, always filling in the silence.

You cup his cheek. “You gotta get back soon.”

“I know,” he mumbles, leaning into your touch. “Just one more kiss, then we’ll go.”

One kiss turns into five, and soon enough, the kids are gagging and shouting for you two to stop.

“Dad! Stop kissing Mom and go make that money you were talking about! So freakin’ nasty.”

Oikawa Tooru

His team was having an unofficial official practice at the beach today, and it was days like this that Tooru loved playing for a team in the hot climate of South America.

Plus, the sun-kissed tan was a bonus. He always looked amazing in every photo taken of him.

Some of his teammates were lounging, so they were the first to see it. Oikawa was so focused on what he was doing that he paid the whistling no mind—until one of his teammates shook his shoulder.

He looked up with a glare, but it quickly disappeared when he saw what they were pointing at—a woman in a bikini, walking toward them with a small child.

More specifically, his woman and his child.

“Stop fuckin’ whistling at my girl!” Oikawa shouted, flipping his team off before jogging over.

“Princess, what are you doing here?” He barked, using his body to shield your chest from their eyes.

The baby on your hip babbled an unintelligible greeting before grabbing onto his father. Oikawa lifted him to his bare chest, pressing his nose to his soft little head—one hand still holding you close.

“Toru, get off! It’s too hot, and you’re all sweaty,” you whined, pushing at his chest. “And stop being all jealous. It doesn’t suit you.”

You huff before standing on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek.

“Well, I wouldn’t be jealous if I didn’t know at least five of my teammates have a hard-on right now because my tits are practically out!”

“The only reason my breasts are like this is because you got me pregnant! I’m breastfeeding your son!”

You laugh at his ridiculousness and reach for your son. Oikawa tightens his grip and pouts.

“I’m coming with.”

“What? You’re at practice!”

“It’s not a real practice. And besides, I need to be there to defend you from all the men who think they can be stepdaddy.”

He takes the beach bag from you. You roll your eyes—but you can’t help but smile

[queer-obsession]

need a doomed romance fic with shigaraki because i need to break my own heart

[queer-obsession]

Kenma randomly posts personal things every few months and never explains them. He posts a photo of the two of you on vacation and then six months later retweets a photo Yamamoto posted of their high school volleyball team. No caption on either and it's his quota of personal posts for the year. His next post is five months later and it's a quote re-tweet of something Kuroo posted. It's an inside joke of some sort and his fans are still trying to decipher it to this day.

The most insane one though is when he randomly posts a photo, on all social media platforms, of him holding your hand which is now sporting a nice diamond. It's his first personal post in almost a year and he captions noting with it, just your @ . The comments are wrecked for the next month.

[queer-obsession]

timeskip!kenma kozume x fem!reader

notes: married— established rs, this feels so ooc i apologize, y/n used a couple times, actual streaming terms used(willing to explain them if needed!!), fluff, kuroo mention, lowercase intended!

“38 minute and 42 second compilation of kodzuken being whipped for his wife.”

this is the seventh part of the series created by this fan. the first part of the series was titled, “15 minute compilation of pro gamer kodzuken talking about his girlfriend.” the fourth part was the change from girlfriend to fiancée, and the sixth part was the change from fiancée to wife.

this youtube series has blown up everywhere— to the point some people don’t even know kenma as the CEO of Bouncing Ball Corporation or as a professional gamer/youtuber.

kuroo had been talking to his colleague about kenma once, when highschool was suddenly their topic of conversation. “ever heard of kodzuken?” “your best friend is the dude who doesn’t shut up about his wife?!” kuroo couldn’t even tease kenma about it anymore— kenma just was so shameless when it came to you! (and before he got famous all the yapping about you was always to kuroo. trust me, he’d recieve earfuls about you when you weren’t even together yet.)

after every valorant or league tournament (ewwwww) whether it was a win or loss, once the mic was brought to him to ask about the game, he’d state simply, “I’d like to thank my wife. Good games.” god he’d be even more annoying when it came to a solo queue in valorant. his go-to insult for a snobby teenager would be, “you’re bitchless AND jobless.” safe to say his ego inflates when they realize they’re talking to THE kodzuken, and if they didn’t know beforehand, they’ll know him soon enough when his motor of a mouth warms up to talk about his wife, forgetting to ever brief on the topic of having multiple jobs with high incomes.

oh but the comments on the series were always the best.

user @applepie: may this love attack me

user @kodzusss: y/n how do you find a man like this

user @makemestays: aura farming again

user @svteenm: i think i know more about y/n than i do about kenma at this point

user @moalways: he’s the standard i fear

user @emizszc: laying on the highway as we speak

user @sunaslefttoe: I WANT WHAT THEY HAVE!!!!

if you add up the time of all seven videos, the total time is pushing 5 hours… god he just can’t shutup about you. all the little emoticons for his channel; raids, copium, NT, are just you and him. every sub challenge just surrounds you. just to name a few, there was

“xx subs for a cooking stream with my wife”

“xx subs and my wife will play a ranked valo game”

“xx subs for a just chatting stream with my wife”

even when he had to switch gears. as a CEO, his management team was sick and tired of him. today he had been invited for an interview. he knew the interview show was scuffed prior to coming, so he decided to just do what he was best at. …talk about you of course!

“so, if it ever came down to choosing between your wife or your company, what’d you choose?”

“my wife.” he puts up his pointer finger before speaking again, “actually, she was one of my main motivations to start working on the … blah blah … and she really … blah blahhh blah … my career … blah” the interviewer felt a bead of sweat drop from her temple.

sigh kenma is so in love with his wife.

okay this ending is so boring soooo pt.2 ?! maybe one that’ll be more specific to streamer!ken. let me know!!!

[queer-obsession]

i’m such a “i want your attention” but “won’t bother you” kinda person

[queer-obsession]

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 5

one || two || three || four

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

pairing: various x gn!reader [ suna, aran, kita ]

warnings: mature content. MDI. cursing, suggestive language, mild objectification, atsumu slander/bulling (mostly from suna lol), mentions of soft dom/brat-taming, breeding-kink kita supremacy, not proofread so there may be some errors here and there, and I think that's it :]

notes: NO ONE LOOK AT ME THIS TOOK SO FREAKING LONG THAT WE'RE IN A WHOLE NEW YEAR SINCE THE LAST ONE WAS POSTED LOL But, I wanted to make sure I portrayed the characters as accurately as possible, and I've once again been hit with the burnout stick :'))) so thank you so so so so much for your patience, hope you enjoy!

tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy, @captaincyberqueen, @tsukiran

SUNA's messy as hell, you bet your ass he knows about the list.

Most definitely clowned Atsumu when the whole mix-up between him and Osamu went down a couple weeks ago. He'd poke that dead horse out of pure boredom or just to document his reactions for a laugh later, resulting in some of the most unflattering, yet entertaining footage of your mutual friend that you were certain he'd keep for blackmail.

“You didn’t need the poor guy’s misery in every possible angle you could think of.” You shook your head at him, fighting the grin on your face. Sitting across from him at a booth in the canteen, you pass the time in between classes by letting him show you photo after photo, video after video of Atsumu’s latest performance.

How his storage managed to survive was beyond you.

Suna shrugged, taking a sip from his drink. “Sure I did. Need to have variety for when I make merch and sell it at his games. ‘m thinking tshirts, buttons, stickers, y’know. The whole nine yards.”

“You’re terrible.” You shook your head again as you sifted through blurry photo after blurry photo.

“Terribly smart.”

“Mm. Debatable.”

“Tsk,” he reached over to flick your forehead, “keep hating and you won’t get a cut of the profit.” Despite him softly glaring at you, he grinned at the giggle you graced him with in response, flicking his forehead back. “Anyway, wanna see the one of him throwing a chair at ‘samu for calling him the mid-twin?”

You paused, eyes widening. “He did not.” 

Suna lifted his arm to give you room to lean against his side. Despite your better judgment, and a smidge of pity for the blonde, you couldn’t deny he had some pretty priceless reactions that never failed to get a laugh out of you. Plus, it was all in good fun at the end of the day—No harm, no foul, right?

Immediately snuggling up to his side, he took the phone back to scroll right to said video, angling it so you could watch it together. You chortled at the sound of your boyfriend behind the camera, panting and laughing as he attempted to hold the camera steady while sprinting away from Atsumu before inevitably getting caught right before the recording abruptly stopped. You blinked in shock, mouth agape as you slowly connected the dots with the last few milliseconds you had. “Did he..Did he tackle you??” 

“Yep. Like a big, blonde buffalo. Life flashed before my eyes.”

“Oh my god,” you replied, hand coming over your mouth as you fought back your giggles. Suna squinted at you, arm that was curled over your shoulder coming down so he could lightly pinch your ear.

“You’re ‘posed to laugh at his expense, not mine.”

This only made giggling harder to contain, eventually morphing into cackles as the last few moments of the video replayed in your mind over and over. Suna pursed his lips, placing the phone on the table to free his other hand as it came to pinch your other ear. He tugged on them, not so hard to hurt but enough to get his point across as he pouted at you. “Quit it.”

More laughs bubbled out of you, now at his ridiculous retaliation as he pulled your ears far enough to resemble a monkey’s. You raised a brow, reaching up to grab at his wrists. “You quit it.”

“No, you.”

You squinted. “No, you.”

“You.”

“Rin-Ow! Stop it, you ass!”

This little back and forth went on for a few minutes, up until it eventually ends with you in a small headlock, biting his forearm in retaliation. It didn’t hurt at all, except maybe your pride, especially when you heard the familiar sound of his phone snapping pictures—When did he even grab it? You pulled back in shock, looking up and meeting your own gaze on the screen as he rapidly snapped away, even having the nerve to give a peace sign in some of them with the very arm you were latched onto.

You gaped in horror, “No you didn't! Delete those!”

He hummed in feigned thought, keeping his phone just out of reach as you struggled to snatch it from him. Rin smirked, “No way, now we both can laugh, babe. We'll call it even.”

With a glare, you opened your mouth to retort but he immediately shut you up by leaning down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, lazily so, and swallowing any protest you tried to voice until you eventually melted into it. You could just feel his smug grin, and you were tempted to bite his bottom lip, but he pulled away before you could commit. He snorted as you still glared at him, although it softened more and more with every kiss he placed on your face to placate your sourness toward him.

