strangerstolovers444

[strangerstolovers444]

ɪɴ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴜɴɪᴠᴇʀꜱᴇ [ch.4]

[Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader]

Beginning: Prologue

Previous: Chapter Three

➨ Chapter Four

Next: Coming Soon...

Premise:

The multiverse theory is the idea that there is not only one universe but, instead, an infinite number of universes, parallel to one another.

You and Tenko were heroes in your universe. The war came and went, and that left only you. When you are thrown into a universe parallel to yours, you find out the hard way just how similar and different it is from your own.

A/N: My roommates and I totally got knocked tf out with the bad luck stick. This chapter already went through the first rounds of edits, and I was going to do a final round... but that was just not gonna happen today. So please excuse any typos or whatnot <3

♡

If you'd prefer to read on Ao3, here is the link:

Otherwise, enjoy!

♡ ♡ ♡

CHAPTER FOUR

Toga made an unpleasant face when you dropped your large wad of rain-soaked clothing into her open arms. She was the lucky duck that was chosen to escort you on your trip back to the hotel. It turns out she was typically the one volunteered to run errands and shop for the boys thanks to her quirk being perfect for going out undetected.

For your brief outing, she took on the form of the woman you’d seen outside the convenience store with Shigaraki the night prior. Her pretty face was contorted in distaste as it was clear she wanted nothing more than to drop the soggy pile on the marble tiled floor. Unfortunately for her, you had to check out of the hotel first, and you needed both hands free in order to do that.

You thanked the receptionist with a friendly smile and dipped your head politely before turning to leave. Toga was quick to shove your hero suit into your belly, forcing you to take it back from her. She had enough strength behind it to make you stumble back a step or two.

“Agh! That was so not cool,” she complained as she rubbed her wet forearms off on her sweater.

You rolled your eyes. “It wasn’t even a full minute. You’re fine.”

“You could have at least warned me! That felt so gross.”

You snickered at her, receiving a childish pout in return. But then, your smile dropped, and Toga’s body stiffened as the two of you spotted a pair of police officers passing through the entrance of the hotel.

You pushed against Toga, directing her to the outskirts of the foyer, which was decorated with a generous number of potted plants that would give you cover. It was hard to feel completely hidden when your arms were full of not only your dripping clothing but also several bags from the light shopping you had done before coming here. Making a silent escape would be a feat.

Maybe you were overreacting. The officers would never be able to recognize Toga with her current disguise, and you were much older than your villainous counterpart. Surely, you looked different enough to slip by without catching anybody’s eye…

But that was probably a reach.

“They don’t know what you look like,” Toga whispered to you, tugging on your sleeve to get you walking towards the exit. She always had a knack for knowing exactly what was going through your head. It was somewhat comforting that this version of her was the same way. Then again, it could very well be that you were just easy to read.

You gave her a questioning look. You remembered seeing pictures of yourself in villain garb during your little research project this morning. They had to at least have an idea of what you looked like. Then again, you recalled that in each of them you had been wearing a mask.

You glanced back over at the cops who were walking up to the receptionist, and you allowed Toga to pull you away. You were almost out the door when you overheard a piece of their conversation.

“—card statements alerted us that she booked the night here. She’s been missing for over a week now.”

“Oh…What did you say her name was again?”

You knew you should just keep walking—you were almost out of view—but the sound of your name caused you to look back out of habit. Just then, the receptionist’s wide eyes locked onto yours. She looked confused, her mouth opening and closing as she searched for her words.

“Go,” you hissed, pushing Toga out the door and causing her to trip over her own feet. Your firm hold on her shirt kept her from falling as you hauled her out of the building and down the sidewalk. She whined and tried to wiggle out of your hold.

The hotel was supposed to be your last stop. You decided then that you would have to tack on a few extra to be sure you wouldn’t be tailed. The last thing you wanted was to lead the police straight to your villainous friends’ hideout. The two of you filed into the nearby station, and just as you reached the platform, one of the trains pulled up. You wasted no time in hopping on.

You never imagined you’d be the one running from authorities.

And now that you were, you hated it.

The way your head spun and your heart raced. How your hands were shaking so badly you were struggling to hold onto your bags. The anxiety that rushed through your veins, overwhelming and taking over your mind with dread over what was to come.

You knew you weren’t a villain, and realistically, you shouldn’t actually be in any trouble. They were looking for you because, in this world, you had a missing person’s case. If they caught you, the worst-case scenario would be an interrogation into why you disappeared. You wouldn’t be arrested for any real crime.

Still, you couldn’t help but panic. Maybe it was because you were with someone who was wanted as a villain. Even then, she was unrecognizable in her disguise. Most likely, you were so worried because never before had you been the one the authorities were after. You never imagined you’d find yourself in this type of situation—and you certainly didn’t know how to get yourself out of it.

In the end, you weren’t really the person they were looking for—rather, you were just a doppelganger of sorts—and you had no explanation for them if they did bring you in for questioning. You knew close to nothing about your past in this world. There was no way her life had been identical to yours considering the vastly different outcomes.

She had money, but how did she get it? A proper job or crime?

Who were her closest friends?

Where did she live?

Your best bet if you were ever caught was to fake amnesia, you reckoned.

Your heartrate only slowed down after seven or so stops. Toga was patient with you, but you could tell she was getting antsy and eager to get off the train. It was maybe the tenth stop when you finally stood up to leave.

The train let you off at a street full of shops and bustling people, very similar to the one you’d gone to earlier in the day. The air was full of chatter loud enough to be heard over a cacophony of music resulting from various playlists intermingling. Had you been in a mall, the music may have been a bit more in sync, but this was what happened when multiple stores want to create an ambience for their customers.

Getting to the end of each block proved to be quite the chore as Toga’s attention was caught by every other window display. She whined about how she never got to buy nice things for herself anymore because she had no money. Needless to say, your soft heart would give in, and you’d walk away with her beaming and admiring her new apparel.

Your attention was caught at one point when you passed a shop selling a variety of used gaming consoles. Some of the posters taped to the front entrance were advertisements for games Tenko and Iguchi had introduced to you. Toga didn’t bat an eye, continuing on her way, but you paused to wonder, if you hadn’t died in this world, would you make similar memories with Shigaraki and Spinner?

You missed the days when the three of you would gather at one of your homes. Beanbag chairs and a plethora of pillows would be gathered in front of a TV, surrounded by a mountain of snacks to last you days. Tenko never failed to provide enough energy drinks to kill a horse. He wanted to ensure that you—in a food coma bliss—wouldn’t pass out before it even hit midnight.

The sun would be peeking over the horizon, and your bloodstream would still be saturated with caffeine, resulting in you badgering them mercilessly to prevent them from nodding off. You’d be buzzing in your seat as the three of you played on, framed by two zombies who wanted nothing more than to knock you unconscious. Once he had enough, Tenko would pull the plug and drag your whining ass to the makeshift beds Iguchi had set up earlier in the night. You’d only settle down after several minutes of Tenko’s arm latching you to the floor.

You’d like to think that your counterpart shared experiences akin to your own. Although, you wouldn’t be terribly surprised if being wanted criminals took precedence over finding the time and money to play games through the night.

You turned away from the shop to follow Toga back to the hideout.

Twice was quick to jump on you both as soon as you walked through the door. He wanted nothing more than to dig through the bags of new goodies you brought with you. Compress wasn’t so invasive, but he still hovered to catch a glimpse at whatever was pulled out. When Twice reached the plastic bag you used to carry your soaked garments, he made an alarmed noise and shoved it off on Compress who was also fairly displeased.

��What on Earth is this?” he said, aghast.

“It’s my hero suit… It was raining in my universe before I was sent here, so it got totally soaked through,” you explained, taking the clothing back from him.

“Oh, I was wondering why you looked so miserable last night!” Toga chimed. You pursed your lips.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go get changed into something a bit more palatable,” you said, digging through a large paper bag full of new clothes.

You glanced over at him as he lounged across one of the battered sofas, gnawing on a candy bar. You couldn’t necessarily blame his distaste for heroes being that he was on the receiving end of their dutiful efforts. It was more understandable given you knew just who they really were—without this universe’s societal views blurring your beliefs into following them instead.

“Of course not,” you said as you pulled out a cozy pair of pants along with a soft sweatshirt.

“So, your morals align with theirs then,” he said, and you didn’t miss the mildly sinister undertone in his voice. You looked back over to see his eyes boring into you. He was waiting for your response, his body visibly tense. It was clear that the wrong answer would trigger an exchange with an unappealing outcome, and that seemed to be what he anticipated, though his deep frown suggested he preferred that not be the case.

“No…” you said softly, watching him carefully. You felt like Shigaraki wouldn’t think twice about going after you while your back was turned. You knew Tenko would never do that, but you also knew he was passionate about his world views, intense and driven to defend them. With him already being on the opposing side of the law, you weren’t sure where Shigaraki drew the line when it came to fighting for what he believed in. You’d like to think he was as sensible as you remembered.

Thankfully, you wouldn’t need to find out today. “No, the heroes here were my enemies where I come from.”

He scrutinized you, gauging whether to believe you or not, but after a moment, his narrowed eyes and tensed muscles relaxed. “Mm,” he grunted in acknowledgement before turning his attention back to his food, pretending to investigate whatever was written on the wrapper.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked back down at the outfit you picked out. You hadn’t noticed your heartrate was elevated until that moment, feeling it slow down.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little bit curious as to what we’re like as heroes,” Compress pondered, a hand tucked under his chin.

“Me, too!” Toga said and attached herself to your back, putting most of her weight onto you. “Are we, like, so awesome?”

You glanced over your shoulder at her and chuckled. “Oh, definitely, but I’m sure you’re just as awesome here.”

She giggled before pestering you to share more.

So, you did.

“Our agency’s focus was mostly on rescue. We were usually the first to respond to natural disasters or the destructive aftermath of villain activity. Sometimes we’d be given assignments to gather intel to help out other agencies,” you explained.

“I’ve got a hard time believing Dabi’s good at rescue. He should just scorch them!” Twice butted in.

“I said mostly,” you laughed. “Dabi… kind of had his own role.” Speaking of, both he and Spinner were missing from the common area. “Is he around right now?”

“No,” Shigaraki clipped with a mouthful of food, “He’s out recruiting for us.”

“What about Spinner?”

You didn’t miss the way his eyes shot over to look at you, causing a slight shiver down your spine. You couldn’t pinpoint why, but in this universe, his energy had a menacing edge to it.

“He’s sleeping.” Shigaraki swallowed his last bite and dropped the wrapper beside him. “Why were you using past tense?”

“Was I?” It hadn’t even crossed your mind. Apparently, Compress noticed it, as well, nodding along as if he would have asked about it if no one else had. Toga and Twice seemed confused, looking between you and Shigaraki.

You drew back slightly. Telling all of them about the tragedy that had struck your group felt wrong… You understood that things were different here, but you also didn’t want to put meaningless fear into their heads. They wouldn’t be playing the same roles as they did in your past, so it wouldn’t make any sense for them to face the same fate.

“I guess…I guess it’s because I’m technically from the future?” You shrugged with a shamefully false smile. Lying about this didn’t feel all that great either. What if—because of weird universal parallel laws or whatever—they will meet the same ends as they did in your world? If telling them could change that, then that’s what you would want to do.

You would do anything to change what had happened to your friends.

Spinner’s words from earlier in the day rang through your head. There was still a chance that manipulating their timeline could create a paradox, the aftermath of which could be devastating—according to the limited SciFi media you’ve consumed on that subject matter.

You wanted to rip your hair out. You hated being in this position, and you were eager to get out of it. Hopefully, it wouldn’t take too long for you to hunt down Dai Uchuu and convince him to send you home.

There was a sharp tug at your heart.

It occurred to you that home wouldn’t have all the people you cared so much about. That should have been obvious, but it was easier to forget than you’d think. Still, that’s where your life was, and you had to live with the outcome of your own battles.

You pushed past that uncomfortable feeling with a little help from Toga and Twice badgering you for more details on their lives as heroes.

You continued to tell them about Toga’s success and promotion, and how Twice was invaluable for his productivity and utility on the field, amplifying everyone else’s capabilities tenfold. Compress and Tenko were excellent at clearing debris, freeing anyone trapped or injured. There were a few people you brought up who the others were unfamiliar with, such as Minji, Sakiko, and other old classmates of yours.

You wondered if they had yet to meet.

“That sounds like so much fun,” Toga said. She was plopped down in front of you, hugging her knees to her chest as she listened to you share stories about where you came from. She stared at the ground with a blank expression. “I wonder how we ended up so different.”

“Me too,” you muttered

“I’m glad we’re not heroes,” Shigaraki spouted, kicking his legs off the couch so he could sit up. His eyes settled on you.

“What?” you asked, a bit jarred by his comment. “Why? I can’t imagine living in hiding is all that fun.”

“Because we don’t have to conform to the shallow ideals of society. Heroes like to act like they keep the peace when, in reality, they turn a blind eye to those they deem beneath them. I’m not interested in playing pretend.”

You blinked.

Some heroes could be like that sometimes, but they were the vast minority. Most of the people you knew were genuine and loved being given the opportunity to help others. You were sure Tenko felt the same as you, but Shigaraki’s opinions were the stark opposite.

You assumed that could be attributed to the fact the heroes here were just as corrupt as the villains you knew them to be. Shigaraki was their villain, and they were his enemies. If you were in his shoes, you probably wouldn’t want to join the opposing team either.

The energy in the room had changed, and you all silently agreed to drop the topic. Toga stepped into the spotlight to start showing off everything you’d bought her, which led to Twice begging you to buy stuff for him, as well. Compress tried to be subtle about it, but it was clear he wanted in on the gift giving by the way he began listing items he lost or wished he could buy.

At some point, Dabi had returned, and Spinner had risen. Dabi made a b-line for the scarce looking bedroom, but Spinner was eager to join in the conversation. He was a little less self-centered about the things he thought you should buy, more so concerned with what the group needed as a whole.

Shigaraki was silent from his spot on the couch, seemingly uninterested in the conversation, but his eyes were locked onto you all the while. There were a few moments where you’d look over but quickly look away when you saw he was still staring. It felt like he was in deliberation with himself regarding your presence, like he had yet to decide whether he’d let you stay or not.

You weren’t kept in suspense too long.

Spinner was in the middle of arguing with Twice about needs versus wants when Shigaraki butted in to announce you’d be staying with Toga overnight. Then he left, you assumed to retreat to his own bedroom. Compress and Twice turned in not long after, but Spinner hung around until Toga dragged you away to give you a tour of her room.

Hers was the one that looked like a bomb had gone off inside. Her clothing was overflowing out of her wardrobe and across the majority of the carpeted floor. You could barely see her bed underneath the mountain of plushies she’d accumulated, and you had to watch your step to be sure you did crush any of the scattered makeup.

You were soon thankful her messiness made you more attentive of where you were walking, because you noticed the gleam of a knife peeking out from beneath her clothing. You crouched down and carefully picked it up. “Um… Toga? Why do you have this in your room?”

She gasped as her eyes widened and a gleeful smile stretched across her face. She pranced over to you. “You found it! I’ve been looking everywhere for that!” She plugged it from your hand and held it to her chest, giggling and skipping away to find a new home for it.

Okay…

You elected to ignore her absurd behavior in favor of helping her clear a spot on the ground for you to sleep. She began handing blankets and pillows off for you to arrange however you preferred.

You dodged an oversized teddy bear, covering your head for safekeeping. You lowered one of the fluffy pillows being lent to you to send a playful glare at Toga as she rifled through her stuffed animals. She began pelting you with anything she thought would be a good addition to your makeshift bed.

“This is gonna be so fun!” Toga sang as she tossed another plushie in your direction. You caught it this time. She turned around to start helping you gather everything into a somewhat bed shaped pile. “Tomura and I just bought a bunch of snacks and stuff, too—Oh, that’s when we found you!”

“Right. You guys left some stuff behind, by the way,” you hummed with a soft smile. You tucked a blanket around your mound of a mattress to help it keep its form. “I tried to give it back, but you guys were long gone, so I returned it to the clerk.”

“Hm, I would have kept it if I were you,” she said, side-eying you. “I know where Jin’s food stash is. I’m sure he wouldn’t care if we took some.”

“He wouldn’t care if you asked? Or wouldn’t care because he wouldn’t notice?” you catch, giving her a suspicious look. She grinned wide, showing off her sharp canines.

“Jin’s a sweety. He’ll understand,” she said, waving her hand as if she was shooing away the conversation topic.

You finished working on your sleeping arrangements, and Toga dug around in her closet for anything she could use to give you a makeover. You were offended at first with the way she chose to phrase it, but you could recall all the times you’d spent with your Toga. The horrors she put your hair and skin through had long since been buried away—way more than six feet under.

Your body was stiff as she began working with your hair.

“If only Magne were here, too. The three of us were planning a girls’ night before—” Toga paused, looking off to the side as she emitted a strained hum. “She said it would be good for team building.”

You looked down at your crossed legs.

Losing Magne was hard. No one could have anticipated such an outcome. The planning that had gone into that assignment felt endlessly meticulous not only for guaranteed success but also to avoid serious casualties. Everyone believed all bases had been covered.

But reality never goes exactly as planned.

There was no plan to account for the unexpected adversaries. No plan when so many of your allies’ lives were at risk. There was no plan to prevent Magne from jumping ahead to act as a buffer. She made her own plan, and she went through with it, and she succeeded. She saved all those lives at the cost of her own.

You weren’t sure how she passed away in this timeline, and you didn’t feel it would be appropriate to ask, but you had no doubt it was for something just as noble. This world may have deemed her a villain, but you knew her as a hero. You knew her ideology and goals, and it was a shame she—like all the others—wasn’t recognized for it.

You wanted to know how the morals of this society got flipped around. How were the real villains able to pull it off?

With copious manipulation tactics, you were sure.

“Were we ever able to hang out?”

“Huh?” You blinked back to attention. To be fair, you both had gone silent for a minute, allowing your mind to wander. “Oh. The three of us?”

“Mm,” she affirmed.

“Yeah…” You began picking at your nails. “Yeah, we got to hang out a decent amount.”

Her hands, which were busy at work with your hair, slowed down. “What kind of stuff did we do?”

You weren’t sure what to say. You wouldn’t have to worry about causing any paradoxes, since your stories were in both of your pasts at this point. Still, it wasn’t good to dwell too much on the past, or on what could have been.

That probably made you a hypocrite, but you weren’t too keen on taking your own advice on such matters.

“Magne would take us shopping sometimes,” you said softly. “Our work studies didn’t pay all that well, and she felt bad, so she’d want to buy us all sorts of things while we were out.”

“Like a big sister,” Toga suggested, her hands returning to her normal pace.

“Or a cool aunt or something.” You smiled and turned slightly to look over your shoulder at her. Her eyes were focused on her hands, but she was smiling, too.

♡ ♡ ♡

taglist: @boogiemansbitch @multisstuff @local-s1mp

[strangerstolovers444]

when hell freezes over.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ in which touya todoroki find himself.

pairing: touya todoroki / dabi x g.n reader

genre: angst, mentions of different injuries and burns, mentions of enji's abuse and overall bad parenting, touya dies (i guess), theres fluff but in the first ~5 chapters its almost all angst. kind of canon divergent, im too scared to read the manga so im just basing it off the manga panels i could find on kid touya. also takes place in modern day idc that bnha takes place in the future touya will live in the era of watermelon vapes and twitter dot com.

a.n: reader's quirk is 'cryonics', the ability to heal using very very low tempertures. only downside is that it takes a lot longer, and there are possibilities of accidentally freezing a vital organ, and both the user and the reciever are more prone to illnesses such as hypothermia.

status: ongoing

⤷ 01. 2004

⤷ 02. 2006

⤷ 03. 2008

⤷ 04. 2010

⤷ 05. 2013

⤷ 06. 2016

⤷ 07. 2018

⤷ 08. 2020

⤷ 09. 2022

⤷ 10. 2024

[strangerstolovers444]

Pornstar!Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x female reader

⇢ word count: roughly 7K

⇢ plot: as a broke student, you sign up for an assistant job at a movie set. It turns out the job is more than you bargained for.

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, swearing, size kink, pierced big-cock Touya, fingering, cunnilingus (f receiving), multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, overstimulation, exhibitionism (sex in front of other people (movie set)), creampie, sweet aftercare

⇢ personal note: thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for bring my beta again! As for what you're all about to read – I have no regrets. Virgin kink goes brrr

"College has always been so crucial, such an essential part of what measures a person’s worth and determines their future."

They say college life is quite challenging. That it can help you come to realize your potential, that you learn more about yourself while in it. That the challenges you experience in university help you grow into a mature person in society.

You have several challenges to face. There's the problem that you focus entirely too much on your studies. In some ways, it’s to secure your future and to compensate for your lack of private life. In other ways, it makes you, because of inexperience, too naive for your own good. Or, as your friends have called it: too innocent. You've never had anyone touch you, never been with anyone in that way. Thus, you never get the hint when someone hits on you or finds you attractive. You have excellent grades – but unlike many of your peers, you’re still a virgin. 

Another challenge you are facing is that you aren't wealthy. One semester into your studies, you are closer to the end than you expected. Leaving your landlord's buro, you take a few steps before coming to a halt and close your eyes as if to gain some semblance of composure. You're broke and desperately need money to cover your rent and living expenses. The bank isn't going to give you another loan, and you find yourself on the verge of having to leave college without a family to support your education.

They say you have to fail first to be successful in the future. But you are beyond failing – you are simply screwed. 

You are very aware of your financial predicament. And you loathe having to live day to day on just pennies. To put it short—you are sick of being a broke-ass, loser virgin.

You sigh. 

Giving up is not a choice. So you do the next best thing: grab life by the horns and start looking for a job. Searching under your bed, clothing pockets, and between couch cushions, you scrounge up enough money to get a local newspaper. In its classified ads, only a few offers deem themselves feasible with your busy school schedule: a late-night shift at a local diner, pizza delivery, or a job doing telemarketing. None of those sound too appealing, but there might not be a choice. Then, your gaze stops at an offer that sounds too good. A movie company is looking for a production assistant on a film set; you don't need prior experience, work hours are during the weekends, and pay is double what the other jobs offer.

You don’t think before hastily grabbing your phone, punching in the number, and waiting while the dial tone rings.

After a distinct click over the other line, a man hisses, "Shimura?"

"Uhm, hi. I- I am calling about the assistant job offer. I was wondering—"

"You're hired. Tomorrow at 5 pm," the man at the other end interrupts in an annoyed tone.

He rattles off the address as you fumble around for a pen, hastily writing it down when you find it.

Before you can reply, he finishes with Don't be late and hangs up unceremoniously.

You exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath since he started speaking.

What the hell just happened? 

***

The path to the location is littered with brown leaves, and you struggle to keep from slipping as you walk toward the building. The address given to you is an old warehouse on the edge of town. Its monotonous, featureless walls covered in graffiti make it feel abandoned. There are no visible signs that anything is happening inside at all.

As you walk across the parking lot, you start to see small indications of life: fancy cars—far too fancy for this area- and sensual music permeating through the corrugated steel walls. 

You weren’t sure how to dress for a job you knew nothing about, so you opted for blue jeans, a white blouse, and pointy shoes with heels. Your hair is tied into a neat ponytail, and simple smokey eyes complete the look. 

You aim for a large steel door that the cars are all parked close to. As you lift your head, you take in the old brick building you are standing in front of, lined with large casement metal windows. 

There is a single doorbell, no name on it, and you hesitate before inhaling and pressing it with the tip of your finger.

You hear a clicking sound, and then the heavy door swings inwards. 

Alright, here goes nothing.

***

The set is surprisingly professional—like a luxurious bedroom sliced in half. A row of chairs faces the set on a concrete floor behind multiple cameras and some sound equipment, with the crew standing around talking.

The producer, Tenko, as he introduces himself to you–with tufts of pale hair and seemingly chronic dry lips in dire need of some chapstick – explains that your job will consist of helping around the set, distributing beverages, and handing out the script. Simple work you could do. After introducing you to the crew, he hands you a stack of papers, instructing you to pass them out.

Then you see her—the actress. She is gorgeous, dressed in an ivory-colored silk robe. Her hair is the color of the sun. Her skin is flawless and tanned, and her body is perfect- although almost definitely sculpted by a professional surgeon.

"Where the fuck is he?" You hear Tenko grumble, pulling a phone from his pocket, thumb tapping against the screen.

A flurry of activity breaks your concentration. A door flies open, and a man strides through—the leading actor, you gather, from how everyone else suddenly perks up.

"Fucking finally," the pale-haired director groans, tucking his cell back into the pocket of his jacket.

The man's hair is coal-colored, falling in messy strands into his face. His eyes remind you of the bright ocean, almost glowing in the dim light of the set. His sharp lips pull into a wide grin, his canines peeking out. He is casually dressed, wearing a pair of dark, ripped jeans and a white t-shirt, allowing you to notice just how well-toned his arms are. He is handsome, with delicate yet masculine features and sharp angles set in his face. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his thin lips form a troublesome grin when his eyes meet yours. 

Shit. 

He holds your gaze before dragging his sinfully blue eyes over your figure and looking away again. Your heart skips a beat because even in the low light, you can see that the actor is incredibly hot. Totally your type. You can't help but stare at him, watching how he moves, the way his muscles ripple under the thin fabric of his shirt, the way his thighs bulge in his tight pants. 

Speaking of bulge. 

It's the biggest one you've ever seen, and the sight of it sends a pang straight to your core. Your cheeks heat up automatically. 

Stop it!

You curse inwardly a few times for thinking lewd thoughts on a professional movie set.

But—you can't help it. He just looks too handsome. It stirs something inside of you you've never felt before. You sigh, knowing that this man has already made his way into your dreams, but in the end, they’ll stay just that— dreams. 

Someone like him would never want to lay a hand on you.

As he approaches the stage, the man stops dead in his tracks, staring at the actress with a bored expression. 

“Not her again.” You hear him groan.

The actress snaps her head around, a stunned expression on her face. “Pardon me?”

"The script calls for an innocent girl." The actor deadpans. "No one's gonna believe that with you in the female role."

The actress jumps to her feet. “How dare you talk about me like that!”

Tenko hisses, “Didn't you read the script? You would have known you film with her today, Touya—"

“I told you not to use my real name on set,” he says with a blase, somewhat impatient gaze.

“And I told you not to let out your frustration on the set, Dabi.” The director retorts.

“Frustration caused by your actions.” Dabi deadpans.

You hold your breath as your eyes dart from the director to Dabi and back to the actress. The rest of the crew acts like this is an everyday commotion on the set. 

“This is not a request— I'm not doing the scene with her, " Dabi says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

The actress jumps from her chair, visibly outraged, as her cheeks flare red with anger. “You're such a dick!”

“Yeah, you're right. But I’m the best dick in the industry.” He turns around, a sardonic finality in his tone.

You stare at the scene before you, the forgotten papers clutched tightly to your chest. The blonde woman stares at the dark-haired man, infuriated. 

“So, it's either me—or her.” Dabi addresses Tenko, who isn't even trying to de-escalate the situation. “That's my final say.”

“I can't believe you're doing this to me!" The woman wails exaggeratedly.

"Sweetheart, we need someone who conveys innocence. Not some chick as fake-looking as you," Dabi purrs with false care. “Go carry your plastic off the stage already.”

Tenko scratches his neck in annoyance. He watches as the actress slings an array of profanities at Dabi before storming off with quick strides toward the door, slamming it shut behind her.

The dark-haired man stands at ease, reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. “Thank god she's gone. What were you thinking, Tenko?”

“Dabi, she's the most requested—” 

“I don't give a fuck.” he runs a free hand through his dark bangs. “She sucks.”

You listen to them bicker, getting more confused by the second. 

“So—what do you expect me to do now?” Tenko's scratching increases as he starts pacing up and down the set. “Production costs will double if we cut and pick things up on a different day. Not to mention the cost of finding a new replacement.”

He jumps off his chair, pacing around the set. Then he grumbles, “We’ll take a ten-minute break. I need to come up with a solution or else—”

“We need someone Pretty, no makeup, normal clothes.” Dabi suggests, "That won't be too expensive. Someone who looks undefiled, innocent.” Dabi's gaze wanders across the room. “Like a student or something.”

Then he sees you, and a smirk tugs at his lips. His stunning sapphire eyes look you up and down. You swallow hard, your shaking hands almost crumpling the papers in their tight grip.

"Like her." Teal eyes narrow as they focus on you. 

You blink back at him dumbly, the room around you completely silent.

"Me?" You answer, his words catching you off guard.

"Yep. You." Dabi's smirk returns, a playfulness in his eyes. 

The director stares at you with the same baffled expression written on your face. "Her?"

"Yep. Her." His grin widens.

"B-But, I can't!" You counter. " I'm a simple student, not an actress—"

"That's exactly what we need." The twinkle in his eyes is still there, "And you have a pussy, don't you?"

"Yes, I—” You catch yourself, your cheeks flaring hot. “W- What does that even have to do with this movie?"

Suddenly, the room goes alive with murmurs and whispers.

Dabi quirks a brow. "You're telling me you don't know?"

"Don't know what?" You helplessly look around.

The dark-haired man turns to his director, "You didn't tell her?!"

Tenko mumbles something about how you would have found out eventually. 

Dabi steps toward you and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Doll, this is an adult film set."

"A what?" You dumbly blink at him.

"An adult film set. You know, where people fuck." He leans forward, deep azures sparkling salaciously. "You know how fucking works, don't you?"

"Yes, I mean—in theory?" A heat washes over your face and flushes down your entire body.

"Yes or no. What is it?" Dabi asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow.

The heat in your face has reached the tip of your ears as you stammer. "It's none of your business."

He steps even closer. "C’mon, sweetheart, tell us."

He smirks, eyes narrowing as he leans closer. He looks at your lips, then back at your eyes. You can smell him with how close he is leaning in. His deep, masculine scent surrounds you, sending a jolt of heat straight through your core. Even though your mind wants to scream at him, to tell him off, you hear a timid voice whisper, "I’ve used my fingers? Maybe some toys?"

It is your voice.

"You're telling me you've never done it with another person?" This time, it is Dabi’s turn to sound baffled as he leans back, taking you in. "That you're a virgin."

"I-I…" You stammer, swallowing dryly.

Looking over his shoulders, he calls over to his director, "It'll break records if we film this. You're aware of that, right?"

"I am." Tenko snaps, scratching at his neck irritably, "You don't need to tell me."

"Ok, then it's a deal.” He nods towards you. “I want her—or I'm leaving."

"You little piece of—" Tenko growls. "That's extortion."

"You won't regret it," Dabi says, shrugging nonchalantly.

"Shouldn’t I have a say on this too?" You ask, but both men ignore your words.

"Ok, it's a deal," Tenko murmurs. "How much do we pay her?"

Dabi turns his gaze back to you. "You need money, right? Or else you wouldn't be here.”

"That’s none of your business."

"C'mon, sweetheart, This is your chance."

“Yes, I mean… " a sound of annoyance bubbles up your throat. "I can't afford my rent anymore, and my landlord will kick me out if I don't pay up soon."

“I sense an opportunity here," Dabi smirks. "Tenko, how much will you pay her if she agrees to do this with me?"

"How much do you want?" Tenko asks you.

“I-I don't know. I've never thought about it." You shyly add.

"Pay her rent plus an allowance," Dabi suggests. "Tenko, you know she's worth it."

"That’s too m—" You swallow hard.

Tenko mumbles disgruntledly: "OK, I'll do it.” 

“You what?" His words leave you stunned.

Dabi interrupts quickly. "What he's saying, sweetheart, is that he'll pay for your rent - if you let me fuck you.”

His lewd words and the deep blue pools of his stunning eyes send a flutter through your stomach. 

“In front of all these people?!" 

“That's what porn is all about, doll.” Dabi chuckles, studying your reaction.

You swallow hard.

"So? What's it gonna be?" He cocks his head, waiting. 

You have always prioritized safety, so common sense tells you to stick to your usual way of life. However, look where common sense has led you: You're almost broke and may need to drop out of college. 

This could be a bad decision. But, it's time to throw safety to the sea.

"OK, I'll do it," you proclaim, and a round of applause and cheers erupt on the set while Dabi nods appreciatively.

“Congratulations, you're hired. Now, get ready before I change my mind.” Tenko waves a hand. “We still have a movie to film here.”

Your heart starts to race, a crushing weight bearing down on your chest. But you know that you have no choice. It's either a free porn loan—or being a forced college dropout. Taking a deep breath, you ball your hands into fists, trying to ignore the signs of panic your body is giving you.

"Okay, everyone, resume positions. And hand her the script.” Tenko moves to his chair, sitting down in it. “Let's do the first take." 

"Hold on," Dabi says. "Why not do it a bit differently this time? No script, no acting— just raw footage. The whole thing.”

“You mean a one-shot film?” Tenko looks surprised. “I suppose that would work. Especially with a new actress.”

“Are you okay with that, doll?” Dabi smiles at you, and there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there before.

“Do I have a choice?” you sigh.

“Not really.” He winks.

"Are you two lovebirds done flirting over there? " Tenko asks, " Because we're ready to film.”

“We weren't flir—” you protest, but Dabi bridges the distance between you.

"So, sweetheart?" He leans in, his face hovering close, sharing a breath with you. "How are you feeling about being fucked on camera?"

“Nervous.” you bite your lips, your face starting to burn.

"Doll, don't be; just focus on me," he soothes, stroking your cheek. “Forget about everyone else; I'll take care of you.”

He takes your hand and pulls you towards the bedroom set.

“Quiet!” Tenko raises a hand, and complete silence falls over the set as the crew prepares to film you both. 

Tenko calls out a set of commands, which different crew members around the room answer.

“Sound?”

“Set.”

“Camera?”

“Set.”

“Roll sound.”

“Sound rolling.”

“Roll camera.” 

“Camera Speed.” 

“Marker.”

A man with a clapper board enters the scene and calls, "Scene one. Take—uhm— whatever." 

Dabi nods, and that is the cue. The lights dim, and the cameras vanish into the darkness; only the red lights betray their existence. 

You glance around, your stomach in knots, as you realize that this is no game, that this is it. The only thing visibly lit was the bed standing a few feet away. The crew's faces are barely visible as everyone watches you, the man behind the camera tilting it, filming you from bottom to top.

“Hey baby, you alright?” You hear Dabi's voice.

“N-No, not really.” You stammer, your hands trembling, your breathing picking up, as your eyes frantically dart around the dark set. “I don't know if I can do this.”

“Sweetheart, look at me.” You feel a finger hook under your chin when Dabi tilts your head to meet his gaze. It's intense, the turquoise of his irises gleaming almost unnaturally. 

You feel your heart sink into your stomach as his thumb caresses your skin. When he closes the already minimal distance between you, your eyes flutter close in reflex. His lips are sensually warm and addicting against your cheek, and your heart starts thrashing wildly inside your chest in response. Something changes between you, an intimacy blooming as the voices of the people mute.

It's all you need to distract your mind, to make your body heat up. Not with anxiety—

—but in anticipation. 

“Are you ready to give me your virginity?” His low voice rumbles close to your ear.

You nod, like in a haze, every caress of his lips causes your skin to tingle, to burn with passion. He shifts, and you feel him faintly brush your lips, and a zap of electricity courses through your veins. Then, your lips are united in his first tentative kiss. They are so soft, and the way he kisses you is so delicate, almost tender— deliberately slow.

You relax, giving in to how wonderful this feels. His tongue slowly traces the shape of your lips, and you feel your brain short-circuiting. Angling your head to the side, you part your lips, begging him to enter. Dabi reacts instantly, his tongue slipping your mouth, delving deeper, tasting you, consuming you.

You groan—how could a man taste so good?

It makes your knees buckle, and you start panting into his mouth, your instincts taking over, your body reacting to his touch. A desire, a passion, awakens like a wild animal roaring, and you feel a wave of arousal pool in your panties. You can't help it, and you slide your hand underneath his shirt, your other hand circling his neck. You can feel him smirking into the kiss, but the sound carries off into a groan when you rake your nails down the small of his back. 

As he breaks away, a warmth lingers between you and him while he admires your wet, pink, swollen lips, "A little eager for your first time, huh?"

The kiss leaves you dizzy, and you can't seem to form an answer, too stricken by his closeness and intoxicating scent.

The moment passes, and then his lips smash against yours so fast you don't even have time to react. He presses his hips against yours, his clothed hardness grazing against your heat, letting you feel just how hard you’ve made him.

Holy shit.

He's not gentle anymore; he's rough and demanding now. He is taking you, enjoying the shaky gasps that leave your lips. Dabi’s hands trail down your side to find your ass cheeks. He lifts you by the thighs onto his waist skillfully, never breaking the kiss. Carrying you easily toward the bed he releases his hold and you topple onto it, panting heavily.

The lights around you heat the air, and you notice one camera panning across the set while the other tracks toward you on a dolly. Just as your heart starts picking up an anxious speed again, you see a movement to the side. Dabi yanks his shirt above his head, the muscles in his stomach flexing with every movement.

The second the fabric touches the floor, he's on you with his lips pressed to yours and his tongue in your mouth. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment of passion and all you can see is him. Your stomach somersaults and the world around you ceases to exist; it is just you and him— the people around you and the cameras wholly forgotten. The world, right now, only revolves around the two of you.

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes into your mouth, hazy eyes glowing with arousal. "How do you taste so fucking good?”

You feel his hand sneak underneath your shirt to slowly pull it off over your head. Next, he skillfully removes the rest of your clothes off until you are lying below him, sex and breasts cupped by delicate cotton underwear. 

“Look at that,” he muses. “So innocent.”

Sliding his hand behind your back, he unhooks the bra with an expert pinch of his fingers. Your breasts spill out as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside. Then his gaze lingers on your soft, round tits.

“Damn,” he cups them and squeezes them gently, “Where have you been hiding, girl? You're perfect.”

He slides his fingers over your nipples and a low moan tears from your throat. Dabi lets out a low rumble as his hands continue to work your breasts, rubbing and plucking at your stiffening nipples. There’s a deep throb low in your body, pulsing between your thighs, and you're startled at the way you’re reacting. You are so turned on—his touch only adds to your body’s cravings, and as his large palms glide over your breasts; it pulls the breath from your lungs as it simultaneously fuels your desire. His thumbs drag over your nipples again, rolling it between his fingers before leaning down to lick at your pebbled nub. He makes you feel breathless with excitement the more he focuses on toying with your breasts, rolling the tips back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. 

It makes you crazy with need until you're aching, shivering throughout your entire body. You're gasping for breath the entire time Dabi has his lips wrapped around your erect nub, sucking it to send a tingling sensation straight through to your core. Then he's biting just hard enough to make you squeal before soothing the puckered nub with a flick of his tongue.

“You’ve got the most amazing tits,’ Dabi murmurs against your skin. “So soft and full. So natural.”

While he switches from pliant nipple to pliant nipple, you feel a stray hand hook its fingers under the seams of your panties. He releases your nipple with a pop and peppers kisses down to your tummy while he adeptly pulls the little piece of fabric down and off your legs. You're now utterly naked below him while Dabi continues revering your body with wet kisses and nibbles, moving downward until you feel his warm breath on your pubic mound. He spreads your trembling legs, his eyes glazing over your pussy, pupils expanding and then retracting into pin slits.

"Look at that pretty pussy." His breath is hot against your soaked folds. "And so fucking wet—you're dripping."

A shameful sound spills from your lips at his words, and you writhe in his hold. But his hands keep you in place. 

"You're seriously telling me,” he slides his fingers up and down your glistening folds, “No one's been here before?"

You squirm below him as a camera zooms in on where Dabi’s eyes are affixed– between your thighs.

“Cause you have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He snickers. “And I've seen a lot.” 

