#and you can tell if someone's a kitten or adult by which side they fall on XD

[per-the-jellicle-magician]

Once again I've been a fool who thought i knew everything there is to be known about Warsaw

Only to be humbled by discovering a slight but ??? interaction that Bomba and Misto have in like the first 2 mins of Jellicle songs

It's ??? cuz she seems to be making out or smth with a pole she's holding on to, Skimble seems to be confused/judgy when he notices and she stops when Misto, who stands below her, like look up at her and looks around?

Idk, maybe it counts as an interaction or not, but I know i had no fucking idea she was even in that spot and i've watched this boot literally hundreds of times in the last over 3 years so there's that

[transmascutena]

the drowning motif in utena is so interesting because of how consistently it shows up across the different iterations of the story, while also being distinctly different in each one.

in the manga utena is saved from drowning by dios. she falls in the river when running away after learning her parents died, so i assume its meant to symbolize her grief. dios saves her, literally by getting her out of the water, and symbolically by inspiring her to be a prince and giving her the will to live again, much like in the show. although there's no anthy this time. and like the drowning in the other iterations of the story, the hero dies (i think?? i'll be honest i had a hard time following parts of the manga especially in regards to dios and akio and what the hell happened with them. dios might have died earlier and this is his spirit helping utena like in the duel at the end ? i don't really remember.)

and then there's the show where, during the final duel, juri tells the story about the boy who drowned saving her sister, and a parallel is clearly being drawn to utena who is trying to save anthy. like the boy, utena will succeed*, but "die" and be forgotten. this time, she is in the role of tragic hero.

(*she doesn't succeed in literally saving anthy, just in helping anthy save herself, but you know this)

the show also has the kitten nanami drowns. it is obviously symbolic of a lot of things in nanami's arc, but i also think a less direct parallel can again be drawn to utena. in the same episode there is the scene where utena thinks anthy is talking to her, when really she's talking to a kitten, after all. and like the kitten nanami pushed into the river because it took her brother's attention, so too does anthy "kill" utena when she chooses to side with akio over her in the final duel (although, of course her motivations for doing so are nothing as simple as jealousy, which doesn't even factor into it at all.) utena is the boy and the cat, the "hero" and the victim.

the movie has a sort of remixed version of juri's story, where she is the victim (not her sister) and touga is the tragic hero. utena is just a witness this time, but really, it's still about her in the end. when she remembers how touga died, that's when she can finally let go of the entire idea of the prince. of the saviour. the movie centers the drowning motif the most out of all the versions, and i think it's supposed to really hammer home what the show was saying about not being able to help people by throwing yourself headfirst into "saving" them. you'll get hurt in the process, and your sacrifice will be forgotten. in juri's story, the boy's sacrifice didn't even help her sister; she was rescued by an adult, someone who probaly had a better idea of how to actually meaningfully help. the boy just recklessly threw himself in the water, and ultimately his death had no meaning at all. since the stories are so similar, i assume the same is true for touga in the movie.

(although, saving someone from drowning doesn't really work as a one to one allegory for saving someone from an abusive relationship, because you kind of do have to pull someone out if they can't swim. or they'll, you know, die. there's a lot less nuance there about what the right thing to do is. but i think the point is that you have to know how to help, what works, what the person you're helping needs from you. you cannot just do whatever you think makes you look bravest or the most like a hero.)

[valle-de-sombra-de-muerte]

Homestuck Reread: Act 3, Part 2/3 (p. 892-1026)

Read the previous post here.

The second third of Act 3 introduces yet another new character: the Peregrine Mendicant.

PM is obsessed with the sanctity of the postal service in the same way WV is obsessed with democracy. The exiles hold dear symbols of their lost civilization while they're stranded in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. They cling to the desperate hope that society can one day be rebuilt as long as the memory of these institutions are kept alive.

Also, "brave soldiers of God in this righteous crusade"? I didn't realize these chess people were so Christian.

The fact that Mom Lalonde has her own secret littlespace in the lab is something that I never see anyone talk about. Can we please talk more about this grown woman who knows the world is going to end in her lifetime, who drinks every day to distract herself from that cursed knowledge, and also has this whole secret setup where she can hide away and pretend to be a little kid with no responsibilities?

This was probably all beyond Hussie's capabilities as a writer, so of course this is never elaborated on. What a hack. Maybe I'll write a fanfic about this myself one of these days.

Jade falls asleep in the foyer where Grandpa Harley's remains are and we get this unnecessary "psycheout" where instead of transitioning to Dave's POV, the next page immediately follows with Jade's "strife" with her dead grandpa. It's another lame interactive page like the one where she plays the flute (which I didn't mention last post because it's a waste of time).

Hussie "trolling" the reader is a character trait that he unfortunately leans into more and more as time passes.

It also would've been nice if it were better acknowledged that Jade has essentially raised herself for most of her life. What kind of strain would that put on a child's development? Obviously a lot if she's having imaginary arguments with her dead grandfather.

If Jade had been written as someone who was socially stunted from being raised without an adult human presence (she was raised by a fucking dog, remember?), and uses excessive positivity both because she literally doesn't know how to interact with others, and also as a mask to hide the stress she's under from experiencing constant visions of doomsday, perhaps she would've been a good character.

But, oh no, this is just another silly flash, you guys! Grandpa Harley is just a lifeless prop that Jade pretends is still alive because she's a manic pixie silly girl! No deeper meaning here.

Ah yeah, the cat's characteristic recalcitrance. I can't dunk on Rose too much here because I'm sure a lot of us tried to incorporate our pets in make-believe scenarios when we were kids.

I love the kitten playing with Rose's scarf off to the side.

The reason Rose wants to play Sburb is to resurrect Jaspers so he can follow up on his "secret." But... it's not like he can actually speak. You're telling me the whole reason she wants to bring back Jaspers is so he can follow up on the time he meowed in her ear nine years ago? And people really want to frame Rose as the most "serious" out of the kids.

Again, none of this seems worth ending the world for. Rose, you were like four years old here. It's time to move on. I know that "meow" actually ends up being somewhat important later, but Rose isn't aware of it at this point so it comes across as her being obsessed with something really silly.

Rose mentioned before that the funeral was held because of her request. So was it Rose who wanted a funeral for Jaspers, or was it Mom? Maybe both. I think it's very in-character for Mom to be torn up about the cat's death, so she wanted the funeral to have all the pomp and circumstance she believed he deserved.

The fact that the appearifier was already programmed to the moment before Jaspers's death means that Mom was trying to clone him through ectobiology. She really loved that cat. Rose is unable to realize this because she still views her mother as a callous and passive-aggressive bitch.

In what is perhaps the eeriest flash in the whole comic, we see a time lapse of Jaspers's body being recovered, his funeral, and the sequence of events leading to his body's reappearance on the transportalizer platform. "Chorale for Jaspers" is a strange track. The combination of the dreary organ and those sad, ethereal meows makes for an disquieting tune.

Coming off the heels of that somber flash is this overly dramatic flash where John has a mental breakdown after finding out how boring his dad really is. This so-called "reveal" that Dad Egbert is just a normal guy and not an undercover clown is like... no shit? Who in their right mind actually thought that he was a clown before this point? John's misconceptions made no sense to begin with and this payoff is equally underwhelming. At least this running gag is finally put to rest now.

I'd love to write this off as just another lame joke if not for the narrative weight attached to it. Yes, this load of shit is actually a pivotal moment for John's development.

Okay, I stand corrected. Dad Egbert is definitely not "just a normal guy" if he's able to hold that safe over his head.

He's also able to overpower the strongest Derse goon who was carrying a much larger safe. This dude is jacked.

Every panel we've seen so far suggests that everything related to the sylladex is flat like a card (especially with such terminology like captchalogue "card" and strife "deck"). Blowing into them suggests there's some kind of exterior housing and a hollow space inside where dust collects.

I get that Hussie is using this as an excuse to make this old video game joke, but if they're completely flat like say a TurboGrafx-16 game card, you wouldn't blow on those at all.

Trust me, I'm like one of the 10 people who grew up with a TG-16 instead of a Nintendo.

The admission that John's freakout over the Gushers is "stupid" suggests that his earlier mental breakdown was not "stupid." Uh huh...

Jade has a robot that her consciousness inhabits while she's dreaming on Prospit. Because at this point, why the fuck not? It's not like she builds anything else later on so might as well make this invention really complex. This is one last gasp at reminding the reader that, hey, remember this girl likes to invent stuff???

"guys'es"? That's a weird typo. John's username is "ghostyTrickster" in the past. According to the Formspring, Hussie noticed that the kids' usernames except John's all share the letters of DNA nucleobases, so this is him to backtrack and say "oh, his username used to fit the pattern until he changed it."

And like... it's stupid because TT, TG, and GG only correspond to two of the four nucleobases: thymine and guanine. That's hardly even notable, so why try to establish that pattern anyway?

The trolls came about later to complete the full set of nucleobase combinations. He created twelve whole new characters to complete a pattern that was half-formed and wasn't even intentional to begin with. Incredible.

John doesn't seem terribly concerned that the fire has reached Rose's house. This can be read as either a bumbling attempt at matching her sarcasm, or him taking her statement at face value and thinking she really is pleased that her house is on fire. Knowing John, the latter is more likely.

John refers to Bro beating up Dave in a very flippant manner. We can take this as evidence that Dave and Bro's strifes aren't actually that concerning. But if we're meant to take Dave's domestic situation seriously, then holy shit what the fuck is John's problem??

You know, for all the people who say John and Dave have such a strong friendship, John's been acting like a real dick to Dave so far. He insults him in his chats with Rose, ignores his messages, throws shade at him in his portion of the GameFAQs guide, and makes light of his distress. The only nice thing he's done for Dave so far is give him the Ben Stiller sunglasses for his birthday, and even that was an admittedly shitty gift that he assumed Dave would only appreciate "ironically."

Okay, this is what I've been waiting for. Rose says she knew about John's defaced posters all along.

But in this page, from Rose's own viewport, the posters are fine.

Rose also says that she can "see only [...] what John can see, or has seen already" which is why she can't see into his dad's room. Taking the above page into account, it's also reasonable to assume that since John was unable to see the damaged posters until now, Rose couldn't see them either.

Basically, this whole "twist" doesn't make sense and was poorly executed.

Not content with telling us himself how amazing Jade is, Hussie has characters in the comic say it too.

Aw yeah, there he is. My boy gets his first appearance. <3

Rose spouts a bunch of psychobabble about how John has been repressed all his life and it's only by learning the truth about his father that he's able to see what was once invisible to him. Not only is this event being framed as a pivotal moment where John grows from boy to man (further represented by John earning his suit after entering his dad's room), it's also supposed to be an enlightening moment for him. All because he solved a "mystery" that any reader with a brain would've figured out from the get-go.

As seen before in instances where she's either dismissive or totally ignorant of the motives behind others' behavior, Rose only possesses a superficial knowledge of psychoanalysis. Everything points to her being a massive pseud, so her theory here should've been called out as bogus. Except this isn't actually Rose positing a theory. This is Hussie literally spelling out the explanation for John's actions. We're meant to take Rose's words here at face value, so it means that Hussie somehow thinks any of this makes sense. This is what happens when dumb writers try to write smart characters.

It's funny that Rose correctly states the reason for Dad Egbert's eccentric nature, but fails to make the same connection to her own situation, instead continuing to insist that Mom Lalonde is just being passive-aggressive. Cruel irony. You don't know your mom that well either, Rose.

The further we go into this Act, the more elements Hussie seems to throw at the wall to further bog down the plot and create the illusion of depth. Let's see how things wrap up in the final third.

Read the next post here.

[ahjustroza]

I send a request a long time ago and i think tumblr eated it, just to check did you receive a request of Sage with a s/o that is insecure about him being a womanizer in the past and thinks she may not be attractive enough for him?