Gradually, the kisses started to grow wet, making you squirm away with an annoyed whine, but he merely tightened his hold on you keeping you from getting far. Despite your struggle you couldn't help but laugh, "Ew! Ugh! You're so fucking gross!"

"Mm, gross for you." He placed another to your lips before releasing you. You gently pinched him in retaliation, muttering a small threat to his kneecaps if those photos of you ever saw the light of day.

After the two of you settled back down in a comfortable silence, your mind started to wander back to the discussion from earlier. With the abundance of guys who've been placed on said list so far, Atsumu of all people one of them, you couldn't help but wonder... Looking over at him as he played with his straw, you asked, "Hey...do you think you're on the list?"

Rin paused, then gave a small shrug, "Dunno. Never checked."

You scoffed, "I find that hard to believe. You weren't ever curious?"

"Not really, always thought it was kinda dumb. I only grew mildly interested after 'tsumu threw a tantrum about it, saw it as another way to get on his nerves. Other than that, it's never crossed my mind. Besides, as if I'd give him the satisfaction of knowing I'm on it, too." He blinked, then looked at you. "On second thought, yeah, check and see so I can dox whoever posted it before that knucklehead catches wind."

"Rin." You slapped his arm, knowing he was half-serious. "We can just report it."

He merely shrugged again, internally debating, but didn't say anything as you did some digging on the account to see if anything came up. It helped that the admins of the account started alphabetizing after posting so many entries, it made it easier to navigate through the endless sea of thirst and shameless threads. When you finally made it to the 'R's and noticed how short the section was, you had high hopes. Until, right there plain on your screen, paired with an off-guard photo of him you posted once on your story in past, was his entry.

‘Rintarō Suna. 6’1ft of malicious intent. A straight up walking red flag, but it’s okay—Red’s a sexy color. Definitely the kind of guy who’d call you “Bro” as a term of endearment, then make out with you while using your ass as a stress ball. He can’t keep his hands to himself to save his LIFE yet swears on it that he’s not clingy lol. But don’t let the cuddly side of him distract from the fact that he can be such a little SHIT ♡. He’d edge you for hours, rearrange your insides like furniture, then have the NERVE to tease you for walking funny. You’ll let it slide though…his mouth’s good at other things than just being smart. MASTER at giving head, treats it like an art form, would rather eat a pair of jeans that ever go a day without you on his tongue. 8.5/10. And he for sure takes pictures/videos of you for his viewing pleasure later. Say cheese!’

As you both stared blankly at your screen, him with furrowed brows and you struggling to hold down a smile. Rin eventually kissed his teeth. "Can't even be mad, read me like a damn book. Was this weirdo in the room with us taking notes, or something?"

You chortled, "Don't even joke like that."

"I'm just saying, tweak a few things here and there, you'd think I ghost-wrote this."

"Sooo, I take it you're no longer worried about Atsumu seeing this?"

Suna smirked, "Hell no, at least mine's accurate. Send him the link."

“Your bitch-ass ex is about to piss me off, bro.”

Upon your unannounced arrival into his dorm, courteous of the spar key he gave you for emergencies, you figured now was a good time to exercise that privilege because this was a borderline catastrophe. Granted, you could’ve approached it more delicately, but you were already upset from the nonsense you witnessed on your timeline during your doom-scrolling session.

ARAN gave you a look of disapproval, but decided to address one issue at a time. “First of all, we’ve kissed. Many times. I am well aways from being a ‘bro’. Second, language. Thirdly, when ain’t they pissin’ ya off?”

“Whatever, you better get’em before I do. You know I’m not above drastic solutions, I’ll steal their dog and hold him for ransom, I’m being so forreal.”

He snorted, shaking his head. Closing his laptop to give you his full attention, nodding at the chair across from him for you to take. “How ‘bout we talk first before riskin’ jail.”

You sat down and handed him your phone, “Read that and I bet you’ll be on board in seconds.”

Aran squinted at the screen in confusion, scanning over the contents before his eyes widened to the size of volleyballs and jaw dropping to the table. You nodded in triumph having predicted this reaction, smugly crossing your arms as you said, “Uh-huh. Bet dog-napping sounds pretty good right about now.”

“No.” He deadpanned, but still overtly shook. “What even is this?”

“It’s called ‘The Fu—” a small glare from Aran. You rolled your eyes, correcting yourself, “The Eff-It List’.”

“Ok, I can see that. But, what is it?”

You scoffed, “Basically a perverted forum that talks about strangers and their kinks or whatever. Purely speculative for the most part, but recently they started letting people send in their own entries. And yours came straight from the horse’s mouth.” You reached over to point at an all too familiar username, well aware of it being his ex’s burner account in their hopes to remain anonymous.

'Aran Ojiro. 6’0ft of tall, dark, and handsome. If you’re searching for a Service Dom with a heart of gold, then you’ve come to the right man. When it comes down to the dirty and flirty, this hunk would be an Olympic level threat to the bums in your timeline. Not only plowing a hole straight into your vertebrae but cooking you a bomb-ass meal afterwards that will have you wanting his pants around his ankles for a round who-knows-what. Truly a gentleman, won’t finish until you do at least twice. And aftercare of a God, we’re talking rose petal baths, oil massages, honeyed affirmations, and finishing off with warm cuddles in those beefy arms of his. Yum. Aran’s big on communication; tell him what you like, what you don’t like, whatever you say, goes. Will make you feel like royalty but rearrange your insides like a common concubine. This absolute King gets a 100/10 from us.'

The way his face was scrunched up, you would think he ate something sour. You’ve only ever seen him make such a stank face at the twins whenever their bickering escalated to physical violence. He was silent for a long moment as he analyzed the post, re-reading it again and again only to grow more perturbed. He exhaled deeply through his nose before handing you back the phone, reaching into his pocket to grab his own. Aran began to type while you were in the midst of conjuring up your revenge plan.

“So, I was thinking, they normally walk their dog in the morning before class, like ass-crack of dawn early-“

“Language.”

“-and they’ll most likely have their guard down, right? So I’m thinking you’ll hide in the bushes, ready to release the squirrel we’ll use as bait, and while they’re distracted I’ll sneak from behind with a shovel and-“

“There. It’s been taken care of.”

The words died in your throat, stunned to silence. You blinked a few times in bewilderment, and watching as Aran set his phone down to open his laptop back up and resume working on his assignment. Mentally floundering, you leaned forward with raised eyebrows, “Come again?”

“They’re gonna get the post deleted.”

“Wha—Who?” You squawked.

“My ex. I sent a DM statin’ that we know they’re involved and that I’m not comfortable with this being spread, so unless they want student affairs involved for sexual harassment, they better work on gettin’ that post taken down. Give it a minute, bet it’ll be gone.”

You blinked once more. Then, after a few minutes later of more stunned silence, you refreshed the page. Sure enough…his post wasn’t there anymore. Not a trace of it anywhere, as if it never existed. With a disbelieved chortle, you dropped your phone on the table and slumped back in your chair, staring into space. Aran grinned, eyes trained on his laptop screen as he cheekily said, “Ya did say get’em before you do.”

With a playful huff, you crossed your arms. “Damn killjoy.”

“Language.”

You slowly grinned, mischievously. “…Shit.”

“Oi.”

You raised your hands in mock surrender, relenting as you giggled. Aran shook his head at your antics, resuming his work. However, you leaned forward to push his laptop screen down a little so that his attention was on you once more, pausing his typing fingers. He raised an expectant brow, waiting for you to speak. You gave him a pointed look, “You blocked them after sending that DM, right?”

He snorted, reaching over to gently pat your head. “And reported their account.”

You beamed with satisfaction, leaning back in your chair. “Good. Fuck ‘em—Oop!Waitwait, hang on, it was a slip of the tongue, I forgot, I’m sorry!”

Aran immediately closed his laptop and began to stand, rounding the table to approach you menacingly, although fear wouldn’t be the emotion you’d describe as he closed in on you like prey. You didn’t even attempt to make an escape as he scooped you up in his aforementioned beefy arms, squeals following after your giggles as he carried you into the next room, ready to give you what he deemed a suitable punishment for your potty-mouth.

The king hath spoken.

You fought to contain your laughter at the sight of your boyfriend’s gears visibly turning in his head as he stared at your phone screen, brows furrowed and hands on his hips like a dad judging someone’s front lawn. KITA was at a loss for words, to say the least. Like Aran, it merely confused him upon the first read, and re-reading it over and over aided nothing. You could no longer hold it in when Kita eventually looked at you with a blank face and said, “Not true.”

Tickled, you decided to tease him by feigning ignorance. “Hm? You think so? It sounds pretty accurate to me.”

Kita frowned, leaning over your shoulder to re-read it again, just in case he was missing something you were seeing.

'Shinsuke Kita. 5’9ft of calm before the storm. At first, we chalked Kita up as a boring vanilla, someone that doesn’t like to step outside of the norm, and blends in with the mundane. However, what would appear to be a dreary missionary nightmare can easily be disputed when you take a deeper look into those carmel hues of his. As we’ve mentioned in a previous post, it’s always the quiet ones you need to be cautious of. Sure, he’ll invite you over to show off his beautiful garden, innocent enough. Well…needless to say, his garden won’t be the only place he plants his seed. With the right person, and the right amount of pressure, we believe Kita to be a closeted pervert with a RAGING breeding kink. Whether you can or cannot conceive, it doesn’t matter to him–Mating press, full nelson, prone-bone, you name it, he’s doing it. Then, he’ll tell you about what produce is in season as if you aren’t fighting for your life right after, continuing his day like he didn’t take his time molding your insides to the shape of him. Scary. 10/10'

He shook his head, opinion standing firm. “’s too vulgar. Have I ever been vulgar to ya?”

You pursed your lips, shrugging coyly. “Well…there have been a couple times.”

Kita blinked, then took a minute to think about it. And he thought hard. Slowly, he started to become concerned, contemplating the last time you were intimate in case this were a possibility. Surely you would’ve told him if he was acting out of line…

The act doesn’t last long, especially when he looked back at you and plainly said, “Yer teasin’ me.”