His warm, calloused fingers slide up and down your slippery folds, his hot breath fanning over your sex. Then he spreads apart your sweet lips; it makes you shudder in anticipation, and Dabi chuckles.

“I can see you twitching for me.” A finger sinks in, making you arch your back the deeper it goes. 

The camera behind him zooms in on your blushing face, and you cover it with trembling hands. 

"Nu-uh, no hiding. Look at me." He slaps your clit lightly—making you jolt. "Let us see your pretty face."

You whimper softly, because you've touched yourself before—

—but this just feels so much more intense.

“Dabi—” you choke out, flinching in pleasure when he slides a hand underneath your ass, 

raising your hips to have more access to you. 

“Relax, baby, I'll take care of you.” A growl tears from his throat, and then he drags his tongue over your gleaming folds, tasting you. 

You cry out, your body shuddering. Over and over, Dabi licks you with deep, claiming strokes, using his tongue to explore every bit of you. 

“Damn, you taste better than anything I've ever tasted.” He pushes his wet muscle into your core, frantic to have more of you. 

“Oh my God. Dabi!” Your toes curl, and your thighs tighten around him. You're both – startled and aroused at his eagerness. Any worries you have are melting away as he drags his tongue over you again and again, making you squirm with need.

A moan escapes your lips– loud, uncontrolled– when his tongue flicks over your folds. When he grazes your little button, you jolt as if you've been stung. 

He hums appreciatively and buries his face into your warmth, seeking out that sweet nub. Your body jerks as he moves his tongue over it, repeating the action when he does it again. You give a little wail, and your hands curl into the fabric the longer he teases. He eagerly works that spot, and you cry out with little choked gasps.

As his tongue circles your clitoris, your sensations spiral out of control. You can feel the tension increasing in your body with a growing urgency to be released. 

“Dabi,” you pant with every flick of his tongue. But he doesn't respond, does not hear– or pretends not to. He buries his face in your folds, hands holding you down by your hips.

With every quiver that moves through your body, with every shiver of response, every tensing of your muscles, you draw closer to the edge.

You writhe against Dabi, with his face between your thighs, lapping at your juices. All the while, he continues to work your little clit with his tongue in slow, steady strokes. 

Suddenly, the feeling that you’re about to cum overwhelms you. Your pussy clenches, dripping with your juices, and your clit is ready to burst.  

Your hips jerk against him, and then a release explodes in your mind, your thoughts crashing all around you. You come with a slight scream that morphs into a moan, but Dabi does not stop his ministrations—

—no.

He continues to lick and suck as you come and come and come.

It's too much; you feel like exploding. You’re a moaning mess, fingers slipping between Dabi’s strands, pushing and pulling at his roots unsure if you can take it if he keeps going like that. 

Your entire body is on fire. The orgasm continues to surge through you– more intense than anything you’ve experienced by yourself– with Dabi gently sucking and licking at your clit. You are delirious, feel like you are floating with no way to find your path back to earth. 

“Dabi, please—” you choke out.

Dabi’s mouth detaches from your overstimulated nub and straightens up, licking your cum’s sweetness off his lips. Crawling on top of you, he gazes into your eyes. “Doll, tell me—what do you want me to do?”

You see his jeans straining from the bulk of his erection and swallow, your body responding with a flood of hormones. 

“Please fuck me,” you whisper, thinking in ways you never have before.

You want to beg him to be gentle, but you can’t seem to form the words when you see him unbuckle his belt before unzipping his jeans, his eyes carefully watching your expression as he does. His cock springs to life, and you swallow thickly. It's enormous—and pierced. 

You feel a momentary pang of doubt, questioning if that monster will even fit inside you. The previous excitement and adrenaline pumping through your veins gradually turn to panic. Your breathing picks up as you stare at his cock, wide-eyed. 

“You look worried,” Dabi says, stroking it with one hand. His raised eyebrows and amused grin tell you he's used to this type of reaction. 

“Are you sure…” you nod towards his cock.

“Trust me,” he says. “I’ll make sure you feel good. It’ll be the greatest thing you'll ever experience.”

Your entire body yearns for his touch, and there’s no way you're saying no now. He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves to hold himself in hand to align his cock with your entrance.  

"Do you want me to fuck you?’ Dabi asks as he drags the head of the tip up and down your slit. 

“‘S not gonna fit,” you whine with a worried expression.

“Don't be scared,” Dabi says, "I know what I'm doing. So, you'll be a good girl and take it all, right?”

“I'm not sure,” you whisper.

“I know you can...” His eyes stare at you with a desire so intense that you almost feel intimidated. 

He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves one to hold himself and align his cock to your entrance. The pressure between your legs increases as Dabi nudges the pierced tip of his cock against you.

“Get ready,” he whispers.

A mix of a gasp and a cry leaves your lips as Dabi strains against you, feeling like he’s trying to shove a massive pole inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears gather in your lashes, and Dabi holds back, kissing you, waiting for you to relax.

“Easy,” he says softly, “I’ve got you.” 

The softness of his tone relaxes you and the tension in your shoulders lessens. Then, somehow, something gives way, and he enters you. You gasp, your body opening up to accommodate the massive dick that is now sliding inside of you. 

"Oh my god—” You throw your head back, hands clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to push him away.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, eyebrows furrowing before he hits resistance and then pushes forward.

There’s a sharp pain slicing through your core, and you don't know if it's from the stretch or a tear. Probably both. It hurts, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing tears down your cheek. Dabi continues to push his hips forward, only stopping once he’s entirely inside, heavy balls pressed against the crease of your ass. The cameras zoom in on the bulge in your womb, where his dick sits buried deep inside of you. But you don't notice them, your brain too consumed by him filling you up, his whole weight resting against you. 

“You ok?” Breathing heavily, he drags his eyes back and forth over your face. 

“Gimme a sec.” Your lips press into a thin line as the pain from the stretch slowly turns into a dull throb. After a moment, you nod...

"I'm gonna start moving now," Dabi says— and then does precisely that. 

Just as you start to feel your body relaxing, he withdraws, only to plunge himself in again. The sudden shock of the movement is incredible. You feel every ridge, every single thick vein. It feels fantastic, and as he slowly slides back in, you can appreciate every inch of his cock. He starts an even rhythm, rocking inside you gently. 

“Shit, just squeezed me so fucking tight,” he moans in response. "I’m warning you, don't make me lose my composure. You don’t want to see me act up.”

Your mind feels detached from your body; you don't hear him, don't even notice the camera zooming in, focusing on how your face scrunches and your lips quiver because of how good he makes you feel. 

He grabs you by the waist and brings you closer to him. Raising both legs in the air, he pushes them forward until your body is folded in half.

“Oh—shit—” You choke out, the walls of your sex stretching to accommodate him. 

“I’m gonna make you cum,” Dabi is panting hard as he starts driving his cock rapidly in and out of you. “You won't be able to walk for days.”

“I-I can’t—” your jaw slackens as you tighten around his dick again, the ability to form comprehensive answers having left you the moment he breached your walls.

He rams himself deeper while his fingers slip between your strands, guiding your face upward, your mouths colliding in a frantic kiss. 

It starts as a slow burn that gradually builds into a white, blistering heat. A feeling begins coursing through you, making you lose control of your body. You tense and arch your back, your head digging back into the pillow, voice caught in your throat. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, all that tension releases, and you cry out loud, a turbulent wave of pleasure hitting you like a storm. All your nerve endings are seemingly set ablaze while Dabi fucks you through your orgasm. 

His eyes are wide with wonder, hearing and feeling you come undone around him. The way your eyes are shut tightly in pleasure, your entire body trembling and shaking in ecstasy, is the best thing he's ever seen. It makes his chest swell with pride. Still, it feels like it's not enough, though, and he needs more. He wants to own you, possess you, make you his.

Dabi snaps. 

With a suppressed growl, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. He's not letting you catch your breath before he propels his cock back inside you again. His hand slides from the dip in your spine to the spot between your shoulder blades, pressing down until your face is buried in the sheets. At this angle, he reaches even deeper than before, his piercings rubbing your G-spot just right. Your hands tightly fist the soft duvet with every drive of his hips, knocking the air from your lungs.

Dabi seems delirious, pistoning in and out of you now. Reaching forward, he gathers your hair around his fist, tugging it to keep you in place, forcing your head up from the sheets. You sob out his name, your chin and cheeks covered with your drool and tears. 

But Dabi is drowning too deep in pleasure to notice. 

"I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll never think of anyone but me in your fantasies," Dabi growls while your elbows shake under the pressure of his forceful thrusts.

Slowly, your mind is falling apart with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Dabi starts drilling his big cock into your even faster now. You tremble below him, thighs quivering when you feel another orgasm building up. 

“You gonna cum for me again, princess?” Dabi groans, “I can feel your pussy clenching around me.”

You nod, too exhausted to form any words. Dabi tightens his hold on your hip, fingers digging into your plush skin, holding you still. 

“I’m gonna cum with you,” he tells you. “I’m gonna fill up your tight hole, gonna breed you so good—fuck!”

"Please—" you whimper pathetically, finding yourself trapped in his lewd promises. 

And then you lose it, feeling like the world is disappearing underneath your feet. Pleasure rips through you, leaving you with no strength. It’s an intense tingling pleasure that starts in your core and spreads through your whole body, from your fingertips down to your toes. It's all-consuming and euphoric, your body not knowing what to do with that much sensation at once. 

You feel your body falling off a cliff into a pile of tingling ecstasy as you cum again with a broken whimper escaping your lips. The orgasm is even more potent than the last ones, like a massive burst of pleasure; all that tension explodes and shoots up the back of your legs and everywhere else. You moan and shudder, your pussy clamping around his cock. 

“That’s it,” Dabi lets out a long, shuddering groan. “Just like that.”

You forget to breathe while Dabi keeps fucking your harder and harder, feral with desire, shoving his cock as deep inside you as he can.

“Oh fuck—” You gasp out, arching your back, fingers twisting against the sheets.

No sooner have the words slipped from your lips that you feel your whole body lock tight again—and then unravel. You forget to breathe as an unending cascade of euphoria detonates deep inside of you. You come undone, shaking uncontrollably as juices gush from your pussy, dripping down Dabis balls, drenching the sheets below. 

Dabi groans, his eyes screwing shut, head dropping back. With one final possessive thrust of his hips, he cums, shooting his seed deep inside you. You feel his cock twitch as he moans heavily, eyebrows sewn together. His body is shuddering, his hips hitching while he rides out his orgasm.

You’re faintly aware of your surroundings, buried too deeply in your bliss. Unable to take any more pleasure, you slump backward. Dabi slides his softening cock from you with an obscene wet sound before dropping down onto the bed beside you, taking you with him.

“Fuck…” he breathed out, caressing your skin. “That felt so—”

‘And—cut!’ You hear a voice call, speaking its way into the mush that is your brain, slapping you back to reality.

You open your eyes and look around in shock, having completely forgotten where you are. The lights switch on, almost blindingly bright. People start hustling about the set, and cameras mere inches away from you now pull back into their waiting positions. 

“That was perfect,” you hear Tenko say through the noise filling the set now.

Your breath catches in your throat, an unsettling feeling beginning to well inside you. Your heart starts pounding at an increasingly rapid pace while you feel panic stretch its icy fingers up your spine.

You feel a warm hand cradling your face, angling it to the side. It’s Dabi. He places his mouth over yours without further ado. 

“You are perfect.” Dabi coos into the kiss, and it happens again— butterflies erupt in your gut, the world around you fading until there's only you and him.

Instinctively, you let go, feeling the tension slowly dissipate and your heart calming down. Dabi smiles as he breaks away from you, and you feel it— a lingering warmth, an unseen connection that spins fragile threads between you both.

A man approaches to help you get out of bed, but Dabi, whose face is still dewy with sweat, moves between you both. He takes the bathrobe from the guy and wraps it around your shivering body before getting dressed himself.

Helping you off the bed, he drapes an arm around your shoulder and leads you past the celebrating crew members from the set until you’re backstage. 

Once in the changing room, he closes the door behind him and leans against it. 

“That was something…” he muses. “You’re a natural. Would you ever consider doing this again with me?’ 

You're caught off-guard, his face radiating a tenderness that fills your heart with something joyful. A warmth spreads across your face, your hands gripping the soft belt of your robe as you nip at your lower lip. “I-I don't know.”

“You should,” Dabi kicks off the door frame and saunters over you with a sinful, obscene sway of his hips. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing in a silent agreement, pulling you into a tight embrace. “Think about it…”

He lets the words hang in the air for a second. When he pulls away, his arms wrap around your neck, lower half still pressed against you as if you’re not a stranger. He looks down at you like the two of you have been dating for years.

“So, I was wondering… what are you doing later on?” Dabi kisses the tip of your nose. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat and get some drinks?”

“Are you asking me out on a date?” A new desire for him grows inside of you. You smile back at him, reaching up to gently play with his dark hair.

“Maybe?” His lips curl into a devious smirk.

“Is this even allowed?” Chest to chest, your heartbeat slowly catches up to his, as if your bodies react simultaneously to each other's warm touch.

“Maybe?” Dabi repeats, his thumb gently brushing along your lips.

When you look into his eyes, a tenderness softens the rough edges of his sharp features. It makes you wonder, he’s been so sweet and caring after everything that happened today– you actually believe he’s a genuinely sincere and nice guy. You feel your heart quiet when you’re with him, as if you have found peace. 

“Well…” you consider, “I've just thrown all my morals into the wind. So, might as well go on a date with a pornstar, right?”

“You won't regret it.” Dabis laughs softly. “Even though you might not be able to move after I'm done with you—”

“Is that so…” You are torn between scolding him or laughing because he's so cute. “Ok, big boy, whatever you say.”

[strangerstolovers444]

soulmate trope | shigaraki tomura

Shigaraki’s route of soulmate trope.

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

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

~28k

There’s a hentai book lying on your bed.

You’ve never seen it before.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hated yourself for this, but they won.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You waved your hand, prompting him to continue.

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

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

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

“Is he officially a student?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hm. Fishy.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

GinsengTea

That username is unavailable.

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

GinsengTea69

That username is unavailable.

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

GinzengTea

Username available!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just fu—just click on the map.”

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

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

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

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

Your inventory filled with shrimps.

“You only need one shrimp,” said Tenko.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

However, Aizawa gave you a mission.

Excuse you, a task.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uh.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The miss sound effect spoke for itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Venomothman: wow a couple questing together

Venomothman: bet ur one guy on two accounts

Venomothman: roleplaying that he can get a gf

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

Venomothman: leave the basement sometimes ya incel

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

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

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

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

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

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

Venomothman: is this what does it for you??

Venomothman: why no response

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that condescension I detect?”

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

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

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

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

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

“This is bullshit.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Venomothman: i mean you right

Venomothman: lmao how tf did you know it was me

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

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

“Oh? Who is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Venomothman: so have you sucked his dick yet

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

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

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

You: what’s with all those quotation marks

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

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

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

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

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

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

Venomothman: no need, boss man

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

Venomothman: no need, douchebag

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Again, I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not following.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Long phone call,” Tenko said eventually.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded. “That bitch.”

“Agreed. We should kill him.”

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back then? When he—oh.

Back in the League.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, you wouldn’t’ve.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hell, no—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

LynchianTiddies: You’re encouraging domestic terrorism???

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(This felt…affectionate. Romantic, even.

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

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

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

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

(…oh.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I try stabbing it through his ear.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’d you just roll?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would I lie to you, sensei?”

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

Evidence. It’s been on your mind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes snapped open.

(What the fuck?

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

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

You swallowed thickly, pulse pounding in your ears.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For fuck’s sake, Tenko—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You kissed the pad of his thumb, blinking slowly.

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

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

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

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

***

Dango was missing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

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

“Where on campus?”

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

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

“Beautiful.”

“I need more than that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would anyone do that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, I don’t…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She never told you what her quirk did?”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tenko.”

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

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

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

[strangerstolovers444]

COIN TOSS– PART III

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I → PART II

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

↳ A playlist I made for this fic, if you're interested!

A/N: here is your final part to this series! again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing this!! and thank you guys so so much for your support and comments, they mean so so much to me!! i had a lot of trouble with this last part, there was a lot of scenes i cut out and alternative endings before i settled on what is there now and i'm not even fully happy with it still lol. i have a lot of Thoughts about this, so feel free to reach out if you want to know more or just chat!! i hope you guys enjoy this!!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta apologizes to you soon after. You sheepishly get out your own apology, even though you’d planned on holding a grudge a little while longer.

Still, Shouta confides that he also had his doubts and worries as a young hero and that he shouldn’t have dismissed yours. He talks in a soft, low voice for you, sits beside you on the edge of the couch.

You hate it because it’s easier to be at odds with Shouta lately, easier for your conscience. He put distance between the two of you, but you forced it apart further– if only to keep him in the dark. Maybe if only to spare yourself all the lying, all the pretending you’d have to do.

He says, “You know, you can always come to me. Whenever you need me.”

You have to swallow hard around the lump in your throat.

“I’ll always be here for you, despite everything.” he promises gently, trying to catch your eyes. Your gaze ducks away, out of his line of site.

Still, you hug him, tuck your face into his shoulder so he can’t see the guilt written across your face. Your secrets will constrict around you if you’re not careful. You know Truth is tricky and likes to reveal itself with Time’s help.

Once more, you become acutely aware of the clock ticking away on your relationship with Tomura.

But this time, you also realize how much trouble you could get in. You realize that you’re endangering Shouta now, too. You swallow hard, try to keep all of that down inside of you, but you feel nauseous suddenly. Bloated with guilt.

You wonder if you would’ve confessed to him then, if you would’ve spilled your guts the way you’d wanted to, if it would’ve saved you the heartache of it all.

Instead, you’d just clung to him, little fingers twisting in the back of his shirt, praying that you’d never need to make good on his promise. Praying you’d never need to test how far he’d go for you.

(It’s far– you’ll realize, further than it ever should’ve been. And you’re all the worse for it.)

***

Tomura thinks one of the troubles with heroes is their willingness to sacrifice anything for their greater good. He doesn’t think there’s anything noble in it, there’s nothing glorious or good in leaving their friend behind because they think it will save more. Nothing honorable in facing down a threat you know you can’t win against alone. What good is their world if they’re willing to sacrifice all that’s good to them in the process?

Everytime he watches you patrol, go up against other villains, maybe yakuza members, throw yourself in harm’s way needlessly, he realizes the Hero Commission uses heroes’ bodies as collateral damage. You are nothing to them. Even to other heroes; your sacrifice is expected. He knows it isn’t wanted, per se, but it isn’t surprising.

It doesn’t help that you have a streak of recklessness in you. You are quick to danger, just as quick to flash teeth and stand your ground, to fight mercilessly.

You struggle against large, powerhouse types. He watches you nearly get crushed or strangled some nights. Your Quirk doesn’t do much for you when your opponent has strength and weight to defeat you with a singular blow.

Your mentor is often pulling you out of danger with his capture weapon, yanking you away from a massive swinging arm or a curled fist about to smash you into the ground. But if it came down to you or the greater good, he knows what your mentor and your heroes would pick.

He thinks it’s strangely unfair, for you to give them your loyalty over him. He’s more loyal to you, isn’t he? There is very, very little he wouldn’t destroy for you. They would sooner let you be destroyed for the sake of their world.

Destroying the hero society that is so careless with you now feels, in part, like his gift to you. Freedom from the world that only cared about you when they realized you could be useful–

There is a night you become not just useful to your heroes but imperative.

It starts with your sacrifice, just as you were trained to do. You shove a civilian out of the way of a villain’s Quirk– it’s something with tusks and teeth that jut out from his body, sharp and ready to gut you.

Your mentor is busy with this villain’s accomplice.

Tomura watches when he shouldn’t. He was supposed to meet with Kurogiri, but he knows you patrol in this area and when there’d been commotion, he couldn’t help but watch from the shadows.

He watches one of those tusks jut towards you, your hand reaching out in hopes of disengaging the Quirk. But it’s a physical Quirk, not something like Dabi’s fire or his disintegration. And he doesn’t know if this Quirk disengages with it’s user or if it’s just his body.

Tomura feels his heart drop, the trapdoor given way to all icy fear as he watches one of those tusks pierce into your stomach.

Tomura stops breathing.

You grab hold of it, a scream getting caught behind your clenched teeth. Your fingers are tight, near frantic as you press into them– hope with everything in you, in him, that his Quirk disengages with yours.

Your broken off scream is wretched from your struggling body when another tusk rushes to crash into your shoulder.

You’re the only thing between the civilians behind you and this villain.

Your other hand reaches for the tusk at your shoulder, digging fingers and nails into it desperately.

Your eyes are bright and feverish with the hot pink of your Quirk.

Tomura stutters towards you, before the villain let’s out a pained groan. Your teeth are bared, blood bubbling up in your mouth, but you’re still standing, vicious and undeterred.

The tusks begin to crack where you grip them, splintering apart–

A sudden fission of light through those crevices, same fire pink as your eyes, arcs throughout the villain. A flare of it that makes the villain almost see-through, the lines of his bones burned by light, an x-ray flash, as if you’d struck him with lightning for a moment.

Eraserhead shouts for you.

When the flare dies, there is a scream of pain and it’s not yours.

The tusks shatter, splinter apart into gleaming bone that flies through the air.

You’re left standing, blood oozing from your stomach, your shoulder, but still standing, your eyes crackling and too bright.

The villain, tuskless, crumples at your feet, smoking. A normal, Quirkless looking man.

Did you–?

“What happened?” he hears the distant voice of your mentor, laced with worry, whose already reaching to staunch blood, blood that seeps so dark out of you. Tomura’s stomach rolls, twists suddenly, but you’re still standing. You’re okay– you’re okay–

“I-I don’t know.” you manage, but you sway into your mentor’s arms and Tomura has to look away, jaw clenched tight, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat.

He hears, “I need an ambulance– there’s a hero and villain down–”

But he’s already turning away, his mind churning, trying to keep the nauseousness from overcoming him. He feels suddenly furious, that it can’t be him at your side, that he has to watch, pushed to the outskirts. His fingers rush to scratch at his neck, his throat, desperate for relief from the pressure that has built in his chest.

He will try to call you– later, much later– the only time you’ll answer him. He is certain you will be okay with your healers and–

He thinks of the flare of light, the breaking of those tusks, the sudden heap of that man on the ground. If Tomura is correct about what you’d done, about what your Quirk actually is, the heroes won’t let you die now.

No, now you’re imperative. Now you’re trapped.

And the destruction of hero society will be his gift to you, an end to all the strings in place, the hands holding you both back.

***

“You destroyed his Quirk.”

“W-what?” you manage to get out, wobbly. You’re bandaged up, your torso and shoulder wrapped in fresh gauze after Recovery Girl healed the worst of your wounds. You’d been sleeping, hooked up to an IV to aid you in recovering. “That’s not possible, my Quirk only cancels–”

The doctor that has entered to give you this news shakes his head, “No, we’ve done scans, tests, the works on this guy. His Quirk is gone from his DNA. No trace of it.”

Shouta, who's sitting beside your hospital bed, speaks up, “Is it possible that it will eventually return?”

“I suppose, but we think it’s unlikely. It’s gone from him. There’s nothing left. She destroyed it cleanly. It’s like it was never there at all.” The doctor answers.

“I don’t understand–” you manage to get out, your head beginning to swim, giving a painful throb at your temples.

“It seems your Quirk isn’t so simple as cancelling out another’s. It’s likely that subduing other’s Quirks was just the surface of yours.”

“Is the man okay otherwise?” Shouta asks now, fidgeting in his seat when he senses your sudden distress. He leans towards your bed more and you have the sudden urge to latch onto him and not let go.

“Physically, yes. He’s fine.” the doctor answers, “However, mentally...he’s inconsolable at the moment. As you know, Quirks are incredibly– well, they’re a part of who we are, aren’t they?”

You swallow hard around the lump in your throat.

You think Shouta says something else, finishes speaking to the doctor for you. The moment the door clicks shut, the tears that you stubbornly had been holding back rush forward.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you get out on just a hissed breath. “I-I didn’t know I could.”

Shouta shushes you gently, “It’s okay, this happens. Sometimes people don’t know the full extent of their Quirk.”

“I destroyed his Quirk, it’s not okay!” you respond, guilt thickening inside of you, dragging you down heavy, clogging your throat and chest. “I didn’t mean to do that– what if I do it again?”

“You were under distress,” he soothes, reaching out to brush a tear away from your cheek, “Really, you were fighting for your life.” And when he says it, something gets caught in his throat. Something hitches in yours, too.

His eyes rove over your face slowly, taking you in carefully, as if he hasn’t been by your side the entire time. As if it wasn’t him in the ambulance, or him kneeling beside your bed when Recovery Girl put you back together.

“I should’ve been there. It shouldn’t have happened.” Shouta admits, the confession filling the small space between you two.

You take him in now, too, tired and worried, his face finally displaying the fear and care he has for you. It softens out his features, turns his eyes gentle and dark.

You realize suddenly that you miss him. You miss quiet nights on his couch as he graded papers. You miss his clothes and his cats and the tenderness that blossomed in all your silent spaces to fill you both out.

You wonder if he misses you as bad as you’re realizing you miss him.

You think of him cooking for one again, eating alone, and it does something horrible to your heart– mangles it, twists it up horribly.

It’s made all the worse because you’re lying to him. And here he is, at your bedside.

“S’okay, Shouta,” you get out, reaching up to touch his cheek with a trembling hand. He leans into the touch, letting his eyes flutter shut for a moment. He savors your touch in a way that he hasn’t ever allowed himself to before.

But after a moment, he shakes his head fractionally, and he murmurs “I’m supposed to protect you.”

You don’t know why, but your bottom lip wobbles. Big, fat tears well up in your eyes, burn hot and put pressure on your already foggy head. You feel like you’re unraveling, your chest all swollen and tender, too, aching horribly.

You can’t decide if it’s because you’re lying and disobeying him so badly or because no one has ever bothered to say something like that to you, let alone mean it.

And you’re betraying him, your mind hisses.

When he notices, his face falls, his thumb moving to try and brush away your tears. “Don’t cry,” he hushes, “I’m sorry, don’t cry.”

You lean into his large and warm palm at your cheek, let him cradle and coddle you.

“I-I’m sorry–” you barely manage to choke out, for reasons far beyond him.

“No,” he coos, “No, sweetheart, don’t apologize.”

You choke on a sob and he grows more worried, leans over you more, brings his other hand up to stroke at your hairline, too.

He says your name softly, trying to soothe you, “Why are you crying, huh? What are you apologizing for?”

You shake your head, more tears loosening, your small fingers twisting themselves in the shoulders of his shirt. You think you’ll drown in all this guilt, it’ll fill your lungs with pressure, choke you out slowly as you struggle and thrash.

But for now, all you get out is a warbled, slurred, “Please don’t hate me–”

Shouta moves then, shifts to sit beside you on the bed. He’s painfully careful with you as he slides strong and sturdy arms beneath you, lifts you slightly into his lap, mindful of your IV, and cradles you to him.

You bury your face into his chest and try to hold back another sob as he murmurs, “Why would I hate you? I could never hate you.”

He strokes your hair, he hushes your cries, rocking you gently. Rocking you until you can stop crying, until you’re exhausted and aching and tender.

“I’ll help you with your Quirk,” he promises gently, holding you tight to him, “We’ll be okay, huh?” he murmurs, and it just forces another cry out of you, swallowed up by his chest that he cradles you to, “We’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

It’s the we’ll in that sentence that makes you squeeze him tighter. You wonder how willing he’d be to use it if he knew where you were every other night, who you filled your time with.

If he knew who called you late that night, when you’re alone in your room, aching and sore and alone. If he knew who you answered to, your voice hushed in the inky darkness;

“Tomura,” you exhale his name through the receiver.

“I saw what happened,” he answers instead, “I saw what happened today.”

You can feel the sudden jump of your heart, your nerves wringing themselves tight. “Oh,” you respond lamely.

To your surprise, Tomura rasps, “Are you okay?”

You don’t know why, but you cradle the phone to your cheek tighter, your eyes slipping shut for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Sore and tired, but I’m okay.”

“Good,” he responds, his voice softer than it usually is, just a breath when he asks, “What happened? What’d you do to him?”

You’re silent for a long moment. You can’t decide if you should tell him or not. You think of Shouta earlier and his voice like a hearth and the tender way he holds you, you think of his we’ll be okay.

But you can hear Tomura’s soft breath on the other line. You can see Ryuji in the patch of sun that splays out against the corner of the couch in the evenings. You think of him curled tight around you, like you’re the last good thing left on earth.

“I destroyed his Quirk,” you say, voice barely above a whisper, “With mine.”

“That’s new,” Tomura almost hums, but it nearly seems like he was expecting the answer.

“I didn’t mean to.”

A quiet snort from him, “What are you trying to prove to me?” he asks, “I’m not your heroes. I won’t look at you differently whether you intended to or not.”

The thought strikes like an arrow between the ribs, sharp, sudden. It stings, when you realize it’s truth. How hard have you tried to prove yourself to Shouta? How hard are you trying to prove your goodness to yourself?

“You could’ve killed him,” Tomura says, “And I wouldn’t think differently.”

You wince for some reason when he says that, “Don’t–”

“What would your heroes think then?”

“Tomura–” you snap, voice gaining some bite, a warning.

But for some reason he presses, “How badly does the Hero Commission want you now? With a Quirk like that?”

“What?” you ask, suddenly shocked.

“Don’t be naive,” Tomura says and there’s an edge to his voice. He sucks in a breath, “That’s a big Quirk. Destroying someone else’s? You don’t think they’ll be interested in that?”

You feel the pressure of tears work their way through your head, your throat. Your fingers clutch so hard at the phone that your knuckles are turning white and before you can think, you hiss out, “And how interested are you now?”

“As interested as I was before.” he returns, sharp and quick, and then with a vitriol he hasn’t directed at you in months, he says, “Don’t compare me to them.”

You bare your teeth, tears stinging sharp at your eyes, prepared to fight back when he hisses, “Mark my words, they won’t let you go now.”

“Stop it,” you spit, “You don’t know anything–”

And he laughs at that, caustic, harsh, a grating sound. Villainous. It slithers through the phone, down your spine. Your stomach twists. You hate this– your head is throbbing. You don’t want to fight. You want to stop crying, God, you wish you could just stop crying–

“I’ll be here when you realize it.” he says and there is too much heat behind his voice, simmering and venomous. You can feel the end of this conversation, the bitter goodbye in his words.

Your bottom lip trembles, and for some foolish, lovesick reason, you gasp, “Wait– don’t hang up–”

But you hear the click of the other line and he’s fallen away from you, leaving you with an empty, static silence that buzzes around in your head. In your heart.

You throw your phone across the room. You hear it clatter somewhere in the darkness. You turn to press your face into your pillow and let out a sudden, childish scream. It tears at your throat, before tapering off into this pathetic little sob.

It’s worse because he ends up being right.

And it’s ironic because it’s another string tethering you to him, the ability to destroy something with a touch.

It’s like some part of him knew all along, or maybe some part of you.

You scream into your pillow again, louder, kicking at your covers before it breaks off into a bitter cry.

***

The Hero Commission is very interested in the new discovery of your Quirk. They run tests and scans on you, over and over again, trying to find something interesting. They want you to practice with it, but there’s no way for you to practice without potentially destroying other people’s Quirks.

They offer up criminals to practice on.

It turns your stomach.

“I don’t want to do this,” you tell Shouta one night after another long series of poking and prodding at you by white coats from the Hero Commission.

Shouta is silent for a moment, “No one is making you.”

“But they want me to. It’s expected of me.” you tell him.

“They want to make sure you can control it,” Shouta answers, “And the only way to do that is practice, unfortunately.”

Or do they just want to be sure they can control me? The question bubbles up unbridled inside of you. It sounds suspiciously like Tomura’s voice.

You frown, “I can control it. I don’t go around destroying Quirks with every touch. I just mute Quirks still.”

“Under distress, too? Can you summon it completely calmly? Or stop it in an instant?” Shouta asks.

“I don’t know– no, I don’t think so.”

“Then you can’t fully control it.” he answers, which makes you ball your hands into fists.

“It doesn’t feel right taking people’s Quirks– practice or not. And it’s controlled enough.” you respond, gaining a sudden edge to your voice.

“Then don’t do it.” Shouta responds, almost impassively.

You try not to grow upset or so frustrated that you say something you might regret. You swallow tightly. “Will you be disappointed? If I don’t?”

Shouta tilts his head and in the quietness you fear he will be, but he eventually answers, “No. You’re right; you have it controlled enough that it doesn’t hinder your day-to-day life.”

You let go of a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“Besides, if you’re under that amount of distress again, it probably flares for a good reason. It’ll probably save you if you ever need it again.” Shouta then says, “And if what they want you to do doesn’t feel right to you, then you shouldn’t do it.”

You stare up at him, a little surprised but–

Relief sweeps through you, sweet and cool.

“I trust your instincts,” Shouta says, the curl of his lips small but promising, as he reaches out to nudge your chin with his knuckle.

The guilt blindsides you later, so hard that it makes you lock yourself in your bathroom and keep a sob trapped behind the palm of your hands.

But for now, you smile up at him, the curve of your smirk playful, something he hasn’t seen from you in what feels like forever that you give to him again freely.

“Can I get that one in writing?” you ask and his answering laugh strikes you so suddenly it almost makes you dizzy and it’s like hearing the notes to one of your favorite songs that you hadn’t heard in a long time.

Like you couldn’t ever imagine forgetting it, now that you’ve heard it again.

***

Tomura wonders what it will take to make you leave your heroes.

Specifically, your precious mentor.

When he sees you again, you look like you did before nearly bleeding out in front of him and destroying the Quirk of another. It’s almost as if it never happened at all, almost like your argument never happened at all, either. In this little apartment where the rest of the world doesn’t exist, just you and him and sometimes Ryuji.

Except when he lifts your shirt there is a twisted, ugly scar from where they patched you up. Another at your shoulder. He doesn’t kiss it or run his fingers over it gently, he doesn’t make any sort of comment. He just thumbs at your waist and glares at it, wishes he could make it disappear like the villain who gave it to you.

(Not because he finds it ugly or unacceptable, only that it is now a permanent reminder of what he’d seen. Only that it reminds him that you are not guaranteed to him, not in life nor in loyalty).

You’re a little hesitant with him now. You feel more fragile to him now, too, like you’re holding something back, waiting for everything to finally fall.

The inevitable crash and break.

Tomura is gentler with you– he knows he needs to play his cards right now. It’s crucial. Something is building, even for the League of Villains. There’s more on the horizons.

And despite everything, he wants you there, when the sun is bloody and falling on a dismembered, new world.

He thinks he shouldn’t have pushed you now, when you’re so delicate, barely stitched together. But he had– he’d started another argument. He’d tried to convince you of the heroes’ lack of care for you, their greediness upon discovering the depth of your Quirk.

You throw it back in his face; isn’t that what All For One does to him? Isn’t that what he does for the League of Villains? Aren’t they all just pawns for him? Is that what he wants of you?

He seethes, digging into the skin of his neck desperately. You don’t stop him. He can feel the facade of this little apartment beginning to crumble, fall away into dust and he–

He knows he destroys everything he touches.

But you were supposed to be different.

(You are, his mind hisses, you are, you are, and that’s the worst part of it all).

You storm out that night. You leave him, no doubt to return to your precious mentor.

He thinks about destroying the entire apartment complex. He could now– he knows what’s coming. He won’t be staying here any longer. He has plans, so many plans.

You come back to him a week later, though. You’re bound to him in some way, returning again and again when you know you shouldn’t.

The make-up part is nice, with him buried so deep inside you that he’s trying to turn your stomach. Make you sick with him, the way he is with you. Your gasping moans, with the arch of your body far too pretty for hands like his.

And still, you lay on his chest afterwards, you let him run his fingers over the planes of your shoulders, the line of your pretty neck. He drags his knuckles against your soft skin, enamored with the feeling, with the way you soothe the haunting, sunken part of him. His Quirk submits to yours easily, dimmed inside of him. Maybe he should be frightened of your new potential.

But you’ve never been frightened of him, so he’s not of you, either.

You’re very bold, though, he thinks, for you to say, “Your parents were cruel.” After the argument you both had last time.

He tenses beneath you, grits his teeth. He’d thought you’d both learned your lesson, getting too personal in a place as sacred as here.

“You don’t know anything,” he says and it’s just a breath. Surprisingly toothless. He’d said it to you last time, in your argument. You’d said it to him before that. It feels almost ironic now.

You shake your head against his chest, your nose nudging into him, lips soft against his skin. You remain calm. “I know your name is Tomura. They were very cruel to give you that name.”

You say this as if it’s a fact, something as simple as the sky being blue. But it’s dark out now and the stars are dull, the moon just a scythe in the sky, caught in the window’s glare.

“What?” he demands quietly.

At least you have the guts to tilt your head up to find his eyes now. You look up at him through dark lashes.

“Your name–” you say again, gentle, “It means ‘to mourn.’ I don’t know why anyone would give their child such a sad name.”

He knows what his name means.

But this takes him by surprise, for some reason. Only because it’s not the name his parents gave him. You don’t know that, though. You don’t know anything about him, technically. He has the urge to tell you suddenly, that’s not my name.

He doesn’t, though. He stays silent. It’s his name now. And he likes the way you say it, the syllabus softened by whatever it is you feel for him.

(He won’t give it a name, he’s realizing now that names can be very powerful.)

Your fingers are gentle on him, rubbing strange patterns against a scar near his collar bone.

You have rendered him silent.

And eventually, as you begin to drift off to sleep, you murmur, “You were just a kid, you know?”

He doesn’t really know what you’re getting at, only that it does something strange to the tempo of his heart. He swallows hard, tries to keep his fingers gentle on you. Your breathing has slowed, the rise and fall of your back measured and even, but his has gotten tight.

He squeezes you against him, glaring at nothing, at darkness.

You were just a kid, you know?

It’s this part of you, the one that sees the human in him, that makes him think maybe you will be at his side until the bitter end of it all. Your compassion, the sympathy you have for the child he was, for the person he somehow became. Your unending ability to understand the worst of people.

He doesn’t dwell on the child he was, just has buried it in the cemetery of his chest– a part of him that only you have been able to reach through Quirk, through something too massive to name. You’ve soothed it, put it to rest like the dead, lit your incense in the spaces of his heart. Said your prayers along the notches of his ribs. Tried to appease that restless spirit that possesses him.

He doesn’t know why, but he starts to shake. He can hardly breathe.

And in the dark, when he thinks you’re asleep, and his secrets will be lost to your dreams, he admits for the first time in years what has always trembled inside him. He speaks the tragedy that has made a home of his body, the mourning that he was given name to;

“I wanted to be a hero– when I was a kid.”

***

Tomura thinks, for a moment, when you’re splattered in blood, that this will be your great turning point.

Your fall, the tearing and burning of your wings from your holy back. It will hurt, but he will be there on the ground with you, a hand extended to guide you. He will be there to cradle you into his chest, to hold you close when your world falls apart.

The way All For One was there for him.

The beginning of the end starts with you being a hero.

But you save the wrong person.

Toga’s been following him around as she does every so often, dogging in his shadow, skipping along beside him. You’ve become accustomed to her, too. She likes having you around. Something about not being the only girl. You’re kind to her in the same way he thinks you probably wanted kindness at her age.

The sky is mottled purple, bruised as the day sets into night. The sun looks like an open wound, violent and red.

When he thinks about it, he figures he should’ve been more careful, but then there’s a petty villain Tomura knows vaguely, someone they’ve clashed with before, who he’s pretty sure Dabi and Toga pissed off. He spots Toga first. Your back is turned to him.

“Uh oh,” Toga says, peering over your shoulder.

