queer-obsession

[queer-obsession]

Random posts incoming because I'm making a masterlist

[queer-obsession]

I know Kenma is the cutest dad. :c

Finding him on the couch at 4 am is sure to happen. He’s sitting up straight, head tipped back on the couch, passed out. Your sweet little baby girl is curled against his chest. She’s only ten weeks old, and his hand, out of instinct, rests protectively on her back so she doesn’t slide off.

It’s so sweet, and you snap multiple pictures before covering Kenma’s legs with a blanket and taking the chance to spread out in bed alone.

x x x

Kenma’s fans kept asking about his daughter. No matter how often they pestered him, his answers remained vague. He allowed them the small bit of knowledge you were recovering well and his baby girl is growing fast and healthy. They’d never seen a picture, as he’d kept his personal life private for the most part.

It took months for him to show her, and even then it wasn’t on purpose. You were running late, off to meet with your friends, and you called out to him.

“Kenz?”

“Yeah?” Kenma replies, cursing under his breath as his character dies. He skimmed some of the comments from his followers asking if that was his wife. He ignored it.

“I’m running so late, can I bring Kiyoko in there?” You don’t wait for his response, rushing into the gaming room with the baby on your hip.

Kenma forgets his stream for a moment, swiveling in his chair with a soft smile. “Always,” he replies, eyes gentle as he reaches out for her. She giggles when he coos at her, making grabby hands at her daddy, feet kicking.

Kiyoko settles in his lap and Kenma dips down to place a kiss on her forehead, brushing hair from her face. She nuzzles into the side of his neck and he could cry.

When he glances at the forgotten chat it’s blowing up. Hundreds of questions and comments flooding his discord chat, mentioning how they’d never seen him look so soft before. How she’s his mini me because she really is.

His eyes go wide. In a flash, Kenma tilts the camera towards the ceiling and cuts the streaming off without a word.

His fans never quit asking about her.

x x x

When they nap together, they wake up identical.

Kenma’s hair sticks up all over and so does Kiyoko’s. They both rub sleep from their catlike eyes, yawning. She clings to his neck when they join you in the kitchen for lunch, crying when he tries to sit her down in the high chair.

Kenma doesn’t mind, he just eats one handed.

x x x

Whenever you go out in public, Kenma insists on carrying her. Turning his nose up at putting her in a high chair from a restaurant or in a shopping cart or whatever. He loves walking her around in one of those baby carriers strapped to his chest, or he’ll hold her until his arms fall off.

So many women comment on how adorable it is. They don’t bother you. The cute pink blush on Kenma’s cheeks and his flustered expression is worth it.

And when you double down on how cute it is, the wrinkle between his brows appears as they scrunch. He scowls, angrily snatching your hand, and you never stop teasing him.

master list

[queer-obsession]

"if Toga lived, no responsibility would be taken"

this line is erroneous and contradictory because it defeats the very message that hori was trying to convey, i’m not gonna deny that toga killed innocent people and having mental illness doesn’t absolve her from accountability, so i don’t always agree with her defenders. having said that, hori’s concept of responsibility is inconsistent because lady nagant served time in prison & possibly rehabilitated and she was exonerated for it, same goes for gentle criminal who was eventually released back to society.

so it makes no sense for hori to abandon this line of thinking and apply a different approach with tomura & toga and the league where they were supposed to take rehabilitation and serve time in prison, this method makes them take more responsibility than just dying for viewers sake.

dying didn’t solve MHA’s societal issues and it didn’t shed light to what has caused it in the first place. people like endeavor lived with huge consequences but society still admires him despite him being a rapist and a child abuser. people want to be hero just to save others, not to make them feel seen, hence why abuse victims like tomura weren’t saved and died along with their abusers. this is why the concept of heroism in MHA is flawed and is what tomura was talking about.

it’s just that nobody learned anything from the past and villains achieved nothing by dying tragically. if anything, dying mitigated their “responsibility”, none of them had an opportunity to redeem themselves and have a different perspective on society through rehabilitation.

it seems like hori took allegiance with the viewer’s sake, instead of sticking to the message he tried to convey.

[queer-obsession]

Reblog if you're a writer who re-reads their own work for funsies.

[queer-obsession]

Sometimes you just need Kita Shinsuke to kiss your forehead and tell you you're doing a good job.