I did! It just took me forever to finish... Sorry about that I'm trying to write faster now lol.

Insecure MC Headcanons

Love, Sage is bi

So he didn't only have female partners.

I said in my previous headcanons that Sage never wanted a 'strings attached' relationship with anyone until he met you.

He actually had a relatively sad life as he lived in poverty and had someone he had to keep alive since childhood.

So Sage had to grow up way too early and survive the streets as a kid

Doing gigs here and there to feed Tulsi and give her a comfortable life

Sage is a self-sacrificing character similar to Asra. Just in different ways.

He never wanted to settle down because he didn't have the time to.

He didn't want to have a partner in his life during the war between Starsworn and Lord of Shadows as well

He was too focused on survival and fighting the revived dead while keeping his sister safe that love wasn't even a thought in his mind.

However, he did use sex and alcohol as a coping mechanism

Perhaps he wanted an escape for a couple of hours or wanted to feel free for a while

Or feel anything at all...

So his sexual past and flirting have no deeper meaning to him compared to what you two have between you.

Sage has this huge wall he built around him to maintain his merc life.

Emotions would fuck him over so most of the time he had to close his heart to it

But you?

You changed everything.

You changed him.

He can now sleep in peace at night because you are by his side

He can trust you to protect him during his most vulnerable states.

It was never about the looks of you

Well at first he thought you were like a lost kitten for sure, but he wasn't planning to like you in a different way

He only accepted to train you because Felix gave him money, didn't he?

So it wasn't love at first sight

Which is a very important detail!

You are the first and only one to pass through his cold walls and see Sage as who he is

He didn't have to explain himself to you

Never

Not even once

You could read him as no one could before

Gave him space when he needed

Offered him your support and got concerned for his well being

Showed him that you are on his side and he didn't have to worry anymore

You were just too selfless with him

Kind, caring...

He then started to develop feelings he was unfamiliar of

He never had a chance to fall in love with a classmate in middle or high school like other kids

And he definitely never had a chance to experience love other than physical love as an adult

So he didn't know what to do with himself at first.

He tried to deny it

Run away even

But each time he came back to you running.

He started to notice that he felt safe around you which was another unusual feeling for him

Then he started to talk to you

Told you things he never dared to tell anyone before

He fell so hard for you in time

When he admitted his feelings to himself he started to share everything he owns with you

He let you touch his stuff

Comb his hair, which was a dealbreaker

Shower with him

went on dates with you even though you claimed that those weren't official dates

"Isn't this a date?" he asked one day while you were combing his hair.

"Isn't this a date?"

He doesn't care where you are or what you are doing, each moment you spend together is a date for him

Every bonding moments were important for him.

Hell you could just sit in your room all day and do nothing and Sage would still take it as a quality time

He is fine being silent with you too

Just be around him

Just let him feel your presence...

After you two officially became a couple people around him were surprised

When they met you however they were all relieved.

Because you are strong and independent

You don't fear to fight for what you love and know when to lower your guards and be genuine

They see that Sage is now less depressed and gets better every day.

You are healing him.

He now only sees you.

No other person seems attractive compared to your beauty in his eyes.

If he could see Beyonce he would still choose you over her, he is that in love with you.

The bond between you gets so strong that he doesn't even have to ask you to understand whatever is bothering you.

He is a himbo catman but when needed he will sit down and make serious talk with you for hours

He'll tell you how beautiful and important you are to him over and over again until you believe him

He'll tell you what he loves about you

What you sacrificed for him and how no one ever did half of the things you did for him

Let me remind you, people, that Sage is afraid to touch you because he is too in love with you

He only caresses your cheek with the back of his fingers

Softly, feather-like

And he looks at you the way that you know he is melting inside.

He loves you so much that he wants to cry sometimes

Your beauty is overwhelming him

He only wants to hold you tight and sleep for days with you pressed against his chest.

He wants you to pet his head and tell him how much you love him.

Sage will love you so much that your insecurity won't last for long.

[angry-geese]

Risotto Nero x Reader

Warnings: nsfw / mdni. shameless smut, shower sex, oral (fem and masc receiving), fingering, handjobs, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, biting. lots of fluff. afab reader. fem pronouns, risotto calls the reader a good girl like once

a/n: a soft, self indulgent smut fic with Risotto

Word Count: 2k

The job went well. It's not often you can say such a thing. It's a rare, but welcome day when nothing goes wrong. Risotto suggested going out to dinner to celebrate. Food sounded nice, but you were far too tired to get ready for a nice restaurant. You settled on takeout.

He insisted on heading straight home. Any paperwork you can get done tomorrow. The hideout isn't going to burn down if left alone for one night. Well, not as long as someone responsible is around. Prosciutto is probably there. If not him, then Sorbet and Gelato are.

Over the past few years, the small apartment is what you two have called home. Rent was cheap, not to mention there weren't many neighbors. While Risotto may have been fine with sleeping at the hideout, you weren't.

You can hardly pull Risotto away from work. This was a rare, but welcome occasion.

The hot water feels nice as it pours over your sore muscles, turning varying shades of red as it rolls off your body, staining the bottom of the tub. It's not yours. Most of it anyway. Baths don't get blood out. Not a lot does. Showers are a bit better, but you’ve gotten used to tossing out a lot of clothes because of the stains.

"Hey Ris," you call out, "you comin' in or not?"

Momentarily the curtain pulls aside. Cold air rushes in, goosebumps raise along your exposed skin. He tosses aside the last of his clothes, joining you.

You give him a once-over for any injuries. Some blood is dried to his hands, though he looks mostly uninjured. He's too tall for the both of you to fit in the tub at the same time, so taking a bath together is out of the question. When you buy a home together—someday—you'll get a tub big enough.

"C'mere." You say. "I feel bad making you stand in the cold."

You take his much larger hands in yours, inspecting them for any wounds. He watches as your eyes scan up and down his body. Aside from a few scrapes, he's unharmed.

He practically has to kneel so you can wash his hair. A few, pleased sounding grunts leave him as you work the shampoo into his scalp. It smells like you, he notes. Your nails are getting a bit long, and feel nice against his skin. His shoulders tense as your hands work lower, working the knots out of his shoulders.

"Lean back so I'm not waterboarding you," you say, carding your fingers through his hair.

He has to duck to fit under the shower head. The one at the hideout isn't nearly as short, but there’s no shower curtain, not to mention Illuso who has little regard for personal space, and a penchant for appearing out of mirrors. Maybe the next hit will give you two enough money to look for a house. He could really use a bigger bathroom. And a bigger bed. There’s nothing wrong with the one you have now, but he wants one where he can sprawl out a bit more.

Though his back is to you, he feels your eyes drift down his body. You look at him in a way nobody has before. It both terrifies, and comforts him. Most eyes fill with fear when they gaze upon him. Yours never did. Even as you first showed up to the hideout, wide-eyed and frightened, telling him you had just been assigned to the hitman team, you never saw him as anything but good.

Each passing job, each day that goes by, he finds himself falling more hopelessly in love.

Your touch drifts across his back, working the soap over his skin. You’re shameless in how you admire the planes of muscle, and his well-toned arms. In public you’re rather reserved, it's only behind closed doors that you let your affections show. Risotto values the peace of solace, and most of all privacy. The two of you become entirely different people when no longer confined to a certain appearance. Very few things fluster him the way you do. He stiffens as your hands work particularly low, your fingers ghosting across the sensitive skin of his thighs.

Your intentions seem innocent enough until your hand wraps around his half-hardened cock.

A noise resembling that of surprise leaves him, followed by a weak: "the food-"

"We've got twenty minutes." You say. "It'll be fine."

His pupils shrink down to pinpricks. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to give him a kiss. Just a quick peck. He pulls you back to deepen the kiss, nibbling on your bottom lip until you allow the slick muscle of his tongue to explore your mouth. A strand of saliva connects your lips when you pull away.

He watches you with wide eyes as you give his cock a few pumps, sinking to your knees. The tiles of the shower can't be comfortable, but they don't seem to bother you. You lick a stripe up the underside of his cock from base to tip. The kitten licks you place against the head only serves to make him stiffen, and let out a few pleased grunts. It becomes a game, trying to get him to unravel entirely.

He’s too big to bottom out in your mouth. The man is quite literally huge, it's only fitting his cock would match. The hairs towards the base are the same silver as his head, and neatly trimmed. You hollow out your cheeks, pumping what you can't fit in your mouth with your hands. A mix of saliva and precum drips down your chin.

“Fuck-” He’s cut off mid-sentence by his own moan. “You feel so good. You’re so beautiful.”

Risotto can't tear his eyes away from the way the suds cling to your form, how the water collects and drips off every curve of your body, how your breasts jiggle with each movement of your head. It's rare he’s so shameless with his affections. Even behind closed doors he was rather reserved. Love such as the way you love is foreign to him. You’re never shy in the way you love him. It's not that he doesn't like it—it's quite the opposite—but in a way he’s terrified.

“There- tesoro,” His hands bury in your hair, tugging gently. “Like that. You take me so well.”

You pick up the pace a bit, pumping his cock faster. One of your hands slips between your legs, toying with your already-wet cunt. He pulls you off, an audible pop echoes through the bathroom as your lips release his cock.

Shower sex is a bit hazardous. He's too worried about you slipping. Still, he falls to his knees, his large hands ghosting down your sides. He leaves a trail of wet, open mouth kisses down your stomach, licking a stripe from your bellybutton to your mound. His tongue briefly dips between your folds.

He presses kitten licks to your clit, his touch achingly gentle. You angle your hips to give him better access. He latches onto the bundle of nerves, lapping and sucking desperately, rolling his tongue over the small bud. Your fingers bury in his wet hair, guiding him to where you need him most. The wet, lewd noises of his tongue can barely be heard over the shower and your own moans. Risotto’s name spills past your lips like a prayer. His ring and middle finger press into you. They pump in and out of you slowly at first, hooking and stroking against your g-spot.

His gaze drifts up your body, admiring every dip and curve. He takes you in like a man starved and given his first meal in weeks. You grind down against his face as you near your release. Steam coils off his back in ribbons, floating off and dissipating in the humid bathroom air.

Risotto pulls away, a wet smack echoing through the bathroom. There's a dark, needy look in his eyes, which are already hazy with lust. His cheeks are flushed; either with need, or from the hot air.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he says, running his tongue over his bottom lip, “and you won't be able to walk right for a week, tesoro.”

You let out a squeak as he hauls you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your arms loop around his shoulders, your fingers lacing together behind his back. He mutters a weak "I've got you" into the crook of your neck.

The head of his cock is slick with precum. It presses into you slowly, filling you inch by inch. The stretch stings a bit, though with the prep it hardly hurts at all. He was always terrified of hurting you when you first got together. Sometimes he still is. You constantly have to remind him that you're tough, and you'll survive a little manhandling.

He groans as he bottoms out, muttering a weak "good girl" into your ear. You feel so impossibly full. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs so hard you think they'll bruise. Not that you mind. Risotto gives you a moment to adjust to his size, although it's not needed.

“Please,” you say, your voice weak.

A dark laugh leaves him, coming from low in his chest. “Please what?”

“Fuck me,”

The heat that pools low in your stomach is undeniable. Risotto’s touch leaves you with an aching need you’ve never been able to replicate. Many nights when he was away on a job you would try to recreate his skilled touch. Always to no avail. Your hands never compare to the real thing.

Being so at his mercy is intoxicating. There's an odd, weightless feeling as he fucks into you. His hips meet yours in unrelenting thrusts. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoes through the bathroom, just barely drowned out by your collective moans, and the rushing of the shower. The angle allows him to hit deep, his cock curving in a way that makes your toes curl. His teeth sink into the junction where your neck meets your shoulders, leaving a faint, crescent-shaped indent. Tension builds in your stomach like a coil being wound tight.