With a small chuckle, you gave up. “Fine, you got me. You have been nothing but a gentleman during sex, I won’t argue that. But, you have to admit, there were a few things in here that were spot on.”

“Like what?” He crouched down, continuing his task.

You gestured around, “Well…you did invite me over to look at your garden.”

Kita paused his pruning, looking around at your pointed observation. He hummed, then gave a small shrug. “Not to jus’ sleep with ya afterward. My intentions were strictly pure.”

“Ok, fair. But, you do want a family.”

“‘s normal goal to have, and in due time, we’ll accomplish it. Once I’ve married ya, of ‘course. That don’t make me a ‘closeted pervert’.”

You grinned, crossing your arms. “You didn’t deny the ‘raging breeding kink’ part-”

“Look at how well yer favorite sprout’s doin’, love.” He was quick to change the subject, beckoning you to come see for yourself. You humored him, crouching down next to him in the dirt, and happily gazing over his shoulder to watch him delicately handle your leafy little guy.

But, if you squint, you could see a little tinge of pink in Kita’s ears.

© 2025-2026 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[queer-obsession]

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq! pt. 4

one || two || three

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

pairing: seijoh4 x gn!reader [ oikawa, iwaizumi, mattsun, maki ]

warnings: mature content. MDI. cursing, suggestive language, mild objectification, the word “dick” said over a million times lol this chapter is basically bigdick!4 supremacy, corny behavior, camboy!maki, slight mentions of degradation, iwa’s is the shortest (I’M SORRY), some minor errors probably and i think that’s it :] !!

notes: I AM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT :'))) life was kicking my ass and the last thing i could think about was getting metaphorically dicked down lol but hope you enjoy, thank y'all so much for your patience, and the last couple parts coming soon!

tagged: @daedaep69 , @ahahadumbo , @viktoryn , @mdsb , @ourgoddessathena , @ushygushybaby , @hyori2 , @lumpywolf , @fantasycantasy, @captaincyberqueen , @tsukiran

OIKAWA would be the reason the list even exists, let’s be honest. 

But, for the sake of the plot, we’ll pretend otherwise.

Once again, without fail, after another grand win for the great king, he’s swarmed by his devoted groupies—Shoving their phones, gifts, and themselves in his face hoping to catch even a sliver of his attention.

And once again, you stood on the sidelines, impatiently waiting for him to leave the spotlight; irked your soul sometimes.

It’s not that you were against him being praised or anything, even though his head was fat enough to begin with, you loved the admiration people had for him. But there’s a fine line between being a fan and being a straight-up weirdo. 

And right now, they’re tap-dancing on that line something fierce. 

“Tooru!~ will you sign right here?” 

One pulled down the collar of her shirt, exposing more of her breasts that were pushed up damn-near to her chin whilst wearing a sultry smile. You caught a small glimpse of panic flash across his features before he covered it with a nervous laugh, eyes subtly shifting over to you as he replied. “..How 'bout a photo instead?” 

Things went on like that for the next few minutes. Someone would even take it a step further by flat out asking for his number, or if he was single. They already knew the answer to that, it was the same every time, yet they continuously tried their luck as if someday, through the power of delusion and manifestation, his answer would miraculously change despite you always attending his practices and his games, wearing his spare jersey, holding his hand, shoving your tongue down his throat, didn’t matter—Them hoes were relentless.

But, so were you. 

“Oh, Tooru!~ If you don’t wrap this up, you’ll be walking home!~” You sang, mirroring the tone of the girl from earlier. The semi-empty threat made the setter perk up like a hound, eyes wide as that same panic returned as well.

Although this time, he wasn’t so quick to play it off. 

“U-Uh,” he squeaked, then immediately covered by clearing his throat. “Yes, uh, well, it’s been great chatting with you all tonight. Thank you again for your love and support for the team, it's always appreciated. I hope you’ll continue to cheer us and myself oninthefuture—WAIT! [____]-chan! Don’t leave, y’know my poor legs won’t survive the walk back! Baby, c'mon, wait up!” 

Oikawa whined as he scrambled to catch up to your retreating form, no longer concerned with the crowd of disgruntled faces he left behind as they watched their object of affection slip away yet again. A small part of you wanted to turn back and stick your tongue out at them in petty victory, but you refrained. The sound of their great king pleading for your attention was satisfactory enough.

You barely made it outside before his long arms wrapped around your front, locking you to his chest as he leaned almost his entire weight on you. You could feel his heart thrumming against your head as he panted. Eventually, he huffed, no doubt pouting as he gently swayed you in his arms. “You’re mean.” 

Keeping your gaze forward, you frowned. “And I have the right to be. You said you’d tell some of those ‘fans’ of yours to chill out—it’s getting way out of hand, Tooru. That one girl practically flashed her damn tits at you, and you gawked like a virgin.” 

He chortled, incredulously, “I did not! She caught me off guard..!” 

“And yet, you rewarded her with a photo instead of calling out her inappropriate behavior. Make it make sense.” 

You attempted to shrug him off only for his hold to tighten, spinning you around to gaze at you with chocolate brown eyes resembling that of a puppy out in the rain—One of the unfair tactics of Tooru Oikawa to get back on your good side. You had full intent of ignoring him, standing your ground…but how could you possibly stay mad at that adorable face? 

Easy. By not looking directly at it. 

“Nuh uh. I don’t think so,” you gently pushed away the setter’s face, earning another whine in protest. “You’re not getting off the hook that easily. I’m really upset with you.” 

“Buh I dinit do anyfing,” he said through smooshed lips. 

“And that’s the problem. You need to set boundaries with them, Tooru. Things’ll only continue to get out of hand the longer you enable it. Next thing you know they’re clawing and biting at your flesh so they can take a piece of you home with them under their nails and in their teeth.”

Oikawa grimaced, leaning back. “Ew. Graphic. They’re fans, baby, not rabid animals. I think you may be exaggerating.”

You cocked a brow. “Am I now? Well. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

—

The team had never seen their captain move so fast in their entire season. This was the first time he’d just straight up avoided his entourage and head straight for the showers after practice, scurrying off like his ass was on fire. Questions would spark around the gym about this drastic shift in behavior.

“What’s his deal?” One player voiced. “Usually he sticks around at least another hour to entertain his cult.”

“Not sure. After our last game, he’s been skittish.” Another replied.

A third jumped in after taking a swig of his water. “Think it’s got something to do with that..thing we saw the other night?”

The small group thought back to when all of their phones went off at the same time, social medias in a frenzy about their very own star player. At first glance, they figured it was just highlights of their game, specifically highlighting Oikawa. But, upon further inspection…it was something else entirely.

'Tooru Oikawa. 6’3ft King of the Court, and also our hearts. Being notoriously known as the campus pretty boy, loved by many and envied by the rest, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to consider him the blueprint—The default setting of everyone’s wet dream. He’s a tall, talented, smooth-talker with playful eyes and a panty-dropping smile, a textbook definition of  ‘Prince Charming’. Everybody and they mama, daddy, even bald-headed granny would kill to jump this man’s bones. Many would see him as the romantic type, but there’s something more…unhinged hidden beneath the pretty-boy persona. After much debate, our beloved setter is to be dubbed a whole SWITCH, no nintendo. At first he’ll play the dominant role, but edge him long enough and you’ll bring the Great King to his knees, quivering, drooling, you name it. He’s shameless. 9.5/10 - half a point deducted for his inferiority/superiority complex. Get some therapy, babe. ♡’

They didn’t think much of it at the time, when it came to their attention whore of a captain, it wasn’t completely unexpected, especially if his groupies had anything to do with it. The players looked at one another, then back at the gaggle of hormones waiting for the brunette in question by the doors. It was unanimous.

“Yep.” “Uh-huh.”

The third player snorts. “‘bout time it sucked to be him for once.”

When Oikawa eventually exited the locker room, he did everything in his power to appear small, tip-toeing across the floor with his head down and shoulders hunched in crouching tiger-like fashion. He would’ve gotten away scott-free…if not for his petty teammates.

“See ya tomorrow, captain!”

It bounced off the gym walls, the setter grimacing as his devoted followers instantly looked in his direction, predatory gazes stunning him like a deer caught in headlights. Oikawa shot the players a nasty glare over his shoulder, flipping them off and continuing for the exit. He attempted to stiff-arm his way through the hoard, ducking and dodging their grabby hands and shutting down their…bolder advances.

“Tooru-chan!~ Let me show you what I’m capable of, I’ll have you begging in no time, just say the word!~”

“Unhinged men are so my type—Step on me, spit on me, call me names until I cry, I want it all!~”

“I bet it’s bubblegum pink, right? Does it curve to the left or right?”

Oikawa blanched. “Ladies, please, this is ridiculous! You all know I’m in a relationship with-”

“They don’t have to know.”

One had tried reaching out to touch him, but was quickly thwarted when the setter grabbed her wrist. Not tight enough to hurt, but enough to get the message across—Too far. Everyone came to a hush at the sudden display, cowering slightly at the intensity that pooled in his eyes, dark and cold as he fixed the whole group with a stern expression. You were right (obviously). Things escalated the second they were given an inch, with complete disregard to his boundaries and what you meant to him.

These weren’t fans. Not real ones, at least.

Oikawa deeply exhaled through his nose, calming himself down to keep from saying something he’d regret. Releasing the girl’s wrist, the setter gently moved her out of his personal space, resadjusting his bag and sporting a rather disinterested expression.

“It appears you all have misunderstood your place. I’ll forgive that disgusting comment only once. But, if this obscene, rude, and down right shameful behavior continues, I’ll have no choice but to inform the coach of your harassment and have you banned from future practices and games. Do I make myself clear?”

When you arrived to pick up Oikawa per usual, you were surprised to see that he was already waiting for you, not a single group ie in sight.

Skeptical, you looked around as you approached him, thinking those buzzards were still in listening distance, just waiting to pounce. But, when all you’re welcomed with was a big hug and kiss, you relaxed. Oikawa pulled back and gave you a sheepish smile. He explained everything that had happened, rubbing his the back of his neck in embarrassment. When he finished, he looked down at you with those same puppy eyes he gave you the other day.