[queer-obsession]

You sip your coffee as you watch your teenage son come downstairs the stairs in the most lazy and lethargic way possible. He's more like his father besides looking exactly like him. "Good morning," You greet with a smirk as he comes over and collapses onto a chair at the dinning table while you lean back on the counter.

Your son looks over at you and glares before laying his head on the table. "I'm dropping out of school," He mutters dramatically causing you to roll your eyes.

"Yeah and I'm becoming the next Empress," You reply with a snort as you sit down across from him. "Eat something."

"Make me something!"

"I'm not your slave."

Your son groans and refuses to get up. "I'm totally your least favorite," He mutters.

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. "You're my only child," You remind him with a chuckle as you sip your coffee.

"You still like your fantasy child better than me!" He says dramatically with a whine causing you to roll your eyes.

"Don't be silly. In my fantasy I have no children," You reply with a smirk causing him to glare at you. If your son did get one thing from you, it's your dramatics.

"Whatever, Dad is my favorite," Your son mutters with a huff as he finally sits up. He stands up and heads to the fridge to find some food.

You pause in sipping your coffee and look over at him as he sifts through the fridge. "Your father is your favorite? He's boring!" You reply in disbelief as you scoff.

Your son nods. "Yeah, that's why he's my favorite. He doesn't expect me to, like, do things or go places. He just lets me chill and play Persona," He says casually as he pulls out a bagel before pulling it apart and popping it in the toaster. "You want me to join a different club."

You huff. "Because your club only has four people and all you do is play Kahoot! It's like you're trying to be Yuji Itadori! Clubs are supposed to be ways to make friends! Even your amazing father was in a team club!" You reply as you cross your arms. You narrow your eyes at your son as he simply yawns and pulls out his phone.

Your son shrugs. "See? You proved my point. Dad's better," He says casually as his bagels finally pop up. He puts his phone back in his sweatpants pocket before pulling the bagels out and immediately eating it.

You glower at your son just as your husband comes walking into the kitchen with a yawn. You quickly turn your glare to him and he pauses as he rubs his bed head. "What?" Your husband mutters.

-----

KENMA, Suna, Todoroki, Shikamaru, Shigaraki, KAMINARI, Conny. Comment anyone else you think <3

[queer-obsession]

suites AU with league of villains as an exclusive up and coming defense firm that only hires NON-ivy league mf and Shigaraki is the managing partner. Everyone thinks he's the shit, scary, temperamental, and all that but really it's his pretty little secretary who runs shit.

[queer-obsession]

surprise!! ~ kenma

characters: STRESSED kenma x gn! reader content:(sfw!) fluff! kenma being miserable because he loves you, kuroo mention, established relationship, lil kissy smoochie word count: 400 (mini!!) a/n: it's my birthday month~! all of my fics will be EXTRA EXTRA self-indulgent in may lol! thinking about making a more fleshed out pt 2 to this one 🖤

Kenma Kozume is a certified hater of surprise parties, but when you show him a viral clip of someone planning the perfect one for their significant other he knows it's over.

⊱ ─────── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─────── ⊰

Kenma does NOT like surprises. But unfortunately you showed him a clip that was going viral on social media of someone planning an elaborate surprise party for their significant other. When he saw your face light up as you gushed about how 'sweet', how 'thoughtful' it was, yeah, he knew it was over for him.

So cut to now, here he was calling all of your friends (he HATES talking on the phone) to discuss details of your upcoming surprise birthday party because of course they all take 3-5 business days to reply through texts and he needs answers NOW.

Breaking his stream schedule for the first time in three years because it was the most convenient day for everyone else. (he HATES disrupting his routine.) He knew his fans would already be speculating and/or fuming about it on Twitter because yes, it is that serious.

Hanging up uncooperative streamers and other decorations in your shared apartment while someone is out distracting you (he HATES that he has to climb on the kitchen chairs to be able to reach high enough to hang them) He's on the verge of crashing out completely by the time he gets to building the balloon arch, but Kuroo's commentary over the phone narrowly keeps him from throwing everything (and himself) off the balcony.

Arguing with the bakery (he HATES confrontation) because they forgot the 'h' in "Happy Birthday Y/N!" and are insisting you "won't even notice". He did NOT spend hours going over their catalog choosing the perfect combination of flavors and icing colors for them to misspell BIRTHDAY on your BIRTHDAY CAKE.

And just when he thinks all of this effort was a waste, his introverted self crawling in his skin as all of your favorite people stuff into your small living room like sardines, everyone started shushing each other. He could hear the jingle of your keys as you stood at the other side of the door. Breath held and lip bitten, he looks on nervously as the knob turns.