Tomura grabs your wrist, “Hide,” he hisses, and when you try to peer over your shoulder at what Toga is looking at, he forces you back around so the villain doesn’t see your face.

He doesn’t know why he saves you like that. Only that he doesn’t want you to get in trouble, doesn’t want you taken from him like that. He is not an idiot; if the villain recognizes you, if it somehow got around that you were seen with two of the most notorious villains, the Hero Commission would eat you alive.

And here’s the part that really gets him. You listen to him. You trust him.

You dart away, swift and fast like a fox, disappearing into the shadows the way you were trained to.

“Hey!” the villain shouts and he’s large, Tomura remembers now.

Stupid, too, he thinks, as he barrels towards them.

The glint of Toga’s knife in the sun makes him pause.

Better to not engage, Tomura thinks, not yet, not now. Too much on the horizon for something foolish to happen tonight. The apartment isn’t far from here. He hopes you’ll retreat there. He just needs to get Toga away safely now.

“Oh, I’ve missed fighting!” she sings.

“No,” Tomura rasps, “Don’t engage. We need to go, too.”

She whines a long and drawn out, “Why?” just as the hulking mass of a person swings at her. She ducks away easily, quickly.

However, then his Quirk bursts to life and it’s far worse than what Tomura had hoped for. He doubles in size, his arms in particular growing longer, and fill out with what seems to be rushing water.

“Dammit, Toga,” he hisses, shoving her out of the way as the villain blasts a large cannon of water at her.

Tomura takes the hit hard, black coloring his vision when he hits the ground.

In truth, he thinks he is out for at least a full minute, because when he’s come to, you’re shouting at the villain. You’re tugging desperately at his massive shoulder, clawing and screaming. You’ve canceled his Quirk, but he’s still too big, even without it.

Toga is pinned beneath that arm, choking and spluttering, drenched. It actually looks like she’s choking on water. She can’t even scream, too garbled, too water-logged. She looks like a doll, she looks horribly small. Her face is turning a deep shade of red as she struggles for breath. Her little hands claw at his wrist, too.

Tomura tries to stand, his vision swimming, swaying so bad that for a minute everything goes sideways.

Fuck, he curses, just as he watches you get tossed away by that villain’s other hand like you’re nothing. His Quirk suddenly ripples back to life and he blasts Toga with another bout of water, plastering her to the gravel, the onslaught of it unending.

You’re up in an instant, throwing yourself onto his neck, trying to wrench him off. His Quirk disengages again, and Toga heaves and gasps for breath, coughing up large amounts of water.

“You’re going to kill her!” Tomura finally can catch onto what you’re saying, what you’re desperately screaming. His ears ring.

You get thrown off again. More water. Toga is being blasted so hard that she can’t even choke or struggle.

Tomura thinks you’re trying to rationalize with them, you’re trying to explain you’re a hero. And to disengage. Stop, please stop, please stop–

He’s not listening, though, of course.

And he’s too big. You tried knocking him out, tried putting him to sleep with the grip of your elbow. You’re trying everything, even to crush his Quirk beneath yours. Tomura catches the flutters of pink, your inability to summon your destruction when you need it.

It wouldn’t matter anyways, not with how big he is. You struggle against powerhouses.

Tomura stumbles.

But you’ve always been gritty and sharp and determined, if nothing else. You have always fought so desperately for your life, never mind law or honor or glory.

He thinks he catches the glint of your knife, the desperate threat to let her go, leave her alone!

The villain grabs you with a massive hand around the throat, lifts you clear off the ground.

Toga has gone slack against the pavement in a puddle of water, face colored a strange shade of red and blue. A little like the way the sky blurs before his eyes.

You kick and thrash, a horrible growl wretched from your throat. You don’t think, just lash out.

And then there is blood. So much blood. It’s all over Toga now, seeping into the water– did she cut him? She managed to cut his throat? Because that’s where the blood is pouring out of–

Tomura sways.

You’re dropped.

You stumble away.

Your blade– the one you used to threaten him with, is bloody.

“Fuck!” you shout, raw and so sudden that it jars him a little. He forces himself over to the scene. So much blood. His stomach rolls.

He looks at you, your shell-shocked face. You’re looking at the knife, at the blood. At Toga, who's still not moving.

He goes to her first, tries to shake her a little, fingers held away from her shoulders carefully. For a moment, she doesn’t respond, limp and lifeless and something inside of him threatens to overwhelm him. No, no–

Her eyes flutter, though, and she wheezes for a breath, suddenly turning over to vomit up far too much water.

“I-Is she-?” your voice, so small and lost, cuts through his thoughts.

He looks at you again, blood splattered and terror caught in your eyes. Pale and slack faced and half-mad. You look like a ghost, standing there in the aftermath, in your gruesomeness.

“She’s fine,” he says, just as she wretches up more water, “You saved her.”

Toga falls limp again. He checks frantically for a pulse at her wrist with two careful fingers. Still there. She needs a doctor, though. He stands to face you.

You make a noise, high pitched, trembling. You cover your mouth to keep it in, it’s something like a sob, an animalistic noise.

“I didn’t mean to– I didn’t, I didn’t– she was just–” you’re trying to get out, almost doubled over now.

Tomura doesn’t bother to check if you killed the villain. He knows the dead when he sees it. And he won’t lie to you now, he won’t soften this blow or shield you from it.

But he also knows what he needs to do.

You keel over, about to scream more and– no, that won’t do you any good.

He grabs for you, hauls you back up and you’re shaking so hard that he fears you’re going to split apart. You’re about to lose it.

“Listen to me,” Tomura hisses and you choke on a cry. He shakes you a little, tries to force you to look at him and not the body behind him. Your eyes, feverish pink, meet the wildfire of his, “Listen to me.”

“I– I don’t–”

“Sshh,” Tomura hisses, palm going to your cheek, a little too rough, forcing you to look at only him. “Sshh, listen.”

You try to swallow and he continues, “You’re going to call reinforcements. You’re going to tell them there’s a villain down.”

“W-what?! I’m going to– they’re going to–”

He shakes you again, harder, your teeth click together with the force of it. He needs you to understand this– needs you to hear this if he wants to keep you safe and out of jail.

“Tell them I decayed him. And before that, tell them Toga cut him, and it splattered onto you. Say you heard commotion and like the good hero you are, you ran to help.”

“Tomura–” you sob.

“Do you understand me?” he snaps instead, grabbing you harder, his fingers curling against your cheek to press desperately into you. “Answer me!”

“Yes–” you gasp, wide-eyed and terrified. “Yes!”

“Good,” he hushes, wiping blood from your cheek, “Good. You saved her,” he tells you, “You saved her, do you understand?”

You nod, jerky, and he continues, hand petting your cheek, messily pushing your hair from your face, “You did everything right.”

Your breathing is still labored, but you’re quieting with the praise. When he thinks you can handle it, he breathes, “Now, are you ready? I’m going to decay him and the knife, then I’m going to leave with Toga. You’re going to call for help.”

You glance at the villain, lying lifeless, in his own pool of blood and Tomura ducks his head to force you to look at him. “Okay?” he asks, “Answer me.”

“Okay,” you exhale slowly.

“Good,” he murmurs, “Good. Now give me the knife.”

You press it, trembling, into his hands. It’s slick with blood. He forces himself to stay calm for you.

He steps away, let’s go of you. The knife turns to dust.

“Look away,” he commands then, his voice a rasp.

And you– you listen to him. You trust him. You turn away. He sets his hands on the villain. And just like that, his body breaks down, gore at first, until it is nothing but dust. It blows away easily.

And then he goes to Toga and he lifts her carefully. She’s like a ragdoll in his arms, soaked and cold. He’s certain to keep his hands away from her, fingers lifted away, but she lolls into his chest.

When you turn around, Tomura says, “Thank you for saving her.” And he means it.

You swallow hard. You look to where the villain was. He’s gone now.

“Now call your heroes, just like I said.”

You nod, eyes filling up with tears. That’s fine. They’ll have more sympathy for you, for what you’ve witnessed. They’ll believe you more. Your mentor will protect you, with those tears in your eyes.

Tomura’s eyes burn crimson as you pull out your phone, “Do what I said and you’ll be okay.”

And you do, just like that. You lift the phone to your ear. That semblance of calm that he had coaxed you into shatters the moment someone picks up on the other end.

Your voice goes high, near hysterical, “T-There’s a villain down–”

He turns away from you as you stutter and cry into the phone about what happened. You give them the lie he told you to feed them. You make Tomura out to be the villain, you make yourself out to be innocent. He holds Toga close to him.

He tries not to smile, a dizzy slip of a thing, as you do exactly as he told you to– as you lie and lie and lie through your teeth.

Toga stirs in his arms. Police sirens are heard in the distance. An ambulance for a pile of dust. The sun sets, darkness blanketing the world, shielding it from the light.

And as he stalks away, with Toga alive and in his arms, he thinks maybe he’ll make a villain of you yet.

***

The police believe you. It’s hard not to, when there is so little evidence otherwise. Tomura destroyed it all for you. It’s hard not to believe you, when you’re crying and terrified, as you should be for witnessing the death of another person at the hands of Himiko Toga and Shigaraki Tomura.

Shouta, however, is not as easily convinced.

Not after so many strange occurrences with Tomura.

When he brings you back to his apartment, when the door is shut tight, and you still stand in bloodied clothes with your teeth chattering, Shouta eyes you warily.

You want to shower, burn yourself beneath the spray of water, like you could wash away what you’d done. You squeeze your eyes shut.

You saved her.

You swallow down the lump in your throat.

“What really happened?” Shouta asks, almost tentatively, standing in the middle of his living room.

You turn and you don’t– you don’t know how you should react. Should you be offended that he’d doubt you? React in outrage after all that’s happened? Should you act confused? Play dumb?

You can’t stomach any of it. Not when someone’s dead at your hands. But someone is alive because of them, too.

Your eyes well up with fresh tears.

“I-I told you.” you choke out.

Shouta’s jaw ticks. He draws in a slow breath, “Something isn’t adding up. You have had more contact with Shigaraki Tomura than anyone has been able to have.”

Your stomach drops. Your tears fall harder.

“What’s going on?” he asks and the distance between you two feels massive. It feels continental in the small space of his living room. He seems suspicious.

The lie comes out on a sob, “I–I think he’s been stalking me.”

“What?” Shouta asks and any uncertainty he has in you evaporates as he watches your face crumple.

You let your guilt overwhelm you into choking on another cry, cover your mouth as if you could catch it in the palm of your hand. Shouta doesn’t know the truth of it, so he believes it.

He crosses that distance like it’s nothing now. He stands tall in front of you, reaches to try and brush tears away from your cheek.

“I don’t know–” you gasp, filling out your lie, “I think he's interested in me because of my Quirk. Because he can’t– I can’t decay, when he touches me.”

Shouta tips your face up towards his but you can’t look him in the eyes, let your eyes squeeze shut when he asks, “Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“I don’t know–” you choke out, “I wasn’t sure.”

“Did something else happen?” Shouta prods gently and you grit your teeth to keep back another sob. More tears cut tracks down your face, right into Shouta’s waiting, gentle hands.

There is a long moment where you think of giving everything up. You think of telling Shouta everything, if only to lift the weight that has settled onto your chest. Surely, it will crush through your sternum, surely your heart will burst with it’s pressure.

“It’s my fault,” you whisper, “It’s my fault he’s dead.”

“No,” Shouta says then, gentle but firm, shaking his head, “I know it may feel like it–”

“He was going to kill her.”

This stops Shouta. He goes very, very still.

“What?” he rasps softly.

“He was drowning her– he wouldn’t stop. I tried to get him to stop and he started choking me–and she saved me by–” It’s a fabrication to save yourself. That’s not how it went! Your mind screeches, that’s not how it went– you saved her by killing–

Toga was turning blue, she didn’t help you. She didn’t save you. She was drowning. She didn’t kill him. You did.

“You saved Toga Himiko, a notorious villain, one of the most wanted–”

“He was killing her!” you hiss, “She was turning blue–”

“She’s a powerful villain, too, you should’ve tried–”

Something inside of you fractures, bursts apart the way glass does when thrown against a wall. You think there are a million, shining pieces of you now lying on the floor.

“She’s Shinsou’s age!” you snap, hoping one of your shards cuts him, suddenly half-furious through all your tears. “She’s Shinsou’s age, do you know that?!”

You break now, wrenching away from Shouta’s touch and rushing to double over the sink to dry heave again, body squeezing painfully. You threw up everything in your stomach already at the scene, when recounting the story to the police, to Shouta. You claw at your stomach, trying to stop it, to keep it all down inside of you. You curl your fingers into the divots of your ribs, try to force them to give you air, but they won’t– betrayers that they are, they squeeze and squeeze until there’s nothing of you left.

Your knees buckle, head spinning when you turn away from the sink and crumple into a heap on the floor,“She’s just a kid,” you wail desperately, “That’s all I saw when I tried– when I–”

Your head bows forward, body folded in on itself, forehead digging into the ground as you cry, “I didn’t mean for him to die, I didn’t mean it– I didn’t, I swear I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

Shouta moves again finally, drops to his knees down beside you. He cradles your skull in his large hand, pushes your head into the crook of his neck to hold you, “It’s alright,” he breathes, curling his other arm tight around you, “It’s not your fault,” he hushes, “It’s not your fault.” You sob hard into his chest, fingernails digging into him, clawing at his biceps, “Sshh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

And he holds you, buries you in the bulk of him, like he always has when you need him. Your constant, the love you never once deserved. Especially not now. Especially not here, with blood stained on your clothes, sunk to the floor with nothing but the anchor of your guilt.

He strokes your hairline, gentle, cooing softly to try and calm you.

He murmurs, his voice so deep and soft and earnest, “You’re a good hero.” When you make a strangled noise against him, he presses on, “You are. You’re compassionate. You see everyone’s humanity and that’s a good thing.”

He hushes more of your cries, fingers gentle in your hair, and you try not to throw up again when he tells you;

“You’re a good hero, I promise. I promise.”

The beginning of the end starts with you being a hero for a villain.

***

The next time you see Tomura, he questions you about what happened, if you pulled it off. You tell him you managed it, somehow. You don’t tell him anything else. You don’t tell him you haven’t been sleeping, that you can hardly keep food down. You don’t tell him that you take too many showers, trying to wash away the phantom blood.

You remember when it was Tomura’s blood on you, so long ago. A beginning that now seems so hazy. You hadn’t minded blood, then. You had never been particularly squeamish but now–

Now it could make you sick on your best days, downright hysterical on your worst.

Your guilt tears chunks out of you, bites down and shakes the meaty, soft parts of you until you’re all torn up.

It is easier to be with Tomura than Shouta now.

We have more in common, you think, and it makes you want to laugh, empty and wobbly.

You look in mirrors and hardly recognize yourself, wonder if this is really your body. If this is really your life, or if it’s someone else’s. Maybe you are possessed, maybe that explains how you got here.

You don’t tell him any of this. You stay silent.

And that’s okay because Tomura seems strangely quiet after that, pulling you to lay on his chest. He doesn’t let you put the TV on. You can tell he needs to think. You let your eyes drift close as he runs his fingers through your hair with a surprising amount of gentleness, compared to his usual petting.

But eventually he says, so soft that you fear you almost imagined it, “A yakuza head visited the League recently.”

Your eyes flutter open and in your surprise, you sit up a little, looking down at him. “Tomura–” you start, almost a warning.

He knows he isn’t supposed to talk like this here, in this little slice of another world.

But he continues anyways, his voice just a rough scratch, “He killed Magne.” And then, “And Compress no longer has an arm.”

Now you really pull away to look at him. You can feel your eyes widen out, your shock, then the stomach-turning sadness. His face is unreadable, but his jaw is tight. His eyes are simmering, so red, even in the low light like this.

“It was a set up.” he hisses, “I failed them.”

He doesn’t cry, but you can feel the slightest tremble in his body.

You hurt for him, you realize, your heart falling into the pit of your stomach. Those are two of his closest, some of his inner circle.

He looks shaken.

He looks young, with the weight of his world on his shoulders, with the crown of thorns placed on his head. Heir to a monstrous throne. All For One’s successor, boy prince to inherit an underground empire.

You just see him, though, just Tomura who's twenty, who likes sour candy and video games.

He swallows hard. He looks angry and hurt.

“Nobody mourns us,” he says eventually, looking away from you, somewhere in the darkness of the apartment.

Except you, you want to say, with a name like Tomura.

You lurch forward, throwing your arms around his neck, hugging him tight to you. “I’m sorry,” you tell him, soft, the way Shouta speaks to you, “I’m sorry.”

And then you think, I’d mourn you, and you squeeze him tighter, I’d mourn you, oh God, I’d mourn you–

He doesn’t hug you back, but you can feel the shaky breath he exhales, and the way his fingers tighten in the fabric of your shirt.

***

Tomura thinks it should be you, at his side, when he takes Overhaul’s arm. You are everything Overhaul wants. Your Quirk is what he has tried to bottle.

Tomura thinks you could’ve been useful, to switch off his Quirk, to destroy it in an incredible twist of irony. It would’ve been the ultimate power move, to have you at his side by the end of all of this.

But you’re not there, no, not with him.

You’re with your heroes, Toga had told him.

It shouldn’t, but it feels like a betrayal. It stings hard and sharp inside of him, like a livid bee that jabs at his heart.

He seethes about it. Hadn’t he done everything right with you? He’d played this game slow, knew that the rewards would be worth it.

You’re still walking away from him, though. You’re still not his.

And you’ve still got one of his ribs, left a gaping wound inside of him.

He wants it back. He wants it back.

***

Eri looks up at you with watery, red eyes when you first introduce yourself to her. You crouch to be on her level. She has silver hair. She’s timid, wobbly bottom lip and flushed cheeks.

You almost start crying, looking at her now. You wonder if this is what Tomura was like as a child– small and terrified of his Quirk, round red eyes pleading with the world. All you see in her is every other forgotten child.

“Hi, Eri,” you hush, half for her, half because you’re scared your voice might break.

“H-hello,” she trembles.

You try to keep your smile in place, but it’s a weak, sad thing.

Still, you say, “I’d like to be your friend, if you’ll have me.” And you extend your hand to her, palm up and offering. “I have a Quirk like Mr. Aizawa’s.” you tell her gently, “If you touch me while using your Quirk, it’ll stop.”

She brightens at this, not smiling but, surprised, “Really?” she asks, just a breath.

You nod, swallowing around the lump in your throat, “Really.”

She takes your hand then, eager, tightening with her small fingers, despite her Quirk still being off.

Then she looks up into your face and offers you a tentative smile. Small, just the corner of her lips lifting up.

“I’d like to be your friend, too.” she murmurs bashfully and you close your hand around hers. It’s small, almost fragile. She’s all bandaged up, arms wrapped in gauze.

You look at Eri and her red eyes and silver hair and see a coin toss, see it up in the air, spinning and spinning, catching in the light. A twist of fate like the flip of a coin.

But you think you could call it now, with her hand in yours, and the heroes that hover protectively around her.

***

There is a morning shared in blush light that isn’t the ending but feels like it could be one. In truth, you’d prefer to remember this as the ending, more of a whimper and less of a bang. The night before had been one of your better ones, too– you’d only woken once with a nightmare. Tomura had already been awake and he’d soothed you with a careful hand that drew patterns across the bare skin of your back.

That night, that morning, was gentle in the wake of all that violence, love taken root, finally bursting through your veins to make a mess of your insides.

Dawn is too mellow a place for the two of you.

(You have come to the conclusion that Tomura looks best in dusk, saturated, sharp and rich in color. Bold and vivid. You didn’t know it, but he thought the same of you.)

You never told him you loved him.

You think about that a lot, wonder if it would’ve made a difference in anything. You wonder who was the last person to tell him that, if anyone at all.

He’s still half hoping that you’ll follow him, but you think he knows he’s losing you. You are not content in fuming misery, cannot stomach to leave the mentor that has loved and cared for you with such perseverance and softness. You cannot stomach to turn away from the boy with violet hair, or now the girl that reminds you of him.

You wish you could keep him, too, despite it all, but all you see in the future with him is rubble.

In the least, you’ve always had a sense of preservations, survivor that you are, scavenger that you are. You know when to move on, can’t linger too much longer now or you won’t live through it.

You sleep better with Tomura, though, and that’s the cruel part. You wake with less nightmares. You sleep more soundly, wound up in him, so tight that you two might just grow together. Palm to palm, your Quirk quieting his, lulled and softened.

And that morning, you wake slowly, twisting around fitfully with the warmth that has blossomed gently inside of you.

Consciousness creeps to you, fighting against the pull of sleep, being coaxed awake by the fluttering of your heart, the slow roll in your core.

Your eyes lift, heavy with sleep, finally awake. You blink blearily before a sudden, sleep soft cry escapes past your lips.

You glance down the line of your body to find Tomura nestled between your legs, tongue tracing messy patterns into where you’re most sensitive. Your stomach swoops sweetly, flares into a spark of heat.

The light is soft on him. He cracks a ruby eye open to gaze at you, to open his mouth so you can watch the flash of glistening pink as his tongue laves against you slowly.

“About time you woke up,” he gets out, voice still morning-rough, a little grating. His fingers squeeze your thigh, pulling you apart further to be at his mercy, spread open all for him.

“Tomura–” you gasp, your hands finding their way into his hair, fingers gentle and weak with sleep.

He sets his mouth to you, sucks on the bundle of nerves in a way that makes you keen, almost arching away from him. He fixes his eyes on your face, watches as your expression twists up.

You can see the way his hips are twitching into the mattress. Sometimes you think he does this more for himself than you, takes pleasure in rendering you down to your most basic, most desperate.

Pleasure coils warm, simmers on the inside of you. Your fingers flex, tighten in his hair until he groans against you. When he pulls away for another moment to admire you, his lips are spit slick, a string of translucent spit and slick bridging between the two of you.

It makes you flush darkly, makes you throw your head back and whimper.

He takes you apart with the savagery and viciousness that he has always carried. Dawn spills over the bed sheets in rays of peach and honeysuckle, lovely for the impending destruction. You shatter like glass, pretty and ringing beneath his hands.

And then he’s flipping you onto your stomach, letting you claw at your pillow as he sinks deep inside of you. He hisses when he fucks into the crux of your sweet, supple thighs. Your hair is messy with sleep. He presses his chest to your back, presses you into the mattress.

You fist at your pillow, whining at the burn and stretch, and you can feel the sickle cut of his smile against the arch of your shoulder blades. He leaves sloppy kisses, scattering them, sucking at your skin until he has claimed and marked and branded you.

He nudges his nose against your cheek until you tilt your head back to his, to rub back affectionately, nudge into him like a cat. He hums in satisfaction, in pleasure, the sound of it rumbling against your back.

You feel like he’s trying to savor this. He doesn’t pull your hair, or speed up his hips. No, he waits until you arch your back for him, until you’re near begging.

He likes you weakened, maybe delirious, maybe like he’s giving you a dose of your own medicine. He’s trying to make you as addicted as he is, but there’s no need.

No need when he covers your hand with his, slots his fingers between yours. All five of them, squeezing at your hand.

“You were made for me,” he gets out, giving you a rougher thrust, his eyes flashing to your hands, “See?” he groans, fingers digging into your wrist, your knuckles, “Made for me.”

You moan, too, all wobbly and pitched, with all the pressure, with the squeeze of his hand. With the stretch of him inside where you’re vulnerable and soft and slick.

He drags everything out that morning, fucks you both into oversensitivity, until you’re both shuddering and gasping. He breaks you down, until there are tears streaming down your face, until he’s gripping you so tightly that he’ll leave a bruise in the shape of his hand.

He fits his hand against your throat at one point and your eyes roll into the back of your head. You end where you began, with the violet petal bruise of his fingertips into your skin.

You linger in bed with him that morning, letting him pet and stroke and touch you. You stay gentle, even when he gets rough.

You make cheap, bad coffee for the both of you.

You feel twenty something with a boy and his tiny apartment. A cat chirps at the window and you’re smiling when you let him in. The breeze is cool. You don’t put on clothes because you feel like an adult, with a lover.

You feel normal for a fraction of a moment after everything that’s happened.

You feel sated and tender and saddened. Your chest fills with aching as you watch Tomura drift in and out of sleep in the sunbeams.

You were made for me, he’d said and you reach out to brush a strand of hair from his face. You were made for me.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, the one that feels like needle pricks and the hard truth. You don’t have the heart to tell him that he may need you, but you don’t need him.

You want him, though, your fingers trailing down the lines of his face, you want him so badly that it hurts. Your fingers travel over the hitch of his scars, his body as familiar as a home.

You want him, but you don’t need him, you try to tell yourself in this moment. You want him, but you don’t need him. You will survive this.

Still, it’s going to hurt. You’re bracing for impact, can feel the free fall rush up to the ground, can feel your stomach swimming up where your heart is.

You’ll survive it, you think, breathing hard, trying to keep back your tears as you look at him. But it’s going to hurt, it might tear out something very precious inside of you.

You’d rather he just break your arm again. At the thought of it, you try not to choke on the bitter, furious laugh that splits from your aching ribs.

***

You get to know Eri, try to spend more time with her and Shouta and Shinsou like you’re trying to fix something you broke. The pieces aren’t quite matching up right, though. It can’t be fixed, not really, not fully.

You can’t close your eyes without seeing that villain in a pool of their own blood. Or Toga’s face made blue. Sometimes in these dreams, it’s Shinsou who is drowning. Sometimes the villain in blood is Shouta. Tomura is always the one who saves you.

You can’t look at yourself anymore. You can’t stomach to. Your lies explode out of you when you catch a glance of yourself, haggard and exhausted and beaten down.

Shouta takes you to a hospital after your fist collides with the mirror in your bathroom. Glass shatters into hundreds of reflections of your warped and terrible image. They’re not as pretty, when the sun isn’t setting in a warehouse with a boy that you think you love.

Your hand bleeds the way that man’s necks did–

Your world spins as you lean over the bowl of the toilet to throw up your lunch. You’d made it with Eri earlier, before Shouta had gotten home from class.

Shouta finds you on the floor, sitting in all that glass, with your hand clutched tightly to your chest. He must’ve heard the commotion next door.

“What happened?” he asks, voice flooding with concern. He doesn’t hesitate to step carefully over the glass to you.

The question feels too large for you.

I did something horrible, you think, that’s what happened.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter weakly, lifting your chin from its place on your chest. “I didn’t mean to.”

(That isn’t true and you know it.

(But you’re always trying to prove you’re good. Especially now. Especially to Shouta– trying to prove you’re worthy of his love.

You suddenly crave Tomura. You didn’t have to prove anything to him.)

Shouta lifts you carefully, cradles you to his body to carry you out to his car to bring you to the hospital. He treats you like you’re fragile, made of glass yourself. “What’s going on with you?” Shouta murmurs gently, but there's almost a plea in it, concern that is so transparent it hurts, “You’re scaring me– I’m worried about you.” he confesses, almost desperate, “You know you can talk to me, don’t you?”

The laugh that sputters out of you is hollow, a grating noise that gets choked off. Shouta looks at you warily, uncertain and fearful.

The hospital keeps you for three days. Eri asks Shouta about you, apparently. She misses you. Shinsou helps her decorate a card for you.

Get well soon! Is written in her poor handwriting with far too many colors, and in Shinsou’s messy scrawl at the bottom;

Miss getting my ass kicked by you.

The doctors tell Shouta you’re struggling with a lot of survivor’s guilt and you have to fight back another absurd, off-kilter laugh.

Part of you thinks you’d be better off with Tomura at this point (your coin uncertain, hanging suspended in the air), if only to relieve you of this guilt, when Shouta tends to you and cares for you and loves you so steadfastly that it makes you feel rotten and horrible and monstrous. He has no idea who he’s loving. And you don’t deserve any of it–

But you think of Eri and the way she clings to your sleeves. And how you and Shinsou share granola bars during training.

And mostly, you are terrified to be without them.

None of it’s the same, though, and you think it’ll eat away at you until you’re nothing at all but the empty lies you kept feeding them.

You want to be better, you realize, when Eri draws you in pictures, holding her hand. You want to be better, you realize, for kids like you, like her–

(Like Tomura–)

So you decide one night, with your hand still bandaged, with Eri sleeping peacefully on the couch in the crux of your arms, and Shouta at the opposite end of the couch, that you will stay with them. The easy thing to do would be to leave, to not look back. But you have always been nothing if not determined, if not a fighter.

You will become who they want you to be, who they believe you to be, even if it tears you apart from the inside out.

Which means giving up Tomura, which feels like giving up a rib.

***

You had hoped you’d be able to slip away from Tomura and leave your secrets in a rundown apartment in a part of the city you grew up in. You had hoped that you could get away unscathed, without Shouta ever knowing more.

But Dabi mentions you to Hawks.

Offhand. Something about another traitor hero. Something about Shigaraki’s bitch.

Tomura also mentions Hawks to you.

And here is your trouble, what you were hoping to avoid by never allowing him to speak about his plans; you now know that the Number Two Pro-Hero is a traitor. However, the only reason you know that, is because of your secret relationship with the leader of the League of Villains that you have been slowly, painstakingly trying to sever yourself from.

(It doesn’t help that he’s latched on tighter–)

So, if you go to Shouta to warn him that the Number Two Pro-Hero is a traitor, you have to also conveniently come forward with your own truth. And what if he thinks you’re a traitor, too?

Surely, it looks that way.

Truthfully, you might as well be– you killed someone.

You killed someone.

Your stomach squeezes tight.

You think of Shouta and Shinsou and Eri and the loss of their love, when you’ve been trying to earn it back.

You don’t get much time to mull this over, though, because while walking back to your own apartment at U.A., a shadowy span of wings fall over your form.

Your heart falls into the pits of you, the drop of it sharp, horrible.

You think running will make it look all the worse.

Besides, he’s fast.

You can’t decide how this will go. Maybe he’ll only want to speak with you, traitor to traitor. But then you will be confronted with the undeniable truth that you now need to share with Shouta, with the Hero Commission, for the sake of people’s safety. You will have to come clean. Maybe it will be worse. Maybe he’s not after you at all, but just in your neck of the woods because–

All other thoughts are cut short when he lands in front of you.

You try to think of a proper reaction. Should you be expecting him? On guard? Should you act surprised?

His wings flare and you realize quickly how massive they are. They throw you into their towering shadow, make you feel like a mouse.

His eyes glint when he pushes up his visor, the gold of them sharp, his pupils a pinprick. The eyes of a predator.

You try not to cower. You stand your ground, lift your lips a little like you might bare teeth in warning, your hackles raising. Backed into the corner, you feel half wild, too.

But Hawks beats you to any form of a greeting, his smile a menacing twist of his lips, like he’s trying to be pleasant but he wants you to see all of those sharp, white teeth of his. You think he doesn’t look like much of a hero in this darkness, with the way his wings look thorny and maroon. His voice is barbed wire, the drawl of it stinging.

You know you’re in deep trouble now;

“You and I need to have a little talk.”

***

You are kept in a steel room that the Hero Commission tells you is not a holding cell, but you definitely think is a holding cell.

Your mind has not slowed since you got here.

You scramble for a story to tell– for lies to sew.

Hawks is not a traitor. Not to the heroes’ at least. He is a traitor to the villains and you know, logically, that this is for the greater good, but something about it bothers you. Villains aren’t people to the Hero Commission. You feel strangely protective of Tomura’s league of outcasts, even if you know you shouldn’t.

But they’re young, with feelings and thoughts and lives and pasts.

Nobody ever mourns us.

No, they don’t, you think, trying to keep away bitter tears from springing to your eyes. They don’t bother trying to see the big picture, they don’t bother to try and figure out why villains are on the rise.

They can’t stomach the idea that maybe their precious hero system has given birth to their villains.

Or maybe they can and they just don’t care.

They need heroes for their charts and money and power, don’t they? So they need villains. A never ending cycle, forever going around on this carousel. You’re dizzy with it, you’re sick of it, caught up in it’s riptide.

You don’t look at Tomura Shigaraki and see the most dangerous, wanted criminal in the country. You see a twenty-year-old pawn, a chip in a bigger game. You see someone as starving and desperate as you were.

You see a coin flip.

(You see the person you fell in love with–)

Shouta enters silently and the moment you see him, you have to try to keep from bursting into tears. Your lip wobbles.

He approaches slowly, cooly, but when he gets near you, his eyes are livid and searching your face, like maybe he could finally find the lies you’d kept buried so deep inside of you. They’ve finally blossomed, you think, all of them sprouting from your body, creeping through your lungs and up your throat to choke you out.

“Tell me the truth finally.” Shouta says, sharp and icy. He speaks like he’s speaking to a criminal, “Now.”

You suck in a shaky breath, try not to flinch when he leans across the metal table and snarls, “And if you are a traitor, at least have the decency to tell me now, before they come in here and interrogate both of us.”

Tears catch in your lashes.

Through the throbbing of your head, you realize you have jeopardized Shouta in the way you never wanted.

“I’m not a traitor.” you get out, voice quiet but firm, barely above a whisper.

“No?” Shouta clips and you can see it now, the hurt in his eyes. He feels betrayed, deeply so, and you can’t even blame him. “Hawks says differently. Says you’ve been working with Shigaraki.”

You rub furiously at your cheek to try and keep the tears from falling, shaking your head quickly, “No–”

“Then what happened?” he snaps and through the blur of your own tears, you catch the way his own eyes glisten.

“I didn’t tell you everything, when I said I thought Shigaraki was stalking me.” you say, having readied this lie the moment that Hawks brought you to the Hero Commission’s doors. You give them the story they want to hear of you, not the one where you fell in love, but the one where you jeopardize yourself for them. You are careful to peer up at him through damp lashes, “I–I got close to him, because he let me, because he was interested in me.”

Shouta goes very, very still. All you can see is his chest rising and falling, quick, as he slowly begins to walk the path you’re leading him down.

“And I thought he might tell me his plans, I thought that I could help–”

“No,” Shouta says in disbelief as it all begins to connect, leaning away from you in shock, “Please tell me you didn’t–”

You lurch towards him slightly, naturally, your hands coming up to the table like you’re reaching for him. “I wanted to prove I could do this–” you choke out, voice breaking, “I wanted to prove I could do undercover work like you wanted– like they wanted!”

“What were you thinking?” he hisses in return.

“You never would’ve let me do this!” you snap, almost plead with him, and it must strike true because he looks away from you momentarily, “I-I saw an opening so I tried to take it– I was perfect for it. Shigaraki was interested in me. I used to be a thief. I would’ve fit in.”

The moment you say it, you realize how true it rings. It startles you, maybe, with how close you were. Almost, but didn’t, your coin doing an extra rotation in air. And why didn’t you? Why not be with Tomura now? Why not be where you fit in most? Where hero society wanted and expected you to be?

“I’m not a traitor,” you cry, tears tracking down your cheeks freely now– you think you’re trying to convince yourself as much as Shouta now, “I promise I’m not a traitor– I couldn’t do that to you. O-or Shinsou. Or Eri–”

And there is your reason. The truth to disguise your lies. You look at him, across from you, his face almost unreadable, with his furrowed brows and tense jaw. His eyes shine, though, gleam with unshed tears as he listens to you. The man who gave you everything, who has cared for you since the moment he found you– perhaps the sole reason your coin has flipped in their favor. All because he did more than what was asked of him, because maybe he just saw someone starving, too, like the way you did with Tomura.

Believe me, you plead, believe this.

There is a long stretch of silence after that, where all you can get in is hiccuping breaths.

Finally, Shouta asks, “Did you find anything out about him? Or the League of Villains?”

You exhale hard with relief, your shoulders finally falling. You collapse somewhat, exhausted, folding in on yourself.

You hang your head, then shake it slowly, “No,” you sniffle, wipe at your drippy nose, “He didn’t tell me anything. He didn’t trust me.”

Shouta eyes you warily.

“So that’s why you encountered him so much. That’s why you were there with Toga Himiko when–” Shouta cuts himself off when he sees your wince, the shuddering of your features at the mention of that incident. But he finally put all of the pieces together. All the pieces you’ve given him, at least.

You nod, stray tears falling quick, dripping off your chin, “I’m sorry for lying,” you get out, “I hated it— I hated lying to you.”

Truth.

Shouta throws you a hard look, “You shouldn’t have. It was dangerous and irresponsible. And now look at what you’ve done–”

Your stomach knots up tightly.

“I thought I could handle it.” You breathe and there is another truth, sprinkled throughout your lies.

But you were so horribly wrong–

Shouta is about to open his mouth again, but the door swings open and a man in a suit enters slowly. His gaze is cool as it falls on you and Shouta. You know this isn’t the end of your conversation with him, you know he wants to know more. But now, he focuses on the higher up that encourages him to sit, too.

He says, because Shouta has been such an upstanding hero and teacher, they are allowing him the courtesy of explaining everything now.

And then you watch as Shouta opens his mouth and lies and lies and lies for you.

He tells them that it was his idea to allow you to get close to Shigaraki. He knew, every step of the way. He tells them he bypassed speaking with a committee at the Hero Commission’s because it would’ve taken too much time. He says that they needed to act quickly and accordingly.

He takes the brunt of it, saves you from far more trouble. He’s a trusted hero. You’re an ex-thief in the eyes of the Hero Commission with a too-big Quirk. They won’t believe you and truthfully, if they did more digging, if they pried more, there is a chance that the truth might leak out of you, open like a wound.

Shouta protects you, the way he always has. You don’t deserve it and you can feel your heart tearing itself to shreds.

You know you can’t go back to Tomura, not after all this.

You watch Shouta lie for you, speak for you, get you out of the grave you have dug yourself. For the second time in your life, Shouta saves you. You try to hold back more tears, you try to hold back from throwing yourself onto him, clinging to him.

And finally, they ask, “Did you learn anything, then? About Shigaraki Tomura?”

He likes sour candy. He has trouble sleeping. He drinks too many energy drinks. There is a scar at the corner of his lip. He has a beauty mark on his chin. He is desperate and starved of love. He let’s a kitten sleep in the sunlight of his apartment. He tries to take care of the League to the best of his ability– he cares about them more than he will admit. He is not heartless. His hands are often cold but seeking, longing for what he can’t have.

Your eyes well up with tears but you take a slow, steadying breath. They don’t want those pieces of him, the human, messy ones. No, they want to know how evil he is, how diabolical his next plan is going to be. But you don’t know any of that, just that he holds you as if he never wants to let you go when you fall asleep at night.

So you’re not lying when you say;

“I don’t know anything about Shigaraki Tomura.”

Only that he wanted to be a hero– when he was a kid.

***

The days following are the worst between you and Shouta.

He doesn’t trust you anymore. You can’t fight him. You have nothing to say, which is perhaps worse than if you tried to fight with him.

There’s no defending you, especially if Shouta even knew half of the truth. He barely speaks with you some days.

He wedges the distance between you two wide, forces it apart further.

He does not comfort you, he does not hold you when you cry this time. He’s not there with soothing, hushed words or the gentle touch of his hand to your cheek.

A piece of his trust is broken, now so severely that it’s just a jagged edge, something you don’t think can ever be soothed.

(And you’re right, in some way– there’s a deep shift in your relationship with him, changed and scarred. It never returns to what you once had, when your life was very simple and all you knew was him.)

He doesn’t ever say, I forgive you. I will trust you again, in time.

But he eventually will make dinner for you again and you will sit beside him, shoulder to shoulder at his table with a respectable, lonesome distance between his heart and yours.

Nothing is ever the same again.

You think about running– from Shouta, from Tomura, from all of it. It would be the easiest option, where you never have to look either in the face again.

But the Hero Commission looks at Eri the same way they looked at you when they discovered you could destroy Quirks and you can’t stomach the idea of leaving her to them.

(Tomura was right in a lot of ways.

And when there’s a war on the horizon and the Hero Commission seeks to use you as a weapon, you will think of him again.