“Please don’t say I told you so?”

You cooed, reaching up to fiddle with his hair at his nape. He leaned into your touch, content. Until you said, “I told you so.”

He frowned. “You’re MEAN.”

Once IWAIZUMI learned it involved Oikawa in any way, that’s all he needed to know to have no interest in the list. Sort of like Sakusa, if the topic gets brought up, he finds himself tuning out. The last thing he needed was to get dragged into whatever mess his dumbass best friend got himself involved with. But, unfortunately for him, one doesn’t simply choose to be on the list…the list chooses you.

And one afternoon, the former ace was the unlucky winner.

‘Hajime Iwaizumi. 5’10ft hunk made of pure Husband Material. We’re talking the man who’ll open doors for you, pull out chairs, hold your bags without fuss, give you massages, cook you hearty meals, the whole nine yards. With that information in mind, you can’t tell me he’s not an absolute DOG in the bedroom. I’m talking about a man who’ll bully your insides, manhandle you and call you his “favorite cocksleave” or his “pretty little whore”. He’s the type to say the nastiest shit in your ear and tease you for the cute reactions you’d give him before shoving his tongue down your throat, while his dick kisses your appendix. Definitely a Hard Dom who only rewards good behavior, so if you plan to be a brat to this man—Good luck. But, as soon as he’s fucked that attitude outta you he’s back to being such a sweetheart! So so so attentive, so devoted, and will do anything for you. He’s God’s favorite. 1000000/10.’

“Oh? .. Hey, babe.” You said, curiously. Iwa grunted in response. “You know that list thingy Oikawa-?”

“Nope.” He easily answered, eyes focused ahead and he continued bench pressing the heavy bar.

You slap his chest. “You didn’t even let me finish!” He responded with a playful smirk, making you lightly slap him again.

Straddling his lap while he pumped iron was routine. It consisted of him doing what he does and you keeping him company, soaking up his presence until you inevitably left for your next lecture. Sometimes you kept count for him, other times you’d happily just be a distraction; today you did both.

“Haji,” you whined, wiggling a little. He ignored you on purpose, stubbornly refusing to indulge the topic. But that didn’t deter you from pestering him. “Ha-ji-me!”

“Ba-by-doll,” he echoed, grunting shortly after when he placed the heavy weight back on the rack, finished with the set. Panting, he sat up and readjusted you in his lap, hands resting on your thighs as he finally looked at you, amused at your scowl. “I don’t get why you’re so interested in that shitty list.”

“I’m not…until now.”

“Why?”

Turning your phone screen to show him the updated post, Iwa’s eyes scanned it before his brows furrowed in confusion, then tightened with irritation, jaw clenched and annoyance clear on his face. He let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes to unsee it and merely laying back down on the bench. “Block them.”

You gaped. “What? No way!”

“It’s nothing but perverts with too much time on their hands,” he grunted, lifting up the bar and beginning his set. “It’ll rot your brain. Or what’s left of it, anyways.”

With a dramatic gasp, you retorted with, “Jerk. I’ll retweet and tell them you also love sucking on toes, how ‘bout that?”

Iwa paused mid-push. He eyed you from his laying position, voice dangerously low as he said, “Try it and I’ll bench press you next.”

“Hm.”

Through squinted eyes, MATTSUN briefly scanned the bright screen of Maki’s phone displaying the updated post that started circulating around their group for the past few minutes. Without much reaction, one would think he was too buzzed to be able to even comprehend it.

But he understood all too well.

‘Issei Matsukawa. 6’2ft lazy ass with a third leg. Doesn’t matter if he looks like he uses 5-and-1 body wash, he smells DELECTABLE. And don’t get me started on the gray, low-hanging joggers he usually wears around campus—He needs to be arrested walking around with a concealed weapon in those sweats—sir, put it in me AWAY. The literal embodiment of “If it slaps his thigh when he walk, I’ll listen when he talk.” The ultimate brat-tamer tbh. You can’t get under his skin, he’s so nonchalant and laid back, your attitude would just be foreplay for him (HIS FREAKY ASS). And if you think he’s already big on soft??? Bitch. Gon head and call outta work for tomorrow. 50/10.’

“Uh..congrats?” Kindaichi gave an awkward thumbs up.

Maki snickered, tongue in cheek. “Yeah, man, how’s it feel being ‘dick of the week’? They’re even givin’ it nicknames ‘nd shit.” He scrolled further into the depths of debauchery. Peering from over his shoulder to see for himself, Kunimi‘s face scrunched in mild disgust.

“Someone called it ‘The Door-Knocker’? Fucking cringe.”

“Fucking retweet.” The strawberry blonde hummed in approval. “Oo, I like this one—‘The Punisher’. That’s badass.”

Yahaba snickered only to then start choking on his drink, snatching Kyotani by the front of his shirt for support as he hacked for air. The wing-spiker merely glared, winding his hand back to beat the shit out of his back. “Ack! Kyo—fuc-! BRO STOP.”

“I’m helping.”

“You’re killing me!”

“Same thing,” he grunted.

Mattsun snorted, taking another swig of beer. After skimming through the thread, he lowly drawled out, “Cool, I guess. No big deal.”

He didn’t know much about the list, only that if you ended up on it you were pretty much an ace in the game of dick-slanging. But, he didn’t need some thirsty randoms on the internet telling him that he fucks. He had you to attest to all that, and your opinion was the only one that truly mattered. Not that either of you would kiss and tell.

His friends, on the other hand, felt otherwise. As far as they were concerned, Mattsun was a single man. And right now, he was shitting on a blessing sent from the gods. Maki halted his sip to eye his best friend, beer can lowering suspiciously. “No big deal?”

Mattsun shrugged. “t’s what I said.”

Yahaba finally caught his breath, chiming in with a winded, “Yeah right…you’re probably itching to check your DMs. Tell me ‘m wrong.”

“Ok. You’re wrong,” he replied, chugging the remainder of his beer can before crushing it. Yahaba went to argue, but Mattsun cut him off by speaking through a burp. “Don’t got the energy…to entertain someone who just wants my dick.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘Door-knocker’?” Kunimi teased.

“I thought it was ‘The Punisher’..?” Watari asked, uncertain.

“I saw ‘Horse Cock’ on there.” Kindaichi grimaced.

Mattsun shook his head. “Whatever. Point is, ‘m not interested in racking up my body count anytime soon, so those DMs will just go unanswered. Hell, maybe even deleted.”

“Bullshit,” Maki challenged. He points an accusing finger. “There’s another reason. It’s ‘cause you’re already screwing around with someone, aren’t ya?”

A silence fell upon the group, all eyes instantly honing in on the taller male with metaphorical ears raised high in scandalized curiosity, some (read: Kindaichi and Yahaba) more obvious about it than others. Mattsun merely gave a halfhearted shrug, neither denying nor confirming the information. “Aha! See, see, look at ‘em, dodging the question! He’s so cuffed.”

“No shot,” Yahaba deadpanned, “mister ‘Noncommittal’ himself?”

Mattsun glared. “Oi. I commit to stuff.”

“He’s gettin’ defensive.” Kunimi pointed out with a wry grin.

“Must be true, then.” Kyotani nodded, mischievous glint in his eye.

The others hummed in agreement, theorizing about his type in partners and how there could be a potential special someone in their senior’s life, while the bastard behind it all watched smugly on the couch, sipping his drink like a gossiping old biddy. Mattsun squinted in annoyance at his best friend. “Et tu, dumbass?”

Maki raised his hands, “Hey, don’t get mad at me. You basically told on yourself. No guy in their right mind would ever pass up on that many opportunities unless he’s A) Stupid, B) Aro/Ace, or C) Spoken for. Now, my vote’s between A and C, but feel free to update me on your sexual orientation.”

Mattsun flipped him off, sporting a sarcastic expression.

His phone then began to vibrate on the table. As quickly as they looked at the former middle blocker, everyone’s gaze shot toward the offending device, then back on him; expectantly. Despite his calm exterior the brunette felt his heart-rate spike, brow twitching at the childish looks and jeers he started getting, borderline peer-pressuring him to pick it up.

After a few seconds of continuous ringing, Kunimi huffed in mild annoyance for him to, “Answer it, already.”

Maki added fuel to fire by saying, “Unless you want one of us to answer for you-” Mattsun snatched the phone off the table.

With the grace of a gorilla, he stood from the couch and quickly shuffled to the corner of the room. Answering it, he cleared his throat, face flushing at the chorus of snickers coming from behind him as he greeted you with a simple, but elated, “Hey.”

“Hey, ‘sei!”

“Hey,” he said again, breathing out a small chuckle. “Can’t sleep?”

You responded with your own chuckle. “Yeah, actually. I was wondering if you’d wanna maybe…ride around with me? I’m thinking McDonald’s. Oo! Or that wing place by campus, y’know, the one with the teriyaki flavor you liked? I think they don’t close until, like, 2am. Or…was it 1am?”

Mattsun snorted at your rambles, leaning against the wall as he let you continue. Unbeknownst to him, the guys were practically stacked on top of each other, stretching their ears to hear your voice. From what they could pick up, you sounded so upbeat, animated as you spoke. They watched in awe as their senior barely spoke but was engaged in whatever you were saying, nodding along and humming to let you know he was still listening. If he wasn’t faced the other way, they were certain they’d see a smitten expression on his face.

“Mhm.. mhm. Yeah, ‘m sure that squirrel really appreciated you sharing your almonds, baby.”

“BABY???” The group exclaimed.

The brunette jumped slightly, completely forgetting where he was for a moment there. He briefly looked over his shoulder before turning back towards the wall with a groan—Every single one of those bastards were either grinning or gaping in shock. Mattsun cursed under his breath. You made a noise of confusion.

“Are you with the guys? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt! We can totally chill another night if you-”

“Nah, was just about to leave. Think I’ve entertained these assholes long enough.” He grumbled, walking over to grab his jacket, but not before thumping Maki on the head; the latter hissed through his teeth in pain as he held the throbbing spot. “Rather be with you anyways. I’ll send the address, lemme know when you’re outside.”