You fit around him like a glove, your warm, wet cunt clenching around him in a way that threatens to make him cum on the spot. Nothing feels quite as good as the way you do. Before he never had much of a sex drive. It was something he had gone most of his adult life without. But upon meeting you, finally feeling your touch, he can never seem to get enough.

His own release creeps up on him far sooner than he expected, though you don't look to be far behind him. You're flushed from your forehead to your chest, blush dusting the tips of your nose and ears. Your moans—mixed with various curses and praises—echo through the room. His thrusts grow sloppy as he nears his own orgasm, his hips rocking against you in short, needy thrusts.

What sends him over the edge is the way your nails dig into his back, raking up the hard planes of muscle. Hot ropes of his cum spill into your unprotected womb.

His hand moves down to toy with your clit, working circles around the bundle of nerves. Your skin feels feverishly warm against his. He thrusts until the coil in your stomach snaps and you cry out, your legs tightening around his waist. You ride out your orgasm on his cock, his thrusts slowing.

He pulls out slowly so as to not make too much of a mess. Your arms remain around his shoulders to steady yourself. Shamelessly he leans back to admire his work. The sight of his cum dripping down your thighs is enough to make him want a second round. He likes taking his time with you, but he’ll never pass up on a quickie.

Risotto looks at you with such adoration that it makes your chest swell with affection. The kiss he pulls you into is uncharacteristically soft, but driven by need. His hands move to cup your cheeks, brushing your wet hair out of your face. It's another moment before he’s hauling you into his arms, heading for your shared room.

The moment is only disrupted by a knock on the door.

[aimfor-theheart]

COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

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, heroes’ abuse of power, 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/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It’s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

[jackrrabbit]

Short Leash /// Lev x f!Reader x Alisa (18+)

Summary: [Post-timeskip] The Haiba siblings get up to no good with their favorite pet.

A/N: Lev really went from skinny goblin to sugar папочка, and don’t even get me started on Alisa 😭 Also, imma lay heavy on those Russian terms of endearment 🇷🇺 I know Lev doesn’t speak Russian but I feel like post-timeskip he might, and it makes me horny so…

Dedicated to my eternal muse @koiibito​ for thirsting with me and stoking my lust for this duo and to @thisisthehardestthing​ for providing the fashion references that brought this fic to life for me (although I still can’t describe clothing for shit). Thank you!!!

Tags/warnings: (slight) pet play, threesome, alcohol/drug use mentions, size kink (yk Lev is 6’5 and Alisa is 5’10), dom/sub, orgasm control, rough sex, filming, breath play, crying, reader is a sugar baby in denial, no incest but the siblings fuck you together, yandere-ish, established BDSM relationship, all characters are adults

They like playing dress-up.

With you, if that wasn’t obvious. They’re models, so you could say that playing dress-up is a career for them, a method of putting food on the table…and Balenciaga in the closet…and every luxury pharmaceutical known to man in the medicine cabinet. And they’re so beautiful, both of them. They look good in anything. But when it comes to you, playing dress-up is a labor of love.

Today was Alisa’s turn, which means today was red: crimson lingerie in a box she had delivered to you before the party tonight. The box…it looked so out of place propped up against the bottom of your shabby apartment door that it’s a miracle no one stole it. Black packaging, lettering in gold, and the label printed on the box was French, you think? The two years of language class you took in high school didn’t help you read it, but you had no trouble understanding the number at the bottom of the receipt Alisa included with the set.

She left it on purpose, you know that. She wants you to know that the money she dropped on these flimsy little undergarments could have paid your rent for two months. But you can’t tell her that, or she’ll just insist again that your apartment is so small and ugly, it’s not worth it, it’s high time you moved in with her and Lev already, they would love to have you, and you’d never have to worry about rent again.

Spoiling you. That’s what they call it. Sometimes you think the Haiba siblings spoil you because they know it makes you uncomfortable.

Either way, you can’t say no. You’ve tried, over and over, told them they need to stop buying you clothes and shoes and diamonds but they just laugh you off. Lev, especially—he’s got this way of tipping his head to the side and blinking down at you while you try to explain how nervous it makes you to be dripping in excess, smiling lightly like he’s watching a child throw a tantrum. They just don’t get it. Or they do, and they think it’s funny.

Yeah, it’s probably the latter. You were raised right, raised not to accept gifts like this when you have nothing to give in return—but you were also raised to be gracious to the kindness of strangers, and while they aren’t exactly strangers, it’s just too exhausting to try to deny their generosity. Over time, little by little, you’ve given inches and the Haiba siblings have taken miles.

The Haiba siblings. That’s who they are, constantly presented in juxtaposition since Lev made his debut. They were born for this, and not because of their height. It’s the eyes—something savagely beautiful about that shade of green, those pale eyelashes, the slitted pupils like a cat’s.

The lingerie was Alisa’s choice, but the dress was Lev’s which is probably why he can’t keep his hands off you at the party, grip gliding down the low back and breath ghosting over your neck every time you try to put some distance between you. He’s usually more careful than this—Alisa can get away with the playful touching (groping?) because the cameras will just play it off as friendly skinship, but if someone catches Lev stroking across your thighs or tracing those long fingers over your spine while you move together on the dance floor, there’s going to be trouble. Not that it’s your problem, but one of you has to be responsible tonight, and judging by the number of times Lev’s excused himself to go to the bathroom and come back blinking and grinning and rubbing his nose, the responsible one is going to have to be you.

This time when he returns his gelled-back hair is mussed and—Jesus, how careless can he get?—there’s a little dusting of coke spilled over the collar of his black shirt. You roll your eyes and reach up to brush it off for him but he catches your hand and lifts it to his mouth. A kiss on your inner wrist first, and then his teeth are grazing over that tender skin, blunt edges digging in and drawing dents. A bite.

It’s just on the edge of painful when you belatedly yank your hand away. “Lev—you got it on your shirt, seriously—“ You try to make your voice sound scolding, but it comes out too high.

Lev’s eyes are dark, dilated; he laughs breathlessly and nudges closer to you, trapping you between his long arms and the bar. “You want some? Kotyonok, little kitten wants a treat?”

“No…I’m just drinking tonight. I don’t want to be out too late.” The vodka soda in your hand isn’t nearly strong enough, but if you have any more you’re going to be too drunk to keep your act together and deal with their antics. You don’t have the tolerance they do, and just because they can get away with all the coke and the alcohol and whatever else they’ve been playing with tonight doesn’t mean you can.

…Not that your relative sobriety stops Lev from dragging your face up to meet his, lifting your chin with both hands wrapped around the back of your head and bending down only enough that you still have to rise up on your tiptoes to kiss him. You only catch a hint of the smell of honey before the sour-sweet taste of Lev’s favorite drink (that medovukha mead stuff, it’s Russian, you think) is filling your mouth and his long tongue is sliding over yours. “Mmph—“

“Kitten, always so good,” he sighs, pressing closer so your face has to arch up to the ceiling to meet his. In your limited view you can see the muscles in his jaw flexing as he kisses you, sweeping over your tongue, biting your lip and laughing into your mouth. “So sweet…and impatient, yeah? Want to go home with us already?”

His hand on the small of your back is bunching your dress up, giving him the space to push his knee between your legs. You gasp sharply but it just eggs him on and his mouth dips down under your jawline, his body covering yours, so sudden and so public that your eyes flash around the room, wondering who might witness Lev—the international model Lev Haiba—sucking on your throat. “L-Lev, wait, someone—someone will see—“

“You’re asking to go somewhere private? Greedy girl…Alisa’s still having fun.”

You try to come up with a response, but it’s not easy to think straight when he’s holding your waist, circling it with those big hands and petting up to your ribs, cupping your tits while his thigh rubs between your legs. You can smell his cologne, bergamot and amber, and—and—you can smell his cologne—

“Lyovochka~” Alisa’s voice rings out and you know just by hearing it that she’s had as much as Lev. Her hand fists in her brother’s hair and pulls him off your neck none too gently, ignoring his curse and complaints. “Naughty, naughty. Playing without me, were you?”

“Alisa, you’re fucking up my hair,” Lev whines, but he straightens off you, pulling Alisa into your tight little trio at the bar. “Kitty says she wants us to take her home.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and wonder if they can see the blush under your foundation. “I didn’t— I can go home myself—“ Not that you have a chance in hell of leaving the party without them, but still. You can pretend to play coy.

“No.” Alisa places a finger on your mouth to shush you and then her eyes lower and her fingernail—painted silvery white, her signature color—pushes into your bottom lip. You stumble closer, hands meeting her shoulders through the thick white padding of the jacket she’s wearing, over the glittering crystals that look blindingly bright under the blacklights.

Silver and white. Always silver and white.

Her fingernail traces down your lip, drawing a fine line on your chin; on instinct, you tip your head back to give her access to pet down your throat until she comes to a rest on the neckpiece of the harness she included with the lingerie set. When her hand reaches the ring in the center of the choker she grips it, pulling your face away from Lev’s and toward hers. “Lyovochka, what do you think…? I saw it and thought of kotyonok. A collar for our little kitten.”

“Hm, I don’t know. I need to see more.” Lev’s hands are on you again now, splaying flat over your chest before his fingers curl, one by one, around the harness strap that leads from the ring at the choker down between your breasts until it disappears under the neckline of your dress. He’s tugging on it—lightly, but you can’t deny the feeling that it’s like a leash…or the feeling of heat gathering in your pussy at having the two of them all over you like this.

You shouldn’t be letting them touch you (and they are touching you, Alisa’s hand stroking your throat and Lev tugging your side into his chest). There’s always people watching at parties like this; you’ve attended these things on Lev’s arm or Alisa’s enough times to know better than to let them do as they please. You’re supposed to be the responsible one. Too bad your body is craving a lot more than the innocuous touches they can give you in public.

You swallow and Alisa grins, dark-painted lips stretching over those perfect white teeth. “So. Kitten, would you like us to take you home? Say please.”

You don’t have to say it. You could ask yourself why you let them get away with this, why you keep letting yourself fall to the mercy of these siblings, why they even want you in the first place, but those are questions for tomorrow morning—tonight, even though you should hate it, there’s a part of you that wants to purr every time they call you kitten.

“…Please,” you murmur, and as soon as the word is out Lev’s grip on the harness tightens, pulling the choker taut around your neck.

///

They end up ripping the dress.

You kind of hate them for it when you think about how many bills you could have paid with the money they spent dolling you up for tonight. But by the time they get around to it, you’re pretty much too horny to care.

They didn’t even wait til you got home (their home, you remind yourself, not yours), although that shouldn’t have surprised you. From Alisa tugging on your hair and Lev’s arm draped possessively around your shoulders, you should’ve seen it coming, but it still takes you by surprise that the three of you have barely piled in the back of the Uber when Alisa’s dragging you to sit on her thigh, unceremoniously pulling your dress over your hips and sliding her hand up the slit where the fabric falls open to rub your pussy.

You whine and squirm but can’t quite make yourself say the word “no”, instead squeezing your eyes shut and trying to focus on Alisa whispering in your ear that you’re a good girl, getting so wet for them. All three of you can hear the squishy damp noises your pussy is making sucking around her fingers, and dear god you hope the driver can’t hear it too—wait, is he looking? Your eyes peek open, traitorously seeking out the rearview to see if there’s a possibility he’s watching the show, but before you can work up the guts to tell them to quit it, Lev’s hand is folding around your jaw again and forcing two of his fingers past your lips for you to drool on. And—fuck—Alisa’s petting over your cunt, drawing slow lines up from the wetness gathered at your hole up to your clit.

By the time you’ve reached the building Lev and Alisa are staying at in Tokyo, you’re past the point of caring that other people are around. Lev has to pull you out of the car and off Alisa’s lap to get you to stop humping your ass into her lap and trying to push your mound into her fingers. Alisa winks at the driver—probably earning herself a 5-star rating despite all your bad behavior—and then the two of them are steering you past the doorman and into the elevator.