I’ll teach you, if that’s what you want, he’d said to you once. And he did.

You hate the system, the endless cycle, Prometheus chained to his rock, the need of villains to have heroes, the creation of heroes to make villains. The endless bodies, the using and discarding of real, human lives for a greater good. You wish you could destroy it.

But there is more than only destruction, too. What good is rubble and ruin and death?)

You stay so you can do what you can, so you can protect a child with red eyes, with silver hair, and a Quirk too big for their own body.

And you think maybe if you stay with her, it makes up for leaving Tomura.

***

You go to Tomura one last time, walk the distance to his apartment with your hands shoved into your pockets. It’s a familiar walk now. The pavement is wet from rain. It’s cold out. You don’t know what you’re going to tell him. You wonder how he’ll react– for a moment, you’re fearful. Will he lash out? For a moment you wonder if he’ll try to kill you.

But you know, deep down, he wouldn’t. Won’t.

And you won’t pretend you’re scared of him now. You won’t play the innocent hero, not in front of him.

The moment Tomura sees you, he knows something has changed. You are too expressive and now you look at him with a sense of foreboding. With a sadness that he feels uncomfortable gazing at.

You tell him, “I got in trouble with the Hero Commission.”

For a moment, he lets his hope grow and stretch inside of him. Maybe this is finally your turning point, your fall from grace that he will catch you on. But no, your lip wobbles and your eyes dart away.

“I can’t see you anymore,” you whisper.

At first, he wants to snap at you, hiss out something cruel between his bared teeth. Maybe if you had done this a few years ago, a few months ago, he would lash out, try to tear into his neck or you or the world. He thinks about hurting you, slamming you against a wall or–

The thought is unfortunately repulsive to him. He doesn’t want to hurt you, not like that.

His anger and resentment wells inside of him, swarms his chest viciously. He wants to argue, to point out every way your heroes have failed you. The world feels so absurdly unfair suddenly, to give him you– you who quiets his Quirk and touches him gently and winds your arms around him in the way he likes so much– only to then take you away, too. You who destroys with a touch, too. Who is perfect at his side.

But for all his work and care and strategy, he can’t get you to stay.

You will run back to your heroes.

You don’t need him, he realizes now. But you have his rib, tucked away inside of you. He wants to dig into you, pry it out, rip it from your body and take it back for himself.

But you’re crying.

And you’re pretty in the dark, like you’ve always been. This time, though, you’re not looking for a fight, there is no viciousness in you now. Maybe you’re too tired to fight.

So instead of erupting, instead of lashing out, Tomura steels himself. He’ll play the longer game, then. You don’t want to go, but you will. You’ll go back to your heroes and they will disappoint you. As they always do, at some point, eventually.

You will come back to him again, he tells himself.

And he will be forgiving, the way All For One has been with him. He sees it now; you, needing his hand, needing him to take you back. He will welcome you back into his arms, as if you hadn’t even left, and you will know then that you were right to leave.

He gazes at you, red eyes smoldering, “Then don’t.” he rasps and he’s trying to remain dispassionate, but his voice has a trembling note in it, the hidden fear underneath the harsh coolness.

Your eyes flicker back to him, your lips parting in surprise. You wipe at your eyes.

“So that’s it?”

And this makes him angry, the sharp tug of it like a dog at the end of it’s leash. He lurches forward threateningly, like he might hurt you.

(You don’t flinch. And he stops himself before he gets too close.)

“What?” he snaps, “Did you want me to beg for you to stay?”

He wants to, he realizes, he wants to howl and scream and tear apart everything in sight. He wants to say don’t go, don’t go, don’t slip from me, too.

He wants to bargain with you– what is it he can’t give you that they can?

Your heroes only love you because they don’t know you, they don’t know what you’ve done. Your heroes only love you as far as truth and justice go. A hero would sacrifice you for the greater good and you would agree with them, even if you were shaking and crying, even if you burned with all that liveliness.

But he’d sooner sacrifice the world for you.

You have his rib, he wants to scream, of course he wants to beg.

You shake your head, though, more tears falling free, “No,” you say, voice surprisingly strong, “No, I never made you beg.”

The truth of it burrows beneath his skin. He knows. The itch squirms beneath his skin. His hand reaches up, digs into the crook of his neck to scratch at it.

It’s Dabi’s voice in his head that says something about getting too distracted with this braindead hero. He has bigger plans than hiding in an abandoned apartment with you. More to do. You were nothing but a side quest.

His pause screen.

Besides, what’s there to be upset about? You’ll come back.

He won’t even punish you for leaving, he promises. He promises.

“Then that’s it.” Tomura tells you, a bitter curl to his lips.

There’s no goodbye, just the breeze between the two of you, the empty space that he always hated. The nothingness between that he always sought to destroy.

Eventually, he just turns away from you. He can’t stomach looking at you any longer. He can feel your eyes pressing into his retreating form– he imagines you rushing for him, crashing into his back to throw your arms around his middle. You can’t do it, you’ll cry, burying your face between his shoulder blades. And he’ll freeze, but eventually he’ll wrap his arms around yours and bow his head with the strength of your feelings for him.

Or he imagines later, when it’s the end of the world, and you emerge from the rubble to reach for him. It’ll be like his dreams, when the sky is falling, and you only want to hold his hand in yours.

He imagines you shouting to him, changing your mind, saying his name like it’s a song to sing, not mourning bells, not a curse or an affliction.

But none of it happens.

And when he turns around, you are gone.

You leave his life as viciously as you entered it, suddenly there, all furious and beautiful, and now gone, like a lightning strike, like a lifetime.

***

You tell yourself you’re going to be fine, but you spend random days weeping over a villain. You spend long nights awake, missing him, replaying it all in your mind. You cover all your mirrors. You try to be different. You wish you could say you regret ever getting involved with him, but it would be one more lie. You wish for the time before the worst of it, the strange honeymoon you never should’ve had.

You wish you’d remembered to slow down, to savor it all a little more. You try to remember what your first kiss was like and the shade of his eyes through the evening light of an abandoned warehouse.

You try to remember when you didn’t feel so heavy, so corrosive and lost.

It doesn’t help that you’re suspended from heroing; a choice made by both the Hero Commission and Shouta. There’s nothing for you to do some evenings.

Shouta lets you train with him and Shinsou still. Shinsou tries to cheer you up, though he doesn’t know what’s wrong with you. Still, it hurts because he’s trying. It hurts because he cares so much, even about you.

You don’t deserve it, after everything.

You take care of Eri more, too, now that she is nearly in Shouta’s care. You babysit her while he’s away. You grow close with her, fiercely protective of the young girl, careful to keep the Hero Commission at a distance from her. She settles in your lap on the couch in Shouta’s apartment most evenings, watching TV and movies, while he grades papers at the opposite end.

Sometimes she falls asleep tucked into your side. You stroke her silver hair and try to bite back tears.

She catches you, sometimes, perceptive as she is, and asks very gently, “Why are you sad?” even if a tear hasn’t slipped free yet.

And you always shake your head, trying to dispel the thought of Tomura and the parents that gave him such a tragic name as a child. You force a smile for her and you tell her something silly to distract her, “I’m not,” you promise, “I just think there’s an onion nearby.”

She wrinkles her nose at this, “No, there isn’t!” but she’s easily distracted with tickles or the promise of painting her nails or having a tea party with Shouta.

Miraculously, your relationship with Shouta begins to heal, despite your betrayal. You think he can tell something worse happened to you during your time with Tomura, you think he can tell that you’re hurting, so he ends up gentler with you. He doesn’t trust you, though, keeps you on a tight leash. He looks at you some days like he isn’t quite sure he knows you.

Nothing is the same. Part of you wants to regret it. The part of you that loves Tomura can’t stomach the idea of regretting it. Someone is dead because of you. Someone is alive because of you, too.

But Shouta doesn’t ask and you don’t tell, can’t seem to speak the words.

You can’t even say, I fell in love, can’t speak the truth because it is so horrible.

And you know what everyone would ask; who could love the likes of him?

Me, you think, vehement and grief-stricken, me, you think defiantly. Why couldn’t you? He was a child once–

Shouta lets you burrow into his chest, wraps his arms around you. He sways with you in the kitchen until you can keep back your tears, until your heart has slowed to the tempo of his. He kisses the top of your head.

And it’s Shouta who is with you, when you return from training, and open the door to your apartment to reveal a scruffy, mangy looking grey kitten that wasn’t there when you left.

Ryuji chirps happily at you, rushing to the open door.

For a moment, you’re so shocked that all you can do is stand, startled, as he rubs himself against your legs.

“Don’t tell me you found another stray–” Shouta starts, but all you get out is a small, choked noise.

And here is the impact from the fall, you think, looking at that little cat that is excitedly winding itself around your legs. You can feel the shattering of your heart, like he’d lobbed it against the wall. You wonder if it catches light the same way glass does, all stained with color and broken into shards.

You drop to the floor with the weight of it all, with the clean splitting of your heart.

The moment Ryuji climbs into your lap, a sob finally ruptures out of you.

Shouta is fast, coming down beside you, you think he’s asking what’s wrong, why you’re crying, but you’ve already gathered the kitten into your arms, cradling him to your chest as the tears come quick and furious down your cheeks.

You think maybe you should be more concerned as to how he got Ryuji here, in U.A. dorms, you should be worried about security and safety but all you’re thinking about is that little apartment that you hid from the world with him in.

No, all you’re thinking about is the way light fell through the lone window to turn him hazy and soft in your memory. You’re thinking about how he never denied you affection, so long as you gave it tenfold in turn. The drawl of his voice. The pressing of his fingers into your skin like you were a miracle.

To him, you were.

Another sob spills out of you, from somewhere deep inside you.

What a lonely life, to only be able to touch one person in certainty. You wonder who will be the next person that will lay their hands gently on a body that has known too much pain. You wonder if you will be the last person to do it.

The thought hurts, opens up a part of you that is tender and shaking and desperately furious.

When Shouta can’t figure out what’s wrong with you or why you’re crying, he gives up, and sits on the floor with you. He gathers you into his lap so your back is pressed to his chest, pushing your head beneath his chin, Ryuji still cradled in your arms.

You cry harder when Shouta tries to comfort you, when he hushes softly, so sweetly, only because you don’t think there’s anyone to comfort Tomura like this.

You think of Tomura alone, even without Ryuji and it just–

Crushes you.

You squeeze the kitten tighter to your chest as you cry and cry and cry. You let Shouta hold you against him, but there’s no comfort in the aching hollowness that is growing in the pit of your chest.

You want to scream at the world that tossed the coin.

But all that comes out is a garbled, misery struck, cry.

You never told him you loved him, never gave word to what consumed you. And you realize, sitting on the floor with a kitten in your arms, that you won’t ever be able to tell him now.

It will live and die inside of you, never spoken into existence.

And even though it’s too late and Tomura Shigaraki is readying for a battle with a giant without you at his side, you still whisper the words you never got to speak into the top of Ryuji’s head.

Your lips barely move with it, the quietest, most desperate, “I love you– I loved you.” that escapes you with a trembling breath.

Shouta doesn’t even hear the confession.

Ryuji nudges your cheek with his, though, purring softly, keeping your secret safe.

And in the least, you are able to twist into Shouta’s arms and bury your face in his chest to cry as hard as you need. There’s no distance between the two of you now, like you always wanted.

Always here when you need him, even now, when it’s not him you want.

The irony isn’t lost on you.

You mumble incoherent apologies into his shoulder, try to hide in him, like he might be able to shield you from all the hurt and ache of your first love. He doesn’t ask, but he tells you very gently, his voice like the hearth of your home, “If you ever want to talk, I’ll always be there for you.”

You keep Ryuji, clean him up, fit him with a new collar, a new life. Shouta helps you care for him.

Eri adores the kitten, hugging him to her smiling face every time she sees him. Thankfully Ryuji is even-tempered, eager for affection. Almost desperate for it.

Ryuji is like proof of another world, proof that it all happened.

Sometimes you rub between his ears and ask, “Do you miss it, too?” but all he does is peer at you inquisitively, eyes large and fixed on you.

You sleep with him, though, let the kitten curl up in your lonesome arms, hold tight to him the way you used to hold tight to Tomura.

***

In the middle of the night, your phone wakes you with its insistent chime and buzzing. You blink awake sleepily, slowly and blindly paw for your phone.

You turn the screen towards you and squint at the bright light, making out the word that flashes on it;

Unknown Caller.

You grimace, rubbing at your eyes. You debate putting your phone down, letting it ring and go to voicemail. Why should you answer for an unknown caller in the middle of the night?

And yet, something in you squirms, urges you to pick up. You have no idea who it might be— maybe someone needs your help. Is it possible it’s Shouta? Shinsou? What if it’s—

You answer finally, groggy voice slurring out, “Hello?”

You’re met with static.

“Hello?” you say again, voice hushed with sleep.

Still nothing.

Tomura sits on the other side, with the phone pressed desperately to his ear. He holds everything inside of him, barely allows himself to breathe on the other end.

He doesn’t know why he’s done this, only that he is on his way to proving himself with the League and he wishes you were still at his side.

He swallows, hears you call again, “Hello? Anyone there?”

He tightens his four-finger grip on the phone, squeezing his eyes shut at the sound of your voice, sleepy and soft in his ear, wrapping around the jagged parts of his heart.

He exhales and you must hear it because you say, “Is someone there?”

He bites back an answer, feels his lip tremble slightly.

He hears you huff, indignant little thing that you are and his lips pull into a shaky, painful smile. “I’m going to hang up now,” you say, all prickly, the way you’d get if he woke you too soon.

He used to soothe you with lips and teeth and tongue, run diligent fingers over you until you were sighing and arching into his touch. Until all your hard, vicious edges softened with the flattening of his palm on your body.

And for some reason you try, one last time into coaxing him to answer, “C’mon,” you say, almost like you know, “Nothing?”

Nothing, he wants to echo, but doesn’t.

His heart pounds an uneasy rhythm, a haunted tempo. He feels himself shaking again.

“Okay,” you exhale, slow, like you’re giving him a chance to stop you, “Goodbye.”

A beat passes, before he feels his heart lurch painfully in the hollow place of his chest at the thought of not hearing your voice again like this, so near. He doesn’t want you to go, wants to listen to you until it coaxes him to sleep.

“Wait– don’t hang up–“ Tomura hisses into the phone at the last moment, unable to decide if he wants you to hear him or not.

He gets his answer in the buzzing silence, long and drawn out, that fills his head. His heart.

And he sits there with his phone still in hand and his heart still on the line.

***

Tomura shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be watching you from afar, in the park that he thought you’d looked like a painting in. You’re beautiful.

But what does someone like him know about beauty, anyways?

The fireburst leaves are nearly gone, barely clinging to lone and stark branches. They claw up into the sky now, but the sun is shining. It’s mid-morning. You’re in the park with your mentor, with the violet haired boy he’d seen you with before, and the little girl with silver hair. The one that was in Overhaul’s care, with the devastating Quirk.

She tugs excitedly at your sleeve now and you give her your undivided attention, your face lighting up with whatever it is she tells you.

You scoop her into your arms and her echoing giggle is like wind chimes, melodic and childish and care-free.

You look happy, he thinks, with your mentor’s hand on the small of your back, looking down at you and the girl fondly. The violet-haired boy says something that makes the girl laugh, it makes you smile as you watch her.

You look back at your mentor with a look that Tomura has come to know; one that begs of attention and approval and affection. He can see the desperate glint to your eyes, hungry for his love.

He swallows around the sharp bitterness he feels. Jealousy floods him in a way he has never fully known. But it’s more than just jealousy for you and your attention, for the way you’re looking at your mentor.

No, it’s something greater, far worse.

He’s jealous of your mentor, with the easy way he gets to touch and look at you out in public. But he’s also jealous of you and your life.

He doesn’t realize it at first, but he’s begun to shake.

Because you were saved– isn’t that it? You were saved. And he wasn’t.

Maybe he’s jealous of the boy with you, too, with the possibility of his life so much brighter already. He has more of a chance than Tomura ever had.

Or maybe it’s the girl in your arms, with eyes like his, who he is most jealous of now. He has never allowed himself to ask;

Why couldn’t it be me?

But now he does and he can feel the pit in his chest grow with a livid sort of despair. Grief for a life never lived. Didn’t he deserve to be saved, too? Like the girl in your arms? Like you? Didn’t he deserve a life like this, too? What’s the difference? He wants to demand it, what’s the difference?

You were just a kid, you know?

His fingers dig into his neck. There is no one to stop him from breaking skin, for drawing blood on his own body. His chest festers, angry, like a blister. His stomach turns, his body trembling harder, like he’s a child, like he’s going to shake apart.

He looks at your smiling face, the curve of your lips, and wants you so bad it hurts. He wonders if you ever dreamt of him as a hero, the way he dreams of you as a villain. He wonders why it feels so unfair suddenly, the turning of your lives, the coming together and falling apart.

He shudders, feels the sudden lump in his throat. He tried not to mourn you, when you left him. He told himself that there was nothing to mourn; either you would be back or you weren’t worth it. He feels the pressure of tears now, though, much to his frustration. He feels his lungs burn for breath as he watches you hand the little girl off to your mentor, who props her onto his hip easily.

He watches you throw your head back and laugh, the sound of it distant, but he catches it, the outskirts of it. He used to feel that laugh against his throat, against his lips.

But now he watches you live a life he apparently never deserved.

His bottom lip trembles, a furious scowl marring his face.

He could scream or shout at a world that wouldn’t listen. The fact of it all, the helplessness of it all, burns beneath his skin like wildfire, like acid.

Tomura takes one last look at you; the expressive glimmer of your eyes, the flash of your teeth. He lingers on you, commits you to memory as if he could ever forget you. Maybe someday he will. Maybe he won’t have to, if you come back to him.

But he won’t wait on it, in an apartment that still has traces of you in it’s corners and crevices. No, he has more to do, bigger than him. Bigger than you.

Even if the horrible tempo of his heart begs differently, even if the shaking in his shoulders is an indication otherwise.

One last look of you– you’re talking, saying something with your hands. The little girl laughs again, her red eyes crinkling up happily.

Tomura turns away.

He walks a familiar path to the apartment, the wind tries to slice through his jacket, kicks up leaves and litter in shadowed alleyways.

He enters and there is no one trailing behind him, your hands twisted into the back of his hoodie, or his sleeves. It’s quiet. Empty. He surveys it once, the bed with unmade sheets. The window that let in beams of colored light, that Ryuji would sit at.

And then he sets his hands on the wall, all ten of his fingers down, the way he used to touch you.

The wall begins to decay, cracks and crumbles beneath his hands. It spreads, and spreads, and spreads like a disease filling out the body of the apartment. Dust begins to fall like early snow.

His heart squeezes painfully, his eyes suddenly flooding with pressure, with tears he tries to keep back. His head throbs, feels like it’s going to cleave apart. His ribs ache– hurt so bad it’s like he can feel the one you took from him, the gaping part of his chest.

His Quirk flares hard and hot and fast. It burns through him, floods his veins in a way that makes him cry out, suddenly shaking, suddenly pained.

He destroys the apartment, disintegrates the tiny world he created with you that existed outside of the real one. He unpauses the game. He takes apart what the world should’ve been, when he was here, with you. He sees now that a world like this cannot exist.

The peace, the ideal, the way you had understood him. Your unending compassion. It’s rare. Not enough to save the rest of them.

So he tears it all apart, pushes at his Quirk in a way he hasn’t been able to before, nudges at its strength to test it. It flares outward, eating away at the entire space, at the furniture, at the floor. Everywhere.

He seethes, blooming, finally allowing that livid and vicious thing inside of him to burst forward. It’s explosive, wrenching out of him in the form of terrible destruction.

He’ll grow into what he was supposed to–

I wanted to be a hero– when I was a kid.

The only option he ever really had, the hand extended to him a villain’s, gentle when he’d taken it.

He destroys the boy inside him, the one that was naive and hopeful and weak. He let’s that boy inside of him fall apart, split open and leaks gore before turning to dust, too. He kills the part of him that he had only ever shared with you, in the blue-dark of night, when you were lulled to sleep with just the sound of his heart.

He swallows down his anguish and his jealousy and his bitterness, keeps it safe inside him, like All For One always said to do. He’ll nourish it, let it grow, fester inside of him until the only thing it can do is explode out of him to tear the world apart, too.

When he’s standing in the rubble of the tiny world you’d made with him, the apartment complex demolished, the people inside gone, he knows what he has to do.

And he has so much work to do in order to achieve it.

He tries to forget you, to destroy your memory, too. He will not carry the weight of you around inside him.

(But in his dreams, you sit cross-legged in front of him, serene and beautiful, like a painting he knows nothing about.

In his dreams, you ask for his hands to have, and he gives you them to hold.)

[strangerstolovers444]

House of Cards // Chapter Six

Levi Ackerman x reader, royalty/fantasy AU, slow burn, childhood friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, arranged marriage

c/w: brief description of preparing meat, blood, violence

thank you @anlian-aishang for beta reading! <3

It had taken several hours of walking to reach a place that Levi deemed safe enough to stop and rest.

Made mostly of large stone, the clearing he found jutted out of the mountainside and hovered over the sprawling valley below. To anyone else, it may have been easily missed, but you were secretly grateful for a break. Between the long trek through the Mordonian Forest and the uphill hike, you’re certain you’ve never walked so much in your life.

The silhouettes of the sloping mountain range seem to go on for miles as you stand near the edge. From this height, you feel so small compared to the behemoth of the mountain, yet you’ve never felt more free.

If you had stayed, you would have undoubtedly seen these mountains from below on the journey to Sondaria. You would be staring up at the same night sky, on your way to an entirely different life surrounded by complete strangers.

Read the rest on Ao3!

[strangerstolovers444]

— a lesson in dancing ˚⁎⁺ levi ackerman x gn!reader

Levi doesn't think you should be with an old man like him. You show him otherwise. Or: in a post-war life, Levi learns to dance again.

content — Post-war, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Some internalized ableism from Levi but Reader helps him get through it, Reader is younger than Levi, Slow dancing, Basically a whole lot of comforting Levi in this one (wc: 2.3k). For reference - I headcanon that Levi uses a wheelchair most of the time, but that at home, he'll opt for a cane.

Crossposted on AO3.

“You should find someone younger to be with.”

At first, you aren’t sure if you heard Levi correctly. It’s still early; the sunrise barely reaches the town's tiled roofs. Sparrows nibble around you, scavenging for breakfast. Everything is at a complete standstill.

Then you glance up from this morning’s newspaper. Levi is staring at the youth gathered around the city square.  

“What did you say?” you ask.

Levi’s attention settles onto you, a half-lidded stare that’s no less charged than in his prime as the Captain.

“You’re still young," he mutters. "You’re still whole."

Well, if he didn't have your attention before, he certainly has it now.

You place your reading onto the café table, right next to the cup of coffee the waiter just brought. Your fingers linger on the edges of the newspaper, bending the corners with your thumb.

“Levi, I don’t want to be with someone else," you say, slow like you were carefully weighing each syllable with care. "I want to be with you.”

"You say that, but I can’t give you that.”

You frown, following his changing line of sight, back to the youth. In the distance, couples dance, following music coming from an accordion. They step and twirl, a resounding cheer (“ha!”) echoing with every count of twelve.

It brings you straight back to Paradis, to life within the Walls, to evenings spent in dingy taverns. Hange and Miche used to love dancing; they loved to drag you along. You wonder if Levi is thinking about those nights too.

"Are you talking about us dancing?”

The knot in Levi's throat bobs. He swallows it down with an almost bitter expression. “That, and more. Just look at me.”

“I’m looking, Levi.”

If only he knew—you’ve been looking all along.

All these years of fighting side by side, of fighting against titans and humans, of trying to bring peace to the world.

Just to arrive at a time and place where you could look at him.

And the sight grounds you.

Levi's eyes—one milky white and shuttered, the other a deep gray that reminds you of muted skies. His hair, silky black, embellished from the passage of time with strands of silver (like starlight, you think). A pearl-colored scar that twists below his lash line, running across the left side of his face, currently glowing from the dewy morning sun.

Everything about Levi has always been beautiful.

Despite that, you watch Levi retreats in his shell. His expression hardens and his knuckles tighten. It's the same old reaction you've grown accustomed to seeing. Levi did it Then, in Paradis, and he's doing it Now, in this new life.

But you? You rip through it, cut the distance apart. The feet of your chair rattles against the cobblestone of the street as you draw near. By the time you're settled at his side, you’re close enough to count the freckles splattered on the tip of nose.

“Levi, listen to me. You’re enough just the way you are. We can go through life as we please. Isn’t that enough?”

Levi remains silent, setting his posture like iron.

You tug at the hems of his shirt, twirling the fabric around your index. “Hey, c'mon now. Have I ever told you how handsome you are in the early morning?”

“Tch, don’t patronize me. You must want more than to be stuck with an old man like me.”

“What if I like my old man?” 

“You should be with someone younger.“

“Who says?”

“I’m saying.”

Levi’s deadpan expression doesn’t falter under your even gaze, but his lower lip opens up slightly, as if he were trying to even out his breathing. A blue vein tenses down his neck. You have the urge to smooth it with the back of your hands.

But you focus on his words instead.

“Levi, where’s all of this coming from?” 

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, of course, it matters. If it's making you have these thoughts, it matters.”

Levi's eyes narrow. You sigh. 

“Fine, you stubborn man. You wanna know what I see?” you say under your breath.

There’s something vulnerable tied to Levi’s gaze. You hold onto it, sliding your fingers through his hair to brush care into his scalp. Your thumbs linger over the crow’s feet permeating the corner of his eyes. A constellation of wrinkles and spots dust Levi's skin, an aftermath of time and sun exposure. You run a delicate digit over all of it, ending along his scarred lash line.

Levi swallows loudly.

“When I look at you, Levi, I see the pain of someone who was asked to grow up much too fast. I see the face of a man who had to shoulder the weight of survival all by himself. I see the life of a soldier who has fought for peace so that all of them,” your head bobs in the youth’s direction, “now get to enjoy a quiet Saturday morning where they can dance without a care in the world.”

Levi glances over your shoulders, fixing a point like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

You bring your hands along the sides of his jaw, directing his attention back to you. “Levi, you’re everything I want. We fought for a decade to be here. Why can’t you recognize that?”

He attempts to shake his head. “You deserve more.”

“That's for me to decide."

"I disagree."

"You always trusted my judgment as a soldier, so please extend me that same courtesy in this life here. Trust me to know what I want.”

“S’not the same.”

“It is. I dedicated my heart to the Scouts back then, didn’t I? And now I’m dedicating it to you.”

Levi’s ears turn pink, his lips tightening into a pout that cannot be described as anything else but coy. “Tch, don't say shit like this in public.” He attempts to lean away from your touch, but you teasingly play with strands of his hair, coxing him to utter stillness.

You lift a brow.

Levi stays quiet. Your knees bump with his, and you remain close while you watch him think your words over. Somehow, though, you can tell he’s grateful to have you here with him. You’re the one still by his side after all these years of death and pain and misery.

The one who stayed.

And Levi conveys his gratitude by reaching to you at last, slow like he were afraid to be stung. He loops his fingers around your own, his thumb gliding against the pulse point on your wrist. Once he has his hold on you, he doesn't let go, slowly stroking your skin with his thumbs.

You exhale in solace.

“So, what's the verdict?" you murmur. "Should I continue praising you?” 

He releases your hands. “Please don’t.” 

You chuckle, moving to grab the newspaper once more. Today’s headline talks of peace negotiations, negotiations that are to be handled by Commander Armin Arlert.

“Listen, I meant what I said, Captain," you tell Levi as you smooth over the article, ready to pour your attention onto it. "Like it or not, you’re stuck with me now.” 

Levi clears his throat as he takes a sip of tea. “Careful, soldier, that almost sounded like a marriage proposal.”

This time, it’s your turn to get flustered. You hide behind your wall of reading and when you peer over the newspaper, you swear there’s a ghost of a smirk tugging at Levi’s lips.

The evening is setting. Outside, waves crash against the cliffs while seagulls croak in swarms. You don’t pay attention to the noise; you’re inside the little cottage you and Levi share, too busy tweaking the machine Onkyankopon gifted you. It's a vinyl player—a machine which lets you play music records. Admittedly, you aren’t well-versed with these modern inventions, but this one you’re excited to use.

The record you’ve placed into the vinyl player comes from Onkyankopon’s home town. It promises a soothing journey filled with emotional highs—just what you need. With a grin plastered on your face, you press the play button. The tonearm hits the record and a lovely crack sounds across the living room. You lower the volume, and turn around.

“Levi, you coming?”

You hear a grunt in response, echoing across the narrow corridor of the house. “There’s no fire under my ass, is there?”

“Just a very excited me is all.”

Several moments later, Levi walks in, cane in hand. He’s fresh out of the shower. His hair is still wet, bangs clinging to the sides of his forehead, and his cheeks still have that rosy hue that comes from him washing it thoroughly. He’s wearing a freshly ironed shirt, and what Marleyans call jeans (which, incidentally, make his ass look great). 

Your stomach flutters.

Levi raises a brow. “What did you want to show me?”

“Oh.” You blink, remembering your plan. “Right. Please, c'mon here.”

He does, walking towards you, something cautiously guarded on his face.

You roll your eyes and shoot him a playful smile. “It’s not a trap, I promise.” Your fingers move to the collar of his gray shirt, feeling the rough fabric of cotton between your fingertips. The color matches his gaze, it brings out the smoothness of his pale skin.

He really is pretty.

You tell him as such.

He scoffs, a lovely pink hue dusting the tips of his ears. “Don’t say shit like that.”

You shrug. “We’re not in public anymore, are we?”

“Spare me.”

“But I like to compliment you."

"That's not my problem."

"Fine, old man. Then I suppose I should show you.”

His eyes narrow, not unkindly or in an annoyed manner, but with the regard of someone who dislikes surprises, who knows you’re up to something.

You detach yourself from him for a moment, striding over to reach for the volume button and turning it up. As soon as the slow violin and piano tug through the air, you turn towards him with a grin.

“Let’s dance,” you announce.

To Levi’s credit, he doesn’t appear all that surprised by this turn of events. Well, he’s known you over a decade, so you suppose he’s learned a thing or two about you.

You take his wooden cane out of his hands, carefully placing it against the wall. For a moment, the two of you just stare at each other from across the small room, admiring one and another. Moonlight trickles into the room, gracing Levi with its touch. His gray stare is aglow, his hair like silver. Like starlight, indeed.

Taking a slow step in his direction, you slide into his arms, and he welcomes you like you were made to belong there all along. You take his invitation with a smile, offering him support for his leg while you bask in the comfort of his embrace. Levi places his left hand over your shoulder, the other finding a home along your ribs, fingers slotting along every bone. Safety. His touch sparks warmth across your body, and you bring your hands to the back of his neck, delicately smoothing his undercut.

“The music is starting,” you murmur into the shell of his ear. Tingles spread through your veins.

“Yeah, it is.”

The music isn’t anything like the one you heard on the square today. This track is slow and intimate, and so, your dancing adapts to it. At first, you take the lead, only taking occasional small steps back, hips swaying with the soft melody. Levi follow closely, so close that you listen to his heartbeat quicken beneath your touch.

Half a minute later, Levi surprises you by carefully taking one of your hands between his own, dragging his thumb over your knuckles. He guides you back into a slow spin, and you feel the air expand in your lungs as you take several steps away from him, watching your two shadows ripple over the silver spotlight. When he tugs you back and your vision spins, you think how perfectly your bodies align together.

“Levi, why are you so good at this?” you chastise playfully.

“Erwin used to make me attend these fancy balls in the Interior,” he says in your ear, the tenor of his voice rumbling against your skin. “I learned there.” 

“Huh, that’s true. I remember the tuxedos you and Erwin wore now that you mention it." You chuckle. "You both looked devilishly handsome.”

“We looked like two pretentious snobs, you mean.”

"You say that, but I think Erwin took you along for a reason. We always did get the funding for every expedition.”

“Yeah.” There’s a note of fondness for Erwin and past memories, things you aren't exactly privy to, but that you're glad he gets to cherish all the same. 

You come to rest a cheek close to his neck, submerging yourself with the warmth of his skin. “I guess this little dance doesn’t measure up to the lavish balls you’ve attended, right?”

His hand tightens around your own. “No, this is better.”

You smile at his words.

It isn’t until a moment later that you realize the music has stopped, that you’re both still slow dancing to silence. Outside, the sound of waves remains.

Slowly, you untangle yourself from Levi, looking at him like he were the lighthouse guiding you back to shore. Levi’s attention is already fixed on you, his face filled with quiet fondness. There's starlight in his gaze.

“You see," you say. "We can dance, you and I.”

Levi raises a hand towards you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “If we can teach your clumsy ass some rhythm, sure.”

“Hey, don’t be mean.”

Levi snorts, and before you can say anything else, he surprises you by leaning over to press a kiss over your forehead. 

And under the moonlight, you watch him at peace, and all feels right.

— Masterlist / Join my taglist / Heart divider by saradika-graphics - the rest is by me.

Tag list: @l3visthighs, @bejewelledd, @nube55, @loyal2rin, @leviisgf, @thephantomtheory, @levilxvr, @halloweenmedic, @notgoodforlife, @sixpennydame, @youre-ackermine, @starrylevi

[strangerstolovers444]

contents: general bakugou x princess reader; 1.1k, fem reader. lowkey dedicated to the loml @ofmermaidstories even tho there's e2l undertones.

thinking about being a princess forced into a political marriage. your father is ailing and with no sons in his lineage, your country risks dissolution and open war if you do not marry.

already several of the more prominent families are forming factions; those with eligible sons are desperately trying to engineer opportunities for themselves, those without are amassing foot soldiers and weapons.

you cannot stand any of the pompous, greedy, egocentric princelings put forth by the noble families; men who care nothing for the country or its people, men with no thought for policy or justice—men who would gorge themselves on wine and women as the country crumbled at their feet.

even with a husband, there is no guarantee against a coup, not unless your husband is formidable enough to suppress one.

there is only one man you can stomach the thought of assuming the throne, one man with a head for strategy, a sense of duty, and a reputation strong enough to suppress the growing threat of political discord.

you find general bakugou katsuki in his quarters in the small hours of the morning, unable to sleep for your nerves.

"princess," he rasps, opening the door in nothing but his breeches. your face burns as you're confronted with the sight of a man's naked chest, miles of bare skin, golden in the glow of the torch lights.

"general," you say, resolutely raising your eyes to his face. there is no time to dance around the issue. "i need you to marry me."

bakugou's blonde hair is bed-rumpled, his manner sleep-soft, though his gaze is sharp. he watches you for a long moment before answering.

"'s an awful unromantic proposal," he says, an eyebrow raising.

despite his honorability, he's always had a way of grating on your nerves, and he knows it. you can't stop the reflexive scowl that paints your mouth, nor the irritability that seeps into your tone.

"i am being serious," you say, crossing your arms.

bakugou's eyes follow the movement. you are suddenly all too aware that you've marched through the castle halls in nothing but your night rail, too overcome with the thought of what must be done to pay the appropriate attention to your wardrobe.

"what, you lookin' to consummate it now?" he asks, gaze almost burning through the thin cotton of your shift.

your ears go hot. "can you stop being the most obnoxious man on earth for one moment."

bakugou leans an arm against his open door, bicep flexing with the movement. you try valiantly not to notice the way the shadows pool in the divots of his muscle, the way his trousers sit against the plane of his toned stomach.

"if you want me to say yes, you're gonna need to be a little nicer, princess," he says, mouth flicking into an awful little smirk.

"general—bakugou," you hiss. "do you want to watch the country you've spent years defending dissolve into nothing at the hands of these narcissistic, coddled fools?"

"rich words for a princess," bakugou says, his voice nearly a growl in the dim.

you are aware that you are sheltered as a royal. you are aware you are soft and naive. but you are educated, you are strong-willed, and you care. you may not be a son to your father, but you know you know have studied harder than any man on your father's court. you want to do your best for this country.

"do not mock me," you command.

bakugou's scarlet gaze trails over you, hot and liquid in the flickering torchlight.

"no? then what d'you want me to do to you?" he asks.

you fight down the furious flush of humiliation. "i want you," you repeat through gritted teeth, "to marry me."

bakugou's golden eyelashes dip as his gaze slides back over your crossed arms, then lower, all the way down to your bare toes. you feel horribly vulnerable under his scrutiny, even more knowing you are already at his mercy.

"you're serious," he rasps, eyes cutting back to yours.

"unfortunately," you grit out.

that draws another flicker of a smirk out of him. "and y'came running down here at midnight in your little nightdress because you were too scared you'd chicken out, is that it?"

that is absolutely it, and you hate that he knows it.

"will you marry me or not?" you demand, even your nose feeling hot now. "i don't know what my nightdress has to do with the question!"

"your nightdress is gonna have a lot to do with it if i say yes, angel," bakugou says.

you hate him. maybe it's better to just let the country fall to ruin, let some jumped up coalition of families amass power and overwhelm bakugou and his soldiers. with any luck maybe they will stab him.

you'll have to come up with another plan.

"fine," you hiss, turning on your heel. "message received."

but a hot hand closes on your arm before you can take another step, yanking you back to him. you stumble, barely catching yourself before bashing your nose into his chest.

"you know what you're asking for?" bakugou demands, leaning in to look into your face. "you know this wouldn't be easy."

"i know," you say begrudgingly. "but you are the country's best option—my best option. none of the men put forth are acceptable."

"don't like pretty boys, princess?" bakugou asks.

"you're plenty pretty," you bite out before you can think. horror overwhelms you when bakugou's smirk grows wider, a sharp white knife in the dark.

"think i'm pretty huh?" he says, his tone gloating.

"i think that you are awful and maybe i'd rather take my chances with a coup," you growl, trying to pry your arm from his grip.

but bakugou's hold tightens for a moment, and he leans down, close enough that his breath ghosts over the collar of your night rail.

"then if you're sure this is what you want, princess, you can have it," bakugou says. his thumb smoothes over the skin of your arm for just a moment, soft and feather light before he lets you go.

you step out of his reach, skin tingling, face flaming. there's no reason to delay, then. "fine, we're agreed. i'll see you in the morning. we'll announce it then."

you spin on your heel, bakugou's grunt of acceptance following you as turn back down the hall.

"see you in the morning, angel," he drawls, suddenly all agreement.

he may be the general between the two of you, but you know when it's time for a strategic retreat. you ignore his response and flee—your ears burning all the way to your chambers.

[strangerstolovers444]

|| m.list || part II || part III || 

⇢ pairing: katsuki bakugo x fem!reader

⇢ rating: e, 18+

⇢ word count: 15,203 [ao3]

⇢ tags: wolf hybrid bakugo, mild dub con, aged up characters, high functioning hybrid - basically a nonverbal human with ears

⇢ notes: part I of III, chapters posted every week on Tuesday - add yourself to the taglist here

⇢ summary:

You don’t have the time to foster hybrids like you used to, but going to the shelter is a habit you’ve been unable to break. You’re stunned, this time, to see a wolf hybrid there that defies all expectation - he’s gorgeous, fair haired and sharp faced, and he’s intelligent. Human enough to fully understand human speech, but animal enough to fight anyone that tries to tame him with pointed canines and a ripping snarl.

He has a bite history that would warn off any sensible adopter but when you see that he’s approaching the deadline for euthanasia, you have no choice. One sharp look from garnet eyes and you know you have to bring him home. You have to give him a chance, even if you’re risking life and limb to do it.

Keep reading

[strangerstolovers444]

what's love got to do with it?

The students and teachers alike at UA High can't help but notice the strange behavior of the typically stern and stoic teacher of Class 1-A. They come up with all sorts of theories but soon discover the even more surprising truth: Aizawa is simply falling in love. Fluffy Aizawa x fem!reader drabble. SFW. 2,828 words.