As everyone screams "surprise!" (pardon Kenma who moreso just said it at a slightly louder volume than normal) your eyes meet his first, your smile wider and brighter than he's ever seen. Laughter echoing around the room as you rush to him and hug him tight, squealing "thank you"s and "i love you"s and "you did all this for me?"'s.

Suddenly all of the inconveniences and minor disasters of party planning are forgotten as he helps cut into your "Happy Birtday Birthday" cake. Wiping the small dollop of frosting off of the corner of your lip with his fingertip, he brings it back to his own for a small taste. He savors the sweet buttercream before leaning over and giving you a shy kiss.

Normally Kenma hates surprises, but maybe today, just for you, he hates them a little less.

[queer-obsession]

BOYFRIEND TEXTS | k. kozume

IN WHICH you go through texts with your nerdy gamer boyfriend as his equally nerdy gamer partner

content: kenma being josh's (from until dawn) no.1 hater, y/n (me) being an absolute fein for rami malek (ily come home the kids miss you), self-projection final boss, they kinda look like they hate each other but they're so inlove i swear

a/n: i'm actually so happy kenma won my little poll i'm royally obsessed with video games so this is all projecting / some of my pictures are in here \(★ω★)/ also i just realized i used 'girlfriend' instead of partner in one of the texts so please ignore that </3

TAGLIST: @kodzubaby @alexiaray @awkwardkirbi @noisypersonapeachprofessor @jaxi18 @immortalmsmoon @gaaaabbbbbbbyyy @nightlysunn @bsdpoesracoon @ralphmacchiosforliferrr @ki-kuzao @xiezhu

©OCHACOCA 2025 | please do not copy, translate, or repost my work onto other platforms!

[queer-obsession]

guys call me crazy but I stand firm when I say Kageyama is a boy dad

he literally has this project of turning his son into a volleyball demon, and all you can do is stare when he crouches down to his 11 months old son's level and firmly says :

"Walk."

you just gawk at him and so does your son who barely talks and Tobio is just there like "C'mon little man, you can do it, right?" (he's scared that Oikawa's child may be better than him)

no need to explain, he scowls when you explain to him that walking takes time and he needs to be patient <3

[queer-obsession]

thank you all so much for over 100 followers. literally when did this happen? 😭 is this my sign that I should make a masterlist? I've been thinking about it because I have more drabble posted now and I have quite a few fics in my drafts, particularly Kenma fics and some others too, but some of them are fics that are kinda "in the same universe" so i feel like they need some sort of navigation to them before I publish them

Anyway, thank you all so much 💖

[queer-obsession]

"Kenma."

The game buzzes on, the battle music intensifying. The thing his character is facing has changed, taking on its second form as Kenma's character rolls and swings its sword. The man himself is curled into his knees, chest tucked forward in anticipation, like he's about to hop out of his chair.

"Ke-"

"In a second," he cuts you off. His unblinking eyes never leave the screen, peering through his blonde bangs. "I just have to beat this boss."

With a huff, you sink back into your chair.

"Last time you said 'just a second' it took you two days to beat the damn thing," you remind him. "I'm not immortal-- I don't have time to sit around for you."

Frankly, you often forget Kenma is immortal until moments like that. You had always thought that vampires would be menacing or carry some sort of grandeur, but everyone you've met has been so spectacularly normal. Kenma, for instance, seems like every other guy your age: aloof and obsessed with video games.

"Get bitten then," he shrugs. "Kuroo would be happy to."

Your spine trills at the thought of it. When you first met Kuroo, you thought her was odd in the most normal way possible. He was practically nocturnal because he claimed to work remotely overseas, but he still went to bars and played indoor volleyball: average activities for an average man-

Or, that's what you thought, until you learned about the whole vampire thing.

Honestly, it's only made you more attracted to him. The mystery, the danger-- what's not to love? You'd be lying if you said you had never thought of his teeth on you, his hands on your body-

"That's what I wanted to talk about."

Kenma's head whips around. This game doesn't pause; the monster smacks his avatar across the screen.

"You're turning?" His voice is either bright with surprise or shock. You've known Kenma for a while now and you still can't seem to read his motivations. You're not sure why Kuroo incorporated you into the fold of his undead friend group, but here you are, sitting in their living room.

"No, uh-" What you're about to ask suddenly feels silly. "I wanted to... Can I see your teeth?"