As soon as you’ve got the barest semblance of privacy, Lev pulls your back into his chest and grinds himself into you. You can feel how hard he is, the heat of his body leaching through the fabric of your clothing directly into your skin, hands around your waist forcing you to mold yourself into him while he layers kisses over the side of you neck. “L-Lev, ah— mm, someone’s gonna come in,” you whine as he pushes the bulge of his stiff cock against your lower back, but he just lets one of his hands drift up to scratch at the choker of the harness again.

Alisa’s hands meet your cheeks on either side, framing your face for a short moment so she can study your dazed expression, the flush on your cheeks, your sex-glazed eyes. You look like you want to get fucked, you know that? You look like you want them to push you down in the elevator and fuck you right there. “But kotyonok, you’re so darling. We should let other people get a chance to see, no?”

Lev’s hand spans the breadth of your throat, not quite pressing down (yet), so he must be able to feel the way your muscles contract and release when you swallow—not to mention the edge of tension that enters your body at the thought of someone seeing you in such a compromising position. “Ahh, kitty wants to be all ours, doesn’t she? She doesn’t want us to share.”

“Is that so?” Alisa doesn’t give you a chance to answer, just tipping your face up and letting her lips close over yours. She tastes more bitter than Lev did and for the brief moment you have between getting pressed between them and your brain short-circuiting, you wonder what she’s been drinking. “Are you being selfish?”

“Nnnh, I—“ you don’t have an answer for her, but it doesn’t really matter because the elevator is dinging at the penthouse and Alisa’s pulling you away from Lev into their apartment by the center strap of the harness. You’ve got no choice but to follow, and you consider telling her to quit dragging you around by your neck but there’s something about the pressure on your throat that isn’t…entirely unpleasant, so you hold your tongue.

Lev murmurs to Alisa in Russian—you hate when they do that, especially because you know they’re only doing it because they don’t want you to understand—and then you’re in the spare bedroom, the one that the siblings insist on referring to as your bedroom. Even though you don’t live here. Even though you do everything you can to avoid staying here. Even though the only times you ever spend the night are when you’re too fucked-out by the two of them to consider putting in the effort to get home.

Something tells you this is going to be one of those nights.

They work in sync, teasing down the straps of your dress and easing you out of it until Alisa snaps the harness between your tits and Lev gets impatient and someone pulls the back of the dress a little too hard and that’s when you feel tearing. “Shit,” you hear in Lev’s voice, a soft curse in Russian from Alisa, and then a reluctant peal of laughter as the dress flutters down to the ground.

“Did you—“ You’re about to curse them out for ruining something so fucking expensive, but Lev clucks his tongue and shakes his head and you fall silent. He’s pulling back from you—so is Alisa—and your heart jumps for a second wondering if you did something wrong until you realize they’re just looking at you, drinking in the image of you naked except for the lingerie Alisa picked out for you.

“Bordelle?” Lev murmurs, running fingers down the straps cinching around your waist, the belt holding up the garters—as usual, you don’t know whether to move away from his touch or melt into it.

Alisa smiles. “It was made for her, don’t you think? Our kitten looks good in red.”

Honestly, they call you kitten, but the way they look at you is less like the way owners look at a pet and more like wolves sizing up a little lamb they’ve cornered. Hungry. Starving. You’re not sure which you prefer, but it makes you self-conscious. You’d felt pretty confident about the way you looked when you examined yourself in the mirror before the party—Alisa has good taste, even if the lingerie is just this side of bondage gear and not something you would’ve bought for yourself in a million years—but now you have to fight the urge to cover yourself up with your hands…not that they’d let you.

True to your prediction, as soon as your hand twitches with the instinct to cross your arms over your bound-up tits Lev snaps down to catch it. “Let me see,” he instructs, and the authority in his voice is so definite that your arms fall back down to your sides automatically. “Good girl. Alisa, do you think we can keep it on while we fuck her?”

While we fuck her.

He says it so nonchalantly. And it’s not like you didn’t know that’s what you’re here for. You’re a grown-up, you’re sober (ish), and you’ve been in this room with the two of them enough times that you’re well aware there was only ever one way this night was going to end up. But the way he says it makes you shiver. They’re going to fuck you…like they own you. And it’s kind of terrifying how much you want to be owned.

“I think we can get the panties off without taking off the rest,” Alisa says to respond to Lev’s question, even as she brushes a stray lock of hair away from your eyes. “Besides, I have a surprise for her.”

A surprise? It wouldn’t be the first time one of them has pulled out something unexpected in bed—last time it was a ball gag and nipple clamps, and the time before that it was a magic wand vibrator (plated in literal gold, because the Haibas are nothing if not excessive) that had you begging and crying and creaming all over the sheets. You can’t help your anxiousness as Alisa pulls something out of the otherwise-empty dresser and sets it up to face the bed.

It’s…a camera. A camera? “You want to film it?” you blurt out, your voice sounding pitchy and nervous even to your own ears.

“Great idea,” Lev says, patting your head like that’s all it’ll take to make you feel better.

“Yes, kotyonok. I’m going to film you,” Alisa replies, fiddling with the settings and batting those long blonde eyelashes at the lens once she’s satisfied.

“Wait, I—I don’t know. I’m not like you, I can’t just—” you stammer. Sure, the twins will look perfect and irresistible and bewitching, but you? You’re not sure you want to have a video of yourself getting fucked stupid in their hands. “What if I don’t want to…?”

“But I want to.” Alisa’s gaze sweeps down over you and you lower your eyes so you don’t have to meet it, don’t have to feel the weight of it holding you down more securely than any leash. There’s a reason she’s a model—she could sell anything. Those eyes. How are you supposed to say no?

You want to step back away from her. You almost try, but Lev’s at your back already, long arms draped over your shoulders, a loose hold that nonetheless keeps you from moving. So instead of backing up, you just bite your lip.

Alisa’s face softens—she’s good at that, good at picking up the cues when she’s pushed a little too far for your comfort—and a second later you feel her hand wrapping around yours, holding it. “Safeword?”

Cherry. The safeword is cherry. It’s not that you’ve forgotten. It’s her way of reminding you that you have a safeword, and you can use it, and it’ll be okay. This isn’t even a full-on scene, but Alisa must be able to sense that the addition of the camera made you scared.

Picking up the change in mood a second later, Lev’s hand finds your other one and he strokes his thumb over your skin reassuringly. God, maybe it’s wrong that they can make you feel hunted one second and adored the next, but you let out a breath and relax, shaking your head to indicate that you’re not stopping.

She brings your hand up to her mouth and kisses it so lightly her lipstick barely leaves a mark—wait, oops. You’d forgotten she was wearing lipstick. You must have it all over you by now.

“Good girl. We take good care of you, don’t we?”

“…Yes.”

“We do.” Lev’s impatient, you can tell from the way he’s adjusting his grip to your waist and pushing you over to the bed. “We’re not going to share the video, if that’s what you’re worried about. Alisa likes to joke, but really…”

Your ass hits the mattress so you’re half-sitting, half-lying on the covers, propped up on your elbows, peeking through your eyelashes at the two of them looming over you—and, oh, there they are again.

The wolves.

“…we don’t want anyone else seeing you like this,” Alisa finishes, holding up the camera and flicking the little red light on to record.

///

Lev starts, like usual. You think maybe it’s a control thing, that Alisa doesn’t let you touch her until you’re already falling apart on Lev’s fingers, his tongue…his cock. As much as she likes it when you bite back, you’re cuter when you’re begging.

She’s holding your face off the bed by a hand under your chin, wrenching your neck back so your wrecked face is level with the camera. You’re on your hands and knees—or, more accurately, your hands and elbows, with your ass arched up and Lev’s face buried in your slit. “Nngh, nnnnn, fuck please please—“ Your whining is barely coherent, but Lev knows what you’re asking for and he digs his fingers into the meat of your ass to hold you still as he latches his mouth over your clit and sucks.

Fuck— you keen and try to drop your head down to the sheets to angle your dripping cunny closer to his mouth, but Alisa’s grip on your jaw prevents you from getting any further out of the camera frame. “Uh-uh, no. I want to see you.”

“Alisa…ahhh…” Your tongue is lolling out of your mouth and you know you must look like a mess, spit practically falling over your lips as you try to stop yourself from cumming right here. Fuck, it feels good, feels so hot and wet that your juices don’t even have time to cool on your thighs before more is dripping down.

“Tell the camera what’s happening, kotyonok,” Alisa purrs, wiping the saliva off your lip and then pushing her fingers over your tongue.

“…eating me out, he’s—uhhhn—licking my pussy…” you slur around her fingers. Your glassy eyes flit between her appraising expression and the lens of the camera—even though you trust that they won’t show the video to anyone outside this room, it’s making you shudder to think about what’s on the little screen you can’t see—Alisa’s pretty silver fingernails coated in your drool as she presses them deeper into your throat, your body all bound up in red straps and gold fastenings, and Lev behind you, hair falling out of its careful style as he shoves his face deeper between your legs.

The edge of Alisa’s finger bites into the plush of your lip as you moan and unsuccessfully attempt to wriggle your ass under Lev’s grip. “Who’s licking your pussy?” she asks calmly, like she’s asking what the weather is like today.

“Lev, it’s, it’s Lev—fuck ohh, oh,” you whine as Lev slides his tongue flat from your clit up to your hole and pushes the slimy wet muscle inside. It’s so long, you’re never going to get used to how stupid long his tongue is, licking out your walls and making slurping sounds that are downright fucking vile.

Heat is gathering quickly in your abdomen, and you can feel it—that plateau rising before you hit your peak, and the tension in your thighs making them twitch and quiver as your muscles contract in anticipation—and his tongue is so long and thick it’s almost reaching your g-spot, almostalmostalmost, god-fucking-damnit. Your spine curls even further, arching yourself into him, wordlessly begging for him to keep doing exactly what he’s doing. “Gonna cum, fuck Lev please make me, make me cum!”

“Oh? Did I say you were allowed to cum?” Alisa asks, cat-like eyes narrowing.

Shit, fuck, she didn’t, but you don’t know if you can help yourself. Your hand fists in the sheet, curling your fingernails around the fabric to try to ease up the heat where Lev’s mouth is latched to your cunt. “Please Alisa—I need to—“

Alisa shakes her head. “But you don’t get to decide what you need, kotyonok.”

She’s right, but—but, it’s not fair, Lev’s switching between dragging his tongue over your clit and fucking you with it—you try to pull your hips away from his mouth but he doesn’t let you, effortlessly holding you in place while he teases you even higher.

“Who decides?” she continues, petting your jawline and wiping away the first hint of a tear from your cheek as you try to hold it back—

but you can’t.

“You-you decide! You decide when I cum!” you gasp, but your body is already betraying your words, convulsing and contracting as your climax hits you like a truck. You try to hold yourself through it but it’s impossible—your eyes roll back and arms go slack, dropping flat on the bedspread with your ass still pushed up into the air as your pussy walls contract around Lev’s tongue.

He’s still licking you—slower now at least, but you’re shaking at the feeling of him stimulating that sensitive bud. “Stop…too much,” you whine weakly, but he just raises a hand off your ass cheek to give it a light smack.

“Bad kitty,” he murmurs with his mouth still pressed against your slit, and the contact makes you seize up and twitch.

“Yes. Very bad.” Alisa doesn’t look angry—she’s never angry with you, even when you’re…disobedient, you guess—but there’s a note of mischief in her eyes that sends a thrill of fear (and not just fear) down your spine.

“S-Sorry, I’m sorry,” you whimper, but Alisa’s already pulling you upright by the ring on your choker.

“Did you cum? Even though we didn’t give you permission?” she asks, even though all three of you know you did. You nod, avoiding looking at both her and the camera as if that’ll disguise the obvious flush painting your cheeks red. At your admission, she smiles indulgently and murmurs something in Russian that you don’t understand, but you get the gist.