The way everyone looks at him when he walks in, you’d think he’d grown a second head or something.

Aizawa glances up from his phone after reading a sweet little text from you, greeting him good morning and wishing him a good day at work, only to find every student's wide-eyed, unblinking attention focused solely on him.

One second, they were all happily chattering, and then, the next…

"What?" He asks his class offhandedly, throwing his things on the table and taking his usual seat.

But instead of answering him, the whole room erupts into a whispered frenzy.

"Did you see that? Did he just...?"

"No way! Must have been a trick of the light or something."

"What the heck? I feel so unnerved. Llike we just spotted a UFO or there’s been a glitch in the matrix."

“You guys saw it too, right? Are we all just collectively hallucinating?”

"Oi!" He calls their attention. "Would anyone care to tell me what it is exactly that's gotten all of you so worked up this morning?"

Stunned silence falls over Class 1-A again, and Aizawa can’t help but cross his arms and huff. “Iida? Yaoyorozu? What’s going on?”

He doesn’t miss the way the class president and vice-president exchange a hesitant look before Iida answers him. 

“Apologies, sensei!” He hastily gets up to bow. “I will personally make sure everyone quiets down.” He zooms around the room and gestures frantically at his noisy classmates to settle down.

Bemused by their commotion, Aizawa folds his arms and sighs impatiently. What could’ve caused such a stir? He wonders. And why are they all so reluctant to tell him? Did he have a piece of spinach in his teeth or something? A quick glance downwards tells him he didn’t forget to wear pants or shoes or anything, so what was it?

“If I may, sensei?” Yaoyorozu raises her hand and he nods at her. “I think everyone was just a little distracted by your change in demeanor today."

He furrows his eyebrows at the young girl. "What change?"

"Well, we’ve never seen you smile before. Or at least, not like that.”

He blinks in surprise. He’d been smiling when he walked into class this morning? "What about it?"

"Well, sir," Iida adds, taking his seat once everyone's finally settled down. "It's quite an uncommon sight. Naturally, they were taken aback."

“You usually only smile when you’re giving us a tough time in exams or training exercises, sensei.”

The corners of Aizawa’s mouth twitch upwards at that, which he quickly covers up with a small cough. “Well, enough of that. Let’s get on with today’s lesson, shall we?”

Everyone straightens up to listen as their homeroom teacher goes over a few important announcements. And although he isn’t smiling anymore, Class 1-A doesn't miss the way his usually sharp gaze has grown soft and almost...fond as he speaks to them.

As soon as the homeroom bell rings, Aizawa dismisses them with an absent-minded wave of his hand and takes out his phone to text you: Do I really never smile?

You smile when you’re rounding up bad guys sometimes. You reply almost right away. Or when you see a cat.

He chuckles. Apparently I also do it when I’m torturing my students. Then…Or when I’m texting you.

You send back a little cat emoji, and the grin you get after reading that doesn't leave your face for the rest of the day.

_________________________________________

“Shouta! Helloooo? I said Earth to Shouta?” Kayama waves her hand in Aizawa’s face.

It seems to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in. “Sorry, what?” He blinks up at her.

She gives Yamada a look. “What’s with him today?”

“Dunno,” he shrugs, then turns to his friend. “Hey buddy, didn’t get any sleep again last night or something?”

You could say that, Aizawa thinks to himself with a smirk, then hastily scolds his features into their usually stoic expression. “No. Why?”

Kayama raises an eyebrow at him. “You've just been acting a little...off. Distracted, maybe?”

"Nothing to worry about," Aizawa reassures them, dismissing their concerns with a wave of his hand. He goes back to observing his students closely in the hopes of them moving past the subject, but Kayama and Yamada aren’t convinced. Anyone looking at him could tell something was different today.

“Sensei?” Kirishima hesitantly calls out to him. “I’m having a little trouble with my balance. Could you show me that move again?”

Aizawa nods, and everyone’s jaw just about drops to the floor when he demonstrates the proper stance with uncharacteristic patience. 

"Remember to be mindful of where you shift your weight," He guides Kirishima through the motions with a supportive tone, a stark departure from his normally gruff and no-nonsense approach. "And keep your focus. You'll get it."

Kirishima does as he’s told and looks to his teacher for feedback.

"No, adjust your stance a bit like this. Yes, that's it. Great improvement," Aizawa says, offering a rare compliment. 

Flabbergasted, the red-haired boy manages a stuttering, "Th-Thank you, sensei," before Aizawa moves on to help the next student. 

Observing everything from afar, Kayama leans over to Yamada and whispers, “He didn’t get a concussion on that last mission, did he? I've never seen him like this."

“Check what was in his coffee a while ago. And if he still has more — oof, it was just a joke!”

_________________________________________

“Okay, enough is enough!” Mina bursts into the room, dramatically crying. “I have to know!”

“Know what?” Kirishima asks as the others start to gather around her.

“What’s going on with Aizawa sensei? I saw him on the way here — he’s wearing a buttoned up shirt.”

There’s a collective gasp.

“Are you sure?” Momo asks.

Mina nods frantically. “And it was freshly pressed, too!”

Another round of gasps.

“And his hair was tied up!” The pink girl all but weeps, throwing herself onto the nearest desk.

“What do you think is going on with him?” Deku rubs his chin thoughtfully.

“He’s been acting so weird lately!” Uraraka whines.

As if on cue, Aizawa walks in. “Good morning, class,” he greets them without his usual gruffness.

Everyone hurries back to their seats, but Mina leans over to grab Kaminari’s sleeve, screaming under her breath, “He said good morning!”

“Look at his eyes!” He points frantically. “No puffy, dark circles or redness at all! He actually looks well-rested for once!”

“That’s where I draw the line!” Kirishima almost slams his fist on his desk. “We have to get to the bottom of this.”

Sero joins them, “Do you think Mic sensei and Midnight sensei know anything?”

Kaminari shrugs, “It’s worth asking.”

“Maybe Aizawa sensei has a secret twin and he’s pulling a prank on us?” Deku contemplates.

Uraraka shakes her head, “Sensei? Pulling a prank? I doubt it. What if there’s a new teacher at UA with a shape-shifting quirk?”

“Or Shinsou brainwashed him into being in a good mood?” Jirou chimes in.

As they huddle and murmur, Todoroki and Tokoyami shoot them curious glances, and Iida has to shush them discreetly. 

They snap back to attention every time Aizawa faces them, pretending to listen to the lesson. But as soon as their sensei turns away again, the room buzzes with whispered speculation. 

And though he acts none the wiser, seemingly engrossed in the topic they're supposed to be discussing, Aizawa can't help his amusement listening to their outlandish theories. A small, smug part of him relishes stoking the fires of their confusion. 

He knew he'd have some explaining to do, but for now, he’s more than happy to just let  them wonder.

_________________________________________

“Oh, look who finally decided to show up!” is the first thing Mic says when he spots him. The colorful cocktail in his hand is practically empty, but he happily sips the fun loopy straw for whatever dredges he can anyway.

“Are you going to make me regret it?” Aizawa grumbles, taking his seat next to his friends.

But Mic and Midnight just snicker, unfazed. They’ve had years to get used to his grumpiness after all (and a few drinks to put them in a better mood). 

"We have to admit, Aizawa," Midnight smirks up at him. "We had an ulterior motive for asking you to come hang out tonight."

"Don't you always?" He deadpans, lazily chewing at the gyoza they ordered without him. Although he doesn’t show it, he’s pleased to see there’s already a whiskey neat waiting on the table for him. 

Midnight rolls her eyes as she slides it over to him, "Yeah, but aside from just getting you to lighten up as usual."

"And getting you to sing karaoke with us, which I still can't believe—"

"You promised me we'd never talk about it again,” Aizawa groans as he rubs his hand over his face. “And that you'd never let me get that drunk again.”

"Awww, come on, buddy," Yamada slings his arm around him. "What's the point of having a good story you can't tell?"

"Fine, but I'll deny it, so no one will believe you anyway."

"I don’t know,” Midnight sing-songs, swirling her margarita in its glass. “With the way you’ve been acting lately, they just might.”

He frowns at her. “Meaning?”

Mic grins, leaning forward with an impish glint in his eye, "Meaning we heard you've been keeping secrets from us, Aizawa."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh really? Then would you care to tell us why you’ve been smiling so much lately?”

“Or who you’ve been trying to look nice for?”

Realizing they weren’t going to let this go easily, Aizawa sighs and takes a deep sip of his whiskey, the familiar warmth sliding down his throat. He's not one to discuss his personal life openly, even with his close friends, but there's something about their teasing that doesn't quite irk him tonight.

Aizawa tilts his head slightly, thoughtfully. "I'm just...happy, I suppose."

“But it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

“Come on, buddy, you can tell us!” Mic nudges him playfully. 

“We want to know what’s got our favorite grump acting like a—" Midnight’s hands quickly fly up to cover her gasp. 

“Like a what?” Mic gives her a puzzled look, but Aizawa’s shoulders tense up at the glint in her eyes. That look usually meant very bad things for him. 

“Like a lovesick puppy!” She grabs Mic’s arm, excitedly slapping it before shaking Aizawa’s shoulders and squealing into his ear. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re in love!”

Aizawa chokes on his drink, and Mic pats him on the back to ease his coughing fit.

"Real smooth, Kayama,” he teases her.

"Sorry, but I couldn't resist," Midnight pouts, the twinkle of amusement still shining bright in her eyes.

Aizawa wipes his mouth and sets his glass down with a sigh. “Well, if you must know…There is…someone I’ve been spending time with.”

"Someone!" His friends chorus, delighted.

Mic nudges him gently. “Well? Don’t leave us in suspense!”

"Who is it? Do we know them?" Midnight leans forward, giggling.

Aizawa looks down at his glass for a moment, contemplating how much he should reveal. Although he feels a little overwhelmed by their excitement and their scrutiny, he also secretly relishes the joy of sharing this part of his life with his closest friends. 

It feels good, he thinks, to be around them and to know that they care so much about him. And though he’s never been one to discuss his personal affairs, he trusts these two enough to share the parts of himself he usually kept guarded. 

Seeing the expectant looks on their faces, eagerly awaiting his answer, Aizawa's ears turn the faintest shade of red. 

“Do you want to meet her?” 

_________________________________________

"Had a fun night?" You greet your boyfriend with a hug when he shows up at your door well past a reasonable hour.

You don't miss the small smile on his face when he takes off his shoes. "Actually, I did. But Yamada and Kayama were pretty insistent on meeting you." 

"You told them about me?" you respond, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. 

He nods, not quite meeting your gaze. "I think they'd like you."

"Really?" You plop down on the couch with him and stretch your legs atop his lap. 

"Yeah," He gently grazes your thigh. "They were wondering why I've been acting so differently lately."

"Like what?"

"Apparently I'm smiling more and acting nicer and" — He air quotes — “Stopped looking homeless."

You laugh. "And what did you say?"

He shrugs, “That I guess my girlfriend just makes me really happy.”

“Awww,” you pat his cheek playfully. “What’s next? You gonna tell me you’re in love with me or something?”

"Yes? I thought it was obvious?"

"What?" Your heart skips a beat at his nonchalant admission.

“Hmm?” He looks over, and seeing the evident surprise on your face makes Aizawa chuckle. "I thought I'd been making it pretty clear, but I suppose I should say it outright. Yes, I'm in love with you."

Your heart flutters at his words, a warmth spreading through you. "Well, for someone who's known for being so straightforward, you sure took your time saying that."

He brushes a strand of hair from your face and leaves a soft, lingering kiss on your temple. “I’ll say it as many times as you want to hear it, baby.”

You lean in closer, your lips almost touching his. “Alright,” you look up at him with a sleepy smile and half-lidded eyes. “I’m waiting.”

"I love you," he whispers, his voice low and tender. He places a gentle kiss on your nose. “I love you,” and then another on your cheeks…“I love you.” Before gently brushing his lips against yours, cupping your jaw so you can’t help but gaze deeply into his dark, smoky eyes before he finally closes the distance between you.

“Mhhm.” You smile, contentment washing over you like a gentle wave. "I love you, too, baby."

[strangerstolovers444]

( ' summertime sadness ' ) oh my god, i feel it in the air telephone wires above are sizzlin' like a snare honey, i'm on fire, i feel it everywhere nothing scares me anymore. kiss me hard before you go summertime sadness i just wanted you to know, that, baby, you the best.

— summary: it's been a hard summer for suguru geto to adjust and deal with his emotions. while his best friend satoru gojo has been on a lot of solo missions lately, he's been spending a lot of time with you (fem!reader). — genre: smut ending with fluff — playing: summertime sadness by lana del rey — note(s): this is my first writing smut in a real long time. it won't be my last but i'm sorry if it wasn't spicy enough. i'm kind of rusty i sorry :( hints of virginity lost but not necessarily. — word count: 3k

— warnings: vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex (female receiving ), missionary, doggy, mating press, cumshot, squirting, and finger sucking

Maybe it was the heat wave.

Maybe it was the curse he digested not too long ago.

But Suguru was throwing up more than he usually does.

His eyes closed tightly as he felt everything come rushing out of his mouth to pour into the toilet bowl. Even when there was nothing left in his stomach to puke, his body kept going.

But you were behind him holding onto his dark silky locks so they wouldn’t get in the way or inside of the murky water. Despite him being in the middle of throwing up his insides, he was embarrassed to do this in front of you.

“It’s okay, Sugu..” you reassured him like you knew what he was thinking of. You rubbed his back gently with your free hand. His eyes glanced over his shoulder to you, he saw the small smile on your lips. He looked over back to the toilet seeing everything he’s eaten today. Maybe even yesterday too.

When he was finished, you reached over to flush it down. You went to get him a bottle of water while he washed his face. His face was flushed and hot. His throat was aching along with his stomach feeling hollow.

After drying it away with the spare wash cloth you had just for him, he took his extra toothbrush you bought him. As he brushed his teeth his amethyst color hues stared back at him. The lack of sleep was catching up to him. His dark circles were so noticeable these days. He knew you must have noticed them too. But you didn’t say anything, you have some of your own if you didn’t cover yours with makeup.

Your dorm had the biggest windows and nobody knew exactly why. But it came handy when it was the summer. Winter not so much. Suguru sat on the windowsill with the window wide open. There was barely a breeze and when there was one, it was a warm one.

He had a cigarette in the middle of his lips. It was quiet today. Satoru must still be away on his mission. He wasn’t exactly sure where Shoko was. So that just left you and him. It’s been like that for the past few weeks.

He could hear your gentle voice singing softly as you showered. As much as you whined about the brutal cold, you hated the warm weather. You didn’t like to sweat. Suguru couldn’t blame you for that. The smoke slowly blew out of Suguru’s thin lips as he just zoned out.

“Shoko’s bad habit is rubbing off on you.”

His eyes averted to you once he heard your voice. You wore an oversized shirt (his shirt that went missing a week ago) with nothing but your nude panties underneath. When you stretched the shirt rode up exposing the fabric that barely covered your rear. He couldn’t help but to stare. The amount of time you two spent together comfortability was formed. There was times you would change clothes in front of him and he would do the same. You never caught him staring but that’s because he knew how not to get caught.

“You see a flaw in Shoko?” Suguru teased you then took another pull. You smiled to yourself, placing your dirty uniform in the hamper.

“Cigarettes don't have a better taste, y’know?” You reminded him. He knew you were concerned about his health. You were always concerned about him. Suguru was hard to read for others but when it came to you. It was like you saw what he was thinking like it was written on his forehead. Suguru swore you had some kind of unique curse technique but you just reassured him you’re very observant. He still doesn’t believe that till this day.

“You don’t know what those curses taste like.”

Suguru put out the cigarette then flicked it away. He took his bottle of water.

“True but I could tell they’re bitter.”

You sat down on the edge of your bed. Your hair was still damp from the shower reaching past your shoulders now. He noticed how fast it was growing. He also noticed the dark circles of your own now. It wasn’t as dark as his but close enough. You looked so much younger without the makeup. He didn’t mind either but you not wearing makeup might be his favorite.

“What gave you that clue?”

He tilted his head to the side with a sly smirk. You both chuckled at the same time. A comfortable silence came afterwards. The breeze was cool now thanks to your shower. You glanced down at your bare feet.

“So they don’t come in different flavors?”

“Why the sudden interest in this again?”

Suguru never really recalled you or anyone really asking him about the taste. You shrugged your shoulders crossing your legs over the other. His eyes sneaked down to look at your bare legs. He could tell without even touching them they were so smooth. He quickly looked back up at you before you noticed.

“I’m just asking, Sug. I just wish,” you let out a soft sigh, “I just wish I knew how to consume them so you wouldn’t have too.”

A light blush crept on Suguru’s cheeks.

“Name…even if you could, I wouldn’t let you.” He smiled. “But thank you.”

“Anytime.” You smiled back. You laid back on the bed and closed your eyes. The heat started to slowly kick in. By the end of the night you knew you were going to take another shower.

“I bet your flavor is sweet.”

Suguru’s honey-like voice broke your thoughts. Your body shot up, feeling your eyes widened. Then you looked across to your friend who hasn’t moved from his spot. You blinked a few times before clearing your throat.

“H-huh?”

“You’ve been eating a lot of fruit lately. Especially cherries.” He told you nonchalantly with a shrug. You bit down on your bottom lip feeling the blood rush to your cheeks. You thought about the times you would eat your cherries after training because you would get hungry. You didn’t want a big meal to sit in your stomach plus cherries were in season.

Suguru would watch you bite down into the dark red fruit being careful not to bite into the seed. You would suck the remains on the seed before you placed them back into your container not wanting to throw them onto the ground. Your lips would a faint red after eating them all.

“T-they’re my favorite.” You mumbled shyly shifting a bit in your seat now. Suguru chuckled lightly.

“Am I making you nervous, name?”

“N-No!” You quickly answered. He let out a laugh, you haven’t heard him laugh like that in weeks. You didn't realize how much you missed the sound of his beautiful laughter.

“You’re lying.”

“Am not.”

“You think you’re the only one who can be observant?” He countered. You part your lips but close them making a thin line. He smirked knowing he used your own words against you.

Sure Suguru would flirt with you but so would Satoru. It didn’t mean anything, right?

But Suguru didn’t speak to Shoko like that and Satoru was just a natural flirt. You slowly shook your head. Suguru stood up from the windowsill. “You’re right, name. Cigarettes don’t taste any better. But I don’t have anything to replace it”

He was walking towards you now. Your breathing picked up but couldn’t be heard. His cat-like eyes stared at you like you were his prey caught in the corner. “I am very convinced you can help me with that.” He stood in front of you. You bit down on your bottom lip.

“H-how can I do that?” You asked nervously. Suguru smiled at your curiosity.

“Easy,” he sat down next to you to move your hair behind your ear to lean close, “let me taste you.” he whispered in a husky tone. You stiffened up with your face completely flushed and it wasn’t because of the heat. You both just stared at each other for a few moments.

Maybe it was the heat wave or the curse he just ate

Or maybe he was tired of hiding these urges he had whenever you would come around.

The way your skirt would flow when you would run or jump to block attacks. The way you stared up at him with your doe eyes. The way you would brush against him so close he could smell your perfume you would spray on the side of your neck.

But Suguru needed to taste you.

Suguru was down on his knees in front of the edge of the bed. Your leg was draped on his shoulders. Your panties were already on the floor completely forgotten. His eyes were half closed not wanting to miss the pleasure on your face as his tongue swirled inside your gummy walls. His tongue would creep and twirl around your swollen clit. You did your best to keep your moans down, not wanting to be loud. But Suguru was making it so hard.

"F…uck…S-ugu…mmf!” You muffled underneath your hand to contain your volume. Your toes curled behind his shoulders. Suguru wasn’t shy to make any noise. You could hear his tongue moving against your wet core. Whenever you tried to squirm, he would use his hands that were placed on your thigh to give you a tight squeeze as a warning.

He pulled his mouth away and replaced them with his two forefingers. He dragged them slowly up and down your wet slit.

“Just like I said, sweet.” His sultry voice spoke to you. You looked down to meet his gaze. His lips glistened from your wetness and his saliva. He had a smirk. He saw you try to shy away breaking the eye contact you two were sharing. He found it so cute.

“Don’t act all shy now, pretty girl. We’re only getting started.” He slowly pushed his two fingers at once. You could feel the pressure of your wells stretching for his long thick fingers. “You’re so tight, baby.” He groaned, pressing his tongue back inside of you. He was always good at mulit-tasking.

Suguru felt himself feeling a natural high. Maybe it was the heat that spiked this feeling but he was sure it was your pussy. The leftover taste of the curse completely washed away by your juices overflowing his taste buds. Your clit was throbbing against his thumb. You started to feel your lower abdomen tightening now.

“S-Suguru! Please!” You cried out reaching down to grab some of his dark hair. He made loud slurping and sucking sounds. He moaned against you to give vibrations like a tease. He pushed your thighs open as wide as they can be. He glanced up then back down at your pretty puffy lips. He pumped his fingers in and out at a fast pace. Your legs began to fidget.

“Are you going to cum, my pretty girl?” He taunted you. You nodded your head feeling your hips move on their own against his fingers.

“S-so…so bad I-I wanna cum.”

“What’s stopping you?” he smiled.

That’s when you finally lost it and gave in. You loosened your lower body into the pressure. Suguru flattened his tongue feeling a gush of your juices coming down. He moaned how much it was and how sweet it tasted. He didn’t want to waste not one drop. Even on his fingers he sucked down on them. He turned to you laying on your back, trying to gain composure. Your lower body was exposed but you still had his shirt on. He felt the warm breeze brushed against the back of his neck.

He forgot about the window that was still open.

“Take it off.”

He told you as he went back to close the window then pulled the curtains. As much as he didn’t care, he didn’t want someone to see the way you make those cute faces when you receive pleasure. That’s for his eyes only. You slowly sat up feeling your legs stiff and weak. The room was dark now the curtain was closed. He looked over at you still with his shirt on. “You really don’t like to listen do you, hm?”

“I-I -”

He walked back over to you. He started to pull the bottom of the shirt over your body. Your arms automatically rose to help him remove the last bit of clothing you had left. It wasn’t too dark in your room. He could still see your breasts bounce back into place on your chest. He smiled.

“Such a pretty girl.” he purred. He removed his regular white shirt along with his loose joggers. You swallowed and moved to the middle of the bed. Your eyes gazed down at him slipping out of his boxers. He sprung free and you nearly choked. You couldn’t get over how he was just perfect everywhere.

His cock just thick and long. He had a few perfect veins, one vein going up to his tip that was already leaking of pre-cum. Suguru noticed you staring and chuckled lightly.

“We’ll make it fit, pretty girl. I promise.”

“H-how?” You blurted out leaning back on the few pillows you had on your bed.

“I have some kind of experience.” His larger frame hovered over you. You raised your bright brow.

“Oh?”

“Mhm.”

It shouldn’t have bothered you but it was more of a bit of this new found jealousy. This new feeling. Or maybe you always felt like this and just repressed it. Like that one time you overheard Suguru speaking with Mei Mei. Of course she was flirting with him but he also flirted back. You felt some kind of tightening in your chest. You gave him a whole silent treatment for the rest of the day. He was so clueless why you did. He did apologize.

Suguru could see your puzzled face. He leaned down to press his lips against your own. Your stupid thoughts were pushed to the side once the kiss began to heat up. His tongue claimed dominance you knew you couldn’t fight for. You could taste yourself on his lips and tongue. You moaned into his mouth as your tongues massaged against each other.

He aligned himself a bit since he was so much taller than you.

“There’ll be some discomfort.” He mumbled against your lips. You rolled your eyes as you pulled away to scoff.

“I’ve been stabbed and thrown out of a building how many times?”

“Not many because Satoru and I were always there to -”

“Suguru.” You cut him off with a glare. He laughed and gave you another kiss.

He dragged his tip up and down your slit. You let out a shaky breath already making a mess just with that alone. Suguru took note and smirked. “I didn’t even do anything and you’re already a wet mess, pretty girl.” He purred.

“S-shut up and fuck me…” you breathed out. He was amused how eager you were starting to become.

“Hmm…you could say it a lot nicer, name.”

“Suguru I swear I –”

He pushed his tip against you. You gasped then your doe eyes widened. You gazed up at him. He studied your face before pushing further. A strong pressure was being pressed against you. Suguru sucked in a harsh breath. “I need you to relax, name. Be a good girl for me.”

It was like his voice put you under a spell.

You nodded slowly and tried your best to ease your body. He kissed along your neck and shoulder. You felt his hair brushing against your heated cheek. You bit your lip trying to contain a moan from coming out. He nibbled down on your collar bone then began to suck down on it. After he was done he went to breasts and sucked down on your nipple. His tongue swirled around it slowly with his eyes staring up at you.

After a few moments, Suguru pushed the tip inside of you. Another shaky breath escaped your lips.

“You’re doing a good job, baby. Just like that…” he whispered into the crook of your neck. It didn’t take long till he was able to push more of his thick grith inside of your tight core. You felt a sharp discomfort like Suguru warned you. He stood still so your tight warms could adjust for his cock. “You’re okay baby?” You mumbled a mhm and gave him a nod.

This definitely wasn’t like being stabbed or thrown out of a building.

He strokes your cheek and admires your facial features. You were used to him staring at you but not too closely. You tried your best not to break eye contact. But even in the slight darkness, he could see how your cheeks darken. You look beautiful as ever to him.

“Y-you can move, Sugu…” you whispered.

“Are you sure?”

You nod. He gave you another kiss then he began to thrust his hips slowly. The slight discomfort came back but the pleasure started to mask over the pain. You began to pant heavily when Suguru picked up his pace. You were moaning and whining with the movement of your hips trying to follow his rhythm. The jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine.

Since the curtains were closed the room’s temperature began to rise. A light form of sweat formed on your forehead making your hair press against it. Suguru could feel a thin layer of sweat on his back.

“Mmm…fuck…this pussy is so good to me.” He moaned into your ear. His moan alone made you become a sloppier mess. He was able to push deeper inside of your gummy walls. Your walls expand for his cock hitting your spot over and over.

“Suguru…a-ahhh..”

He rolled his hips then began to pound into you. Your nails raked down his lower back then clung into your skin feeling your back being pressed into the mattress. The headboard was banging into the wall behind it. Thankfully you’re not next to anyone.

“Suguru!” You screamed out. Suguru smirked. Sure he didn’t want to get caught but hearing you yell his name out, he was willing to take the risk.

“Squeeze me, name. That’s it. Good girl. Your pretty pussy is hugging my cock so tight.”

“I-I…y-you…Sugu” You couldn’t even form a sentence being a rambling mess at this point. Cock drunk for the first time. Your vision was blurry with tears of pleasure but you could see Suguru’s beautiful face flushed. Your hand reached behind to hold onto the headboard. But he snatched it away and laced your fingers together.

“You’re mine, you hear me, name? All mine.” He breathed into your neck before he licked up your pulse. You nodded rapidly.

“A-all yours, Sugu…” you babbled, feeling his lips leave kisses on your chest down to your neck again. He loved to hear you become so vulnerable to him. "Forgot how to use your words, pretty girl? I thought you were a smart girl." He chuckled pushing your thighs to your chest and your legs against the headboard. You held your breath feeling him slide deeper you swore you could feel him in your guts. "Well look at that, you're completely stuff with me now." His eyes stared down watching your pussy engulfing him whole. He could see himself twitch inside of her. "S-Sugu...p-please..." you whined just aching for him. His eyes moved to your face. He smirked seeing how desperate you were for him. Your eyes barely open and cheeks darkening from the temperature of the room. He started to pound into you feeling every inch of him in this new position. "F-Fuck! Ngh!" You cried out not able to move with him pressing your thighs down on your chest with his board chest against your legs. He was heavily panting onto your face. He pressed his forehead against yours then leaned in for a kiss. It was a sloppy kiss but it made it easier for him to just go as deep as he wanted. You both could hear how wet you were with the loud sounds your pussy made with each time he pounded into you.

He suddenly pulled out of you completely.

You backed away from the kiss, confused and whiny.

“Suguru..” you whined out in the dark.

“Don’t be a brat now, princess,” he chuckled, then moved your body so you can be lying on your stomach, “I think you can handle me like this now, hm?”

His voice was so taunting and sexy at the same time. He could have made you do whatever he wanted. You nodded your head.

“Y-yes! Please just…need your cock back inside of me.”

Your hips moved eagerly. He reached over to grab a pillow and lifted your lower body to put your pillow underneath you.

“Arch your back…such a good girl. Look at you taking orders now.” He placed his hand on the fat of your ass. He lifted it up to see your swollen puffy folds, dripping to your inner thighs. He smiled admiring you. “I can’t believe you were hiding this from me. I’ll remember that for punishment later on.”

Your eyes widen and a faint blush crept on your cheeks.

“Geto…”

“Oh. You’re addressing me like that?”

He placed a smack on your ass cheek. You whined and buried your face back into the pillow, closing your eyes tightly. He squeezed and massaged the fat of your ass before he greeted your slit with his tongue again. Your lips part to let out a faint moan, moving your hips back to him.

Suguru removed his tongue to replace it with his cock. He pushed back into you hearing a small wince for you. He started to slam his hips into your ass. Your walls clench around him, squeezing him tighter than before. One hand tightened on your hip then the other was placed on the back of your neck and squeezed. Your face being pushed into the pillow.

“Fuuuuuck. Name, n-name….”

You nearly came just hearing the way he moaned your name. Suguru felt his cock throbbing. You were babbling, slight drool coming from the corner of your mouth. Tears from the corner of your eyes going down your flushed cheeks. You came for the third time before Suguru gave you one last harsh thrust and release his warm load into you.

Your heavy panting and breathing matched with his. He slowly pulled out watching his load leaking out of you now. He took two of his fingers and coated them with it. He brought them to your lips.

“Suck.”

You lazily leaned over to place your mouth over his fingers and do what you were told. When you finished, he moved your hair out of your face. He leaned down to kiss you and your shoulder over the marks he left.

He wondered how noticeable they were going to be. Suguru got up and went to get your wash cloth then came back to clean you up. After placing the washcloth in the hamper, he laid next to you in the stuffy room rubbing your back. You couldn’t keep your eyes open and went to sleep instantly. He chuckled, kissing your lips then got up to shower.

Suguru felt better after the cool shower he had. He placed your blanket over your naked body as you snored quietly. He grabbed his stolen shirt that was thrown onto the floor and put it on.

He walked over to the window to open the curtain half way. He was greeted by the cool breeze.

He sat on the windowsill and went to light another cigarette but he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Hey! Name! Have you seen Suguru? He hasn’t been answering my calls or texts!” Satoru’s voice was heard behind the door as he kept knocking.

Suguru gazed over to you then got up to answer the door. He opened the door enough for him to see Suguru but not enough to see you. Satoru was surprised Suguru answered the door. His eyes were slightly larger but a grin formed on his lips.

“Speak of the devil himself.”

“Didn’t expect you back so soon, Satoru.” Suguru smiled back. Satoru scoffed at his best friend .

“Only the weak would struggle with that kind of mission. Speaking of, where’s name?”

Suguru made a mental note of how often Satoru would come to your room. Alone.

“She’s asleep. The heat made her a bit fatigued.” He answered. Satoru nodded.

“It is fucking hot today.” He began to unbutton a few buttons on his uniform shirt. That’s when his eyes lowered down to Suguru.

“Hey! Suguru, you found your shirt! Where was it?”

“Name stole it.”

Suguru smiled softly. A smile he hasn't had in weeks.

[strangerstolovers444]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢

pairing: geto suguru x f!reader summary: moments between you and geto, and how you inevitably ended up in his bed. genre: smut, college au, ends in fluff, geto is whipped tbh notes/warnings: mdni, vaginal sex, squirting, creampie, praise kink!, mentions of womanizer gojo bc it makes me giggle, somewhat flirty geto, flirty gojo, shoko smokes, mentions of alcohol, first time posting smut pls be nice it's mid at best. rushed and barely edited!! yes this is a repost oops. wc: ~4.9k

i.

if someone had told you five months ago that you would eventually end up in geto suguru's bed, you would've laughed in their face.

the names geto suguru and gojo satoru were notorious across your campus, and yet you had never interacted with them before you met ieiri shoko. gojo satoru was known for his flirtatious tendencies, and with a simple smile and a flash of his bright, blue eyes he was able to get most people fall for him. he had no shortage of admirers or flings, and he took great pride in the fact that none of his short-lived romances had ever ended badly.

geto suguru, on the other hand, had rarely been seen pursuing anyone. there were rumors, of course, of the lucky individuals that had gotten to spend the night with him, but geto had never taken it upon himself to confirm or deny any of them.

you couldn't care less about either one of their love lives, but no matter what classes you took and no matter who you sat next to, they always became a topic of conversation.

"so, are you going?"

you looked up from your notes to see your seatmate— mika, you think her name was— looking at you curiously. you gave her a puzzled look, earning an exasperated one in return before she leaned in.

"to the party tonight?" she whispered conspiratorially. "you know, the one gojo and geto are hosting?"

"no," you replied, turning back to your notes in hopes of ending the conversation. the truth was that you were attending, you were just hoping to get in, get tipsy, and leave before anything interesting could happen. in addition to being attractive, gojo satoru was also loaded, and that usually meant that he supplied all the alcohol at his parties without demanding some sort of payment from anyone who attended. as a broke college student, who were you to turn down free alcohol?

"you should," mika continued, a soft giggle leaving her lips as she jotted down some notes. "i heard geto will actually be there this time. something about it being in his honor."

your nose scrunched at her soft sigh, and she gave you a look of disbelief when you remained unimpressed with her news.

"you know, he barely shows up to these things, even though he lives there," she pressed on, biting her lip as she giggles.

"look," you said, not unkindly. "i'm gonna be honest with you; i could not care less about either one of them."

mika huffed before turning away, and you sighed in relief when she made no effort to continue the conversation. you looked away when you hear a snort coming from your left, and you raised your gaze to meet a pair of tired, brown eyes.

"not a fan of gojo and geto?" the girl asked, earning an amused laugh from you.

"i wouldn't know," you replied truthfully, shrugging casually. "never met 'em."

you watched as the girl barked out a laugh at your response, holding out a hand for you to shake. "i like you. i'm ieiri shoko."

you gave her your name as you shook her hand, your conversation coming to an abrupt end when your professor walked in. you smiled to yourself when the lecture eventually ended, watching as mika hurried out of class after giving you an unimpressed look.

"so, are you really not going to the party?" shoko asked, falling into step with you as you left the building. you watched as she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, placing one between her lips before offering one to you. you shook you head lightly as she patted her pants pockets. "you wouldn't happen to have a lighter, would you?"

"of course i'm going," you replied, rummaging through your backpack for your lighter. you handed it to her with a smirk, earning a raised eyebrow in return as she lights the stick between her lips. "i'd be an idiot not to. i just wanted mika to stop talking."

"i guess i'll see you there," shoko mused, placing your lighter back into the palm of your hand as you came to a crosswalk. "look for me when you get there, yeah? you seem like good company."

you nodded your head as she waved, walking off in the opposite direction you were headed toward. you made it through the rest of your day without incident, making sure to grab an early dinner before taking a quick shower and lying down.

a quick glance at your clock let you know that it was nearing eight, and you sighed loudly before standing up and walking over to your closet to pick out your outfit. you took your time getting ready, music blasting as you finally slipped on your shoes and ordered a ride.

by the time you arrived at the party, it was in full swing. you could feel the bass thumping from where you stood on the sidewalk, and you quickly made your way to the front door in an attempt to escape form the cold wind.

you made a beeline towards the kitchen, resolving to get a drink first before looking for shoko. you hummed along to the song that was playing as you grabbed a cheap plastic cup, pouring yourself whatever what in the bottle closest to you. you slowly made your way out of the kitchen, raising the cup to your lips before catching sight of mika. you jolted lightly, placing your cup on the nearest table when you saw her turn your way before you ducked into a hallway.

a quiet grunt left your lips when you collided against something hard, and you felt yourself tilting backwards before a strong set of hands landed on your waist to steady you.

"woah there, are you okay?"

you glanced up to see geto suguru standing in front of you, an amused smile on his face as he studied you. you shot another glance into the main room, sighing in relief when you realized mika was no longer visible.

"yeah," you mumbled, straightening up and facing geto once more. "i'm good."

it was silent for a few seconds as geto followed your previous line of sight, his hands still resting comfortably on your waist. he turned back when you tapped his shoulder awkwardly, and you were met with the same amused smile still present on his face. he hummed in acknowledgement, looking down at you curiously as you leaned back slightly.

"you can let go now."

"my apologies," geto replied smoothly, his hands lingering for a few seconds before he pulled away. "just wanted to make sure you were okay. i'm—"

"i see you've met geto."

you peeked behind geto's broad frame to see shoko leaning against the wall across from you, and you watched as a look of mild surprise crossed geto's face.

"you two know each other?" he asked, earning nods from the two of you in return. the surprise on his face melted away into a charming smile, and he held his hand out for you to shake. "the pleasure is all mine."

you shook his hand lightly, nodding at him before turning back to shoko. you handed her your lighter wordlessly, and she gave you a grin before beckoning for you to follow her. the two of you exited out the back door, making your way towards the bordering fence as geto followed.

"i haven't seen you around before," geto commented casually, earning a suspicious look from shoko as he attempted to make conversation with you. he gave her a lopsided smile, tilting his head towards you briefly as shoko scoffed at him.

"don't go out much," you mumbled, giving him a dull look at you shrugged.

"why? overprotective boyfriend?" geto asked, earning an amused look from you at his boldness. you chuckled lightly, shaking your head as you crossed your arms.

"more like an overly comfy bed," you retorted, watching as he nodded at your words.

"i'm sure mine is comfier. i can show you, if you'd like," he responded slyly, a handsome smile on his face as he leaned in slightly.

"nah, i'm good."

geto blinked once, twice, three times at your words, staring at you in confusion as shoko's laughter rang in his head.

"what?" he asked dumbly, straightening up when shoko clapped him on the shoulder.

"i'm good," you repeated, giving him a small smile. "thanks for the offer but i'm here for the booze, not the guys."

"i've never seen this happen before," shoko breathed, stomping out her cigarette as her eyes lit up. "oh my god, i have to find satoru."

you watched shoko as she darted away, geto's eyes still on you as he composed himself. he shoved his hands into his pockets before backing away, still reeling from your rejection as you gave him one last look.

"i'm gonna go look for shoko," you mumbled, giving him a small wave before following after her. geto watched as you moved further and further away, his curiosity peaking as he waited for you to turn back and send him one last look. it never came, and he felt his stomach twist in disappointment.

ii.

"wanna grab lunch?" shoko asked, packing her stuff up as class ended. you nodded wordlessly, zipping your backpack up before slinging it over your shoulder.

"what did you have in mind?" you asked, heading towards the door.

"what about onigiri?"

you and shoko looked up to see geto by the door, his eyes on you as gojo stood beside him waving enthusiastically. a defeated sigh escaped shoko's mouth, and she hooked her arm with yours as she pulled you towards the two boys.

"only if you pay," shoko mumbled, not even having the energy to argue against geto. he gave her an innocent smile as gojo slung an arm over shoko's shoulders, effectively pulling her away from you as he shot you a curious gaze.

"have we met before? you look familiar," gojo asked, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at you over his sunglasses. you opened your mouth to respond, stopping when he suddenly snapped his fingers. "i know! i've seen you in my dreams."

a surprised laugh left your lips as shoko groaned, and you grinned at gojo as you started walking.

"i totally haven't heard that one before," you commented, saying your name as gojo laughed.

"gojo satoru, but you can call me any time," he said, winking at you as you shook your head with a smile. you missed the way gojo stuck his tongue out at geto.