“O-Oh, okay then!” You giggled, flattered. “I’ll see you soon. Love you!”

He turned back to look at the group, smug as they still watched him with disbelief painted on their faces as Mr. Non-committal was ditching them to hang with his commitment. Like he tried to tell them before, he didn’t need some thirsty randoms on the internet. He had you, and that’s more than enough.

“Love you too, [_____].” Then, he walks out. Leaving the room in even more chaos compared to when he first answered the phone, immediately on his ass as the scrambled after him for answers.

“[______]?????”

Who would’ve guessed their sweet, beloved volleyball manager from high school was the one getting visits from “The Punisher”.

Within his inner circle, MAKI is usually overlooked. He’s not popular like Oikawa, nor jacked like Iwa, and he’s doesn’t have the whole ‘sexy aloof’ vibe like Mattsun. He’s just…tall. And funny—The ‘Pete Davidson’ of the group. At least, that’s what your friends called him. Somehow, once again during your outing with them at the mall the topic of your relationship became the focal point of the conversation, stretching their brains for why you were so enamored with a guy like him.

“He gotta be packin’. Like, I’m talking anaconda.”

“Type shit. Y’know what they say about them tall and skinny ones.”

You rolled your eyes, wry smirk spreading across your face as you busied yourself sifting through a clothes rack. The conspiratorial discussion had been going on for the past ten minutes, throwing anything and everything at the wall until something stuck—Meaning, waiting for you to confirm. “[_____]. Be honest. It’s ‘cause of his dick, right?”

A lady standing on the other side of the rack gasped in shock, face twisting up in revulsion as she clutched her purse before stomping away, scandalized. You snorted, peeking over your shoulder to raise an eyebrow at them while they struggled to suppress their childish merriment at the poor woman’s embarrassment.

“Quit it before they kick us out.” You attempted to sound stern, but there was no hiding your own amusement. One friend playfully nudged you while the other began to snicker. “And no, it’s not because of that. It’s a bonus, though.”

The first gasped, then exclaimed, “So it is big!”

“’m not finna start with you,” you replied looking back at the clothes, pretending not to know them as nearby customers gave the side-eye. Neither one paid any mind as they continued to gossip. “We have this conversation every time we go out. Give it a rest.”

“Not until you tell us what you see in him.”

“I mean, I get it, but then I look at his friends and…” she hissed through her teeth, shaking her head. “I’m just saying. You fumbled.”

“I’m not taking that from someone who slept with a door dasher just because they got the restaurant to put extra sauce in your bag.”

The guilty party gaped, “It wasn’t included in their instructions, they were a real one for that!”

“Still don’t know why you did it,” the other friend sighed. “The food was cold, and I’m certain they took some of my fries.”

“Shut up, we’re not talking about my poor life choices, we’re talking about [_____]’s.”

“Fuck you,” you laughed. “You two need to get off my man. You haven’t even properly met him yet. He’s a sweetheart, he treats me like royalty, and I don’t care what y’all say, that man is fine.”

“Please. You’re just dickmatized.”

“Enough about his dick already!”

Your outburst drew the attention of a nearby employee; the store manager. Even though she wore a professional smile, you could see death in her eyes. With a nervous smile, you gave an apologetic wave before quickly grabbing your friends by their arms and escorting yourselves out before you got banned. Your closet was getting full, anyways.

“Look…I know the guys I’ve dated in the past were…questionable. But, I really like this one. And I swear the pictures I showed you don’t do him justice, his goofy ass just never sits still.”

They looked skeptical, having heard that one before. You huffed.

“Alright. How about I invite him over tonight? That way you have a chance to get to know him better. And if you’re still iffy, then…then you’ll have to get over it because you love me dearly and want me to be happy and just because you don’t think he’s attractive doesn’t mean I don’t, he is very gorgeous to me-!”

“[_____], honey, breathe.”

You stopped to inhale, then concluded with a small, “Please?”

They exchanged another look of skepticism, until the second added one condition. “He better not show up empty-handed.”

—

When the doorbell rang, the mood instantly shifted in the room, your friends going silent and gazes sharp as they looked at your door. Unbeknownst to all of you, on the other side of the door, Maki shivered, confused where that sudden chill came from. You gave them an eager, though strained, smile before scampering over to greet your awaiting guest. Upon opening the door, your smile slowly dropped at the sight of Maki sipping out of a large styrofoam cup with the words 'Big Gulp' written on it, dressed casually in sweats and a beanie, appearing very empty-handed.

After he swallowed, he gave a drawled, "Yo."

Your eye twitched. "Takehiro." He hummed, taking another sip of his drink. "Remember that important thing we discussed over the phone? Literally the only thing I asked you not to be when you got here?"

He thought about it, taking note of the daggers you were shooting at his cup. Maki made a noise of realization. "Oh, right. I bought snacks too, buuut I accidentally ate ‘em all on the way. My bad. But, look," he shook the cup, "technically still not empty-handed."

A small part of you wanted to be mad, frustrated at the least...but there was no hiding the giggle you rewarded him with, of which turned into more giggles. With sigh, you stepped forward to wrap your arms around his middle in a hug. "You’re so dumb."

"Missed you, too." He playfully rolled his eyes, returning the hug and craning his neck to kiss your forehead. The two of you stood there for a moment, just basking in each other's warmth. But, the moment was short-lived when he gave a long, exaggerated exhale through his nose before murmuring, "Ready?"

"...No." You groaned.

"Damn, do they bite or something?"

"No, they’re just...unfiltered. I love them, don't get me wrong, but they can work on your nerves to an olympic degree. You'll see once we get inside...They're gonna ask about your dick, by the way. Just ignore it."

Maki snorted, bewildered. "I'll try my best."

"Also...try not to mention that...other thing."

"What other thing?"

"You know," you raised your brows, looking over your shoulder in case they were eavesdropping before softly continuing, "that post."

It took a second, but he eventually caught on to what you meant.

‘Takehiro Hanamaki. 6’0ft shameless manslut (affectionately) who’s taken the campus by storm with his rather...interesting side hobby that pretty much has every student reaching for their wallets and switching to incognito mode on their browsers. Who would’ve guessed that lanky, low-eyed beanpole had the talent to film such erotic content and put a whole industry to shame with just his smartphone and a couple LED lights? After getting past the paywall and binging his videos (for research) it’s safe to say this man is very much a power bottom, maybe even a top depending on his mood, with a fowl mouth that’s not afraid to moan like a porn star. Best $200 I’ve ever spent (FOR RESEARCH). Highly recommend if you’re interested in having the best guided orgasm of your life—Link is in the thread! Get that bag, king. 10/10.’

A shit-eating grin stretched across his face instantly. He bounced his eyebrows, leaning down to teasingly say, "Ohh. That post. What? Don't want 'em to know how I make my living? Or, you scared they'll find out you're my number one supporter, always touching themselves just behind the camera-"

"Hiro!" You hissed, face set ablaze as you looked over your shoulder again, anxious. He found your reaction cute, using the straw in his cup to poke your cheek. You huffed at him. "I don't want them to pry. I doubt they've seen it since they go to a different uni, and I'd like to keep it that way. Okay?"

He easily shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

You exhaled, relieved. “Thank you.” You turned to head back inside, knowing your friends were just itching to bombard Maki, however you were stopped when he grabbed your arm.

“But.”

“…But?”

“I’ll let the dick-related questions slide and keep my side hustle under wraps, but you have to do something for me in exchange for my good behavior.”

You tilted your head, nervous. “Like what?”

His grinned mischievously, eyes half-mast as he used his free hand to hold your jaw, making you gasp softly when he tilted your head back. “Instead of being behind the camera in my next video…my number one supporter has to be the star.”

You rapidly blinked, heat traveling throughout your body once you registered his words. Fumbling over your own, you didn’t have time to protest when the door behind you opens wide, revealing your impatient friends. Maki let go of your jaw and settled for wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he waved at them with the hand that still had the large cup in it.

“‘sup.” He flashed them a sly grin. Maki took in their shocked faces, hoping they were a good sign as he introduced himself. “[_____]’s told me a lot about you guys. Hope you didn’t mind me crashing your get together.”

They absolutely did not mind.

You weren’t lying—Those pictures you showed did him dirty. Nothing could’ve prepared them for the uno reverse that was Takehiro Hanamaki. From his lax posture and cozy demeanor, sleepers build and cute smile, it’s no wonder you were drawn to him. Plus he’s funny with a big dick (allegedly)?????

After you composed yourself, still reeling from your conversation earlier, you eventually mustered up a triumphant smile at your friends as they gaped up at Maki, speechless. “So? You guys still think I fumbled?”

© 2023-2024 anisespice ッ all rights reserved. likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

[queer-obsession]

“ the fuck-it list ” || hq!

two || three || four

synopsis: there’s a list going around consisting of hot guys on campus that are deemed “fuckable” with theories as to what they’d be like in bed. it’s all fun and games until somehow your boyfriend ends up on this list. 

pairing: various x gn!reader [ kags, akaashi, atsumu, kenma ]

warnings: cursing, suggestive language, mild objectification, mentions of cheating, cringe descriptions that aren’t 100% accurate lol 

notes: based this off how my friend and i speculate about how the men in hq would be like in bed sooo it’s really just a little jokey joke, so have fun with her :] thinking of making more parts of this with other characters, lemme know what you guys think, and hope you enjoy!! 

To be completely honest, KAGEYAMA wouldn’t know much about the list aside from maybe surface level stuff. He knew it was full of nonsensical speculations, nothing but weird projections put onto strangers by other strangers who found them attractive. It creeped him out a little, so that’s as far as he wished to know. 

Plus, he had no reason to care about some dumb list—He had you. 

“Have you seen this bullshit?!”  Well, speak of the devil. 

All the training in the world couldn’t have prepared his reflexes for the amount of whiplash you put him through in the span of ten seconds. There he was, minding his business in his dorm room, chilling with a volleyball, then BAM; he’s getting bum-rushed by his 5-foot-something significant other with smoke coming through their ears.

Good thing you had a key because the setter was certain you would’ve smashed right through his door by sheer force. 

“Huh??” Frankly, you startled the poor man. The ball that was in the middle of being set toward the ceiling came barreling down on his face, causing him more disorientation. “See—ouch. See what?” 