You’ve been naughty. And you’re going to get punished.

You hear the bedsprings squeak and feel the dip of the mattress as Lev climbs up behind you, settling his body against yours so the bulge in his pants is pressed against your back again. He’s still wearing most of his outfit from the party—they both are, and you note (not for the first time) how ridiculous it is that the siblings are willing to fuck you together but being naked in front of one another is the one boundary they won’t cross—but you don’t have to wait long before you hear him undoing his pants and pulling his cock out to rut it lazily against your back.

Automatically you shift your legs apart and reach down to finger yourself like you usually do, stretch your cunt out so you’re ready to take him. But before you can reach your pussy, Lev’s hand is folding over yours and lacing his fingers over your hand to stop you. “L-Lev?”

“No, kitty,” he tells you firmly.

You shiver. Alisa pinches your cheek and rubs over your ear. “What…”

“You already came,” Lev continues, and then you feel his cock sliding between your thighs, between your soaking-wet lips, using your cum as lubrication. “You came, so you don’t need to get ready. You’re going to take all of me, okay?”

All of him. You swallow. The full length slowly rubbing between your legs is going to go inside of you, without any preparation beforehand. “But…if I don’t, it’ll—it’s gonna hurt…”

“Yes, it’s going to hurt.” He waits for a moment, giving you a chance to say the safeword, but you don’t. “It’s going to hurt, and then it’ll feel good, and then you’re going to cream yourself on my cock like always. Yes?”

“Uh—“ You blink rapidly, already feeling his cockhead pushing between your lips toward your hole. Alisa combs your hair out of your face and you turn toward her. “Alisa?”

“Don’t ask her. You need to learn that your owners will take care of you. You need to trust us.” Lev presses in, stretching your little cunt around the thick head, and you suck in a sharp inhale.

“A-Ah—it’s too big,” you whine, scrunching your eyes shut and biting your lip as he slides himself deeper into you. And yeah, it hurts…but with how riled up you are, it definitely doesn’t hurt enough for you to want it to stop. The burn from the stretch is just making you wetter, and the feeling of being filled up by him is unbelievable. This was supposed to be a punishment, right?

Alisa cups your face to kiss you gently, and then her hands drift lower to circle your neck. Lev’s still sliding his cock into your pussy, slowly, slowly, so you can feel everything, every inch of his skin and every vein dragging against your g-spot. The deeper he gets, the more it hurts and the more you want to stop him, to take the lead—but he doesn’t let you.

“Are you going to cry, kitten?” Alisa asks you, reaching down to take one of your hands and pull it over her shoulder so you’re holding her. You grit your teeth and shudder and shake your head, making her lips quirk into a smile. “It’s alright if you cry. You’re still cute when you’re crying.”

With another roll of his hips Lev’s pushing up against your cervix and you choke out a curse. “F-Fuck, I’m not—not gonna c-c-cry…”

“Shh…” Upright on his knees behind you, Lev’s body is so big curled over yours that you feel smothered between him and Alisa. You sneak a glance back and there’s a pale pink flush over his cheeks and shoulders. “You’re taking me so well…taking my cock like that, going to make me forget you were bad…”

You stay still because it hurts more when you try to move, and you need to get yourself adjusted. You have to relax, you have to, but he’s so big, heavy and thick between your aching legs. You still haven’t recovered from cumming earlier, and every time one of the aftershocks hits you and you clench around him, the mix of pleasure and pain is almost too much. Even as aroused as you are, your cunt sucking him in for all you’re worth, he’s pushing against your cervix…and his hips haven’t even hit yours yet. He hasn’t bottomed out.

You’re going to take all of me, he said. You’re not even sure you can. But no matter what, you’re not—you’re not—gonna cry.

Until Lev pulls his hips back, sliding his cock out of you so it’s only his head sheathed at the entrance to your cunt, and then snaps forward again, filling you back up in a single stroke. He knocks into you so forcefully that you jerk forward, your chest mashing into Alisa’s. The force and his weight pulls a squeak out of you and—fuck, fuck—you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

“—t-t-too fast,” you pant, squeezing your eyes shut as if that’ll prevent them from getting glossy. The pads of Alisa’s fingers are skimming over your cheeks, and her skin is so soft and silky that you want to nuzzle in for comfort.

“But Kotyonok likes it fast, doesn’t she?…you feel how wet you are on my—my cock?” Lev’s face nudges against your shoulder, and you can feel his hands curling around your upper arms, securing you underneath him, holding you in place as he pounds into you.

You like it…like it fast? Your head is spinning, you’re dizzy and hot and feverish, Lev’s cologne is mixing with Alisa’s perfume and you feel like you’re drinking it, ugh. Fuck. Feels like you’re getting bruised up inside and it feels good. Your legs are jerking, weakly trying to push yourself back on his cock to make him fill you up deeper than your pussy can take but you’re totally at their mercy.

“Let her down, Lyovochka. I want kitty to lick,” Alisa says, looking over your shoulder to make eye contact with her brother. She shifts back on the bedspread, easing herself into the pillows and pushing the skirt of her dress up over her waist to expose her panties: mesh, lace, powder-pink. They’re so pretty against her pale skin that you just stare down at her for a second, open-mouthed, before Lev’s releasing his grip on your arms and splaying his palm into your back, shoving your face down toward her lap.

You catch yourself on your elbows—barely—but you don’t have time to adjust to the new position and how stupid fucking goddamn deep Lev’s cock is hitting you before Alisa’s pulling your face up closer to her clothed pussy and adjusting her thighs to make room. Is she going to keep the panties on? Fuck—you almost ask her to take them off but you know you aren’t allowed so you just angle your face in and let drool coat your tongue so you can try to lap at her pussy through the fabric.

The awkward angle means you can barely taste her, but fuck, what you can taste is so good—they’ve conditioned you, the two of them, conditioned you like Pavlov’s dogs to crave what they’re doing to you so badly you can’t even think. The slightly-bitter taste of her cunt soaking through to your mouth has you intoxicated. She got like this from watching you, watching you cum all over the pretty lingerie she bought you, watching you get fucked so hard you’re crying. The thought of her getting off on watching you squirm makes your pussy clench around Lev’s cock.

“Gonna cum again?” Lev asks with laughter in his voice; his pace slows, dragging out the stimulation to your g-spot right as you feel him reach down to tease over your clit. You squeak out a denial but he doesn’t believe you—and why would he when he can literally hear the nasty wet noises from your pussy eating up his cock? “Yes…you are."

“I’m—n-no, I’m noooot…”

“Poor baby, can’t control herself.” Alisa’s pushing you back into her cunt, fingernails scraping over your scalp as you desperately try to lick her pussy. “Don’t be cruel, Lev.”

Another laugh, low and raspy and juddering from the pace of his cock stretching your walls and pushing against that sweet spot inside you. “I’m not the cruel one.”

They’re both cruel, you think, but that’s the only thing going through your mind because you’re pretty sure you’re going to go fucking crazy, your pussy is so hot you feel like you’re melting around him but you keep at Alisa’s cunt because you want to be good, want to be their good girl, want to be their good little kitty.

You want to be theirs.

“Please—please, can I, can I? Please let me, please I need you to let me…” you beg—somewhere in the back of your mind you know you’re going to hate yourself for giving in to them tomorrow but you want it so so so bad and you can’t cum without their permission, you can’t, you can’t be bad again.

“Well…what do you think, Alisa? Has she earned it?” There’s a growl in Lev’s voice—is he holding himself back? Yesss… He’s slowing down, fucking you up from the inside and the outside, pulling that heat out of you, making you squeal and whine and plead just like he said he would.

You want to, you need to, need to earn it, be good make Alisa feel good earn it—fuck, you have to try harder, and you flutter your tongue over her clit through her panties as well as you can, knowing you’re being sloppy but you don’t know how to help it. She waits a long moment and then sighs, pulling her fingers through your hair, pulling it away from your face so you can look up at her, those pretty pretty eyes looking down at yours so indulgently. Adoringly. Like you’re something to be cherished. “Mm…yes.”

And that’s all it takes.

Your mouth falls open and your pussy does something, convulsing—

“—cumming I’m cumming Lev, A-Alisa—“

fuck, can’t breathe why can’t you breathe? something digging into your throat—

Lev’s, Lev’s hand under the choker dragging you upright tightening cutting off the sounds coming out of your mouth, choking your scream into a pathetic little mewl so he can hold your body up next to him while he fucks you through your climax—you can feel your face turning pink, your cunny holding around him, squeezing him so tight he can barely move but he still does, hips thrusting against your ass, the pleasure so bright and heavy you’re seeing sparks, head rushing, or maybe that’s just the lack of oxygen,

too tight the choker’s too tight you bring your hand back and tap against Lev’s and he lets go immediately. “Shit—sorry, are you alright? Can you breathe?”

You can feel him pulling out, and just that movement is enough to set off another round of clenching in your pussy. You’re sputtering, throat contracting in time with your cunt, not too painful. Just raw.

“Try to breathe, (Y/N),” Lev repeats, stroking down your back to soothe you. He sounds worried, and…that’s your name, isn’t it? It’s been a while since you heard one of them actually say your name instead of just kitten or kitty or kotyonok. It’s not like you can really bother pretending you’re not at least a little bit into the nickname, but hearing your real name out of his mouth stokes some kind of soft, nervous pleasure in you. And goddamn, you do not have the brainpower to analyze why.

It takes a moment for you to catch your breath—the air tastes sweeter than it did a minute ago—and then you roll over. “Did...did you cum?”

Lev shakes his head. You turn toward Alisa, and she just pats your cheek—of course she didn’t cum. Which means you’ve gotten to cum twice, and you didn’t get either of them off.

You bite your lip, turn to the side, and try not to let your eyes water for the—third? fourth?—time tonight. “I’m sorry, I—I’ll do it again, I’ll be better—“

“No,” Alisa says gently, adjusting her position to sit next to you and kiss your forehead. “You were so good, (Y/N).”

Lev mirrors her actions on the other side so you’re bracketed by the two of them. After a second of stillness to gauge your comfort, he starts undoing the clasps at the back of the choker and massaging his fingers over the tender skin underneath. You sniffle and then feel him lay his chin on the top of your head, arrange his arm over your side. “It’s okay,” he murmurs. “You know we like you no matter what, right?”

Alisa nods in agreement, pupils coming to a rest on the skin of your throat as she helps Lev remove the tangle of red satin straps from your body. “Our perfect little kitten. Who’s a good girl?”

Kitten.

Your stomach drops. Not your name. Just kitten.

It must be the twentieth time she’s called you that tonight, but somehow this time it’s different. You cringe, feeling cold where she touches you, but that doesn’t stop her from wiping away the smeared mascara and tear tracks from your cheeks. When you try to flinch away from her, Lev huffs out an annoyed breath and pushes you back into place. “Myesto. Stay.”

It’s a command. Like you would give to an animal. When you freeze, Alisa smiles and then she’s tilting your chin up with her fingers and bringing the camera—the camera, you forgot about the camera—to your throat so she can capture the mess of pink lines and indentations from where the choker bit into your neck…

…and who are you kidding? It’s not a choker, it’s a fucking collar. And you’re not their lover, or their girlfriend, or even their fuckbuddy.

You’re their pet.

[adapembroke]

The Best Self-Care Routine For Your Moon Sign

If you’ve ever read an article about self-care and felt like it was adventures in missing the point for you, you’re not alone. Just like one-size-fits-all clothes are a myth, one-size-fits-all self-care routines aren’t going to work for everyone.

In astrology, the moon describes the things you need to be happy. It is your personal recipe for comfort and well-being.

In this article, I talk about what a daily routine of self-care looks like for each of the astrological signs.