"don't get your hopes up," you replied, earning an exaggerated pout from gojo. you looked to your side when geto fell into step next to you, giving him a friendly nod as the two of you followed after gojo and shoko. you snorted as you noticed shoko's bored look, the occasional hum coming from her lips as gojo talked her ear off.

"how was class?"

you hummed when you heard geto speak, turning to look at him as he repeated his question.

"your class," he said quietly, glancing at you before turning back to look at his friends. "how was it?"

"it went well," you responded, eyeing him for a few seconds before following his gaze. "a little confusing, but shoko is crazy smart."

"she wants to be a doctor, y'know," geto said softly, a proud smile tugging at his lips. you glanced at him briefly, your eyes softening at the look on his face. "she's the smartest one out of all of us."

"i'm sure she'll be the best doctor," you said honestly. "if she ever quits smoking."

geto laughed at your comment, nodding in agreement as you came to a stop. you joined shoko at a table, nodding absentmindedly as gojo announced that he and geto would go grab the food.

"so?" shoko asked as soon as they were out of sight.

"so what?" you questioned, giving her a confused look.

"now that you've met geto and gojo," shoko began, waving a hand in the direction they had disappeared. "are you a fan?"

"they're not the worst," you admitted, receiving an amused hum in return. "they're huge flirts, but they're okay once you get past that."

shoko nodded in satisfaction just at the two boys reappeared, sliding into the empty seats next to you. you listened closely as gojo rattled off the different kinds they had gotten. you perked up when you heard your favorite ingredient, and you shyly asked if you could have that one.

gojo gave you a funny look before turning to shoko, mumbling something to her as geto held his hand out, the onigiri in hand. you thanked him with a smile, the four of you eating silently as you basked in the sun.

the silence was broken when gojo's phone went off, and his eyes widened briefly before he scarfed down the rest of his food and stood up.

"well we have to get to class," he proclaimed, tugging geto out of his seat before walking away. he paused briefly, sending you one last smile before waving. "it was nice to meet you! we should do this again, but it should just be me and you next time."

you rolled your eyes at his words, briefly catching the hard look on geto's face as you waved them off and turned back to look at shoko. she had the same funny look on her face that gojo did earlier as she looked at the two boys, humming thoughtfully before turning to you.

"you know, that's geto's favorite filling too," she commented, motioning towards your discarded wrapper with a tilt of her head. your eyebrows raised slightly, missing the insinuation behind her words as she sighed. "he always gets the same filling and refuses to eat anything else. i didn't think he'd actually give it to you."

you remained quiet after her statement, picking up the trash before tossing it into the bin next to your table. "there's a first time for everything, i guess."

"who knows," shoko mused, giving you a playful look as she stood up. "maybe he likes you."

iii.

shoko quickly became a constant in your life, and with her came gojo and geto.

"we're a package deal!" gojo had said when you made a comment about seeing them every single day. "you either get all of us, or none of us."

you couldn't find it in yourself to complain, especially not when the three of them turned out to be good friends. once you got used to the flirting, gojo was kind and funny, always knowing how to cheer you up. shoko was as blunt and honest as ever, and with her help, you were able to raise your grade in the classes the two of you shared.

geto was a different story. unlike gojo, he had never flirted with you after that night at the party, and you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed about it as you spent more time with him.

no one knew how, but you and geto quickly became study buddies. he was more serious than gojo, helping you stay focused, but less strict than shoko, who liked to use tough love to help you retain information. the two of you spent many afternoons at the library, sometimes joined by shoko or gojo, but mostly alone.

you quickly learned that geto was smart, almost frighteningly so, and he had a natural talent for teaching. his voice was soft and pleasant, his tone patient as you asked him to explain concepts you couldn't quite grasp. your study sessions usually ended in dinners together, grabbing whatever you could get from the university's food court.

he was also caring, always making sure to walk you home if your studying ran late. this often resulted in teasing looks from gojo, a pout on his face as he made kissy noises whenever the two of you would leave him behind. he always made sure you walked on the inner side of the sidewalk and he wouldn't leave you alone until he was sure your door was locked, and as the days dragged on, you found yourself becoming more and more attracted to geto suguru.

"you don't get it!" you complained, flopping onto your bed as shoko flipped through a magazine. "he's so— ugh."

"so ugh?" shoko repeated teasingly, watching as you tilted your head back to look at her.

"shoko!" you whined, throwing an arm over your eyes as you huffed. "i thought he was just a flirt. i didn't know he was this charming."

"this is hilarious," shoko commented, ignoring your glare. "remember when you turned him down?"

"he just wanted to hook up," you murmured, sighing softly before sitting up. "now that i've gotten to know him, i'm thinking i should've said yes when i had the chance."

"and who says you don't have a chance now?"

"he doesn't flirt with me!" you exclaim. when you see shoko raise her eyebrow, you elaborate. "he was flirting that night at the party because he was interested. he doesn't say anything that even remotely implies his interest in me anymore. the only one who flirts is gojo!"

"oh, geto definitely has an interest," shoko muttered, earning a curious glance from you. "look, he gives you his favorite foods, tutors you, and even walks you home. i've never seen him do that for anyone else. he wont even tutor satoru! and that's his best friend. if anything, you caught his interest when you turned him down."

shoko's eyes widened in panic when you pouted sadly, your expression falling as you took in her words.

"so he's only interested in me because i'm a challenge?" you asked quietly, earning a frustrated sigh from shoko.

"yes," she answered, getting a sad look from you. "but not in the way you think. he's never had anyone turn him down before you. and then he got to know you and he liked you. i don't think he wants to 'just hook up with you'. he wants to be with you."

"but what if—"

"trust me on this," shoko interrupted. you bit your lip hesitantly before nodding your head. "i think you should start the flirting. if he sees you're interested, then he'll reciprocate. i'm sure of it."

iv.

you felt a vague sense of deja vu as you stepped into gojo and geto's shared house once again, loud music playing as you weaved your way through the crowd.

you were on high alert as you looked for shoko, yet you still jumped when you felt a heavy arm wrap around your shoulders.

"hey!" gojo shouted, leaning in close to make sure you heard him over the loud music. "when did you get here?"

"a minute ago," you responded flatly, the faint smell of alcohol filling your nostrils as gojo hugged you. he giggled softly and you rolled your eyes with a smile, knowing he was probably already tipsy.

"who are you looking for?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows as he gave you a sultry look. "suguru?"

"no!" you denied, feeling your cheeks grow warm at the name. you averted your gaze, missing the way gojo's smile grew at your reaction. he guided you through the crowd and into the kitchen, coming to a stop when you saw shoko and geto leaning against the fridge.

"look who i found!" gojo proclaimed, pushing you in front of shoko and geto. shoko crowed your name with a smile, and you smiled back at her before glancing at geto. you froze slightly when you saw the way his eyes were trailing over your figure, taking in your outfit before his eyes settled on your face. there was a lazy smirk on his face as he nodded his head at you.

"hey," he greeted, his normal volume almost quiet in the loud room.

"hi," you replied, earning a groan from shoko. she walked forward, grasping gojo's arm before tugging him away.

"we're going outside," she announced, frowning when a noise of protest left gojo's lips. she flicked his forehead before glancing at you and geto, and a look of understanding fell across his face before he shut his mouth and followed after her without hesitation.

"you know," geto started, sighing as gojo disappears from sight. "something tells me they're not going outside."

"i feel compelled to agree," you grumbled, earning a chuckle from geto.

"i didn't think you were gonna come," he commented casually, turning to face you as you grabbed a bottle of water.

"oh you know," you said, shrugging half-heartedly as you took a sip. geto's eyes focused on your lips. "i go out occasionally."

"occasionally? why? got an overprotective boyfriend or something?" geto asked, his tone teasing as he repeats the same words he spoke when you first met. you grinned in response, putting your water bottle down on the counter as you crept closer to him.

"no, more like an overly comfy bed," you responded, your heart racing when he leaned down.

"i'm sure mine is comfier. i can show you, if you'd like."

"i would," you said, biting your lip when geto’s eyes widened. he paused briefly before slipping his hand into yours, pulling you out of the kitchen.

neither one of you noticed the way gojo and shoko exchanged a smug look as he led you upstairs.

v.

all of those previous interactions with geto suguru culminated into the position you find yourself in now: in his bed.

a gasp leaves your lips as geto's hands trail underneath your shirt, pulling the fabric up and over your head with one hand as he fondles your breast with the other.

your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as you give him a bruising kiss, feeling his hands slip behind your back to unhook your bra. a hiss leaves your lips as the cool air hits your nipples, and he immediately takes one into his mouth, warm tongue laving over your hardened nipple as you moan.

your hands tug at his shirt, and he separates himself from you briefly to take it off and toss it off to the side, his fingers immediately going down to his belt to undo it. your own hands tug at your pants, pulling your underwear along with it as you kick them off the bed.

geto freezes when he sees you sprawled on his bed, and he licks his lips before reaching our and grabbing your thighs, pulling you flush against his own before dipping a finger in between your folds.

"so wet and i haven't even touched you," he murmurs, enjoying the way you squirm at his touch. "all this for me?"

"yeah," you breathe, biting your lips when you notice geto's eyes darken. "all for you. i need you, geto."

"suguru," he corrects, fingers swirling around your clit as you gasp. "say it."

"need you, suguru," you whimper, watching him with rapt attention as he pumps himself a few times.

"are you sure?" he asks, watching the way you squeeze your eyes shut when the head of his cock brushes against your folds.

"i'm ready. i need you. i can take you."

geto breathes in sharply at your words, his eyes trained on your cunt as he pushes in slowly. you're perfect for him, your warm walls pulling him in as your face scrunches up with pleasure. a soft moan leaves your lips as he circles your clit, burying himself even further into you until his balls rest against your ass.

he remains still for a moment, getting used to feeling of you squeezing him until you start moving your hips against him.

"please move, suguru," you whine, your voice soft and needy in his ears.

"anything for you," he whispers, lowering himself down to kiss you as he intertwines a hand with yours. he swallows your moans as he pulls out, leaving only the tip in before thrusting into you at a harsher pace.

"feels good, suguru," you moan against his lips, your hand squeezing him as he picks up his pace.

"you feel so good, sweetheart," he whispers against your lips. "you're so tight. look at you, taking me so well."

you moan at his words, your cunt clenching around him as he praises you.

"been thinking about this since the night i met you," he confesses, burying his face into the crook of your neck. he lets go of your hand to grab your legs, placing them onto his shoulders as his thrusts get deeper. "i knew this pretty pussy would be perfect for me."

your hands grab at the bedsheets as he keeps a steady rhythms, and geto finds himself fascinated by the way your breasts bounce every time he thrusts into you. he watches as you arch after a particularly deep thrust, and he makes sure to repeat the motion, enjoying the way you mewl as he reaches the deepest parts inside of you.

"suguru!" you cry out, your legs trembling as his fingers tease your clit. "i-i'm close!"

"cum for me," he whispers, eyes focused on your face as you spasm around his cock. you moan softly as he keeps thrusting, helping you ride out your high before he pulls out. you're flipped onto your stomach before you can react, your legs trembling as you try to keep yourself up on all fours.

"do you think you can do that again for me, sweetheart," geto whispers into your ear, his lips trailing down the side of your neck as you nod. "lie down for me, yeah?"

you're squirming as you obey, your face down on the sheets as geto looms over you. his usual half-bun is messy and loose from your earlier tugging, and you can feel the long strands of silky hair tickling your shoulders. his hand feels heavy as it rests on the back of your neck, keeping you in place as the tip of his dick brushes against your clit. a breathy moan leaves your lips, and he smirks as he watches you, stilling momentarily before you feel the head of his cock prod at your folds once again.

you wiggle your hips in an effort to get him to move, whining softly as you try to turn back and look at him. he chuckles lowly, fingers brushing your hair away from your shoulder before he leans down to press a teasing kiss against it. he complies anyways, groaning as he sinks into you and enjoying the way your cunt seems to suck him in.

he wonders if you know that he could never possibly deny you anything.

"harder, suguru," you beg, clenching around him as he grinds into you. "please."

it isn't long until he gives in, rutting into you like it's the only thing he's good for, his balls slapping against your clit with each stroke and sending you into a state of frenzied euphoria. you can feel his hand pushing you down, your back arching obscenely as his other hand creeps between your thighs, skilled fingers expertly nudging at your clit.

"suguru, pleasepleaseplease," you gasp, wiggling your hips to try and get him to go faster. "more, please, i—"

geto knows. he knows exactly what your trying to tell him as he speeds up, the wet sounds of your cunt only spurring him on. there's a creamy ring at the base of his cock, and geto grabs at the fat of your ass in an attempt to stop himself from cumming right then and there.

"suguru!" you squeal, trembling underneath him. "i'm cumming!"

geto grins when you gush all over him, clear liquid spattering all over his abs and thighs, coating his dick and making it easier for him to slip in and out of you. he stills for a brief moment, a low grunt leaving him as he empties himself into you. you whimper softly when he pulls out, and he grabs your chin to tilt your face toward him, pressing a bruising kiss to your lips before leaning back.

"look at you, you did so good for me, gushing all prettily around my cock," he murmurs. he watches as you clench around nothing, his cum dripping down to your clit when you hear his words. he reaches forward to gather it all up, purposely teasing your clit to hear you moan once again.

he makes no complaint when you roll over and grab his hand, licking his fingers clean before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down onto you. the two of you exchange lazy kisses before he rolls over, pulling you onto his chest before giving you a soft look.

"i like you," he says quietly, squeezing your waist as he gives you another kiss. "you know that, right?"

"mhm," you mumble tiredly. "i kinda guessed."

you press another kiss to his lips before resting your head on his chest. "i like you too."

"good," he chuckles, burying his face into your hair. "we should probably get cleaned up."

"yeah," you agree, making no move to get up. the two of you lay in silence for a few minutes, almost drifting off to sleep before you hear a loud knock on the door.

"hey!" gojo's voice is loud through the door. "congrats on the sex!"

ty for reading <3 !!

[strangerstolovers444]

BEG, BORROW, & STEAL - levi ackerman/f!reader (aot) NSFW 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT wc: 13k tags: enemies to lovers, neighbours to begrudging friends to lovers, food and wine writer!Levi, catsitter!Levi, Pancakes is the Real Star of this show, frequent and gratuitous descriptions of food and drink, frequent mention and consumption of alcohol, singular mention of loud domestic argument, smut, oral (f!receiving), fingering, sensory deprivation play, blindfolds, hair pulling, no mention of condoms, honestly i'm not sure if fire escapes are actually safe to hang out on so tw for that too crossposted to ao3

Nestled in a quiet corner of Mitras’ budding east end, there’s a little five-storey building. 

It’s stout, brick, and decorated with ivy that creeps up along the mortar and underneath its windows. Along the side of the building not facing the two lane street, running just above a narrow back alley, there’s a labyrinthine set of old metal fire escapes—rusted and weathered but still sturdy, a standing testament to bygone craftsmanship. It all comes together in stark juxtaposition to the design of the towering structures of concrete, steel, and glass that have been steadily cropping up in the neighbourhood as of late. 

The architecture feels almost out of place among these new developments, understated and old among all the shiny and new, but it certainly has a lot of character.

The residents who inhabit the apartments inside are respectful, polite people, who mostly tend to keep to themselves—though they’re as a eclectic of a bunch as any, to be sure. Most have lived in their rent-controlled units for decades, made homes for themselves that they never plan to leave. 

Since moving into the little brick building two years ago, you haven’t had any notable issues with any of your neighbours.

Well, except for one.

The miserable guy in apartment 304—one unit down and slightly to the left of your own, 405. He’d nearly chewed your god damn head off for using his trash can one time when you’d first moved in. His trash can of all things. It had been an honest mistake on your part, and you’d sincerely apologized for it when he all-but cornered you in the mail room off the lobby a few days after the fact. But after the unpleasant exchange, the curmudgeon bought himself a padlock for his trashcan and has sent withering glares your way ever since. 

It’s been well over a year since then, but the chill has never quite broken between the two of you. 

The dark haired man, who seems to be perpetually suit-clad—or at least he has been in all the times you’ve spotted him—is easy enough to avoid given the floor’s difference between your units. But sometimes ill-fated meetings are inevitable in such close quarters. 

Your building (regrettably) only has one rickety old elevator. It’s an original feature from when the complex was first built, and it’s undergone minimal maintenance and sum total zero upgrades since it was installed decades prior. 

All of which is to say: it merits nothing less than being called a complete and utter death trap. 

And, as though the sluggardly descent from your apartment on the fourth floor down to the lobby isn’t harrowing enough, your ill-tempered neighbour standing less than a metre away from you in a tightly confined space surely makes it worse.

The elevator is old enough that it has two doors—an automatic door that opens on each floor, as well as a manual interior door that the passengers in the elevator are responsible for opening and closing themselves. Initially you’d found the antique system charming, quaint even, but after realizing that the interior door weighs about thirty pounds and only likes to open half of the time, it quickly lost its charm. You stare pointedly at the cursed iron grate of the aforementioned interior door as the elevator makes its slow downward journey to the lobby, cursing yourself for not just taking the fucking stairs. 

The lights on the side panel tell you you’re only one single floor away from your destination. If you just hold your breath and pray hard enough maybe everything will be fi—

“If you and your boyfriend plan to continue going at it like animals until four in the morning without any consideration for your neighbours, you should at least have the basic human decency to close your bedroom window.”

The elevator makes it to the ground floor just as his eviscerating remark draws to a close, the car dipping slightly upon arrival and sending your stomach sinking with it. Without missing a beat, your sour-faced neighbour pulls the confounded metal door open like it weighs nothing. You, in contrast, are frozen stock-still in shock, reeling in the wake of his words with a singeing heat flooding your cheeks. He steps off in the lobby without so much as a momentary glance in your direction, and you watch his back (in a crisp navy blue suit jacket) as he walks away.

You’re so completely stunned that you almost forget to get out too. 

Oh, you hate him.

You swear that you’ll forsake the cursed elevator entirely for the rest of your life, if only to avoid ever crossing paths with that bastard again.

Or, so you may have thought.

Weeks later, you find yourself on the fire escape outside your living room with tears drying on your cheeks. You sit quietly in the wake of a long, heated argument with your boyfriend. A loud argument. A relationship ending argument. 

Things have been bad for a few months. Maybe even longer, if you’re being honest. He’s always been a bit mean, a little careless, a little wrong—and you knew he probably wasn’t the one. But that doesn’t make the sting of yet another relationship crumbling in your hands any more bearable.

And so, not for the first time, you find yourself drowning your sorrows in a bottle of cheap, overly saccharine white wine and hiccuping in breaths of the fresh air as you try to soothe the ache while the sting of alcohol sears down your throat.

“Your boyfriend sucks.”

You jump a little, looking down the stairs to your right only to see your most loathed neighbour on his own fire escape with a glass of red wine in his hand. 

You’re not sure how long he’s been there, but you’re sure he heard most (if not all) of what had transpired in your living room if he had been home at the time. Your windows had been open, you realize too late to do anything about it.

“Yeah,” you scrub at your swollen eyes with the back of your knuckles, “he kinda does—”

You take a long, inelegant swig from the bottle of wine in your hand at the same time your neighbour lifts his own glass. This mouthful tastes more bitter than the last.

“—and he’s not my boyfriend anymore, in case it needs to be said.”

Your neighbour pauses with his glass at his lips. Based on the fact that your window had been open to the world at large, and your conversation with your now-ex had been less that even-toned, you doubt the point really stands to be highlighted.

“It doesn’t,” he replies, confirming your suspicions. “But sorry to hear that.” 

You snort mirthlessly. “Are you really?”

The man tuts, a little click of his tongue behind his teeth. But it’s not a sound that implies that he cares, just one that says he’s been found out. 

“No.”

You can’t help but laugh at his candour. It’s a nice reprieve from the tears.

And, strangely, things are almost… amicable after that. 

Now in the evenings when both of you sit quietly on your fire escapes, where once you’d skitter back inside to avoid his cold glare and oppressive aura, neither of you moves to silently retreat. 

Sometimes you even chat, as unlikely an occurrence as it once would have seemed to you. You talk about basically nothing—the weather, a new building that’s cropped up a few streets away, a noisy neighbour, the moon—and it’s usually just for a few minutes before you head to sleep. You tend to be early to bed and early to rise, but Apartment 304’s lights seem to be on at all hours.

Part of you wonders just how long he stays out on his balcony after you retire for the night. But, it’s sort of nice—this unlikely armistice you seem to have unspokenly signed.

You stick your head out the window one evening, a few months in to your ill-begotten amity, a little earlier than you normally would since you got home from work ahead of your usual return.

He’s already there. 

“Hey—” 

Your neighbour lifts his head to peer up from the pad of notebook paper he’s scribbling away on. He’s wearing glasses today. You’ve never seen those before. 

“—what are you having for dinner?” 

304 looks at you with a quirk of his brow. 

“A 2001 Cabernet Sauvignon.” 

You lean your elbows on the windowsill, angling yourself a little further out of it. “I just made a fuckload of food. If you split that red with me, I’ve got a plate for you.”

He eyes you, and seems to be considering your proposal. 

“What is it?”

“Roast chicken, some vegetables. Nothing fancy.”

“This wine pairs better with red meat.”

“Yeah? Well my last bottle of wine cost me 8 dollars and a 2-day hangover. Do you want the food or not?” you ask him, rolling your eyes lightly at his comment.

There’s a long pause. 

A sigh.

“Fine.”

You meet on the metal stairs halfway between your respective fire escape landings on the third and fourth floor; you're perched a few steps higher than your neighbour closer to your home, and he to his. 

He pours you a serving of wine into a spotless glass that he must have retrieved while you were inside plating up the meal, having evidently tucked his eyeglasses away at the same time as they’re nowhere to be seen. He accepts the plate of food you offer him and hands you the drink in exchange. Your plates are mismatched, so is your cutlery, and they clash with the delicate wine glasses he’s brought to your unexpected soiree. 

You watch cautiously as he takes his first bite, silently scrutinizing the way his brow furrows as he chews. After a moment the crease in his brow softens, and he seems content—or at the very least not repulsed. You almost laugh into the brim of your wine glass as you quietly read the expressions on his face. 

You tip your glass back and take your first sip.

“Holy shit, this is great,” you say, the flavour of the wine lingering on your tongue even after you’ve swallowed it down. It’s neither too dry nor too sweet, evenly balanced, and it doesn’t have the lingering tannic bitterness of the reds that you’ve tried before. Theres something rich but not heavy in the notes that first touch your palate, fruity but on the right side of neutral. You reach a hand out for the bottle and he passes it to you—albeit hesitantly. Reading the label, all you’re able to surmise is that it’s french. “This must not be cheap.”

“It certainly cost more than eight dollars,” your third floor neighbour snorts. He catches the flat look you shoot him, and suddenly is very preoccupied with cutting into his next bite of chicken.

And so from that point on you continue your evening chats, and even eat dinner together on a semi-regular basis. Apartment 304 has yet to turn down your offer of a free meal—and he always supplies the wine.

You’re not friends per se, but you’re certainly no longer mortal nemeses either. 

“Oi! 405!”

You hear your neighbour call to you late one afternoon, the sun rapidly slipping away along the city skyline outside, and rush towards your open window. You stick your head out onto the fire escape curiously. 

Your neighbour is standing on his landing, staring up at you with a quirked brow.

“Did you lose something?” 

That’s when you notice the bra dangling off his outstretched finger. Your eyes shoot to your laundry rack where that very bra had been previously pinned to dry, as though you really need to confirm where it had come from. There’s a clothespin resting on the grated metal deck of the fire escape beside the wire rack, having clearly blown off in the wind. 

You swallow a mortified groan. 

“How do you know that’s not Misses Miller’s from upstairs?” You sniff, unduly defensive. The argument is weak and you know it; Misses Miller occupies apartment 506, the unit at the top of the fire escape stairs connected to your own—she’s nearly 80 and likely requires a bit more support than what the dainty lace bra looped around your neighbour's index finger offers. 

The dark-haired man’s lips quirk into something you might think vaguely reminiscent of a smirk if you believed him capable of it.

“I’m happy to go ask-“ 

“You’re a real jerk, y’know that, Third?” you cut him off before he can finish the thought, pulling yourself out through the window clumsily in your newfound haste.

He seems to be contemplating what you’ve said as you make your way down the fire escape stairs towards him, footfalls heavy with your indignation.

“Third?” he asks, peering up at you with his head titled inquisitively to the side.

“Third floor,” you explain, like it should be obvious.

“I don’t own the entire third floor.” 

You lean down from your place on the stairs and snatch your bra from his hand. “Well you sure act like it.”

You turn and stomp your way back up the fire escape towards your own apartment, bra clutched in a tightly clenched fist.

“So, should I let Misses Miller know you’re returning that to her, or—“

You slam your window shut behind you before you can hear the end of his comment.

A few nights following The Bra Incident—or the deBRAcle as you’ve come to refer to it in your mortified inner monologue—you wake to the unpleasant sound of toppling aluminium in the back alley. Sleepily, you shuffle out into your living room and lift your window, peeking your head out into the cool night.

A quick glance to your right tells you that 304’s lights are off. It’s late, admittedly, and this should be normal—but you can’t recall a night you’ve peeked down towards his apartment and seen the window dark. It’s all a bit unusual.

What you hear next even more so. 

“God fucking damn it—shit, fuck—mother of—“

“You alright down there?” You approach the railing of the fire escape and lean over the edge to peer down towards the ground.

Below you, beyond all odds or reasonable explanation, is your third floor neighbour. He’s dressed in a nice suit as usual, with his hair neatly slicked back, and he’s standing beside a knocked over garbage can with trash strewn about.

He blinks up at you owlishly.

It’s quiet for a moment as the two of you hold eye contact.

He speaks first.

“I forgot my house keys in my office.”

You raise a brow, propping your chin in your hand as you lean against the metal railing. “And so you picked a fight with an innocent trash can?” 

304 narrows his eyes up at you, a resentful squint. The sharp line of his jaw becomes even more pronounced as he grits his teeth. “I’m trying to reach the fire escape.”

The ladder that connects the fire escape to the ground is retractable, and has to be pulled from the second floor. He’d clearly been trying to use the garbage cans as leverage to reach the lowest rung of the ladder and yank it down—a security measure that had clearly done its job.

You purse your lips, fighting back a laugh. “Are you drunk?” 

Silence befalls the two of you once more, and your neighbours eyes only narrow further. 

“A bit.” Reluctance weighs heavily in his monotonous words.

You push yourself off from the railing, heading back towards your window. 

“Where are you going?” 304 calls indignantly after you, like now that you’ve spotted him you’re somehow obligated to come to his aid.

“I gotta grab something!” you chirp dismissively as you crawl back inside over the edge of the frame.

Something being your cellphone. Specifically to take a picture and commemorate the ordeal.

“You’re cruel,” your neighbour snarls from his place on the ground as you gleefully snap a few photos with flash, quickly turning his back to you in an attempt to preserve whatever remaining shred of pride he has left.

“And if you want me to drop this fire escape ladder then you’re at my mercy—so smile!” you cajole with a giggle as you lean precariously over the railing, pinching the screen of your cellphone to zoom in on his figure.

He flips you off over his suit-clad shoulder and it makes you laugh again. 

Once you’ve had your fun, and taken (conservative estimate) 400 photos, you climb down the stairs all the way to the second floor balcony—creeping across the grated deck as to not startle your unsuspecting lower-level neighbours—and finally push down the fire escape ladder. 

304 makes short work of clambering up the rungs, pulling himself onto the balcony with a heaving sigh. He stumbles slightly, and you grab him by the lapels of his suit to steady him.

“Take it easy, Third,” you say quietly, letting your hands unfurl from his suit jacket once you’re sure he’s regained his balance.

He rolls his eyes and pulls the creaky fire escape ladder up behind him once more. You both wait with bated breath, pulse spiking, to see if the lights inside the second floor apartment turn on. Mercifully the windows stay dark.

The two of you make your way back up to the third floor, and you’re just about to step onto the stairs towards your own apartment and return to the call of your bed as 304 move towards his window. He places both hands flat against the glass and pushes up.

Nothing happens.

It’s locked. 

“Oh my god,” your neighbour groans miserably, letting his forehead rest against the fingerprint-smudged glass, his dark hair hanging around his eyes.

“Holy shit, did something just move in there?” You gasp in fright, spotting something streaking through the darkness of his apartment through the pane.

“Yes, the fucking beast that’s taken over my home.”

You tilt your head. “I’m lost.”

The man before you sighs, turning over so instead of resting with his forehead against the glass his shoulders are pressed to the brick just beside the window frame. He tilts his head back, and a strand of hair falls from his slicked back style and curls in front of his eyes. He breathes out frustratedly into the night. “I’m currently babysitting my acquaintance’s evil cat.”

“You have a cat?” you ask excitedly. 

“No,”—he shoots you a pointed, irritated look—“it’s my acquaintance’s cat. And it’s the weirdest creature on earth. She can open windows and eats all of my bread.”

You press a hand to your mouth to try and hold back your giggles.

“Bread?” you ask him incredulously.

He nods solemnly.

“Well,”—you drag the toe of your fluffy slipper idly against the grating beneath your feet—“what’s her name?”

He stares at you blankly. Utterly unenthused. “Pancakes.”

And at that you have no choice but to openly and unreservedly laugh.

When you finally manage to get your giggles in check—exceedingly conscious of how the sound of your laughter seems to ricochet down the narrow, brick-lined alley you find yourself in—you manage to ask him a pertinent question.

“Does anyone have a spare key to your place?”

“My colleague, Erwin,” the man in front of you mumbles.

Acquaintance. Colleague. You’re starting to wonder if 304 has no friends, or just refuses to refer to them as such.

“Ok, so call him,” you encourage.

He shuts his eyes, his head still pressed back against the wall of brick behind him.

“…My phone is dead.”

You wince. 

“Christ, third strike you’re out.”

Your neighbour looks ready to pitch himself clear off the edge of the fire escape. 

“Get it? because you’re—“

“I got it.” 304 finally opens his eyes to shoot you a glare.

You do him the favour of not openly laughing in the face of his misfortune again, wracking your brain for something that may actually be helpful.

“Er, do you wanna come up to my place?” you ask. “I probably have a charger you can use for your phone, or you could just use mine to call. What kind do you have?” 

The man in front of you rifles through the inside pocket of his suit jacket and hands you the dead device. 

You survey it for a moment, turning the bottom of the phone up towards you to squint at the charging port in the dim night. It’s different from yours but all hope isn’t yet lost. “I think that ex of mine you liked so much had the same one, he left a charger up there. It’s all yours if you want it.”

It’s not like he really has any other choice.

As 304 follows you up the narrow fire-escape stairs towards your window on the fourth floor, you realize it’s the first time your neighbour has ever been to your apartment. Or even crossed the halfway point on the stairs, for that matter. You turn just before you get to the window, and suddenly realize how close you are on the narrow balcony outside of your home. 

You pause.

“You know, I really shouldn’t be inviting a stranger into my apartment.”

Third tuts admonishingly. “We eat dinner together once or twice a week.”

“I don’t even know your na-“

“Levi.”

You’re a little taken aback in the wake of his offering, your eyes widening slightly.

“Levi,” you test the name over in your mouth like the wine the two of you so often share, and then you shrug. “Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it as Third, but I guess it’ll do.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he huffs.

You turn to crawl through your living room window when you feel a gentle touch on your hip calling for your attention. You look back, and Levi pulls his hand away quickly, like he’s realized what he’s done.

You can’t help but think he doesn’t need to seem so suddenly abashed.

He clears his throat a little as you look to him inquisitively. 

“Your name?” 

You smile a bit, your nose scrunching up at how shyly he poses the question, and you tell him.

He nods curtly, like he accepts it, and it almost makes you laugh.

You go about making two cups of tea while you wait for the phone to power back on once he’s plugged it into the charger—which you dug out of a box you keep shoved in the back of your coat closet full of things your various exes have left in your apartment over the years. Thankfully it is the right fit for the device.

A quick glance at the time on your stove clock as you’re boiling the kettle tells you it’s already well past two AM—far later than your usual bedtime, though you don’t feel particularly sleepy.

Once the tea has been prepared, you tote the steaming mugs into the living room where Levi is waiting. You sit curled in an armchair, while your unexpected guest rests perched on the very edge of your sofa closer to the outlet where his phone is plugged into the wall.

“So, what had you out so late tonight, Thir-Levi?” you ask, correcting yourself last minute from using the nickname you’re so used to. You blow over the surface of your very hot tea as you wait for his reply.

“Work thing,” he grunts dismissively, his knee jiggling impatiently while he cradles the still-dark cellphone in his hands. He picks up his own cup of tea and takes a sip. He seems pleasantly surprised by the taste.

“Okay,” you draw out the word, “and what exactly do you do for work?”

Levi looks at you over the brim of his mug, an almost skeptical expression on his face.

“I’m a writer.”

Your eyes widen. “No shit! Like a novelist?”

“Journalist,” he corrects you, his lips pursing forward like he’s contemplating whether or not to divulge any more. He decides to indulge you, evidently, when he further supplies: “I’m a food and wine writer.”

“Really?” You lean forward in your seat, suddenly very interested. “A critic?”

He looks like he wants to correct you, but doesn’t. “I write reviews among other things, yes.”

You slump back in your chair a little bit, kicking your legs up to loop over one armrest. 

“Wow, a guy who writes about food and can’t even cook.”

“I can cook, I just choose not to,” Levi says defensively, his tone sharp.

“Sounds like something someone who can’t cook would say,” you say, punctuating the statement with a long sip of tea.

“I’ve eaten at some of the nicest restaurants in the world—there’s nothing I can make myself that could compare, so why try?”

“How fatalistic of you,” you say with a snuffle of a laugh against the edge of your mug. “You know, if I’d known you had such a refined palate I might have been a bit more self-conscious about serving you my cooking.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “You’re a decent cook.”

Your brows lift in surprise. A compliment?

“But you use too much salt.”

You bark out a defensive laugh. “I do not!”

You hear a subtle buzz of vibration and a soft chime as Levi’s phone, left momentarily forgotten on the arm rest of the couch, powers on. It seems to take you both by surprise.

“Well then, time to call your colleague in shining armour,” you say with an encouraging wave of your hand.

Levi leans forward to set his cup of tea down on the table in front of him.

“Coasters?” He pauses, looking around the room. 

“I found this coffee table on the curb outside my dorm in college, I promise you it’s seen worse than a hot mug.”

Levi’s face pinches slightly before he sets the mug gently down atop the table’s edge.

You watch as he picks up his phone, tapping around the lit screen for a moment before holding the device up to his ear. He’s curved a little awkwardly towards the end of the sofa due to the power cord connecting the phone to the outlet, the material of his dress shirt pulling taught around his frame. His suit jacket hangs on the back of a chair at your kitchen counter, the knot of his tie is loosened at his throat. 

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Levi pulls his phone away from his face and ends the call.

“He’s not answering,” he says with a frustrated huff, as though not answering a phone call in the dead of night is somehow unreasonable. He dials the number again.

“Well,” you say slowly, watching as the same series of events plays out once more, “it’s late. He’s probably asleep.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groans quietly, slumping back into your sofa. 

“Do you think the building Super would be awake?” you ask. The Superintendent has keys to every unit, so he’s the next most viable option. He’s a nice, helpful man, and only lives down on the first floor, but you suspect a knock at the door in the dead of night would be worse than an impromptu phone call.

“No, but he’d probably wake up if I called him,” Levi mumbles. He clicks his tongue behind his teeth in irritation. “How humiliating.”

He looks miserable at the mere prospect, but still reaches for his phone.

And maybe it’s because of how late it is. Maybe it’s how warm and dozy and pliantly agreeable the tea that you’d prepared for the two of you has made you feel. Maybe it’s just because there’s something inexplicably comfortable about being around Levi that has your guard lowered.

“You could always crash on my couch,” you find yourself saying before you really think it through. He looks up at you, clearly taken aback by the offer. “Then you can call your coworker in the morning and get your spare key.”

Levi appears uncertain. “You’d let a stranger crash on your couch?” 

“We eat dinner together once or twice a week, Levi,” you remind him with a little smirk, using his own words from earlier in your defence.

You bring out a pillow from your own bed covered in a fresh pillow case, and a blanket from your linen closet. You hand them to Levi, still seated in the same place on your sofa though a bit more at ease, and he dips his head in thanks while holding both items atop his lap.

“I have some clothes my ex left here that I would offer you, but he was a bit, uh…”—you make a vague gesture in roughly the same stature as your last boyfriend—“he had a different build than you.”

Levi looks at you flatly. 

“You’ve already done enough,” he says, though not altogether unkindly. 

“Alright, well… g’night,” you say with an awkward little wave, shuffling off in the direction of your bedroom. 

Levi calls your name just as you step across the threshold, and you peek back through the doorway towards him. His face is illuminated only by the glow of the lamp atop the table next to the sofa, and he’s looking at you with an unexpectedly earnest expression as he undoes the top button of his dress shirt, his tie resting undone around his collar. 

“Thank you.”

You smile, dipping your head in a little nod, and shut your bedroom door behind you.

When you wake the next morning, it takes a few languid blinks against the morning sunlight streaming in through the curtains and a couple moments more of proper consciousness to remember the events that had transpired the night before.

Well, that and the distant shuffling outside your bedroom door. 

You pull on a sweatshirt, pat your hair down into something you think (hope) is a little less dishevelled, and amble sleepily out to your living room. It’s empty, but Levi’s suit jacket is still hanging on your counter stool, his tie neatly rolled up on the corner of your coffee table, and your window is open. You can see the edge of his back seated just beyond the open pane. 

You poke your head out to see Levi on the fire escape. His button up shirt is undone to reveal the tight white t-shirt he wears underneath it, and his slacks are slightly creased from sleeping in them. His hair is messy—a hybrid between the loose hanging style you’re accustomed to, and the slicked back fashion he’d had it in the night before. He must hear you coming, because he turns to face you as you arrive. You look at him curiously as if to ask why he’s sitting outside.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” he explains without you even vocalizing the question on your mind. His voice is still a bit hoarse from sleep, deeper and rougher than its usual smooth tone.

You crawl through the window, yawning a little as you take a seat cross-legged on the little balcony behind him. Levi turns to face you properly, shifting his whole body in your direction where he sits at the top of the stairs leading down to his own apartment. 

“Any word from your spare key courier?” You blink through the tears that sprang to your eyes in your yawn, rubbing them away with your fist.

“He’ll be here in half an hour,” Levi replies.

You nod, a little tug at the corner of your mouth. “Thank God. Pancakes must be so worried all alone in there.” 

Levi’s lip curls in an unhappy sneer. “I watched her eat half a loaf of three-day-old brioche through the window this morning. I’m sure she’s having the time of her life.”

There’s no choice but to giggle at the image of a cat ransacking your excessively type-A neighbour’s home, even if he can’t see the humour in it.

“D’ya want some coffee?” you ask, pushing yourself up towards the window again.

“I’d take another cup of that tea from last night,” Levi replies, his tone almost hopeful, and you nod before pulling yourself back inside.

You return to your place on the fire escape a few minutes later, this time with two mugs in hand.

It’s quiet while you sip your drinks, listening to the building hum of the city waking up around you. 

“You always up this early?” you finally shatter the stillness with a question, but it’s not intrusive—slipping easily into the comfortable air around you.

“Yeah, usually,” Levi says, peeking over at you. He holds his mug a little strangely, you can’t help put notice—fingertips gripping the brim rather than the handle. It seems unduly precarious. “You wake up early too, huh?” 

You tilt your head, wondering how he might know that. 

“You sing a lot in the morning,” he explains, looking away by turning his gaze back towards the alley. “You’ve got terrible pitch.”