You stood there next to his bed, one hand on your hip while the other practically shoved your phone in his face. He squinted at the harsh light, but eventually his eyes adjusted enough to read the post. His lips formed a confused pout. “That stupid, horny hit-list? What about it?” 

“What about it? Some bitch put you on there! Just listen to this garbage, ‘Tobio Kageyama. 6’2ft stoic, and mean Dom who’s pretty damn good with his hands. It’s obvious how much of a perfectionist he is, so be ready for some killer overstimulation. Probably won’t make any noise, and doesn’t know much about aftercare. Overall score: 6/10’. Are they deadass right now?” 

Ah. Now he gets it. 

He figured it was only a matter of time, homie was very much aware of his status around campus, not to mention being a looker to top it off. However, he figured being in a relationship would lessen his chances of him ending up on it, especially since you weren’t a secret or anything. Guess that list really had no morality after all. Who’d have thought? 

Keep reading

[queer-obsession]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 25) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

Chapter 25

Your phone is ringing from a number you don’t recognize, and you wouldn’t pick it up at all if it hadn’t already rung four times. Either this is one persistent telemarketer, or your mom’s changed her phone number again and you just haven’t noticed. You step out of the high command meeting with an apology and raise it to your ear. “Hello?”

“This number is listed as the emergency contact for a patient who was just admitted to Yokohama General,” the person on the other end of the line says, and your blood turns to ice. “Am I speaking with —“

She says your name, and you nod, your mind spinning. Yoshimi? Why would Yoshimi list you as her contact? She was in remission. What happened? Why — “Miss,” the nurse on the other end of the line says, “I need you to confirm your name.”

You confirm it. “Thank you,” the nurse says. “The patient’s name is Kiyohara Kazuo. His advance directive —“

“His what?”

“His advance directive requires that I share a message with you,” the nurse continues. “The message is this: SAVE YOURSELF, all caps.”

Save yourself? “That doesn’t make any sense,” you say. “What happened? How is he?”

“That’s protected health information. I — ah, it appears he’s signed a consent to release information,” the nurse says. You need to sit down. Your head is spinning worse than before. “Kazuo collapsed at his workplace with a grand mal seizure, believed to have been brought on by overuse of his quirk. Stress may have also been a factor — eyewitnesses state that he was in a contentious discussion with his supervisor at the time.”

Kazuo wouldn’t have used his quirk by accident. He knows where his limit is. Did he push himself past it on purpose? Why? Your eyes are burning beneath your veil. “Do you know what they were fighting about?”

“I wasn’t there,” the nurse says, like you’re stupid. You swallow hard around the lump in your throat. “If my boss could read my mind like his apparently can, I might have a breakdown, too.”

Kazuo’s boss can read minds. Kazuo overloaded his quirk on purpose. Kazuo set you up as his emergency contact and set an advance directive ordering that a specific message be given to you. You ask the nurse for his room number, ask about visiting hours, and all the while you try to figure out what he was thinking. There was something in Kazuo’s mind he didn’t want his boss to see. Flooding his mind with information would have obscured it. And then there’s the message to you, which he prepared ahead of time. Which he must have planned for. Kazuo’s always told you that you can’t save he and Tenko both, or you and he both, or something. But this time he was brutally direct. Save yourself. From what?

Foreboding crashes down on you. You launch to your feet, lose your balance, knock against the wall, and stumble back into the meeting in the middle of some soliloquy from Geten about convincing the average citizen to rise up and join the cause. Re-Destro spots you first. “Saintess?”

“Something’s going to happen,” you say. “My contact at the HPSC — he just —“

“False alarm,” Hawks says at once. Spinner and Skeptic sit bolt upright in their chairs. “I’ve got contacts there, too. None of them have said anything. If your guy’s some mid-level guy —“

“He’s not mid-level!”

“Sure, sure. I’m just saying, I talk to the top brass,” Hawks says. “They’re building up to something, yeah, but they aren’t anywhere close to being ready to move. And when they are, we’ll have plenty of warning.”

“This is the warning,” you say. You see Dabi ignoring you, Re-Destro dismissing you, Geten and Twice and even Compress leaning to Hawks’s side of the story. But that doesn’t matter. There’s only one person you need to convince. “Tomura —“

He never met Kazuo. You know that even the idea of Kazuo bugs him a little bit — it’s a reminder that there was someone before him, someone you loved, even if you never loved them like this. But he trusts you, and when he meets your eyes, you know you’ve won. “Your contacts could have found you out,” he says to Hawks, whose jaw drops. “Better safe than sorry. Activate everybody. We’re starting now.”

You still dislike Re-Destro on principle, but you’ll say this for him — when Tomura gives the order, he snaps to it, and Geten follows suit. Skeptic was already in motion before Tomura spoke, and Spinner catches you by the arm and pulls you out of the room, dragging you down the hall. You’ve gone over plans for the start of the war multiple times, and at no point do they involve Spinner kidnapping you. You speak up as soon as you’ve got your feet under you. “What are you doing?”

“Getting you out of here.”

“Why?” If there’s going to be a fight, you have to stay close to Tomura. You try to wrench your arm out of Spinner’s grip, but he’s holding on too tightly. “Let go. I have to —“

“Hawks just got made. He knows you’re important. Shigaraki’s not leaving you anywhere Hawks can reach.” Spinner’s expression is grim. “Twice is going to make a clone of you. It’ll do the same thing as you, but nothing bad will happen if he kills it.”

Except that Tomura will have to watch you die. “And what am I supposed to do while this is going on? Watch helplessly from the sidelines?”

“No,” Spinner says. “Do what you did during the Deika thing. It’ll work better if no one knows you’re doing it.”

He’s right. You’ve kept the existence of the deleter rounds fairly quiet — after you and Spinner agreed that Hawks was the spy, you started dropping hints about how the production was harder than expected, and the compound didn’t work as well as Overhaul’s. In actuality, you’ve got dozens of bullets, a specially modified gun to fire them from, and a lot of practice while Tomura was in stasis. Next to Tomura, you’re a target, and your ability to do anything other than reinforce Super-Regeneration is limited. At a small distance from him, hidden, you can do a lot.

You stop fighting Spinner, and he breathes a sigh of relief. “Go get your gear. Stay out of sight. And don’t worry about him. We’ve got his back.”

You believe that, now. You didn’t before, but now you see it — the League wants Tomura to survive, too. No matter how else they feel about the new world, they want him in it. You nod, and Spinner lets go of your arm, leaving you to run back to the room you and Tomura share. Everything you need is hidden under the bed, and as you put it on, it occurs to you suddenly that Hawks doesn’t know what you look like. How likely is it that any of the heroes know? Right now, the biggest identifying feature you have is your costume. If you take it off —

When you step back out of the room, joining the flood of PLF members headed to their battle stations, you’re dressed in civilian clothes, and no one pays any attention to you. Word is spreading that Hawks is a traitor, that heroes are headed here right now, and while you’d expect the members of the PLF to be frightened, they aren’t. Some of them are angry with Hawks, angry with themselves for being taken in. But even the ones who are angry seem excited, too. They believe they can win. And with the advance warning Kazuo’s given you, combined with Tomura’s near-omnipotence, you think they might be right.

You don’t have an assigned battle station — everyone assumed you’d be with Tomura — so you go looking for the intelligence center instead. Skeptic has cameras everywhere. He’ll be able to see exactly who’s come to fight, and you’ll be able to see exactly who you need to hit in order to turn the tide of the battle in the League’s favor. When you get there, Skeptic’s not alone — Dabi’s there, too, in the worst mood you’ve ever seen him in. They’re arguing about something you couldn’t care less about. You wedge yourself past them to look at the screens, and your stomach drops.

There are so many heroes. You’ve never seen that many in your life, all at once, all converging on the PLF headquarters. You know Kazuo gave you all the warning he could, but you’re suddenly convinced that it wasn’t enough. This looks like every hero in Japan, from the top ten to people you’ve never seen, from heroes who have been around forever to students. A slow twist of anger works its way through you as you notice kid after kid from Toga’s YouTube playlist running across the screens. What the hell are the heroes doing bringing kids to fight a war?

Ultimately you know who you want to hit, but you don’t have nearly enough bullets for every hero. And you’re not exactly a hero expert. You turn away from the screens and step right into the middle of Dabi’s argument with Skeptic. “I have quirk-canceling bullets that actually work. Who should I hit?”

“Endeavor,” Skeptic says at once.

“No,” Dabi snarls, and you flinch. “Not him, and not the little brat he bred to replace him. They’re mine.”

Skeptic argues, but you talk over him. “I don’t care who deals with them as long as someone takes them out,” you say. “Who else?”

“The only way Shigaraki loses this is if his quirks stop working,” Dabi says. “That fucking traitor will have told them what he has, so they’ll have brought Eraserhead. Get him and the heroes are screwed.”

“And how did the traitor know what the Grand Commander has?” Skeptic hisses. Dabi snarls. “You told him. This is your fault.”

“Twice was friendly with him!”

“Not half as friendly as you!”

Maybe this is what they were fighting about when you came in. It doesn’t matter. You need to find Eraserhead and take him out of the fight, and you won’t need to kill him to do it. All it will take is one shot. The building rumbles around you, but you don’t flinch — it’s just Gigantomachia, waking up, just like Tomura’s plan calls for him to do. You keep watching the screens, looking for Eraserhead, and you find him fast. He’s not hard to miss, not when he’s running alongside the numbers one, five, six, and ten heroes, plus three or four others.

That concentration of firepower can only be aimed at one person. They’re headed for Tomura, and with Eraserhead there to cancel Tomura’s quirks, his ability to fight back will be limited. The only way to stop it is to make sure to cancel his first. You slip out of the room while Dabi and Skeptic are still fighting and head for the front lines.

Most of the fighting is happening outside the building. Tomura’s game plan called for keeping the enemy forces from breaching the building, although you’re not sure why, given that Gigantomachia destroyed part of it already with his emergence. The ground is shaking with his steps, and there’s already one hero struggling to hold him back. As you watch through a shattered window, you see a shadow lift from the ground, wings extended. You’re not a hero expert, but you’re pretty sure that’s the number ten hero, Ryukyu. That’s one less person against Tomura. One less person shielding Eraserhead.