Moon in Aries

Aries is a stress magnet. With the moon in Aries, it’s essential for you to build activities into your routine that help burn off stress.

In the morning… Start your day with a quick yoga routine or an adaptogen-filled smoothie.

At work… It’s easy for you to fall into a bad posture or unconsciously clench your muscles when you’re stressed out at work. Make sure to take a few minutes throughout the day to stretch and move your body—especially if your job requires you to sit for long periods of time.

At lunch… Fuel up on food that will give you energy, and take a few minutes to do deep breathing exercises. If you have a hard time sitting still long enough to meditate, try taking a walk or doing a simple mindfulness practice.

After work… It’s important to communicate to your body when stress is over. If you find your work or your commute stressful, do something that marks the transition from work-time to home-time like changing your clothes or taking a shower.

On your days off… Look for adventures. You weren’t made to be bored, and there’s a big, wide world out there to explore.

Moon in Taurus

Earthy Taurus moons feel best when you are in your body, and it feels good. You weren’t born on this earth to be a stress-ball, and the more you lean into that, the happier you’ll be.

In the morning… Try to give yourself plenty of time to get through your morning routine. Taurus is a slow sign naturally, and you thrive on calm. Having a few minutes before you begin your day to drink your coffee before you have to start anything important will do a lot for your mood.

At work… Resist the temptation to give into productivity culture. You work best when you’re able to work at your own pace, even if that’s slow and steady. The time other people spend healing from burnout is time you can use to catch up.

At lunch… If there’s anything about your job that is physically uncomfortable, spend a few minutes getting away from that thing, if you can. Otherwise, eat something delicious and take a walk outside when the weather is nice.

After work… Take care of your body. Taurus is the most embodied sign in the zodiac, and it’s important for you to make time in your routine to feel good every day, even if it’s as simple as switching to the comfy shoes instead of the ones that pinch.

On your days off… Spend as much time as you can outside in nature. Taurus gets a lot from connecting with animals, so spend some time at the park watching people walk by with their dogs.

Moon in Gemini

Gemini is the sign of the conversationalist. Gemini moons are happiest when you feel like you are thinking quickly and on top of your game.

In the morning… Take a deep breath. You might be tempted to do All The things, but you don’t have to jump into everything right away. All you have to do right now is breathe.

At work… You might do your best work by going along with the task that is most immediate or urgent, but it’s important to remember that your priorities are important, too. Make a list of a few things you think are important to finish every day and do your best to make sure they don’t get lost.

At lunch… Talking with people is a very important emotional need for you. If you have a job that doesn’t allow you to talk to people while you’re working, reach out to a friend or grab a colleague for coffee.

After work… If you have a job that bores you, now is the time to stimulate your mind. Talk to people you find interesting or geek out about the thing you’re obsessed with at the moment.

On your days off… Socialize, socialize, socialize.

Moon in Cancer

Cancer is the sign of the nurturer, which means that it is extra important for you to take care of yourself. There’s a lot of pressure (especially on people of certain genders) to put everyone else’s priorities first, but you will do a better job taking care of others when you’re well taken care of first.

In the morning… Feed yourself. Literally. It sends a message to your body that you’re taking care of yourself.

At work… Honor your emotions, whatever they are. If it isn’t appropriate to express your feelings in front of your colleagues, there’s a reason the bathroom door has a lock on it.

At lunch… Find quiet if you can. If you can’t, a good pair of noise cancelling headphones works wonders.

After work… Reconnect with your feelings before you jump into anything. If your job is particularly stressful, be careful about making plans on work nights, or make sure you can back out of them. Sometimes self-care isn’t compatible with dinner parties.

On your days off… Schedule yourself some free-time alone. Ask yourself: If I was my best parent, what would I do with this time? Then do that thing.

Moon in Leo

Leo is the sign of the entertainer and the child. You have an emotional need to be seen, and you need to feel like you are making the people around you happy. When you are alone, creative self-expression feeds your soul.

In the morning… Put on something that feels like You. Other signs can get away with wearing the same gray dress slacks 6 days a week. (I’m looking at you, Capricorn.) You don’t have that luxury. A spontaneous smile when you look in the mirror is a must.

At work… You need to be in a job where your work is appreciated. If the people around you don’t get what you’re about, lunch breaks are for job hunting.

At lunch… Do something playful. Adult coloring books were made for Leo moons.

After work… If you’ve got social energy to burn, use it, baby!

On your days off… The best audience is a grateful audience. Take a few hours to volunteer for a cause you believe in.

Moon in Virgo

Virgo is famous for being a detail-oriented perfectionist. As a Virgo moon, you have an emotional need to feel like you have all your ducks in a row. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

In the morning… Get straight on your priorities. List making was made for Virgo moon mornings.

At work… Find yourself being especially critical of yourself (or someone else)? Make it a practice to notice three things you (or they) do right every day. You can do it. Honestly.

At lunch… Check in with yourself: How is that to-do list coming? If you’re feeling antsy because things aren’t getting done, reassess your plans and make peace with changes or set some boundaries on your afternoon.

After work… Make yourself a healthy dinner and get some exercise. …That isn’t the kind of indulgent self-care advice you usually get, but it will make you feel better.

On your days off… Connect with a craft. Anything that you really enjoy doing and can work on perfecting is good for the soul.

Moon in Libra

Libra is the sign of the scales, which means that feeling like you have balance and calm in your life is important for your emotional health.

In the morning… Get into your body and literally find your balance. Spending a minute in a one-legged yoga pose will tell your brain that it’s time to wake up and find your footing.

At work… People are going to look to you to be the peace maker. You can embrace this, or you can fight it, but your ability to see all sides of an issue is valuable. Allow yourself to shine.

At lunch… Look at your face in the mirror. If your best friend had that expression on their face, what advice would you give them? Go do that.

After work… Tend to your relationships. A healthy relationship is a happy Libra moon.

On your days off… Seek serenity, chase beauty, live poetically.

Moon in Scorpio

Scorpio is the sign of the psychologist and the sorcerer. No one feels their darkest emotions as strongly as a Scorpio moon. Tending to hard emotions is essential for your emotional health.

In the morning… Watch out for getting in the habit of waking up depressed, anxious, or angry. If you find that you’re in the same bad mood every morning, it doesn’t have to be that way. Change up your routine, and, if that doesn’t work, talk to your doctor.

At work… It can feel sometimes like you are a researcher behind a one-way mirror. You can see everyone else, but everyone else can’t see you. You can use this to your advantage. It can also make you invisible at times when people should be seeing the good work you’re doing. Make sure you’re using your super power intentionally.

At lunch… If your job denies you solitude, take it back during your breaks. Having times to sort through your feelings during the day is vital for Scorpio moons.

After work… Music is your best friend. If you have a commute, listening to music that resonates with your feelings (or, better, takes you to a better emotional place) will give you a much better evening.

On your days off… Connect with people who love your intensity. The cool kids are supposed to be easy-going, but there are people who value deep honesty. Treasure them when you find them.

Moon in Sagittarius

Sagittarius is the sign of the wanderer, the philosopher, and the student, and no sign understands that life is a journey better than Sagittarius moons. You have an emotional need to feel like life has meaning. Don’t let the cynical world out there put out your fire.

In the morning… If you don’t know the reason you got up this morning, figuring it out is the first thing on your to-do list.

At work… No matter what your job is, find some time to do something you’ve never done before, even if it’s finding out where they keep the big boxes of ketchup packets. Learning something new every day is key to your happiness.

At lunch… Do something that makes you happy. Taking a break to look at silly kitten pictures is a thing.

After work… Break up your routine and try something new. That new Ethiopian restaurant down the street really is calling your name.

On your days off… Explore, explore, explore.

Moon in Capricorn

Some of the other signs might not realize that you weren’t born wearing a business suit, but we know you have a big heart, Capricorn moon.

In the morning… The person who invented goal setting was probably a Capricorn moon. Feeling like you have a clear idea of the mountain you have to climb today is important to you.

At work… You don’t need advice. You’re a Capricorn.

At lunch… Be intentional about eating at your desk. Is it really helping, or does it just feel like it’s helping?

After work… Exists. If you let it.

On your days off… Take them.

Moon in Aquarius

Aquarius is the sign of the genius and the rebel. Aquarius moons have an emotional need to go against the crowd and do their own thing.

In the morning… If you can, try to wake up without an alarm. The feeling of starting the day on your terms will do a lot for your emotional state.

At work… Check your relationship with authority. If you are in a position where you need to take orders from someone you don’t respect, don’t underestimate the toll that will take on your emotional health, and account for that in your self-care practices.

At lunch… Think about the future. It’s something you probably enjoy doing anyway, and if you don’t like your current circumstances some healthy day-dreaming will help you make changes.

After work… Get back into your body. Aquarius’s favorite coping mechanism is dissociation, and it’s important to remember to stop when the need is gone.

On your days off… Do your own thing.

Moon in Pisces

Pisces is the sign of the mystic, the poet, and the open ocean. It is essential for Pisces moons to have free time to explore the mysteries of consciousness and Just Be.

In the morning… Start your day with meditation, even if it’s a few minutes staring out the window on the bus.

At work… Pisces has the ability to masquerade as other signs when necessary, but it’s important to remember who you are. When you’re starting to feel ungrounded lean into the place in your body that feels like the core of your being. Meditate on it for a minute. You’ll know what I’m talking about.

At lunch… Space out. If you don’t do it now, you’ll do it this afternoon. (You might do it this afternoon, anyway.)

After work… Have you meditated yet today?

On your days off… Sensory deprivation tanks were made for Pisces moons.

What about you? What’s your moon sign, and what are you doing to take care of yourself today?

If you’ve read this far, you’re pretty cool, I’d love for you to connect with me on Instagram and tell me about your plans.

Related Posts

[writtenvisionary]

please don’t hurt me.

wrote for the prompt “start a story with ‘please don’t hurt me’” sent in by an anon to @mlwritersguild!

Summary: Tom says something that strikes Adrien the wrong way. Sabine goes into mama bear mode.

tw - mentions of abuse, small panic attack

Read on Ao3

“Please don’t hurt me.”

Sabine Cheng stares, mouth agape, at her daughter’s boyfriend. Her heart clenches at the tremble in his voice; the quiver of his bottom lip; the shakiness of his hands. The words he had just uttered came at an unexpected time and she’s now realizing that there’s something very wrong.

Adrien had been coming to the bakery for weeks now, both to see his girlfriend and to learn the skill of baking. He never explicitly said it, but he left hints that father had been controlling his meals. Already having a daughter with a fast metabolism, she knew that it was important for teenagers to eat well and often; it’s imperative for their health. This is why she encouraged him to join their family dinners almost every night, and Tom had invited him to learn how to bake.

Getting out of his father’s grip was hard, she was aware. He had to lie consistently, both to his bodyguard and his father’s assistant, in order to have dinner with his girlfriend and her parents.

She notices how jumpy and skittish he can be sometimes. This behavior only ever increases around Tom, and she wants to believe it’s because he’s a big, burley man with a drive to protect his only daughter, but she knows it has to do with his father.

(But to be honest, she forgets these things sometimes.)

Like tonight, they had been rolling the dough for a new batch of bread and joking around, when Tom said something that struck a nerve.

He had said, “Don’t disappoint me, son.”

Tom meant it jokingly, as their previous conversation had been about how Adrien might want to pursue a degree in culinary arts when he goes to university, and he fully supports this decision.

Both parents realized too late that Adrien isn’t used to hearing jokes from the adults around him. Words like that are only said in a negative connotation around him, so they really should have known better.

Adrien had gone pale, pausing his kneading of dough, and his eyes lowered to the ground. She watched in growing concern as he gulped and clenched his fists tightly for a short moment.

After sparing a glance to her husband, she took a tentative step over to Adrien. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he violently flinched away from her touch. Her heart dropped.