“Hey!” You reach out and swat at his shoulder. He’s warm to the touch, and even though it’s so basically human it still feels almost unexpected.

He huffs a little, neither a laugh nor far enough from one to discredit it; the sound is smug and indulgent.

“Yeah well you stay up too late,” you counter his observation with one of your own.

This time it’s his turn to be curious, lifting a dark brow as he peeks back at you over his shoulder.

“Your light’s always on,”—you tilt your head in the direction of his apartment down the stairs he’s seated at the top of—“and I don’t really take you for the nightlight type.”

“I don’t sleep much,” he admits.

You scoff. “What do you to with all those extra hours in the day?” 

“Writing, editing, researching, emailing my editor,” he explains with a shrug.

You roll your eyes a bit, taking a sip of your coffee. “So you’re a real workaholic, huh?” 

Levi drains the last mouthful of his tea, setting the mug down with a little clink as the porcelain meets metal. “There are worse things to spend your time doing.”

“There are better things too,” you counter. 

“Such as?” 

“I don’t know, socializing? Relaxing? Going out on a date?” You gesticulate with the hand not holding your mug as though to say ‘so on and so forth.'

“You think dating in this day and age is a fun way to pass the time?” Levi remarks flatly.

“Fine,” you concede, a sudden memory of your last ex coming to mind unwelcomely. You can’t help but note he doesn’t make mention of any partners of his own. “Don’t you have hobbies?”

Levi purses his lips, and seems to be wracking his brain. It takes a while. 

You stare at him, unimpressed. “When was the last time you went to a museum? An art gallery? A play? The movies? Anywhere that wasn’t work related?”

“I went to the National Gallery downtown a while ago,” he offers.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, disbelievingly. “When?” 

“A class trip in ninth grade.”

Your laughter echoes through the alley as it spills from your lips.

“You know they’ve always got new exhibits on display,” you say, gathering your composure. You lean forward, knees pressing into your chest. “You should visit again, I’m sure something has changed in the past eighty years since you were there last.”

Levi watches you curiously, a little too intently to be considered casual.

His phone jingles.

He blinks, and there’s a brief delay before he looks down at the device in his hand.

“That’s my key,” he says quietly. 

You nod, standing. Somewhere in the distance, a car horn blares. You hadn’t even noticed how noisy it’s gotten in the time the two of you have been sitting together, but the city is well and truly awake now.

One at a time, you both climb back in through the window—him letting you go first—and once you make it back into your living room you take Levi’s empty cup from his hand to take it to your kitchen sink and wash while he collects his belongings. 

Levi steps towards your front door as you dry your hands off on a towel hanging from the handle of your oven. You watch as he buttons up his dress shirt—though he leaves it untucked from his wrinkled trousers.

“Thanks again for… y’know”—he stops buttoning once he gets about half-way up the row and gestures vaguely—“all of this.”

You lean your hip against your kitchen counter. “I’ll slip a bill under your door for room and board.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a soft sort of exasperation to his expression as he does it. 

“You could just knock.”

You smile, and you feel a pinch in your cheeks from how wide it spreads. “Well, where’s the fun in that?”

You don’t see Levi again in the week that follows, as you’re stuck working late each night as you slog towards a project deadline. 

You leave for the office in the morning when the sun has barely crested, and come home long after it’s set. You’ve been eating mainly takeout from restaurants near your work, and whatever happens to be hiding at the back of your pantry since you haven’t had the opportunity to grocery shop—all interspersed with whatever mediocre, half-stale baked goods your coworkers have brought in and left in the staff kitchen for everyone to share.

After one particularly brutal day, you shuffle in the door with nothing but a day-old donut and three coffees in your stomach, though the clock has ticked past eleven. You drop your belongings on your kitchen counter and wonder if you still have that old bag of microwave popcorn kicking around in the back of your cupboard. You ponder this question as you cross your living room to crack the window and let in a bit of fresh air.

Outside, perched unexpectedly just below the window frame on the fire escape, is a brown paper gift bag.

You glance to the right and see Levi’s lights are still on, as usual, but his window is closed. 

Hm.

You pick up the bag and retreat inside, peeking at its contents as you go.

Inside you find a bottle of white wine—a nice bottle of white wine—along with a little piece of notebook paper, ripped along the edge and folded twice in half. You peel the edges of the page back to reveal neat scrawl in black ink. 

This didn’t cost 8 dollars. 

Thanks again for putting me up.

—3rd. 

(Levi)

It’s been a while since you’ve seen him, what with all the late nights you’ve been pulling at the office, and you realize that your last encounter was the morning after he spent the night at your place.

You smile to yourself, shaking your head, and tuck the note back into the bag.

The next Saturday morning, mercifully freed from the project you've been slaving away at, you have every intention of sleeping in to makeup of the overtime you've been banking. Instead, you wake to a strange rustling sound.

It takes a moment for it to register to your hazy, barely conscious mind—a sound so gentle you hardly process that it’s unusual until it’s been going on for just a few minutes too long.

“Mrrrrphm!”

Your eyes shoot open.

Now that noise, you immediately know is out of the ordinary.

You creep out into your kitchen on your tiptoes, towards where the rustling seems to be originating from.

Perched atop your kitchen counter, you see the tail end of a four-legged, ginger-furred little creature—with its head tucked into the rumpled paper bag containing the croissant you’d been planning to eat for breakfast. Its long, bushy tail sways back and forth happily as it rustles around inside.

“Hey!” 

The beast—soon revealed to be a cat once it pulls its head from the bag—has the remnants of your (now mostly-shredded) croissant hanging out of its little pink mouth. One of its ears is folded unnaturally, the fur around its neck is scruffy, and you realize upon closer inspection of your half-eaten breakfast that it has a snaggletooth. 

The cat seems fairly sociable though, as it makes no move to run as you slowly approach.

“I’m guessing you’re the illustrious Pancakes, huh?” you say as you reach up to scratch gently behind her ears. “I’m a huge fan of your work.”

The cat lets out a cheerful little chirp, your ill-fated croissant still hanging from her maw, bumping her head against your wrist. You pluck the bit of bread from her mouth and quickly scoop her up in your arms, heading towards your door as she squirms unhappily—you don’t quite trust yourself to descend the fire escape with such precious cargo in-hand.

Down on the third floor, you rap sharply against a door.

It swings open moments later to reveal Levi’s perplexed face. Glasses on.

“Your demon cat ate my croissant,” you say, holding the offender out towards him.

She meows innocently. 

“Not my cat,” he replies flatly, taking Pancakes from your hands and setting her down on the floor just behind him. She hits the ground on all fours with a little thump, and trots off happily into the apartment out of sight.

“But you two look so much alike.”

Levi responds only with a narrow-eyed glare.

Then he sighs.

“Sorry… she must have crawled out through the window when I wasn’t looking,”—Levi reaches up under the lenses of his glasses, pressing the tips of his fingers against his shut eyes as though they’re aching—“I’ll buy you another croissant.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him with a little laugh, and his fingers splay under the metal frames of his eyeglasses to peek at you through the gaps. You wave your hand dismissively. “It’s my own fault for leaving my window open last night.”

“That’s a good way to be home invaded,” the dark-haired man chides you sternly, a little furrow of disapproval making itself known between his brows. His hands drop from his face, only for his arms to cross over his t-shirt clad chest.

“Yeah, well they’d have to pass your window first—and it’s not like you wouldn’t spot them Mr. Sleep-When-I’m-Dead,” you say, shooting him a bemused look. “At least you’d have a description to give the cops.”

“All you care about is the killer being caught? Not avoiding being murdered in the first place?” Levi drawls.

“Well, at least I could end up on a true crime podcast, so long as you agree to be a good samaritan and assist the authorities in their investigation,” you joke. You peek over Levi’s shoulder to where his curtain is ruffling in the morning breeze. “Hey, do you mind if I just go out through the window?” 

He shrugs, pulling his apartment door open a little wider to let you through. “Be my guest.”

Levi’s apartment is tidy and sparsely decorated, but it’s nearly identical to your own in terms of general construction. Your eyes can’t help flitter around the space as you shuffle through it towards the open window, your nosiness getting the best of you. There’s a steaming mug on the edge of his kitchen counter that he must have set aside when you came knocking at his door, a closed laptop resting on the edge of his coffee table next to a notebook, and there are bookcases lining the walls as you walk through the living room. You can’t resist pausing to take a closer look as you pass by one, and find a diverse variety of cookbooks and reference books on food, as well as beer, wine and spirits on the shelves. 

Your fingertip traces the gold lettering adorning the thick spine of an immense tome—V I N.

“May I?” you ask, peeking over your shoulder as you pry the book from its place on the shelf.

“You already are,” Levi replies from the kitchen where he’s retrieved his mug, taking a sip. “But sure.”

You let out a little laugh, cracking open the inordinately heavy book. 

“You speak french?” you ask, your tone lilting in surprise as your eyes trail over the language on the page in front of you—foreign, but distinguishable enough thanks to a few words you recognize from classes you took back in high school. The book seems old, antique possibly, and evidently well loved.

“Only a little,” Levi says noncommittally, but judging by the notes scribbled in the margins of the pages (in the same neat script scrawled on the scrap of notebook paper tucked into the gift bag on your kitchen counter) you suspect he’s underplaying his abilities. 

You close the book and slot it back into its place on the shelf.

“Thanks for the wine by the way.”

“Did you enjoy it?” he asks.

“I haven’t cracked into it yet,” you admit, making the last few steps towards the open window. You tap your hand idly against the spotless frame, turning back to look at where Levi is leaning against his kitchen counter. “I had a big deadline this week at work so I’ve been staying late every day. By the time I got home it was all I could do to force myself to eat something before I’d pass out on my couch.”

Levi’s brows lift, though the rest of his body seems to untense a bit for reasons you can’t quite place.

“I’ll be sure to give you a full and comprehensive review of its bouquet—or whatever—once I finally get the chance to enjoy it,” you remark, half-teasing, and he rolls his eyes. 

He takes another sip from his mug. He’s still holding it in that peculiar way he held your mug the morning after he slept on your couch. There’s something about it that you find almost endearing.

You lift your hand in a little wave, he nods in acknowledgement of the gesture, and then you crawl out through the window without another word.

You’re on the second step up the fire escape when Levi pokes his head out after you.

“Do you have breakfast plans?”

You pause, turning back to look at him.

You find him peeking up at you with an unexpectedly hopeful look on his face, if not a little guarded.

“Well, my plans are currently partially digested in your feline ward’s stomach, so... no.”

Levi blinks.

“Can I take you out for breakfast to make up for it, then?” 

You tilt your head to the side, a flutter of something keen and eager tickling the pit of your empty stomach.

“Fine,” you concede, feigning as though you’re hard done by. “But I get to choose the place.”

Levi’s lips pull down in an unsubtle expression of his displeasure. “You know that it’s literally my job to—“

“I don’t care,” you interrupt him, waving your hand as though batting his interjection out of the very air into which he spoke it before it has the chance to reach your ears. “I don’t want some fancy micro-meal from whatever masters of gastronomy you write about. I want waffles. A lot of ‘em.”

Levi huffs, grumbling something unintelligible under his breath before replying a single, reluctant: “Fine.”

“Meet you in the lobby in 10 minutes?” you ask, your lips stretching in a grin.

His own lips purse, and you almost think it might be halfway to a smile. “Sure.”

The two of you wind up at an old greasy spoon diner two blocks away that you’ve been going to since college, where the staff always make sure to give you an extra perfectly golden-brown waffle. Levi sits across from you in a dark green knit sweater that looks incredibly cozy and, to your utter surprise, a pair of jeans. He looks more comfortable and casual than you’ve ever seen him.

“It’s good, huh?” you ask over the table as Levi bites into his own breakfast: 2 eggs, over easy, bacon and toast. You notice he’s carefully separated all three components of the meal on his plate so none of them are touching, and has liberally applied black pepper to the semi-firm yolks of his eggs.

He swallows the bite he has in his mouth, wiping the corners with his white paper napkin. “It’s food.”

You snort a little, shoving another piece of waffle into your mouth. “Are your reviews always so inspired?”

Levi shoots you an unamused look. 

“C’mon, don’t tell me you only eat at fancy fine dining places?” you say, waving your fork around demonstrably. “This is what real food’s all about; little family run joints like this.”

Levi purses his lips.

“Have you ever even been to a fine dining restaurant?” he asks you skeptically.

“No,” you admit, drowning your plate in more of the cheap table syrup. Levi’s nose crinkles in disdain at the sight. The waffles are the same as always: just the right crispiness on the outside to not grow soggy too quickly under the river of syrup you douse them in, perfectly fluffy on the inside.

Fine dining, irrespective of being well outside your budget, has just never been your style.

“So who are you to judge?” 

Now it’s your turn to purse your lips. 

You stab your fork through a piece of waffle and syrup drips, slow and sticky, as you hold it up above your plate. You lift a brow challengingly as you stare him down across the table. “If you want to take me out to a fancy dinner so bad, all you have to do is ask.”

Levi’s expression doesn’t change.

“Fine.”

“Huh?” you nearly choke, though you haven’t yet put your next bite in your mouth.

“Go out to dinner with me,” he says.

“That’s not a question,” you remark, shoving your waiting forkful into your mouth just to give yourself something else to focus on.

Levi huffs exasperatedly. “Will you go out to dinner with me?”

You take your time to chew, the syrup making everything in your mouth indistinguishably cloying, and then swallow. “I’ll think about it.”

Levi’s jaw gapes, a look of betrayal flittering across his usually impassive features.

You laugh. 

“Fine, fine. But only if we can go to the national gallery first,” you say, enjoying every moment of Levi’s palpable misery, setting your fork down and reaching for your mug and taking a sip of coffee. It’s tempered down to a drinkable heat, a little bitter and burnt tasting just like it always is, and there’s something nostalgic in that.

Levi fiddles with his fork, cutting into his egg so the sunny yellow yolk runs across his white ceramic plate. “…I already went.” 

“Huh?” You place your cup back down atop the table, on the edge of your paper placemat.

“I went,” Levi repeats himself, though nothing is made clearer through the repetition. 

“When?” 

“A couple days after you mentioned it. I was reviewing a bistro down the road—terrible by the way—“ he interjects, though you didn’t ask, “and I had some time to kill afterwards.”

“So… what was your verdict?” 

“Boring.”

“Oh, come on!” you say with a warm, pealing laugh, throwing yourself back in your seat. “You’re so uncultured! Didn’t you like their new installation on expressionism?”

“It was a mess.”

“That’s the point, it’s abstract!”

“If I wanted to see a disaster on canvas I’d look at those sneakers you’ve got on,” Levi says with a click of his tongue, but his eyes are bright and mirthful.

You peek under the table at your well-loved tennis shoes, gaping but still laughing. “You are so—!”

“Can I get you two some top-ups on those coffees?” The waitress who has been serving the two of you steps up to the table, coffee pot in hand, but she seems almost apologetic for interrupting. 

It’s the first time you remember you’re in public, and you settle down a bit, covering your mouth to clear your throat bashfully. 

“I’m alright, thank you,” Levi declines politely with a dip of his head.

“I’ll take a little extra please,” you say, and the waitress smiles and adds another bit of steaming, bitter coffee to your cup. It darkens the last few mouthfuls left from your already milk-and-sugared first drink; the deep brown of the fresh brew swirling into the tawny room-temperature remnants of the last.

Your eyes meet Levi’s over the table, and both of you quickly look away, fighting back your smiles.

The two of you walk back home once your meal has concluded and your bills have been paid—split at your insistence, though Levi seemed prepared to physically fight you on it. 

Back at your building Levi gets out on the third floor after a brief goodbye, but before the door to the elevator can slide closed behind him, and you can close the steel grate of the interior door, his hand shoots out to keep them open.

You look up in surprise at the sudden gesture.

“I’m not kidding about dinner,” Levi says, standing just beyond the threshold to the ancient elevator, staring at you with an almost unnerving sincerity. 

You blink, taken aback by how serious he is.

“What’s your cell number?” he asks when you can’t seem to find anything to reply.

You relay the digits to him and he scribbles them down into a little pocket sized, softcover notebook he produces from his jacket pocket. You’ve seen him scribbling in it before out on the fire escape, and realize he must take it with him everywhere he goes. Given the shape and size of it—only a little larger than the palm of his hand—you don’t doubt it’s the very book that the note he’d left with your bottle of wine had been torn from.

“I’ll send you a message and we can make a plan,” Levi says, tucking the notebook back into his pocket.

“Alright,” you agree and finally Levi lets his hand fall from where he’s keeping the doors open. 

He steps away in the direction of his apartment.

“Be careful, Levi,” you say to his retreating back as you pull the grated metal door on the inside of the elevator car closed, “or I might think this is a date.”

He pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. Your eyes meet through the gaps in the metal, and in spite of the distance you can see the mirth in his gaze. “That’s exactly what it is, and it’s what breakfast was too.”

And with that, the door slides shut between you.

One week to the day later, you find yourself sitting across from Levi in a restaurant that feels almost too nice for you to be patronizing. Levi is dressed in a nice suit, as ever, and you’re wearing in the only truly nice dress you own—one you’d bought for a friend’s wedding a few years prior and never had the occasion to wear again. 

Until now.

It’s nothing like the meals you’ve shared on your fire escape, or the boisterous breakfast at the diner on that Saturday morning. There’s no bitter coffee or table syrup to be seen, no mismatched plates and cutlery. It’s quiet, ambient even. All hushed conversation and warm candle light.

But you still enjoy yourself all the same.

And the food is really fucking good. 

“I’m devastated,” you breathe out miserably into the cool night air as the two of you walk side-by-side along the quiet sidewalk in the direction of your little brick building. 

Levi had offered to flag the two of you down a cab, but the evening weather was actually quite nice and the restaurant wasn’t far from home so you’d instead suggested to walk. Your heels are starting to hurt your feet a little bit, a pinch in your toes and the early-makings of a blister forming at the back of your ankle where the strap of your shoe rubs against your skin, but you still can’t quite bring yourself to regret anything about the evening.

Not the walk, not the dinner, not the company.

“You didn’t like it?” Levi asks, a lilt of concern in his voice.

You shake your head emphatically, turning to look at him with a grave expression. “It was too good.”

“That’s a new complaint,” he muses, his mouth pulling at the corner in thinly-veiled triumph.

“How am I ever supposed to enjoy any food again now that I know it can taste like that?” you complain, tossing your head back to look up at the night sky and passing streetlights overhead. Your shoes click against the pavement with every step, but otherwise it’s refreshingly quiet.

Levi laughs into his closed fist. “Now you see my problem.”

“Hey,” you say suddenly, bringing your chin back down so you can look at him, “can you bring me home your leftovers when you go write your little reviews for places like that?” 

“No,” Levi replies immediately, decisively shaking his head. 

You pout, sucking in a sharp breath as you prepare to plead your case.

“But I’d like to take you out again, if you’ll let me.”

He’s not looking at you, his eyes fixed ahead on the pavement as the two of you walk side by side, but you can tell he’s anxiously awaiting your reply with the way his hand is flexing and unflexing at his side.

You feel heat climb in your cheeks.

“Well, if it’s the only way to keep access to that kind of food, I guess I’d be stupid to say no.”

Levi hums, his gaze sliding to meet yours from the corner of his eye. 

“Yeah, I guess you would.”

The elevator ride up to the third floor is quiet but not uncomfortable, though you both seem to be keeping your distance in the confined space—relegated to opposite sides, not dissimilarly to so many months ago when he was calling you out for fucking your atrocious ex-boyfriend too loudly. You could almost laugh at how much things have changed since then. 

He says goodnight as he pulls open the grated door, sending you a brief look as he steps out.

“Goodnight, Levi,” you return the sentiment, hesitating to close the inside door between the two of you once more. “Thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, and there’s an almost disappointing finality to his words, though you don’t dwell too long on it. 

And then he’s gone.

Upstairs in your apartment, you kick off your heels as soon as you step through the door. You stretch your toes against the cool hardwood floor to let the blood flow back into them before padding into your kitchen. You drape your coat across the back of a barstool, and drop your purse on counter, pausing momentarily to eye the gift bag with the wine Levi had given you tucked away in the corner.

Maybe it’s time to crack it open—if for no other reason than to try and drown the niggling feeling of dissatisfaction you have squirming in your chest. 

But first, you pad across your living room to open up your window.

At the very same time that Levi opens his, a floor away.

You pull yourself through without thinking, shivering a little bit against the cool breeze as it meets your exposed skin. Levi—his suit jacket shed, his tie loosened and collar unbuttoned—does the same.

You kneel at the top of the stairs, the metal of the fire-escape digging into your knees, and peer down at him.

“Y’know, I still haven’t opened that bottle of white wine.”

Your fingers fidget with the hem of your dress—it’s crept a bit further up your thighs thanks to the way you’re sitting. Levi’s eyes have caught the subtle rise, and through you see his gaze on your exposed skin, it soon flickers up to meet yours. 

“It’s not really a nightcap,” he says quietly.

You huff, half frustrated and half amused, but the sound is entirely too fond. 

“Are you coming up here or not?” 

Levi climbs the stairs slowly towards where you’re seated at the top. That same feeling underneath your ribs that had once been dissatisfied blooms into something else entirely, crackling like a flame inside your chest as you catch his tie between your fingers.

You pull him down with your grip on the dark green silk—slowly, slowly, slowly—to press your mouths together. 

The kiss is sweet. Unhurried. Decadent.

Levi cranes down a little further, his hands settling on the landing behind you, caging you underneath him. His proximity is more intoxicating than any of the wine you’ve ever shared. The feeling of his lips parting against yours and the gentle imploring sweep of his tongue is more satisfying than any food on earth could hope to be.

One of his hands trails up along your thigh, across that same skin you’d caught him eyeing moments prior. His touch is cold but still it burns. He gives your flesh a firm squeeze.

“Inside now,” he murmurs insistently against your mouth, “unless you want the neighbourhood to hear this.”

You pull away, peeking up at him through your lashes innocently.

“And what if I do?”

He swallows visibly, his tongue darting out to lave across his rosy lips before it disappears once more to click behind his teeth.

“Knew you were an exhibitionist.”

There’s a graceless, frenetic climb back through the window—with Levi’s hand cradling the top of your head all the while so you don’t knock it against the frame—and then the two of you are toppling down onto the soft cushions of your couch.

Levi’s body weight presses into yours as he hovers over you, mouths rapacious, your hips flush and hands greedy. You’re grabbing anything and everything that falls within your reaches: his hands on your waist, your thighs, your heaving chest; your own hands in his hair, cupping his jaw, fisting the fine cotton of his dress shirt. Your dress has rucked up around your waist in the excitement, and after a few moments of exploration Levi slowly breaks your kiss. 

He sinks to the floor on his knees, and your thighs part for him without thinking.

His eyes trace the dark spot on the centre of the delicate lace over your aching cunt, his thumb soon stroking against it with the exact same eagerness as his eyes. 

“Levi,” you say his name pleadingly as your hips wriggle to get closer to his touch, squirming further down the couch cushion towards him. “Please… more.”

Levi huffs a little; not a laugh, but something a little more chiding—a little more mocking. He leans forward so you feel every hot breath break against your skin on his exhales, his eyes still fixed to that little patch of wetness that’s caught his attention, the spot only growing larger the longer he toys with you. “Let me savour this.”

“Like a nightcap?” you ask him, aiming for levity but toeing the wrong side of breathless as his fingers follow the lace trim of your panties up along the curve of your thigh.

“An aperitif,” he rasps as he snaps the elasticated band against your hip, a sharp crack as it hits your tender skin, and his eyes flicker up to meet yours when you hiss. He smirks. “It makes you hungrier.”

Not once in all the time you’ve known him would you have denied the truth that Levi’s tongue is quick and vicious, but never would you have imagined its sedulity between your legs. 

The flimsy material of your panties tugged swiftly down and kicked away, it’s as though the meal the two of you had shared that evening has been forgotten, a thing of the past.

Levi devours you like he’s been starved.

“Fuck, oh—“ 

Your hips jump on the sofa but his strong forearm slings across your lower abdomen to pin them down and keep you at his mercy. Levi glances up at you from his position on his knees, his head bracketed by your thighs, his eyelids hanging low over his hungry gaze. The tip of his tongue flicks against your twitching entrance, laving back up to your clit. The cycle repeats. It’s filthy and fascinating to watch.

“—Levi, nggh—oh my god.”

You grab for anything, borderline delirious. Your nails on one hand dig into the throw pillow at the end of your sofa while the other knots itself through Levi’s dark hair. You grip both with an equal roughness, but Levi doesn’t seem to mind—suckling with a renewed insistence at the swollen bundle of nerves between his lips.

He reaches up and pries your hand away from the strands of his hair, twining your fingers with his own as he pins it down to the sofa beside your hip. Levi pulls away from your pussy with a string of saliva keeping you connected, slick smeared along his mouth catching in the light of the lamp.

“Be gentle, would you?” he rasps, “I’d like to keep my hair for the foreseeable future.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, your chest heaving from the way your breaths come ragged. “It feels good.”

“Yeah?” he asks, slipping two fingers into his mouth. They shine with his spit when he pulls them from between his swollen lips. He leans back down towards your cunt. “How good?”

“So good,” you whine, his two saliva-slicked fingers slipping inside of you at the same time.

“God,” you toss your head back and gasp, those two fingers inside of you crooking in a way that makes you feel so good. 

“You’re close,” Levi hums, not a question but rather a factual observation, before dragging his tongue up towards your clit again. His fingers keep curling against your walls with an almost unfair degree of skill, leaving you shaking and breathless.

“Y-yeah, gonna cum,” you whimper. 

“You’re gonna cum for me?” he mumbles against your clit, goading you as he carefully watches the expressions on your face.

It's not as though you have any other choice with the way he’s playing you like an instrument he’s long-mastered.

“Yes, fuck Levi, there.”

One last gasp and the lewd, pointed suck with his lips wrapped around your clit has you melting, your thighs clamping against his ears as your back bows up off the sofa. A strangled, desperate little sound tears out of the back of your throat, and your fingers tighten around his own—still entwined beside you on the sofa.

As you come down from your high, you drag his hand up with yours to your chest, pressing his palm flat against your sternum so he can feel how fast your heart is knocking against your ribs underneath the fabric of your dress. 

Your heart rate has nowhere near returned to normal when Levi stands from his place on the ground, wiping at his wet mouth with the back of his hand as he takes in your spent, trembling state. In one fell—impossibly deft—swoop, he picks you up and carries you off towards your bedroom.

“How the fuck are you so strong?” you gasp as you wriggle in his hold—but his grip is tight and he doesn’t waver.

He drops you down onto your bed, and you bounce lightly as you come in contact with the springy surface. You fall back, staring up at him as he peers at you with affront.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You giggle a little as he crawls over your splayed form, his body warm as his lips find their way back to yours.

He kisses you again. And again. And again.

Your pretty dress comes off, finally—left discarded in a hapless puddle on your bedroom floor to be dealt with later. It's an end unbefitting of the nicest garment you own, though you can’t begin to bring yourself to care.

Levi’s fingers trace along the delicate lace of your newly revealed bra and you feel his lips curl up into a smirk against your own. He inches away, peeking down at your chest.

He dips down to mouth along the swell of your breast, his eyes still impossibly trained on yours, and your fingers tangle into the soft strands at his crown as you moan lightly at the gentle touch. 

He sucks against the soft flesh, before pulling off with a little pop!

“Does poor Misses Miller know you kept her bra?” 

You laugh in response to his teasing words, a reference to the early days of what you’d now call a friendship (if not something else entirely), tugging him away from your chest by your grip on his hair.

He quirks a brow at you with his head tilted back in your hold. 

You pout playfully, slackening your grip on his hair and letting your hand slip down along the front of his dress shirt, petting over his chest. “You know, I think I liked you better with your mouth full.”

Levi clicks his tongue behind his teeth, watching raptly at the flash of pink as your own tongue peeks out to moisten your swollen lips. Something shifts behind his gaze, and he leans back on his haunches beside you, reaching up and fingering the loosened knot of his tie.

“Do you trust me?”

The question is a little bit out of the blue, and relatively unwarranted considering only moments prior he’d been three knuckles deep inside of you, but you entertain it nonetheless.

Your head lolls to the side on your bedspread as you look at him curiously. “I let you spend the night on my couch when we barely knew each other.”

He rolls his eyes at your intentionally indirect response, leaning forward until your entire field of vision is filled with nothing but him once more. 

“Do you,”—Levi pauses with his lips ghosting over yours, soft as they brush—“trust me?”

A beat of tense silence stretches between you.

“Yeah.” You swallow lightly after murmuring the word. “I do.”

Levi pulls back again, and reaches up and tugs on the knot of his tie until it comes completely undone, hanging in two separated halves against his chest. Slowly he draws it out from under the fold of his collar.

“There was a trend in food criticism years ago,” he says, his grey eyes tracking up, up, up along your exposed body while you wait like eager prey beneath his gaze, “where critics used to think that you could taste better in the dark. Like the dulling of one sense would somehow improve the others.”

You swallow hard as he leans forward, moving slowly up the mattress towards you.

His tie is still in his hand.

He dips down and kisses you. 

Brief. Teasing.

“They thought you could taste more…”

Levi loops his tie around your eyes, and your breath hitches. You feel the soft slip of silk against your skin, the pressure tightening (though not unpleasantly) as he knots it at the crown of your head to keep it in place. You see only darkness.

“…hear more…” Levi’s lips are right next to your ear; just a ghost of warm breath and his rich, deep voice that seems a little more strained than it had before. 

You’re breathing heavier now, or maybe you’re just more painfully aware of the rhythm of your own respiration.

“…feel more.” 

Warm fingers dance up along your ribs and you gasp aloud, not expecting the sensation. But as quickly as it appears, that feeling of his skin on yours, it’s gone again. You swallow. His touch continues in much the same way, fingers disappearing and then reappearing somewhere else, leaving you guessing. Leaving you wanting.

You feel goosebumps prickle up along your skin.

“Is that true?” you whisper as you push yourself upright and reach out blindly in search of Levi, though you aren’t quite sure where to find him.

“I don’t know—” Levi admits airily from somewhere before you, both nearer and further than you expect him to be. He takes your outstretched hand in his, pressing it to his cheek. It’s warm to the touch, and he turns his face towards your palm, pressing a barely there kiss to it.

Unexpectedly your bra falls forward, cool air kissing heated skin as the straps fall down your shoulders, thanks to a talented hand that had slipped behind your back unnoticed. You feel Levi’s lips curl into a smirk against your palm. 

“—but let’s find out.”

Next is an obscured, indecipherable blur of hot, open mouthed kisses; of gentle grazes and rougher gropes; of moans, and groans, and needy whines that you aren’t sure are even yours anymore. Your pussy’s left a wet patch on the thigh of Levi’s slacks that you can’t see but that you can feel as the sticky fabric ruts against your clit, your hips grinding desperately against it as he consumes you and whatever senses he’s left you. 

It’s infuriating. 

It’s immolating. 

It’s divine.

“Are you ready for me?” Levi pants against your stinging lips, his hand cupping your chin to keep your face tilted towards his even if you can’t see him. 

“Yes,” you mewl debauchedly, rolling your hips against that same crease in his pant leg that’s been tantalizing you for what feels like hours. You should be ashamed—of your words, of your tone, of your actions—but you aren’t.

You feel every second of the stretch as the head of his cock presses inside.

You wonder what it looks like, what he must look like right now, but you’re left only to feel.

“Oh,” he groans, the deep sound sodden and drunk with pleasure. “Amazing. Fuck, you’re taking me so well. You’re perfect.”

The first proper thrust—the in and the out—almost pulls you under like the currents of a tide. You’re fighting a losing battle to keep your head above water, to keep air in your lungs.

The springs of your mattress creak as Levi picks up the pace and mercilessly fucks you down into it, your breaths coming in pants broken by moans. You feel your sheets against your sticky skin, his hands twining with yours, his breath against your lips.

“Is it good?” he asks, mouthing clumsily along your jaw as his hips rail down against yours.

“So good,” you babble in agreement, nodding dumbly as much as you can with such little control over your own body. “Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say that,” Levi rasps, tucking his face into the crook of your neck and letting his teeth graze over your racing pulse. “I don’t think I could ever get tired of it."

He groans as you clamp down on him involuntarily.

You’re close, and think he must be too when you feel the way his cock throbs inside of you.

“Please,” you murmur, voice breaking pathetically as you beg. It sounds like you’re near tears but with the silk still covering your eyes it’s impossible to tell whether or not it’s true. “I wanna see you.”

“Make a deal with me,” Levi grunts, his pace suddenly slowing to a torturous grind. You’re sure that you must be crying now with how devastating the change in pace is—still deep, but just languid enough that the cresting pleasure in the pit of your stomach threatens to recede. 

“A deal?” you ask, gasping as your nails drag along the musculature of his back.

“I’ll take it off,”—Levi’s touch trails up to your face, the tips of his fingers ghosting over your spit-slicked chin and searing cheeks—“but only if you let me take you out to breakfast.”

You’re in no position to be making counter-demands, or returning repartee.

“Anything,” you sob, clinging to him desperately. Your hips tilt up in a fruitless search for friction, your nails scrabble along his skin. “I’ll do anything. Please, Levi.”

He tugs the tie down, and your bleary eyes sting as they adjust to the light. 

Finally, you see him.

Levi is practically glowing, bathed in a sheen of perspiration that you can feel when your skin slips against his own. His dark hair is pushed back, away from the lines of his devastatingly handsome face; his strong cheekbones and the sharp line of his tensed jaw. His abs flex as he carves his way inside of you in that impossibly slow grind, a little trail of dark, coarse hair spanning from his navel to his cock, where you see a glossy ring around the base from you. 

He’s a feast to behold. To taste. To feel. 

“S-so?” he stutters, half-hissing from how viciously your core has tightened around him. His eyes search yours, avaricious and wild. “How does it compare?”

“Better,” you moan, a tear tracking back towards your hairline as you throwing your head back into your pillows, fighting as much as you can to keep your eyes open, “this is better.”

Levi laughs, breathy and wanton as the sound might be, and his hands grip behind your knees before peeling them away from their vice against his waist and pressing them back into your chest. 

He kisses you again—your mouths meeting desperately though they haven't long been parted—first chaste but then sloppily, bullying his way into your mouth like he wants to taste how sweet the words you’ve just said are off your own tongue.

He pulls back, a string of saliva stitching from his mouth to yours.

The corner of his lip ticks up in a smirk as his hips draw back, not in punishment but in preparation.

“Good.”

You wake the next morning with an ache humming in your bones and an effervescence sizzling in your chest. It takes you a moment to rouse, properly anyway, but when you do you feel the unmistakable weight of an arm curled around your bare waist, and a warm pressure perched atop your feet.

You open your eyes, blinking against the light that streams in through the curtains over your bedroom window—billowing gently in the morning breeze. You peek down towards the end of your bed, and see a little fluff of ginger fur sprawled out across your ankles. When you listen closely you can hear the little rumble of a purr.

Finally, you glance over to your side, and find Levi blinking back at you.

He looks sleepy and dishevelled, a sort of pleasant exhaustion in the rings beneath his eyes that you’re sure is mirrored in the shadows of your own skin. His hair is sticking up unkemptly at his temple, and there’s a line imprinted into his cheek from where it's been resting against your pillow. It’s a version of himself that you suspect Levi rarely shows to anyone, and right now it’s all deliriously, deliciously yours.

“Good morning,” your voice is so quiet when you finally risk shattering the stillness of your bedroom with a greeting.

“Good morning,” Levi rasps with a commensurate tenderness, even through the hoarseness of his groggy morning voice.

The city is waking up outside your window, the steady build of noise that will crescendo to a dull hum once the world gets underway. But for now it’s still quiet. For now you can still hear Pancakes’ slightly-wheezy purr.

Levi’s arm around your waist tightens, shifting you a little bit closer to him under the soft cover of your blankets. The gesture is hesitant. Half-committed. Like he’s still leaving himself open to be rebuked.

You smile, and close the rest of the distance yourself like crossing that final step along the fire escape. Traversing that halfway point. You curl into him and tuck your head underneath his chin as you rest your cheek against his chest.

Levi seems to soften slightly. To ease. To welcome your intrusion.

If it was ever that at all.

“So… breakfast?”

[strangerstolovers444]

The loss of light. (Levi x blind!reader)

Summary: In the battle held against Eren, reader loses their eyes. And as they finally starts getting used to a life without sight, someone unexpected reaches out. Levi Ackerman asks them to move into Marley with him.

Cw: uh since reader goes blind forever here, it might be kind of uncomfortable to read?

"...nothing we can do..."

"...did our best but..."

"... never see again..."

"...sight is gone..."

Gone, gone, gone….

It echoed in your head.

Soft murmurs reached your ears. You quietly listened, laying on your side, curled into a ball. You wrapped yourself tighter and tighter with every word, seeking comfort and shelter from you don't know what. Your eyelids fluttered as you tried to open them.

Were you in a dark room?

You blinked a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut harder with every press, but it felt strange. There was no difference. The darkness only felt more heavy, more suffocating. But there was no escape. Not a single ray of light.

Ah.

You really have gone blind, haven't you?

-

It had been a week since the war had ended. You had returned home along with everyone else, to Paradis.

And this past week, all you've known about the world is from hushed whispers.

You have only heard about how strange Paradis looked without the walls. About the ruins. About a lot of things. You hadn't seen any of it though.

You haven't seen a single thing this seven days. Not Paradis. Not the hospital room you were kept in. Not the doctors or nurses. Not any of your friends. Not even yourself.

You haven't seen a single ray of light. You haven't seen the sky, the sun, the moon, the stars–nothing.

And you were never going to see it ever again.

Darkness is your home now.

You cried the first day, as the nurse helped you to the bathroom. You cried when you stumbled against your own leg and almost fell down. You cried when they took off the bandage of your eyes, dabbing medicine but you could feel nothing. Absolutely nothing.

You cried the second day when you accidentally asked the nurse why she kept the lights turned off and she held your shoulder and gently explained to you as if you're a little kid. You hated it when she wiped your tears and didn't let you wipe it yourself in case you damage the eyes even more as if it's not damaged beyond repair already.

You cried the third day when you woke up and was unsure if you've actually opened your eyes because there was no fucking difference. You cried when you tried rubbing your eyes and instead felt the starchy bandage.

You didn't cry the fourth day. Nor the fifth day. Or the sixth.

You stopped crying.

It was a strange week. You woke up, a nurse would help you eat food, take you to the bathroom when necessary, give you meds, then you went back to sleep. Day and night made no difference to you.

Armin and a few others came to see you somewhere between day 2 or 3. Armin held your hand and told you to not feel bad. That you had done enough. That your role would not be forgotten. But now it was time for you to rest.

You had laughed, blinking back the tears. You will not cry in front of the kids, you told yourself. Then you congratulated him and blessed him, told him to do his best. That you were so proud of him.

And you couldn't see faces but you could have sworn it was Connie who sniffled and it was Jean who rubbed your back.

And then, nothing.

No one really told you anything anymore. The first few days, you'd ask whoever you can find about what's happening and the latest news. But then you started noticing the annoyed tones and you stopped.

Now you know nothing.

And no one bothered to tell you. Why should they, you were no longer a captain were you?

You were nothing.

It was 2 more weeks later, when you were almost well enough to be discharged and you were used to this new dark world of yours to do basic things by yourself. You were standing by a window, trying to make up for the lack of sight from the warmth of the sunlight on your hands and the fresh air on your face. And you didn't know how you knew but when you heard the click and whirr of something mechanical enter the room, you turned around and smiled.

"Captain."

"Kid."

And after 3 weeks of not crying, you thought you might just cry then. But you swallowed it down.

"You're still gonna call me that?"

"You're one to talk. You still call me captain." He grumbled.