You can’t see Toga or Twice — or Compress, now that you think about it. If you had to put a bet on where Spinner is, you’d say he’s by Tomura. Which is where you should be. You can’t see the clone Twice supposedly made of you, but you’re sure it’s around somewhere. Not dead yet. If it were dead, you’d know. Not because you’d feel it, but because you know what Tomura would do.

You’re not on anybody’s list of important targets, which means you go largely unnoticed as you duck and weave through the fight. Without your veil, not even the members of the PLF can recognize you, and you keep your gun close to your side, out of sight. At one point, though, you make eye contact with a familiar face — bright-eyed, dressed in pink, a pink-shaded visor down over her face. Uraraka Ochako, hero name: Uravity. You duck out of her eyeline, your heart hammering. She won’t remember you. Even if she does recognize your face, she won’t know where she remembers you from, and she definitely won’t link you to the League of Villains. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.

Except it’s not her you should have been worrying about. There’s somebody else staring down at you — a kid, too young to be a pro hero, must be a student. “Hey,” he says, frowning. His voice sounds strangely familiar. “Are you okay? You look —“

He doesn’t see you as a combatant, or any kind of threat. You can’t count on that to last. You bring the gun up from your side, flip the safety off, and drill a quirk-canceling bullet into his shoulder.

The student staggers, frowning — but he’s clearly confused, particularly when the bullet falls away, spent, the needle exposed. “What was that?” he asks, as you get back to your feet – and finally, you realize who you’re looking at.

It’s your brother. One of the twins. Shinji, you think. A student at Ketsubutsu Academy, called up to fight a war. And now he’s quirkless. You should feel something. He’s your brother. But all you can think of is the number of times he practiced using his quirk on you. Shinji’s frown deepens. “What did you do to me?”

You need to get away from him before he figures it out — and before he can let anyone else know. He’s got an earpiece in one ear. You snatch it out of his ear and run, jamming it into yours instead. He’s pretty obviously dressed as a hero. If he runs into anyone from the PLF, they’ll fight him, and he’ll have to fight them without his quirk. Shinji’s not going to be able to follow you. And without his earpiece, he can’t call for help, either.

The channel the earpiece is tuned to is a mess. There are directives coming in from somewhere, but they’re drowned out almost entirely by the heroes trying to coordinate, trying to counterattack, trying to adjust to the fact that the PLF, who was supposed to be caught unawares, seems to have been ready for them. You recognize Endeavor’s voice from TV broadcasts, and you know he’s pursuing Tomura, so you try to listen for him specifically as you pick your way around the edges of the fight. You promised Dabi you wouldn’t go after him, but if it comes down to destroying his quirk or letting him hurt Tomura, you know what you’ll choose.

You’re not a strategist, but as you draw closer to the battle, you try to think like one. Eraserhead’s quirk is like yours — it affects somebody else rather than doing anything for him. It would make the most sense for him to stay out of sight, like you’re doing, in a hiding spot where he can see Tomura but Tomura can’t see him. It occurs to you how likely it is that Eraserhead is doing the exact same thing you’re doing, a split second before you make your way around a piece of rubble and find Eraserhead crouched behind it, peering up and over at the fight between Tomura and the heroes.

For a moment you’re frozen, but you shake it off fast. The range here isn’t as close as it was with the student you shot, but it’s still well within your abilities, and all you need to do is tag him. You feel an odd squeamishness about shooting someone who isn’t hurting you, who doesn’t even know you’re there. Then you think about it. Eraserhead wants to hurt Tomura. Eraserhead’s also a hypocrite — calling himself a hero, defending his psychopathic student while disallowing any possibility that villains could be anything but irredeemably evil. He deserves what you’re about to do, as much as anyone can be said to deserve it. You raise your gun and aim for his torso.

“Hey!” Something skids into your field of vision, blocking Eraserhead completely. It’s the student the League abducted, the one who acts like a villain, as if you’ve summoned him just by thinking about him. He has his arm pulled back, sparks flying around his hand. If you don’t do something soon, you’re going to take an explosion to the face. “I don’t know who the hell you are, extra, but if you think —“

You don’t need to think. You pull the trigger, and the bullet you’d marked out for Eraserhead hits the hero student instead.

His hand drops, like you’ve cut the muscles in his arm instead of canceled his quirk, and you see confusion on his face, just like you saw on the other student you hit. Unlike that student, he reacts fast, raising his other hand, his face screwing up in concentration as he tries to call up a quirk that’s long-gone. With no quirk, he’s not your problem — or so you think. “Sensei, cut it out! I wasn’t going to hurt her —“

That’s an enormous lie, and it’s cute that he thinks Eraserhead is the one doing this. You cycle another round into the chamber and lean out around him, just in time for Eraserhead to look towards his student. The two of you make eye contact. You see his face shift, see that he’s registered something’s off. He’s not watching Tomura any longer. His attention is on you, and his hair falls around his face, and you’re in the act of pulling the trigger when the student tackles you from one side.

Your shot goes wide, and you put an elbow into the student’s face as you fire another. You get lucky with this one. Eraserhead’s coming towards you, hand held out, and the bullet sinks into the palm of his hand.

He must know what it is. That’s the only explanation you can think of for why he reacts the way he does, and how fast he does it. Eraserhead draws a knife from his utility belt, raises it, and amputates his left hand with a single stroke.

Was he fast enough to keep his quirk? You’re not sure. Whether he was or not, he’s toppling sideways, blood pouring from the stump of his hand, and the student lets go of you, racing forward to catch him. “Sensei —“

Nobody’s holding onto you, so you run. As you vanish around a corner, you hear Eraserhead’s voice, tight with pain and anger. “Leave it, Bakugou. Stop her!”

The student’s going to be after you. That’s fine. Unlike him, you know how to fight without a quirk. Your clip is almost empty. You fire the last bullet into the crowd, hitting a hero at random, then load the next one. The thought of circling back around to try to put Eraserhead down for good crosses your mind. Even if you canceled his quirk on the first try, you can’t be too careful. At least, you don’t think you can. You hear the distinctive sound of warp sludge spewing and look to your right, just in time to spot one of the high-end Nomus unfurling its limbs and rising to its feet. It reaches for you, hand closing around your waist, and pulls you in close. “Master’s orders,” it rumble as you fight. “Keep her safe.”

“Let me go,” you order, and it loosens its grip on you — but it doesn’t let you go entirely. Your authority must be subordinate to Tomura’s, somehow. The Nomus will follow your orders only if they don’t contradict Tomura’s. You try desperately to think of a workaround. “He said to keep her safe? He meant Toga. Go get Toga.”

“No,” the Nomu says. “Her.”

It says your name, and you curse yourself. Of course Tomura would have gotten specific. Of course he would had made sure. After what happened in Deika city, you should have guessed that he’d have set up multiple backup plans to keep you away. The Nomu repeats the order again, like you didn’t hear it the first time, this time with your name firmly embedded in it. “Master’s orders.”

“Then come with me,” you say. “I have to go fight. Come with me and keep me safe.”

This time, the workaround has at least some effect. The Nomu loosens its grip completely, but draws close to you, shadowing you completely. It says your name a third time. “Keep safe. Master said —“

“So that’s your real name,” a voice says in your ear, and terror rips down your spine. “I liked Saintess better.”

The Nomu lashes out, but Hawks is too fast. He yanks you away, splitting the Nomu’s head open with a massive, razor-sharp feather. You try to get the gun around to the right angle to shoot him, only for him to grab your wrist and twist it hard enough to shatter it. You yelp in pain, and worse, you drop the gun. Hawks lets your wrist fall, twists the other behind your back, and clamps his free hand over your mouth. “I have to hand it to you and your friend at the HPSC. You two really screwed things up,” he says. You try to bite his fingers, and he curses. A moment later you feel the sharp press of a feather against your throat. “Skeptic got a message out before we jammed communications. PLF cells are activating across the country. How does it feel to be the cause of a civil war?”

“I didn’t cause it.” Your voice is muffled, but you get the words out. “You’re the ones who made it possible.”

“And here I was thinking you could be reasoned with.” Hawks laughs, low and dark. “Tell me something. Did you ever buy it? Me as a member of the PLF?”

You throw an elbow backwards and try to bite him again, and this time, the feather that bites into your throat bites deep enough to draw blood. “Never.”

“Then you should have said something about it yesterday,” Hawks says. “Now it’s too late.”

He lets go of the hand behind your back and wraps it around your waist instead, and suddenly your feet leave the ground. His wings buffet the air, hauling you both upwards. Your backpack falls from your shoulders, and you grab for it desperately, trying to salvage something, anything. Your hand closes around a single clip. Six bullets, no gun, and the Number Two hero holding what amounts to a sword to your throat. This is worse than Overhaul’s attempt to capture you, worse than facing down Re-Destro. Hawks has you, and you can’t get out. What is he going to do with you? Take you up to a height and drop you? Drag you back to the heroes and throw you into Tartarus? Make you disappear entirely, so that no one ever finds you?

No, you realize. Hawks is carrying you towards the battle, not away from it. He wants everyone to find you. Or maybe not everyone. Just one person.

He raises his voice, shouting into the wind. “Hey, Grand Commander! I’ve got something of yours!”

From above, the battlefield is a wasteland. The PLF’s headquarters are mostly in ruins, and the woods and gardens surrounding the compound are scorched black or still in flames. There are bodies on the ground, but from this height, you can’t tell who’s dead or just wounded, who’s a hero or a member of the PLF or a student who should never have been here to begin with. You know where Tomura is, though. You can see Re-Destro in his giant form, the light glinting off of Spinner’s blades, shreds of Dabi’s blue fire clashing with Endeavor’s red flames. You can see that the heroes are in trouble, that Tomura’s quirks are enough to hold them back almost single-handedly. And you can see that Tomura comes to a stop at the sound for Hawks’s voice. Everyone else keeps fighting, but Tomura freezes, and Hawks drops a few feet in altitude. “That’s right. Take a good look. I’ve got her.”