“Honey, he didn’t mean it like that…”

Her attempts at consoling him fell flat, because he didn’t seem to hear her. His glazing eyes stared past her at a blank spot on the wall. His breath became shallow, and he brought his arms up to wrap around his chest as a form of security.

“Adrien, I—“

Tom stops short as the young boy in front of him squeezes his eyes tight and takes a step backwards.

“Please don’t hurt me.”

It was a feeble request, his voice shaking with every word.

“Adrien, honey, no one is going to hurt you,” she says softly, holding one of her palms up to show that she has no intentions of putting it near him.

He still doesn’t open his eyes, instead his breath quickens even more. Tom bites his lip as he leans towards his wife, then whispers, “He’s having a panic attack. I’ll go get Marinette and some water for him.”

As a silent thanks, Sabine places a hand on his large forearm, and sends him a sad smile. He walks away, leaving her with a panicking Adrien.

She’s not sure what to do; Marinette had never told her that Adrien experienced bad anxiety. Her daughter is keeping a lot of secrets from her (which she is frustrated about, because she should know certain things as her mother; but also, she understands that Marinette is a teenager and she’s happy to respect her boundaries), but Sabine wishes that this was something she had told her. That way she might be able to help.

The sound of footsteps trampling down the stairs makes her whip her head around, seeing Marinette running hurriedly towards Adrien.

She slows, letting out a slow breath as she takes in the situation.

“Kitty, hey, hey, hey…” she says loudly, but not loud enough to where it startles him. “I’m here. You’re panicking. Kitty, can I touch you?”

Subconsciously, Sabine wonders where the nickname ‘kitty’ came from, but that’s not something to worry about right now.

Adrien, his breathing still unchanged, manages to crack open his eyes into slits. They dance around the room wearily, before landing on Marinette. Sabine swears she can see his fists uncurl slightly.

“Hi, kitten. Could I hold your hand?”

It takes a minute for him to acknowledge that she had asked a question, but then he just barely nods. Marinette takes this opportunity to move closer, cautiously, and slips her hand into his’. She meets his eyes.

“Okay. I want you to tell me five things you can see right now. Anything.”

His lip quivers and he lets out a small whimper, before blinking out a slew of tears.

“Uh. You.”

Sabine is astonished at how Marinette is able to stay calm in this situation. Her smile to him is forced, but comforting, and the mother can’t shake the evidence that she’s done this before.

“Amazing,” she hears Marinette say. “What else?”

Adrien sniffs, shifting his eyes to the wall behind the girl in front of him. “Th-that poster.”

“You’re doing great, kitty. Three more.”

Tom joins Sabine, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side. She exhales at the contact, watching as Adrien rattles off item after item, feel after feel, sound after sound, smell after smell, and can’t help but wonder how often her daughter has helped bring him down from a panic attack.

Another question she has is, what prompted this? She knows that he’s not used to hearing jokes told in that manner, but that’s not enough to send someone into a spiral. It was his reaction to the specific words said to him.

There's one thing she can figure out right away; Mr. Agreste calls Adrien ‘son’; that may have reminded him of the man. Adrien is a people pleaser; just the mere thought of disappointing someone could cause him to spiral.

Although, even with this information, she still feels like there’s a part of the puzzle missing. She replays the scene in her head over and over again until she can’t take it anymore, and nothing.

Words cannot describe how dumb she feels when Marinette talks to them, once Adrien is asleep in her room.

“His father is, cut and dry, mentally and physically abusive.”

Marinette speaks with such vindictiveness that it takes Sabine aback for a moment.

“Abusive? I know he’s a bit overprotective, honey, but—“

“Mom.”

Marinette’s tone makes Sabine stop in her tracks.

“He gaslights him constantly, telling him that he needs to be perfect and that if not, he’s a disappointment. That’s why your words struck something in him, dad. And Gabriel locks him in his room, doesn’t let him see his friends for weeks, and when Adrien can finally hang out with us, it’s only for an hour. He doesn’t join him for dinner — Adrien has to set a damn appointment to get this luxury — and hugs from him are rare. He’s neglectful and says things that hurt, and….”

Sabine’s eyes are wide in shock hearing everything. She’s sure that’s it, but when her daughter trails off, her fear only grows.

“What, sweetie?”

“…He hit him the other day.”

“What?”

It wasn’t her that spoke, but Tom. She glanced over to see him fuming. His eyebrows are narrowed and jaw is clenched. She can feel anger surging in her chest, as well.

Marinette shifts on her feet, seemingly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, and nods.

“I don’t know exactly what happened, but I met him for pa— for a picnic in the park, and his shirt rode up. A huge bruise was on his abdomen.”

Sabine felt that she was telling a white lie there, but there are more important topics at hand.

“Has Gabriel ever hit him before?” She asks, worried for the boy she considers a son.

Marinette shrugs, “Adrien hasn’t admitted it, but I suspect that he has. Its not the first time I’ve seen him with bruises. They’re in different places all the time, though, so I just passed it off as clumsiness… but…”

“But you’re clumsier than him and come home with less bruises,” Tom breathes, finally pulling his hands away from his face and looking at his daughter, who nods.

“Gabriel doesn’t even talk to him unless he does something to disturb the appearance of his brand and reputation. But when he ‘acts out,’ Adrien gets more than enough attention from him; the wrong kind.”

Tom gulps.

“Right. And who really knows what goes on behind closed doors?”

The room falls into a tense silence.

“I understand that you were just messing around, dad. It’s just… when those words are something he hears almost every day, he’s going to take it seriously. Especially when he was raised to be perfect, and any little mistake will get him punished.

“It’s a reflex. He trusts you, dad, but years of trauma build up.”

Marinette’s explanation helps the older couple understand the situation a bit better. Tom suddenly feels extremely guilty. He holds his head in his hands, grumbling to himself. Sabine rubs his leg, keeping her attention on Marinette.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner, Marinette?”

“I wanted to, and I was getting there. Adrien just…” she sighs. “He was afraid that things would get worse if someone found out.”

“Well, things will get worse before they get better…”

She looks to the ground. “I know. And he’s already been suffering so much that I…”

Marinette trails off, feeling her eyes well up with tears. Instead of fighting them, she lets them fall.

Sabine frowns, taking everything that’s been said into consideration.

“Do you have any proof of the bruises?”

Tom perks up, “Yes! If we collect evidence against his father, there’s a better chance to get him out of there.”

“I snuck a few pictures here and there. I wish I had a video, though…”

Sabine raises an eyebrow, “The mansion’s security cameras?”

She watches her daughter’s eyes light up, then dim, and then light up again. There’s a flash of determination in them, as well, and she can’t help but wonder what she’s planning.

“You’re right,” is all she says, before her optimistic facade turns sour.

“But I don’t know how I’ll get to them without being caught.”

The room falls silent for a minute as they all think about the best course of action.

Tom coughs, catching his wife and daughter’s attention. He shrugs.

“Is there anyone at that house Adrien can trust?”

“Umm. The only person I can think of is his bodyguard, even though we’ve run from him plenty of times,” Marinette says. “He’s pretty quiet, though, so I don’t know if he agrees with Gabriel’s parenting or not. I’ll ask Adrien, though.”

“I’d say it’s worth a shot. Every encounter with that man has been lovely. I’d like to think he’s still working there just for Adrien,” Tom says.

Sabine nods, letting her mind wander. She can’t help but think of every time Adrien has faked a smile, rubbed his arms, rocked back and forth on his feet… Every time he’s had dark circles under his eyes and the ghost of tear streaks on his cheeks... She’s starting to realize that those were all tells, and she should’ve noticed sooner. She feels guiltier than ever.

“Mom?”

Marinette’s voice pulls her away from her thoughts. She blinks, feeling tears gather in her eyes.

When had I started to tear up?

“Sorry, sorry! Let’s, uh—“ she pauses, not knowing what to say, before choosing her next words. “Let’s have him sleep here for the night and see what we can do tomorrow?”

Tom nods beside her.

“Yeah. It might be too soon to worry about all of this right now. Adrien will want to know that we know, too.”

Marinette sighs, “You’re right. He’s not going to be that happy about it. I mean, it took a while for him to understand that the way his father treats him isn’t right, but he’s still working out that concept with you guys. Getting the police involved will just overwhelm him more.”

“True,” Sabine agrees, “but I will not let him stay at that house any longer if that’s what he’s dealing with. No kid should ever go through that.”

She’s serious. No matter what it takes, she will make sure that no one hurts Adrien ever again. Especially not Gabriel Agreste.

[127-mile]

IN THE SHADOW.

Pairing: Nyx!Yuta x gender neutral reader.

Genre: Greek mythology, forbidden love, fluff, angst if you squint.

Warnings: Genderbending. (Nyx is a Goddess)

Plot: Sometimes night falls in the middle of the day, and a god can be seen on top of the hill waiting for his beloved.

Word count: +2k.

A/n: This is part of the Gods among us collab hosted by @yutasgalaxy​

For the second time this year, the city is plunged into darkness in the middle of the day.

For the second time this year, the locals look at the sky, stunned. For the second time this year the locals are wondering if this is a sign that the end of the world is approaching, and for the second time this year you know the locals will start to panic, then they will feel stupid when the sun will start to shine again.

You remember the first time it happened.

Not this year, but ten years ago.

You were playing in the garden with the neighbor's dog, you were laughing when the sky clouded over. At first you thought it was going to rain, and that you were going to have to go inside to avoid getting sick, but when you looked up, there were no clouds.

It is as if the night had fallen in the middle of the afternoon.

You met your mother's gaze through the living room window, and she smiled, as if she knew what happened.

You walked over to her, and tilted your head to the side, asking her a silent question. A question she answered immediately, speaking to you like an adult, not a child. She knew you would understand despite your young age.

"Sometimes night falls during the day, but that shouldn't scare you, on the contrary. It is a sign that something great is about to happen."

You believed it, because there was no reason for your mother to lie to you, and today, the same thought goes through your mind when night falls.

Except now you know why night is falling. You know the truth.

You know that some beings, beings higher than you, higher than anyone on this earth, can only walk on earth if they are hidden by darkness. Some beings live in the shadows.

And today one of those shadows came to see you.

You don't know when the night is going to fall. You don't know when you're going to have to give up your activities to climb to the top of the hill overlooking the city. All you know is you have a few minutes to do it, otherwise he will go away, and the sun will come back until next time.

You decide to leave before the locals start screaming, and running around, but you don't have time to take more than two steps before someone grabs your wrist to keep you from moving.

You turn your head, and you narrow your eyes to see the person despite the darkness around you. Doyoung.

"You always disappear when night falls. Why?" he asks with a frown, and if only you had time to explain it to him, you would.

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me." you answer in a calm voice despite your pounding heart.

"Try, I may surprise you."

You nibble on your lower lip, and take a deep breath. "You're full of surprises Doyoung, I know, unfortunately I don't have time. I'll tell you everything one of these days, I promise."

Doyoung is stubborn, you know him by heart, you expect him to tighten his fingers on your wrist, but instead he lets go of your wrist with a nod. "I won't forget. Leave."

Doyoung is full of surprises indeed.

With one last look for Doyoung, you run towards the hill. You know it will take you ten minutes to get to the bottom, and another ten minutes to climb to the top. Which will leave you forty minutes with him.

Five minutes, forty minutes, or hours will never be enough, but you're happy with that, you have little choice anyway.

When you get to the top of the hill, you're out of breath. Your lungs are burning, and your legs are about to let go. If you had more time, you could walk but unfortunately he doesn't really give you a choice.

You drop onto the bench which offers an incredible view of the city, and you put a hand on your heart, trying to catch your breath.

"I thought you would never arrive."

You jump when you hear his voice, but you know better than to turn around to look at him. He will come to you, he will show himself first. You know better than to look at him when he's not yet in his human form.

You don't know what would happen if you looked at him before, but you don't really want to find out.