You laughed. It had been years ago when Levi used to be your commanding officer. And then you became a captain yourself. But that never stopped you from calling him by the title, for no other reason than to see him irritated.

"Lost a leg I heard? That why you on a wheelchair?"

"Appears so." Levi had replied in his usual dry tone. Then it had turned softer. "Those ever going to be okay again?"

Wasn't it strange? You thought. How you saw nothing but darkness and yet you can feel his gaze on you. You can picture the exact expression that must be on his face right now, bored, half-lidded, eyes fixed on you, his mouth a straight line. A flat, emotionless face because oh he'd never show you that he cares. But his eyes would be warm and they'd tell you all that you'd ever needed to know.

"Nah." You replied airily. Did he know how bad you wanted to run away from the room right now? You might've attempted it, had it not been for the fact that you can't see shit and you would most definitely stumble and trip over.

You wondered how unpleasant you looked right now. You knew your hair was a mess, you hadn't bothered really taking care of it. And you bet the scars on your face weren't pretty either.

"...forever?" He asked quietly.

"Forever." You confirmed.

And fuck the sun and the moon and the sky.

But you were never going to see Levi and his scowl ever again.

-

It had been one month and you were finally released from the hospital. A nurse followed you for two days, helping you to get familiar with the routes so you could move by yourself. Then you were left alone.

But you were a quick learner. You always were. You figured out soon enough how to live without the existence of light in your world.

And you wondered.

Where do you go from here?

-

You stiffened as you reached the hallway leading up to your room, your hands on the wall. Losing your eyesight had only heightened your other senses. And said senses told you somebody was there, at the end of the hallway, right in front of your room.

"Hey."

You relaxed, a smile quirking up. That voice. You knew that voice. You'd always know that voice. That always bored, tired and monotonous tone of his.

"Pleasant surprise, captain."

He sighed. "For the walls sake, please stop calling me that." He said, almost exasperated.

"Oh, why so?" You slowly shuffled your feet, using the walls to draw a mental map and reached the door of your room. You leaned on the wall beside the door where you guessed Levi was right in front of. "It's meant as a term of respect, captain. Maybe if you just stopped taking it personally?"

"Shut up." He grumbled. "We both know exactly why you call me that. Additionally, you are anything but respectful."

"Now that's just offensive. I only mean the best."

"Fuck off. We're the same rank." Levi paused. "Or at least was." He added bitterly.

"Resigned too, have you?" You asked quietly.

"Not much of a choice, was it? I can't do shit in this state. Plus I'm too old and too tired. Arlert did hope for me to be an advisor but I rejected it."

"Figured. You would've done well though."

"Like I said, I've done my part. What happens rest is up to the brats "

"Mhm." You nodded. "Smart brats though, they'll work it out." You reached for the doorknob, twisting it open. Then you guestured him to come in. "Ah, can you move the chair on your own, or do you need help?"

You heard Levi quietly exhale.

You waited a few seconds. Then sighed.

"You need to learn how to ask for help, you know. I know your hand still hasn't healed. So you could just ask." You told him as you walked over, using your intuition and hands to understand his position. Your hands brushed past his hands before it found the metal handles. You walked behind it to push him in.

"I know." Levi said quietly.

"Just your ego or did you feel guilty cause I'm blind now?" You asked casually. "Also tell me if I'm doing it right, might push you against a chair or something."

"That's fine. Leave it here." Levi replied. You reached behind to shut the door, then plopped on the bed.

"Your rooms a fucking stable, what the fuck." Levi muttered, a hint of disgust in his tone. You chuckled. It shouldn't be too messy, you knew, probably just a few clothes out of place. Leave it to Levi to be dramatic.

"Blind kid here remember? Show some sympathy." You said in mock offense.

You could almost hear Levi's eye roll.

"When are you moving out?" He asked.

"Fuck if I know." You sighed. You knew you couldn't stay much longer in the military quarters. Not when you're no longer a soldier. But you had zero fucking idea where you go next. "I mean, I heard someone saying queen Historia was going to arrange like apartments for the war veterans? Maybe I'll ask for one. Pathetically, like a begger." You muttered the last bit under your breath.

You heard Levi shift in his chair. "You're not pathetic." He said calmly.

"Yeah well." You groaned, dragging a arm over your face."What about you?"

Seconds passed. Levi gave no response.

Another thing losing your sight did was make you overthink every little thing that you couldn't see. "Levi?" You called out warily. "You there?"

You heard the whirl of the chair beside you. "..yeah. I'm here."

"God." You slumped back down. "Don't go fucking silent out of nowhere. I don't like it. Specially not when I can't see shit." It was the helplessness really.

"No. Sorry. I didn't mean to worry you." Levi said quietly.

You shifted. The years you spent with Levi had taught you to read Levi like no other. Levi never showed it on his face but..you could always tell when his tone would change.

"What's bothering you?"

Levi shuffled in his seat. Oh something was bothering him alright.

"What's wrong? Seriously." You felt the anxiety rise. You sat up straight. "Please, please don't be quiet like that. It freaks me out now. Was it me? Did I do something wrong? Ask something wrong?–"

"No." You heard some clicking sounds, almost as if he was fidgeting. "No. It's not you."

"Spit it out then, please." You spoke quietly and slowly, carefully choosing the words. There was a strange tension in the room, it made you feel suffocated. And you hated it. As if the darkness wasn't suffocating enough. "What did you want to say Levi?"

Another few seconds passed.

"Come with me."

You froze.

Somewhere in the room, a clock ticked away, synchronized with your heartbeat.

"...to where?" You asked softly after a pause.

"Marley. Come with me to Marley."

Heavy, heavy breaths. The pounding in your heart almost ached.

"...I don't understand."

"I.." Levi let out an exasperated breath. "Onyankapon offered me to go to Marley with him. Start new. And I thought.. since there's nothing left for you here either..so you might want to.."

And for a second you forgot to breathe. You could tell the exact moment your heart collapsed and your lungs stopped working. And you felt the exact moment time stopped around you.

"..you want me to go to Marley with you?" You asked in a quiet voice. So quiet you wondered if he could hear it. Perhaps you hoped he wouldn't hear it. He wouldn't hear the crack in your voice.

"..yes."

You felt your fingers clench the bedsheets. Just something to hold on to, anything. Because God damnit.

"Thought you didn't like having me around?"

"I don't."

"Yeah?" You laughed, a little breathless. "Have you considered the fact that now that I'm blind I'd be ten times worse to have around? Since I basically can't do shit."

"That's your concern?" He asked frustratedly.

"A valid concern. I will not be a burden Levi. I refuse to be."

"Shit, no." Levi huffed. "You're not a burden. And you're not pathetic. And before you even go there, no I'm not showing pity on you. So shut up."

You smiled. "No?" No, you knew. Levi was never the type to do things out of pity. And if that's the case.. "And what are we going to be there in Marley, Levi?"

"What?" He asked in a confused voice.

"We're going to live together as in what? Old comrades?" You swallowed, heart hammering against your chest. "Friends?"

Levi stayed quiet.

And you almost choked then, as the realization hit you. The silence gave you your answer. The last answer you thought it'd be. And there was pain, pain, pain. Everywhere. In your head and your heart.

You wanted it. So bad.

But he deserved better than you, didn't he? Someone who could take care of him, not someone who needed to be taken care of.

But he wants me.

The thought sent a fresh wave of pain along your chest. He wants me.

How could someone like him, want me?

But maybe, just maybe…

Just this once. You'll let yourself be greedy.

"I'll go."

"What?" Levi's voice was breathless. There was disbelief in it.

"I'll come with you to Marley, captain."

And for the first time since then, you let yourself cry. You let tears roll down your face and you let the sobs take you. And this time, when your fingers clenched around the bedsheet, his fingers slowly, tentatively wrapped around yours. And it told you everything he never got to say. All the things he didn't dare say.

And when he gently tugged on you, you didn't resist. You let him pull you to him as you wrapped your hands around him, curling up on his lap. And you cried, hands pressed to your face as your shoulders shook, and you cried because it's the first time you felt safe since you woke up in the dark.

It's okay. It was him, wasn't it? How could you not feel safe with him?

He'd die for you.

Levi and you. Levi and you. Isn't that how it always were?

In the battlefields, in trainings, in expeditions..

When have you ever looked over your shoulder and not found him scowling at you?

Levi's hands ever so gently wrapped around your shoulder, another hand smoothing the stray strands of hair out of your face when you felt his lips press to the top of your head. And it was the lightest whisper but you heard it.

"Thank you." He whispered.

And you nodded. Again. And again.

It's okay. You'll be okay.

He'll always be there.

-

"Levi?" You stood by the kitchen doorway, hands planted on the door. Your fingers flexed instinctively, braced for anything unexpected.

"Right here." He called out, and you immediately relaxed at the confirmation of his presence. You reached out your hand, searching for him. He took it, gently tugging you forwards towards him. You grinned when his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

"Hi."

"Good morning to you too."

"I thought I told you to wake me up before you leave the bed?" You pout.

"Sorry. You looked peaceful."

You laughed hearing his answer. But you tipped up to plant a peck on his lips. Missed halfway though, you could never get the kiss right. "Seriously though. I freak out, you know that."

He let you go, ruffling your hair. "Yeah I know, you paranoid little shit. What, did you think I got abducted by aliens or something?"

"One can never know." You say airily. And though it was meant as a joke, you didn't tell him the real answer. It's everyday you're scared that one day, you'll wake up and he won't be there anymore.

"Go sit down, breakfast is almost ready."

"I think I'd stay around here a little while." You listened keenly to the sounds of his steps, the splatter of oil and something being pieced on the cutting board. Your nose perked up.

"Eggs and bacon?" You guessed as you walked over towards the kitchen counter. You used your hands to feel out an empty spot, then heaved yourself to sit there so your legs dangled.

"I'm feeling generous today, so I made pancakes too. Whatever you're in the mood for." He replied, the sound coming just beside you.

"No wonder why I love you." You beamed brightly.

"Because I feed you?" He scoffed.

"Indeed." You winced slightly when he flicked your forehead. "Hey!"

"Brat." He murmered.

You grinned, rubbing your forehead.

"What's the day like Levi?"

It had become an everyday routine of yours to ask the question. And Levi was never very good at making aesthetic descriptions but he tried. For you.

A lot of things had changed in Levi Ackerman's life. One of them was perhaps this.

He never really cared about the appearance of things. Colors were just colors to him, the sky was blue, the trees were green. That's it. It was you who loved it, you'd nitpick every little detail.

"It's not blue, it's like a pastel indigo you know? With a hint of green? Like, like turquoise I don't know-" You'd ramble and he'd scoff.

You loved everything and anything. All of it memerized you. You swooned everytime you saw a rainbow, got giddy everytime it snowed. And it used to be everyday, you forced Levi to look at the sky "cause it's so fucking pretty today!"

Colors didn't matter to Levi much until he met you.

He didn't care about colors but he cared when they were on you.

He liked the color of your eyes, how it'd change shades in the sun and how it went perfect with the color of your skin. He liked the color of your hair, of your lips, of every outfit you ever wore. He liked how the green of Scouts would look on you.

But it was always you who thought colors are the most wonderful thing in the universe.

Sometimes you'd lean uncomfortably close, squinting in concentration as you observed his face.

"What?" He'd cringe.

"You have pretty eyes." You'd mumble.

"It's fucking gray."

"Not quite. It's like silver but with a tinge of blue. Stormy clouds and moonlight."

He found it cruel that the world took away your only source of joy.

So there he was, every morning, trying to explain the exact shades of color that was on the sky today. One time he accidentally called the sunlight yellow and you were mad offended. "It's golden!"

Levi didn't mind though, not really.

Not when he gets to see the way your face brighten up with every little detail.

"Can I help?" You asked after a while.

"Yeah no. You'll burn my kitchen down."

"Please? I'll be careful, promise." You whined, jumping down from the counter. You brought your hands in a pleading gesture.

"Fine." He muttered. "Do the eggs then."

"Oh but I always end up breaking the yolk."

"Well don't break the yolk. Be careful."

He watched you as you cracked an egg in the bowl. You stiffened up immediately.

"Broke the yolk didn't I?"

"Yes" he snorted. "You're eating that one."

"Sorry. I'm such a mess." You mumbled.

Levi sighed. You got insecure when you couldn't help.

"If you want to help you can go wash the dishes."

That cheered you right up.

His eyes followed you as you practically bounced towards the sink.

That was another thing Levi had to get used to. Your energy.

Levi has always been a kept-low person. He's calm and quiet. Never talked unless he had to. Then you came and you were this big ball of pure chaos and he never knew how to quite keep up with you.

He loved it though, he loved how you expressed emotions so freely, how you rambled on about the smallest things so easily. He loved it all and he loved you.

The loss of light in your world had never changed a thing about you.

He often wondered what it must be like, living in the dark like that. At first, it was strange for him, how you'd always seem to notice his presence before he even entered the room. You'd turn around and give the brightest smile. It was strange how your silver orbs looked straight in his eyes yet he was aware you saw nothing. How you'd hear the smallest sounds, notice the barest shifts in the air.

You loved the rain, and you loved the snow. You said it was nice to at least feel the world every once in a while.

But there were things that always broke his heart as well. How you were always so tense, the way you'd start panicking the moment you reach out and can't find him beside you. Sometimes, you'd be so dazed in doing something or perhaps sleeping, and he'd touch you and you'd flinch or jump on your feet. Then on, he learned gently knocking before entering any room you were in so to not startle you.

You were always the careful one. The on your toes one. You never let your guard down. Back in the scouts, your instincts never failed to impress him. So he often wondered what it must be like you for now, now that you lost one of your biggest advantages. When so much of your life you passed relying on your vision. After losing your eyes, you have only become more tense. One little unusual sound and you'd go rigid. He absolutely hated the helpless look that'd take place on your features when you'd struggle with something.

He hated how you never asked for help.

And he hated how sometimes you'd have nightmares in the middle of the night and you'd wake up, overwhelmed when you saw nothing but darkness. You'd forget the loss of your vision and you'd panic when no matter how much you screamed, you can't seem to wake yourself up. And he had to hold you, he had to calm you down, he had to remind you. And he hated, absolutely hated the look that'd take place after the daze passes and you realize there's no escaping the darkness.

Sometimes, you'd ask about your scars. You'd ask if they were hideous. And Levi would press a kiss on your temple, and that'd be an answer in itself. But yet, sometimes he found you going over the torn tissues of your face, expression scrunching with every feel of the ragged surface around your eyes. He'd always take your hand and press it to his own face, as a reminder.

Then you'd trace his ones. You'd go over the scars that ran from his eye to his chin gently. You remember those, you still had your sight when Hange had stiched them up. But it helps you ground yourself.

A reminder that you weren't the only one.

Sometimes you'd go out, you and him. And before Levi had gotten the prosthetic leg, you used to push him around. It was perfect really, Levi were your eyes and so you helped him move.

And then it was Levi's hands entertwined with yours as he'd guide you around the streets. You liked parks, for the feel of bare grass underneath your feet.

Sometimes Gabi and Falco would join. During then, it'd be Gabi who'd enthusiastically tell you little details of the world around you. And she was definitely better than Levi so he'd stay quiet. "A black cat just passed by and it exactly looked like Mr. Levi, like, like with the scowl and everything-"

Sometimes, Reiner, Pieck and Onyankapon would come visit. And those days, nothing could wipe the grin off your face. You liked it when there were people in the house. You liked it when it was loud.

Levi didn't like loud. But he liked that it made you happy. It made you feel safe in that dark world of yours. It reminded you that you weren't stuck in your own head, you were here, with everyone else.

A lot of things had changed in Levi's life, but he didn't mind.

Not really.

He liked how easily you'd reach out to hold him when you'd lose balance or you needed to know where he was. He liked how your kisses were so sloppy and almost always missed and the way you'd get so embarrassed. He liked how your tense shoulders would relax once you realized it was him before you.

How you trusted him with your life.

A lot of things had changed in Levi Ackermans life.

You had brought love into it.

And he doesn't think he'll ever be able to let you go.

[strangerstolovers444]

for @sakuradeservedbetter91

[strangerstolovers444]

NoRegrets!Levi fucks you because he is curious and desperate for it. It's his need as a young man to explore you, to get to know your body. He isn't that experienced but he still has you squirming beneath him when his cock is pounding you. His thrusts are sloppy and fast, his grip on your hips a little too tight but you don't mind, it feels so good, he feels so good. "Fucking....fuck.." The curses that leave his mouth are a reminder that you're making him feel like he is on cloud nine. He doesn't kiss you on the lips a lot instead he leaves marks all over your neck, it's why he loves doing you in missionary, he needs to know that you're feeling pleasure. And he will get better each time you have sex until he has learned your body fully.

Season1!Levi fucks you because he can't show his feelings for you otherwise. He is in denial, he can't love, not now when he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. Levi can't go a week without having you in his bed, he craves your body moving with his. "Good girl." He growls into your ear as he fucks you in doggy style, your legs feel like they are bout to give out, he isn't being gentle at all. You fall down onto the sheets and he slides out of you for a moment before laying on top of you, his cock penetrating you again. "Oh come on. I know my girl can take it." He bites into your shoulder as he rolls his hips against yours, loving the way you're whining for him.

Season2!Levi fucks you because he needs release. He is frustrated that he can't fight because his leg is injured, but that doesn't stop him from propping you on his office desk and sliding your panties down your legs before entering you. "Wet. I haven't even done anything, you naughty brat." He grunts his hips start moving, his cock slamming deep inside of you. "Fuck yeah. You love it when u fuck this pussy like this don't you?" Your nails dig into his shoulder when he starts to move quicker, despite his leg hurting he thrusts mercilessly into you, the desk shaking under you. He feels your pussy clamp down on him, his eyes roll back slightly before he pulls out and cums over your thighs.

Season3!Levi fucks you because he can be himself with you. Everyone is asking too much from him. He is tired of it. He kisses you on the lips, your tongue playing with his, the rough grip on your thighs makes a shiver run down your spine as he does you against the wall, your legs wrapped around him tightly. Your fingers are in his hair as you moan his name, tugging on his black hair. Pulling away from the kiss, Levi looks at your face memorizing every expression you make. His cock slodes in and out of you, the lewd noises only fire him up more. At this point he doesn't care who can hear you. In fact, it's rather indulging for him, he hasn't claimed you as his yet but you are, his and only his. "Can fuck this tight cunt all fucking day." He nibbles on your ear when you can around him but he doesn't stop. Overstimulating you until you can't talk anymore.

Season4!Levi fucks you because he wants reassurance. Your hands are pinned above your head, his fingers interlocked with yours, his warm body moving on top of you at a passionate pace. "That's it. Fuck, you feel so good." You whimper, your fingers squeezing his hand tighter, eyes rolling at the back of your head. Levi kisses your face, he is deep, and he knows that you can feel every inch of his cock. You're here, you're under him and he is so grateful for that. Releasing your hands, Levi takes a pillow and puts it under your hips to be even deeper inside of your pussy. You moan his name when he starts to slam into you so hard that the bed squeaks, your hand gripping the sheets. His hands rest on your waist, he slows down his movements to make sure that he is as deep as he can be, fucking you hard like you both need it. "Let me cum inside, baby. Shit." You nod your head and without another word, his cum fills you up to the brim.

Postwar!Levi fucks you because he can finally love you in peace. His arms are wrapped around you as you slowly move on top of him, your hips moving back and forth, pushing his cock into your depths. He isn't scared anymore to kiss you on the lips, to tell you how beautiful you look. It's done, he can finally give you all of himself and his time. "You're so fucking pretty. I don't deserve you." His hand reaches up to squeeze your breast, playing with your nipple. You lean down and kiss him, moaning against his mouth. Levi lets you do all the work and he loves it, he loves that you don't put pressure on his back. Pulling away from the kiss, your pussy clenches on his cock making him hiss. "You're gonna cum for me? Yeah?" His other hand rubs the side of your face, you squeeze his biceps and then cum on him, it doesn't take Levi long to cum after that. And you go for another round because you can and he will whisper a quiet "I love you" as you sleep next to him.

[strangerstolovers444]

until then - levi x reader

Summary:

In this cruel world, it is hard to believe that there’s any meaning to be found. But she means something and so does he. In this cruel world, saying those three words has more meaning than anything, which must be why it is so terrifying to say.

Inspired by No Big Deal (I Love You) by dodie.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

POV: Third Person

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46121158

In the morning, we don't say it,

Share the water, that's how we play it

The sun is only just beginning to rise but Levi is awake, body leaning against the counter as he waits for the kettle to boil. She is awake too, suppressing a yawn as she enters the kitchen, silently acknowledging him with a bob of her head. He nods back and turns to pick another tea cup from the cupboard, polishing it with a cloth and putting it down next to his own, adding green pines to it.

They move around each other without speaking. She pours the water into their cups and he places saucers onto the table next to the window overseeing the ground of the Headquarters. She tops up her tea with cold water but leaves his alone.

Both captains sit as the room fills with golden light. Levi’s eyes close, his head turned towards the rising sun. She squints against the glow, delicately sipping at her tea. The toes of their boots touch under the table.

In the shower, yeah we save it

Share the water, that's how we play it

She winces as Levi lowers her into the steaming bathtub, the warmth numbing the pains shooting up and down her spine. He’s slow and careful, hands gentle under her arms, so unlike his earlier rushing around when he had been boiling vats of water and scattering dried rosemary and lavender into the bath. He doesn’t believe that the shrubs make a difference, but she believes they do. The aftermath of the expedition has left her too tired to bring this up, but he remembers. 

Levi’s eyebrows pinch together as he watches her hands grip onto the rim of the tub, her breathing shallow and her knuckles white. He sits down on a crate, elevated so he can reach her when she needs him. When she does, he supports her shoulders as he rubs soap through her wet hair. He moves his hand down her back, touch light as he inspects her bruises, muttering apologies when she sucks in air through her teeth. He had been quick enough to prevent the Titan from crushing her but had not spared her entirely from all damage.

She sees the lines on his forehead smooth out when his hands touch the hot water. “Get in.”

He shakes his head, lowering her back down to wash out the soap. “I’m not the injured one here.”

 “You have military baths everyday and never afford yourself this kind of treatment. Just get in before it gets cold.”

So he does after some gentle persuasion, climbing in and sitting behind her, holding onto the sides of the tub so she can lean against his chest. He sighs as the heat engulfs him, easing his sore muscles in a way cold water never does.

Her head rests against his left shoulder and she asks him if it’s nice. He shrugs with his other shoulder and says it’s alright. They stay there until the water cools.

I don't mind, say I care, you're the best

Yeah, you hold me like its already said

New headstones line at the front of the expanse of graves where fallen soldiers – or parts of them – rest. The Survey Corps hold their salutes but they don’t stay long, moving away as dark clouds begin to darken the sky.

She stays, looking down at the white slabs and the names carved into the stone. Not all graves are occupied, which pains her, but every grave has a name, which is the next best thing. He stays too, coming to stand next to her. To them, just the names aren’t enough.

She clasps her hands together. “We did what we could.”

He makes a bitter sound. “It’s never enough.”

 “You’re here. That means there’s more we can do.”

 “Don’t say that as if you aren’t here too.”

She doesn’t reply. A tear rolls down her cheek. Levi’s hand comes to rest on her back. The rain begins to fall but they don’t move.

I don't mind, I will do this dance

For the rest of my life, for as long as you want

The candle in Levi’s room is burning low and his eyelids are heavy but he keeps writing at his desk. She’s sat on his bed reading, her arms drooping with the weight of the book every so often. Once in a while she peers over her pages to look at the man hunched over papers. His shoulders are tense, his writing painstakingly slow, his free hand propping up his chin. He doesn’t stop when she asks him to. She doesn’t argue but doesn’t stop peeking at him.

When the candle snuffs out, Levi turns around to see her asleep, book open on her face like it is most nights. And like most nights, he gets up and pries it from her fingers, setting it down on the bedside table. He carefully throws a blanket over her and tucks it under her chin, fingers brushing against her neck as he does so. He lies down next to her.

This, too, happens most nights. She has her own room and bed that Levi could force her to move to, but he never does. If he did, then maybe she wouldn’t come back every evening when the day was done.

He doesn’t sleep, instead using his time to memorise the details of her face, so that when the day comes where she loses like the others, he can remember her.

She dreams of him, dreams that devolve into nightmares. When she wakes, she turns to find him and he’s still there, still alive, even if it’s just for now.

Not that I wouldn't say it first 'cause I would

It's no big deal

They had met when Levi was recruited by Erwin for the Survey Corps. He had been cold and indifferent but she had made an effort to be civil anyway. The two other soldiers who had followed him had been more approachable – the girl had been quick to befriend her, which tempered his manner towards her somewhat.

She had seen the aftermath of his encounter with the Titan that killed his friends. She had wrapped up the girl’s head in her own cape to bring back with them. He had carried the upper body of the boy on his back, refusing any assistance. He had insisted they be burned instead of buried like the other soldiers, which was only allowed because of hers and Erwin’s insistence that these soldiers be an exception.

The ashes are in an urn that sits on an empty bookshelf. Levi cleans it twice a week.

On the anniversary of their passing, he tells her about their time in the underground and the many memories he has of them. She listens and holds his hand, even though she has heard them before. He smiles when he speaks of them, albeit a small one. To her, it’s worth all the smiles in the world.

Levi is voluntarily vulnerable one evening a year.

Look at me like that, hold your breath 'cause we're good

It's no big deal

News reaches everyone that Wall Maria has fallen. They are sent out to help with the evacuation into Wall Rose and protect the civilians. She finds her family’s house has been destroyed by the debris. She doesn’t find any remnant of them in the rubble. She doesn’t find them as they do a head count during the evacuation.

She doesn’t cry or shout or get upset. She works and fights and kills like she’s done before, but she is reckless and sloppy and uncaring. She doesn’t speak unless she’s giving orders. The others try to talk to her but after several days they stop trying.

Levi doesn’t try to speak to her at all but he doesn’t leave her alone. He makes her breakfast and gives her a kick when she doesn’t touch it straightaway. He speaks on her behalf if needed and takes on her paperwork. He stays with her until she falls asleep. He never says a word.

Two weeks pass and they’re in the kitchen at night. She stares out of the window into the darkness, the heat from her teacup numb to her as Levi sets it down. He touches her toe with his own but she doesn’t respond.

It’s the smell of the spiced apple tea that brings her back to the present, memories of the pies her mother used to make for the family when she was young. And then she’s crying. Her eyes, which had been dry since the days the wall fell, are spilling over with tears and she heaves as inhuman sounds force themselves from her throat.

Arms come around her and she falls against Levi, her sobs becoming muffled against his stomach. He says nothing, keeping steady and running his fingers through her unwashed hair without flinching away from the texture or the feeling of her nails digging into his sides.

When she finally pulls away to steady her breathing, Levi’s white sleep shirt is sodden. The first word she has said in weeks sounds broken and raspy.

 “I’m sorry.”

Levi shows no concern for his clothing – only for her. He touches her cheek, wiping some of the wetness away. She cries for the rest of the night and he’s right there with her.

On a Sunday we're together

God I love you, says not one of us ever

She holds a bag of ice to Levi’s ankle, lips tightening when he hisses at the pain. After days of not properly resting, she had insisted that he stop going around as if everything was fine, so, much to his annoyance, he’s sitting in his bed with his injury propped up and he’s going to stay there like that all day.

She pays no attention to his complaints, mindful of his swollen ankle as she tends to it. With all the insanity occurring around them, she’s grateful that he can have a chance to rest and silently glad that she can too. The meetings surrounding what took place in Stohess are still occurring and she’s happy she doesn’t have to be involved today.

Levi swears under his breath and she looks up with concern. His jaw is tense and eyes are shut but he waves at her dismissively. She sets the pack so it covers the inflamed area and moves the chair closer to his side, poking his side and avoiding his hand swatting her away.

 “Shall I read to you?”

He opens one eye and glares at her. “I’ve not been made completely useless, you know.”

She ignores him and picks up her novel. It’s romance, something Levi hates, but he listens anyway – the bizarre things happening as of late are giving him daily headaches and comprehending not only the brat’s ability to transform, but his fellow cadet too, only makes it worse. Her voice doesn’t.

She changes his ice pack after a couple of hours. She brings him dinner and later some tea. She carefully bandages his ankle and foot, giving him some stern words about getting up in the night.

As she gets up to leave, Levi calls her name softly. “Thank you.”

She smiles and it’s beautiful.

In the half light, where you tease me

God I love you would be far too easy

Levi reaches up to the top shelf but his fingers barely skim the boxes. He grumbles to himself as he pushes up on the counter, balancing his knees on the wood before stretching up and successfully grabbing onto the packaging.

His silent satisfaction is interrupted by an ugly snort from behind him. He turns, face hot as he sees her stood in the doorway, hand covering her mouth. Her eyes are crinkled and shining.

Levi climbs down quickly and leaves the box on the side before approaching her. “Something funny, captain?”

She shakes her head. “Just enjoying the view. Would you like help with the rest?”

 “Absolutely not.” He draws himself up on his tiptoes, bringing them to the same height and nose to nose. He grimaces without malice when she giggles again. “Laugh one more time and I’ll teach you a lesson, brat.”

Levi’s features twitch when she touches the top of his head, patting it like she would to a child before carding her fingers through his bangs. “Just because I can’t pull rank on the likes of you doesn’t mean I won’t try.”

He tuts and takes her hand away. He doesn’t let go of it.

Not that I wouldn't say it first 'cause I would

It's no big deal

The cabin is still dirty, despite the new Squad Levi’s hard work. Night has fallen but Levi is still scrubbing away at the floor, his back aching and breathing shallow from the smell of chemicals. Any movements he hears are unimportant to him, knowing it will be one of the kids shuffling around in their rooms. He works, even though he knows that sleep in these times matter more than this grubby hut being his standard of clean. Still, he keeps going.

Her letter is in his pocket and his mind wanders without his permission. She’s with Hange, the compromise they came to when she refused to hide in the city and when Levi put his foot down about her joining his squad to protect Eren and Historia. She had been furious at him and most likely still is, but the night they had evacuated, she had pressed folded paper into his palm and hugged him tightly.

The threat of the government seems ridiculous compared to the threat of the Titans, but she had taken it seriously. Her letter is short and half full of expletives, but also of concern and care, for the kids and for him.

He keeps it on his person, tucked away in his breast pocket. He almost cries when they regroup after Kenny’s attack and it’s gone.

Look at me like that, hold your breath 'cause we're good

It's no big deal

The Survey Corps cape is laid over Erwin’s body, covering his face and wounds. She watches him painstakingly tuck the green fabric around their fallen commander and friend, swallowing hard to try and rid herself of the lump in her throat.

Levi’s shoulders are shaking when he stands, his head bent. She approaches him carefully and puts her arm around him, ready to catch him when he falls. And he does, his nails paring skin off his cheeks, his back hunching as he begins to cry. She braces as he collapses, her own tears following his so easily she almost forgets that this is the first time she’s seen him cry like this since he lost his friends all those years ago.

She mumbles words and phrases that are unintelligible against the back of his neck and he makes sounds akin to a wounded animal.

Hange finds them and they envelop the two in a shaky embrace. When they pull away and ask if they’re ready to go, she waits for Levi to raise his head and make the call. He holds onto her for a little longer, looking to Erwin’s body for a lost reassurance before agreeing to return.

They salute the commander and Levi lets out a gasp. She clutches his hand, anchoring him.

It's no big deal

Sparkling blue stretches out as far as the eye can see. The clear water as bright and colourful as the sky is a sight it takes minutes to comprehend. The kids play in the sea and Hange shrieks about its saltiness, continuing to taste it despite Levi’s stern words against it.

She gazes out at the view. The world as they know it is so much more vast than what they are currently seeing, and they are people walking about it, knowing of this island’s existence and praying for the day they are all destroyed. All these wonders she had heard about in hushed tones from her parents, the wonders that Armin had marvelled at – they are wonders that they are not allowed to touch.

Levi comes up to her side. She glances down to see he’s taken off his boots and socks and she smiles.

 “So, you’ve been tempted.”

 “It was either voluntary or an attempted attack by the idiot three over there.” He nods his head towards Sasha, Jean, and Connie.

She hums, looking back out at the ocean. “He would hate this, wouldn’t he?” she asks softly.

Levi’s eyes close. “He’d be so disappointed.”

They do not touch. It’s painful not to.

I'll say it here, I'll tell you soon

Until then I love you

The airship door opens and they get a look at the city below them. This is the rest of the world and the start of the war.

She looks to Levi as he tightens his gear and she adjusts the neck his cape, the only Survey Corp member still clinging to the old uniform. Fingers brush against his jugular and she feels him swallow.

She tells him to be safe. He rolls his eyes. She grips the fabric. “Promise that you’ll come back in one piece.”

There’s a fierceness and fear laced in her words.

The words fail him. He touches her wrist.

I'll say it here, I'll tell you soon

Until then I love you

Hange had warned her but she cries anyway at the sight of the bandaged broken man laid out on the wooden cart. Levi’s hair is the only identifiable thing about him, his face covered with gauze and his body shrouded by white cloth. She does not speak in fear of waking him, but selfishly wishes he will stir so she can try to relax.

Hange watches her worry over him, crouching by his side. Their eye is glassy and their hands are trembling.

 “I don’t know how he’s still alive,” they whisper. “He should be dead. Perhaps – perhaps it would be better if he –”

 “We’d all be better dead,” she says. “We’re the only ones who will be alive when this ends. If Levi keeps living, it means that this isn’t ending yet. Not this way.” She moves his bangs away from his forehead.

Hange furrows their brow. “How can you… after everything, you two… how are you not afraid?”

She exhales and shuts her eyes. “I’m always afraid. So is he. It’s what makes it work.”

 “It doesn’t. You know it will kill you. Suffering is a part of loss, but the things unsaid is what will kill you.”

 “… I know.”

She can’t look at Hange but her eyes open to look upon Levi again. He’s moving, his one visible eye twitching before it opens. The pupil dilates and focuses on her.

The words fail her. She touches his hair again. “You broke your promise.”

He can only look back at her.

I'll say it here, I'll tell you soon

Levi’s trying to get out of the bunk on the ship but she’s holding him down, saddened that for the first time, she’s winning in a battle of strength between the two of them.

 “I need to go,” he growls, scrabbling weakly against her arms. “You’d rather me waste away on this godforsaken ship?”

 “I’d rather you be alive,” she says, her voice breaking as she pins his wrists down. One hand is still wrapped in bandages, two of his fingers missing. The gauze covering his face had fallen away as their journey progressed, but he still has only one eye visible, and it’s clouded with anger and frustration.

 “Like I’d let you all die in place of me – I have a job to do – I promised him.”

She screws her eyes shut. The boat had docked but the world is still swaying. “I can’t let you do this.”

Levi stops struggling but the fight doesn’t die. He stares up at her with a vulnerable defiance. And he asks: “why can’t you?”

He challenges her. He says her name. He challenges her in a way he’s refused to do for around a decade now. If she answers him truthfully, then surrendering to her demands will be easier. And she knows it.

He repeats the question, sitting up against her slackened grip. Their noses are touching. Her hands are still loosely gripping his wrists. His breathing is shallow.

A tear falls from her left eye.

 “I can’t… please, Levi. I… we… we need you.”

She doesn’t say it. Neither does he. That’s how the song and dances goes, how it’s gone all this time.

She loses this fight.

Until then I love you

The flying boat is approaching the billowing steam. The shellshocked soldiers begin to murmur amongst themselves as they prepare their spears and their descent into hell.

He’s there next to her like he’s always been. He knows this will be the last time they will fight side by side. Hange is gone. Erwin is gone. Hundreds of soldiers and comrades are gone. Everyone in the machine is all that humanity has left. She’s all he has left.

She looks at him in a manner she has done thousands of times before. That, too, will be the last time.

His lips are dry and rough and sudden against her own. Her surprise is muffled by his mouth.

It’s over before it has begun. This last time just so happens to be the first time too. 

(I wouldn’t say it first, I wouldn’t say it)

Levi rips Pieck away from her father. He rips himself away from Jean and Connie. He can’t look at her because if he does, he know he will stay.

They fly away from the gas and Levi knows he has to look. He has to be there with her in these final moments.

Her eyes are locked on him. She stands alone in the crowd watching them rise above them. She says something and Levi knows that it’s his name.

Her name dries up on his tongue as she transforms into the beautiful abomination that had been their enemy five years ago. A Titan that he will not be able to kill.

The enemy still stands and is still fighting. Levi grits his teeth and snarls. They will not have fallen for nothing.

He fights for humanity and the love he still has within himself for this pitiful existence – he fights for her.

I’ll say it here, I’ll tell you soon

Her memories feel distant and are not all hers, but she is here, alive. They’re all alive.

Her head turns with a desperation she hasn’t felt since her family’s death, searching the scorched earth for him. She stumbles to her feet, touching her friends’ shoulders as she passes them.

Levi is collapsed onto the ground staring at the dust and steam. He’s alive.

She can’t bear it as she crumples to her knees in front of him, the weight of the world crushing her lungs as it falls away. Her cry is not the only one that fills the air as she holds the sides of his face. He mirrors her, fingers pressing into her cheeks as his mouth twists with an impossible combination of joy and misery.

Their foreheads connect with more force than intended but it doesn’t matter. He intertwines their fingers together and she doesn’t mind the odd sensation of his missing digits. They cry to the point where neither of them can speak, but they don’t have to. Perhaps it’s ignorant of them to believe that they have time, but they do.

Not that I wouldn't say it first 'cause I would

It's no big deal

As the oldest and longest serving Survey Corps members, she and Levi had earned their retirement. So, they vacate to one of the surviving towns when it’s safe to do so, taking Falco and Gabi under their care, though they don’t particularly need it. Onyakopon visits them to help them acclimate to the change and to update them on the Alliance’s plans for peace.

Healing is difficult but they have each other. They have the kids. And they have time.

Despite everything, they find themselves repeating their routines from lifetimes ago. He boils the kettle and she pours the water. Their feet touch under the table. She retrieves items from higher shelves. He tucks her in when she falls asleep before him. They sleep beside each other.

Inevitably, things are also different. He requires a wheelchair as standing for more than five minutes drains him of all his energy. Her hands are ensnared with tremors that can calm but do not cease. He is paralysed with night terrors that have him screaming when he finally wrestles free. When heat feels overbearing, she becomes suffocated and only stops hyperventilating when put under a cold shower.

They adapt and adjust and help each other like they always have. Her arms come around him in the night. His hands style her hair in the mornings. She insists on pushing him around when they leave the house and he does not object, reading as go about. He lets her sit in his lap when they stop in the park and they read together.

Their lips find each other. That too is different, but it feels as routine as their oldest habits.

Words become easier to say as time passes and wounds heal and safety envelops them. She is kind. He is beautiful. She is a pain. He is stubborn. She’s her best when she is waking. He’s his best when he is ready to sleep. They are best when they’re together.

The words do not fail.

Levi’s on the bed. She’s tying his shoes, despite his complaining that he can do it perfectly fine on his own. He rolls his eyes but then sees that she has pulled up his sock for him and straightened his trouser ankle the way he does. She does the same to the other leg, taking her time to make it even just as he does.

She straightens up, on her knees in front of him, and she smiles. “Satisfied?”

 “I love you.”

It’s easy.

Look at me like that, hold your breath 'cause we're good

It's no big deal

Her smile widens. Her eyes glisten. His eyes are wet too and he’s smiling. The scarred side of his mouth doesn’t turn all the way up so he is a little lopsided and there’s nothing more beautiful than that. She laughs and it’s the loveliest sound in the world. She shuffles closer, rising herself on her knees so they’re at eye level. He touches her cheek and he’s content. Almost.

She leans in and their lips brush against each other.

 “I love you too.”

It’s that easy.