You hear Tomura’s response loud and clear. “You’ve got a clone.”

“I dealt with the clone already,” Hawks calls back. You see someone strike towards Tomura, only to be deflected by Re-Destro. Tomura doesn’t even look. “Twice’s copies are pretty good, but he always leaves one thing out.”

A smaller feather slices through the chain of your necklace, and it drops into Hawks’s hand. He tosses it down towards Tomura, and you see Tomura’s hand flash out to catch it. You can’t see his expression from here. “All right then,” Hawks says. “Now that we’ve established that I’ve got your girlfriend, here’s what’s going to happen.”

“No, this is what will happen.” Tomura kicks off from the ground and launches into the air — Air Walk, one of the quirks you and the doctor transplanted into him. Now he and Hawks are facing each other. “You’re going to give her back, and maybe if you do I’ll kill you myself instead of letting Dabi do it!”

“Come near me and I’ll cut her throat,” Hawks says, and Tomura stops. You see his expression contort in a way that’s unfamiliar, but it smooths out a split second later. “See, we could just beat you into submission — we’ve got numbers — but the problem is the big guy, and that army of yours that’s just started acting up. Not to mention all those Nomus. Killing you isn’t going to put them back in the bottle, so I’m going to need you to tell them to stand down.”

Hawks is smart. Too smart. The part of you that’s not writhing in terror realizes that Hawks has solved a problem that the rest of the heroes haven’t even thought of. If Tomura dies, there’s no one to give Gigantomachia the order to stand down. There’s no one to put the brakes on the PLF, a PLF that will be enraged by the heroes’ attack. If the heroes want this to stop, they need Tomura to stop it himself, and Hawks has pinpointed the one thing that’s always swayed Tomura, ever since this started — threats to people he cares about. He got into it with Overhaul because Magne was killed and brought back, sought out the fight with the Meta Liberation Army to rescue Giran. All that is true. You still don’t think there’s anything that will make Shigaraki Tomura stand down when the stakes are this high.

But he’s never been just Shigaraki Tomura. And ever since you both were children, you’ve never seen Tenko accept losing you even once.

You have to get out of here. You have to get free of Hawks before Tenko’s love for you ruins everything. You thrash, and both Hawks and Tenko snap at you to hold still. Your mind spins uselessly. Hitting Hawks hasn’t worked. You can’t bite him without moving your head, without pressing the feather against your throat. You don’t have a weapon on you. The only thing you have is the clip of quirk-canceling bullets in your hand.

Your right wrist is broken, but your fingers are okay. You switch the clip from your left hand to your right, trying to lock your fingers in place around it, and begin prying it open with your left hand. Hawks is still talking. “If you don’t order them to stand down, then I’ll kill her. It’s pretty straightforward. Do as I say or your girlfriend dies.”

“You’re going to kill an innocent person so you can get an easy win?” Tenko’s voice sounds as strange as the expression that contorts his features a second time. “What kind of hero are you?”

“One life for the whole country? I’m the kind of hero who makes hard choices,” Hawks retorts. “Your girlfriend might be innocent by your standards, but she’s a criminal just like you. I don’t want to do it, but I’d be doing everyone a favor.”

Tenko’s expression contorts again, but you recognize part of it this time — horror. You haven’t seen him look that way since you were children. His hands come up, clamping down on either side of his face, fingernails biting deep. “No —“

“Then this will be a really easy choice. Order them to stand down,” Hawks says. You pry open the clip and the bullets fall into your hand — and then out of it. Out of six in the clip, you’re only able to save one. “I’m going to give you fifteen seconds to comply. Fifteen — fourteen —“

He keeps counting down, and below you, you see a flaming figure break away from the fight. Endeavor. He’ll be here sooner than Hawks’s countdown will end, and Tenko will be trapped. You can’t let that happen to him. You can’t let his dream fall apart because of you. You flick the protective cap on the bullet hard, trying to shatter it and expose the needle, and feel it break away beneath your nail. You break the action down into the simplest possible steps, the same as you did when you were learning stitches or shooting a gun.

Shift your grip. Lean back, away from the feather. Keep looking at Tenko. Don’t look away. Bring your hand to your side. Think about where you’ll hit. Take a deep breath — your last one ever, if this goes wrong — and shout to Tenko, playing the role of his sidekick one more time. “Behind you! Look out!”

Tenko looks. Hawks curses at you, shakes you, and you bring your left hand up, stabbing the bullet into the back of his hand.

Hawks jerks back, but it’s too late. The feather at your throat goes limp and falls away, and a moment later, Hawks’s wings cease to beat. The two of you remain aloft for another second before gravity catches up to you, and then you fall. You’re falling together at first. Then Hawks shoves you away from him, hard. He wants to save himself. Fine. You know it’s too late for both of you already.

Hawk’s shove flipped you from falling facedown to looking up. You have a decent view of Tenko up above you, locked in combat with Endeavor and whichever other heroes can fight in the air. He must be taking damage — you can feel your vision blurring, your heart racing, as your quirk siphons your strength and sends it to him. Maybe that will be what kills you. Maybe you’ll die before you hit the ground.

That’s okay with you. You decided it could end like this, a few months back or forever ago. The thought settles over you as your vision goes black for the last time. You’re a sidekick. No good sidekick would let her hero lose.

<- Chapter 24

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[queer-obsession]

kenma going to the gym for purpose of being strong enough to lift his daughter whenever she wants.

Kenma Kozume had done a lot of things he never expected in life. But somehow, somehow, the hardest thing he had ever done… was carrying around your four-year-old daughter like she was an accessory strapped to his body.

It started off fine. She was small. Lightweight. Kenma barely noticed it when she’d reach up at him with those big, golden eyes, arms raised expectantly as she said, “Up, Daddy!”

And, of course, like an absolute fool, he always picked her up.

Always.

Now, however, things were different. Kiano was growing.

Which was great! Wonderful, even!

All he ever wanted was a happy wife. Check. And a healthy baby. Check.

Except for the part where she was getting heavier, and Kenma, who had not done a single muscle-related workout since high school volleyball, was starting to feel it. His arms ached. His back tensed up. There were days when, after holding her for too long, he would just sit down at his desk and stare blankly at his keyboard, fingers refusing to move because they were still recovering from holding your daughter for half the day.

“Kenma, you should just go to bed if you’re not feeling well,” you told him when you brought him some midnight snacks.

And your daughter, Kiano, she did not care.

She still reached up, still expected to be carried without hesitation the following morning.

And because Kenma was a weak, weak man, he never said no.

Which was how he found himself at the gym, standing at the front desk with his old gym keycard in hand, while Kuroo Tetsurou of all people stood beside him, grinning like a complete idiot.

“Hold on, hold on,” Kuroo said, leaning against the counter as he processed what was happening. “Let me get this straight. You’re renewing your gym membership—not because you wanna get in shape, not because you had some life-changing revelation, but because your four-year-old daughter is getting too heavy for you?”

Kenma scowled, tossing his gym keycard at Kuroo’s face. “Shut up.”

Kuroo laughed, easily catching it. “Kenma, this is hilarious.”

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples as the receptionist processed his renewal.

He knew Kuroo was going to be like this. That was the whole reason he had debated bringing him along in the first place. But Kenma also knew that if he walked into a gym alone after years of avoiding them, he would probably just stand in the corner, regret all his life choices, and leave without doing anything.

He needed moral support. Unfortunately, that support came in the form of Kuroo, who was currently laughing at his pain.

“It’s not that funny,” Kenma grumbled.

Kuroo shot him a look. “Kenma, you literally built your entire brand on being an indoors guy. And now you’re out here, willingly lifting weights, all because your tiny daughter says ‘Up, Daddy’ and you can’t say no to her.”

Kenma refused to make eye contact.

Because yeah, that was… basically the situation.

The receptionist handed back his renewed membership card, smiling. “Welcome back, Mr. Kozume! Need a trainer, or will you be working out alone?”

“Alone,” Kenma muttered quickly.

“Wrong!” Kuroo interrupted, slinging an arm around Kenma’s shoulders before he could escape. “He’ll be working out with me. You know, actual workouts, not just the bare minimum.”

“You’re acting like I won’t just cancel this membership next month.”

“Not if Kiano has anything to say about it.”

Kenma frowned, thinking about it for a second.

…Yeah. That kid was persistent.

Guess who she got it from? Ding, ding! You, of course.

If he so much as hinted at the idea of quitting, Kiano would probably just guilt-trip him with those big eyes, telling him, “Daddy, you said you’d carry me if I did well in school!” and then he’d look like the world’s weakest dad to your daughter forever.

Damn it.

He exhaled. “Fine.”

Kuroo grinned, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit, Daddy Kenma.”

Kenma cringed. “Never call me that again.”

Kuroo did call him that again.

-

An hour later, Kenma remembered exactly why he hated going to the gym.

He had been peer-pressured into lifting actual weights, had attempted (and failed) to use a pull-up bar, and nearly died trying to keep up with Kuroo, who, despite his stupid corporate job, was somehow still in peak physical condition.

Kenma, on the other hand, felt like he had been hit by a truck.

Kuroo, the bastard, was barely sweating. “You good?” he asked, grinning.

Kenma, lying face-down on the floor, made a vague, suffering noise.

Kuroo laughed. “Don’t tell me that’s all you’ve got. What happened to that volleyball stamina?”

“That was ten years ago,” Kenma groaned. “I’m pushing thirty in two years, idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Kuroo crouched next to him, smirking. “But hey, just think about it—if you don’t get into shape soon, you’ll place Kiano down and never carry her forever!”

Kenma slowly turned his head to glare at him. “That is not comforting.”

“Kids grow up way quicker than you think, Kenma. You won’t know when you’ll ever be able to carry them, like when they were babies.”

“Is that why you’re worried that your 7-month-old son is going to get daycare soon, really? When he just start enjoying his tummy time?”

“Time goes fast.”

“Uh-huh. Right.”

Kuroo cackled, standing up and stretching. “Changing the subject,” he tuts softly. “I can’t believe this is what finally got you back in a gym. A four-year-old child has you completely wrapped around her tiny little fingers.”

Kenma didn’t even try to argue. Because, well.

It was true.

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