Kenma's expression settles and he picks up the controller that you hadn't realized he dropped.

"I died for that?" He flicks the game off. "You could have waited for that. I'll still have teeth in a week."

You have to bit your tongue to stop yourself from losing your mind. Kenma just goes back to gaming, eyes narrowing with effort.

"I could be dead in a week."

"You won't be."

"I could be," you say. "I could have a stroke at any moment."

"You won't." He mashes the buttons extra hard, so hard the plastic creaks. "And if you did, we'd know before you did."

The character dies much earlier than it usually does.

"How would you know if I had a stroke before I did?"

"It smells sour when..." His eyes finally turn your way again. "Whatever. It's fine."

"Fine to touch?" you say.

He beckons you over with a nod of his chin. "Yeah."

Pushing off from your seat, you walk over to where he's sitting. Kenma doesn't bother to stand. He tilts his head back, looking up at you with a slight smile.

Already, you can see them. The sharp, vivid white teeth behind his pale lips. They have the usual shape, but anything uncanny edge makes your skin crawl. It's something you can't quite place, maybe something not there at all.

To get closer, you slide a leg onto his chair, angling yourself over him the best that you can. You're surprised when his hand rests on your thigh for support.

"Don't look so scared," Kenma says, a bit too coy for your liking.

You hadn't realized you'd been making a face at all.

"Just don't bite me."

Kenma opens his mouth and his teeth catch the dim light, strange for how dry his mouth seems to be. His canines are slightly elongated, just a hair more than a usual human. Gingerly, you run your fingers across the front of his teeth, then down to their edges. There's almost a razors edge to them, enough that you can feel the ridges of your fingerprint catching.

"Sharp," you quip. You leave a pause for Kenma to respond, but then you realize he can't, not with his mouth open for you. He just watches you, eyes flickering from one of your eyes to the other.

This isn't intimate, you remind yourself. It's scientific curiosity.

It can't be intimate, because you like Kuroo. Not Kenma. No, you don't like it at all that his hands are around your waist and you're cupping his cheek with your free hand, that his breath somehow smells soothing-

His canines seem longer now. More jagged, sharp. You press the pad of your thumb against it and watch how your skin easily skins in, no resistenxe whatsoever. Then, you pull away. A drop of blood wells up at the spot; there's no pain whatsoever, but the thumb tingles, like menthol and cocaine, riveting and calming all at once.

Kenma leans into the palm of your hand, then cranes his neck ever so slightly to envelop your finger in his lips. It's the most delicate of touches, a ghost of a memory of a kiss, but when he pulls away, crimson has settled into the cracks of his lips.

"Your heart's beating-" his tongue runs over his lower lip. "Really fast."

Kenma pulls you closer, arms now tight around your waist. You don't know when you got so close, when your bodies suddenly were pushed together, but now they are--

and now your finger is in his mouth. The gentle, crushing pressure of suction surprises you, but not more than the desperate whine he makes when blood hits his tongue.

That buzzing had spread up your arm and you can suddenly feel it, feel how your heart runs heavy and fast for him. Kenma's eyes are so lidded, barely open, heavy with want, that you can barely make out how his pupils have narrowed into cat scratch slits.

"Oh," you babble. "Oh, it's--"

"Feels good?" Kenma isn't speaking, but you can hear his voice.

"Y-yeah."

"I can make you feel good." There can't be that much blood from that tiny spot, but Kenma swallows deep as if there is. "Anytime you want."

The plush of his tongue swipes up your digit. Oh, maybe you are bleeding out. Maybe he's killing you. You're hot and cold and weak and strong and, and, and--

"You never have to ask Kuroo for-"

The front door of the apartment slams closed. A familiar set of boisterous laughter echoes through the halls-- Bokuto and Kuroo are hone. When you pull away, Kenma gives no resistance, his eyes still fixated on you.

An unjust guilt rises in your throat. You examine your hand, expecting a torrent of blood, only to be greeted with the smallest blossom on your finger tip.

"Were we supposed to do that?" you whisper.

"It's fine." Kenma adjusts himself in his chair, pulling at his pant legs. "They'll scold me, not you."

That doesn't make you feel better.

"Thanks," you say, awkwardly heading for the door. "For the-- thanks."

"Hey," he's using his real voice this time. You pause, turning back to him to catch his wide, Cheshire grin. "Thanks for the snack."

[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

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[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.