"Sorry, I had a little hitch on the way."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him settle down, and finally you turn your head towards him.

As always, his long dark hair is tied back into a small ponytail, and a smile lights up his face even in the dark. Yuta is breathtaking. Inhumanly beautiful.

"Did you miss me?" he asks in a low voice, as if he's afraid someone would hear him. But you know the hill is the last place the locals take refuge when night falls.

"You know I missed you." you answer, and he turns on the bench so he can face you, so you imitate him immediately. "Did you?"

"I miss you every second that I'm not with you."

These aren't words you would expect to hear from a person like Yuta. From a God, and yet you have to believe that life has decided to give you something. Something you can't talk about, of course, but something amazing.

"If you miss me as much as you pretend you to, you could come more often."

Yuta sighs, and he puts his hand on yours. "You know I would, if I could, unfortunately it's not as easy as you think."

You know, he tells you every time, but can he blame you for wanting to see him more often? No.

"Let's take advantage of the few minutes we have then." you say, and he smirks.

He leans forward, and he takes your face in his cold hands. His hands are as cold as the winter nights when you spend hours wondering why he's not next to you, in your bed, warming you, rather than in a dark palace where you will never have access.

He leans forward, and he places a tender kiss on your lips. You respond immediately, moving closer to Yuta to space as little as possible between your two bodies.

"I missed you so much." he's whispering against your lips, and you could cry, because you know it's gonna be the same next time.

It will be the same kiss to share, the same words, the same promises that he will certainly not be able to keep, another night before long months without news.

When Yuta is not around you regret being on the hill that time, because it hurts to love a being that you are not supposed to love, a being that is not supposed to come down on earth to see a mere mortal.

Even when he's there, you start to regret going there, answering his question, and promising him to be there the next time the night will fall.

And above all, you would never have liked to know the reason for nightfall.

You move your face away from Yuta's, and he frowns.

"Why are you coming back? I'm nothing unlike the beings that live in your palace, so why do you come back every time?"

You would like to ask him if it's because he likes to hurt you, but you don't want the visit to end any faster if he gets angry.

"Is that a real question?" he asks, and you nod your head. "I thought it was obvious."

If it was that obvious, you certainly wouldn't have asked him the question. He heaves a long sigh, and he continues to speak.

"Because you're not like the people I hang out with every day. You offer me things that no one will ever be able to offer me in my palace. You offer me a peace that I never could find in a world as dark as mine. You are a light in the darkness that is my life."

Yuta is a sweet talker, it's true, but for some reason, you believe those words. You know he's not lying, that he's not saying that because that's what you want to hear. You see it on his face, you hear it in his voice.

"Have you ever met someone else who made you feel like this?"

He shakes his head, taking your hand in his, intertwining his fingers with yours.

"I have been to earth many times, and never have I had a conversation with anyone, I have never felt the need to show myself, to come out of the shadows. You are different, and I felt it the moment I laid my eyes on you, on that hill."

"So yeah, I know it's not a perfect situation, that we don't know when we'll see each other again, but I love you, Y/n. And coming from a God, these are not words to take lightly. I won't waste my time, and my energy coming to earth if I was only there to hurt you, or to have you entertain me until I have to return to my palace."

Your heart is beating so hard in your chest that you won't be surprised if it breaks your rib cage and falls at the feet of Yuta, who, you know, would take great care of it.

"Do you love me?" he asks.

You raise your head, and you look at the black sky without stars, without moon, just a strange darkness that you have become accustomed to. A darkness that you would like to have constantly. When you lower your head to look at Yuta, you see so much emotion in his eyes.

"Of course I love you Yuta, more than anything in the world. It hurts, not being able to have you by my side every day, but having you every now and then is way more than I can ask from you."

You slide your hand down his cheek, and he leans into the touch like a kitten would. "Can you make me a promise?" you ask, and he hums.

"Promise me to always come and see me. Even if you have to tell me it will be the last time. Don't make me hope, don't make me wait for the night to fall."

It's a tough promise to keep, you know that, but you need to convince yourself that he will tell you, even if he doesn't. You really need it.

"I promise to always come and see you, even if it's for the last time. Even though I can't come to earth anymore, for any reason you will know. I will never make you wait for my return on this hill. But know that if that day comes, and you go to this hill, I will know it, and I will always be close to you in a way."

You kiss his forehead, and he closes his eyes for a second before opening them again when a noise is heard further down the hill.

You know what that means, you know it's time for Yuta to let the city regain its clarity, it's time for him to let the sun come back.

"Come back soon." you whisper, and he gets up from the bench.

He nods, and you close your eyes when you hear the sound of his footsteps disappearing into the hill, you reopen them when the darkness gives way to a bright sun.

Once again, you find yourself alone at the top of this hill, not knowing when you'll have the chance to see Yuta again, hear his voice, and feel his lips on yours.

[katsukari]

Kissing headcanons that no one asked for pt.2

Alright, we’re gonna see how this goes, I’ve been having some troubles with tagging in the last 24hrs so I’m not sure if this is gonna show up. But! I wanted to give part two a go cause writing part one was fun, so here we go! Still writing for them as adults in relationships! Some very light nsfw themes if you look hard enough. Tamaki’s got a bit long because boy did I have some thoughts about that.

Part one can be found here!

Part three can be found here!

Shinsou Hitoshi

Kissing you is unlike anything he’s ever experienced. It can wake him from the sleepiest moods, it makes his skin feel like it’s on fire, he can’t get enough of you.

For most everyday kisses he’s a lazy kisser. Hands ghosting over your hips and lips moving slow so he can really feel you. One of his hands may find their way to cup your jaw.

Those are his favorite kinds of kisses. He just likes to take his time with you, the rest of life moves so fast, and you’re one thing he doesn’t want to miss. 

However, when the mood strikes, he won’t hesitate to speed things up. He’ll kiss you till you’re breathless and give you just long enough to take a breath before reclaiming your attention.  It’s hard to tell when a kiss will lead to something more with Hitoshi, but if you’ve got him moaning into you, that’s usually a telltale sign.

His  arms are usually wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as he can possibly get you. Occasionally he’ll have both hands holding your face as he kisses you, toying with the hair at the back of your neck.

Can be handsy, but don’t expect it to be rushed. He will take his sweet time, mapping out every inch of you with his fingertips. Expect the occasional ass grab, it’s bound to happen. The way you shudder and lean into his touch is addictive.

He loves when you have your hands tangled in his hair, the feel of your fingertips on his scalp, the way you’ll tug on it to get him where you want him. It really gets him going.

But really, what about you doesn’t get him going?

His hands are cold, and he knows this, and he uses it to tease you. Will brush under the hem of your shirt just to get you to gasp. Sometimes he’ll slide his whole hand under just to get you to squeal and to pull away and bat at his shoulder. 

He thinks it’s funny.

Will pick you up and press you against the wall, but he prefers to initiate heated kisses when you’re laying on top of him before and/or after a nap. Definitely will flip you over at some point so he’s over you. Also a big fan of having you in his lap. He would keep you there all day if he could, and some days he tries.

Loves to kiss your neck and collarbones, and loves it when you kiss his. 

He’s neutral on hickeys. Though they can be fun to give, and he loves hearing you say his name, he just doesn’t like the upkeep. 

Will definitely give you a hard time if you try and take control over a kiss you didn’t initiate. If you kissed him first, he’ll let you have it, but if not you’re gonna have to work for it kitten.

His kisses never fail to remind you how special he thinks you are.

Amajiki Tamaki

Such a shy man. He takes a while to get comfortable with kissing in any capacity let alone making-out with you. Once he does though he really enjoys them, and making-out is low-key one of his favorite forms of affection, but he would never come out and say it. It’s too embarrassing.

Being wrapped up in your arms makes him feel good, he feels safe, he feels loved. 

He rarely initiates kisses unless he’s feeling especially needy or has a burst of confidence (which is a treat) so you wind up being the deciding factor for how much you two kiss. 

You can tell when he wants a kiss though, he makes it fairly obvious, his eyes will constantly find their way to your lips. If the two of you are out he suddenly wants to get home as soon as possible, he’ll start to tug on your hand. He isn’t very subtle.

His soft kisses are shy and sweet. Sometimes when he initiates, he kisses you so lightly you wonder if your lips even touched, but they still give you butterflies. 

When you kiss gently or its just a quick peck he’ll have one hand on your hip and the other holding your face. Won’t pull you too close for these. He will often want more than one kiss though, so expect to share a few of these at a time.

Since you initiate most kisses, he doesn’t mind letting you take the lead, especially since it means you’ll hopefully get what you want out of the kiss. 

For the most part, as long as your lips are on his and you’re happy, that’s all he needs. But, there are days when he’s needy. He needs to have you closer, needs to run his hands over every part of you, needs to hear you say his name as he kisses that sensitive spot on your neck.

When he takes the lead it’s for one of two reasons, he’s needy and he can’t take it anymore, or hearing you and feeling you under him has given him courage. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced. 

You don’t know how he does it but he’s this wonderful mix of gentle and assertive. A perfect balance. 

When things get heated his hands will be on your hips, fingers digging gently. You’ll have to tell him it’s okay for his hands to wander, and you may even have to guide his hands, but eventually he gets a bit more comfortable with it. 

Loves to run his hands up and over your chest to rest on your shoulders, but be aware that his hands may linger, just for a little while.

Not really big on picking you up, but will do it if you enjoy it. Much prefers to have you in his lap. He loves to have his hands on your thighs. If you’re in his lap you can often assume that it will lead to something else. 

If you’re vocal, if you moan or sigh or hum he will melt. Loves to nip at your lower lip for this reason. 

He’s a shoulder’s and chest guy when it comes to where he loves to kiss you aside from the lips. Don’t misunderstand, kissing your neck right on that sensitive spot is great, but there is just something so special about placing kisses on the top of your shoulder or chest. 

He loves it when you kiss his neck though. Not too big on hickeys just because they kind of make him nervous and what if someone sees them? He’s not ashamed of you, he loves you, but he doesn’t want other people to know about his romantic tendencies. 

You can’t believe you ever lived a life without him in it.

Mirio Togata

Kissing him is always fun. He prefers light kisses so expect lots of them. He loves the way it makes his heart soar, the excitement in his bones, the way he can’t keep from smiling when you’re near. All of it.

He will pepper your face will kisses before actually kissing your lips. He likes to tease you because he likes knowing how much you want him. It’s reassuring that you want him just as much as he does you. 

Kisses you whenever he has an excuse to. When you tell him he doesn’t need one be prepared for kisses galore. His light kisses will fall on your lips more times than you can count, his deep ones not far behind.

Just wants you to know how much he loves you, and showering you with affection is just one of the many ways he does that.

Definitely talks to you in between kisses. Sometimes its about completely normal things like what you want for dinner, other times its sweet nothings, other times its something, well, something more.

If he’s going in for a deep kiss, he will usually start with one hand under your chin, pulling your face in close, his other hand dangerously close to your back pocket.

He’s not super handsy all the time. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy touching you, he does, immensely. He just prefers to pick you up and wrap your legs around him very early on in the kiss and that doesn’t give him the opportunity for much more than an ass grab.

What can I say, he moves fast. 

Loves having you wrapped around him and there’s no denying it. It’s his favorite position to kiss you in. And if he can press you up against a wall? Even better. 

He enjoys having you in his lap and kisses while laying down are good too. He’s down for whatever as long as you’re with him.

Loves when you grab his biceps. A close second is when you are clutching at the fabric of his shirt over his chest. Loves when you get handsy with him. Tugging on his hair is good for him too.

When it comes to where he likes to kiss you, other than on the lips, he’s a chest and collarbones guy. Loves that he can pretty much feel your heart beating, the way your breathing hitches, everything about it is appealing to him.

 He adores when you kiss his chest. Not gonna lie, he loves when you admire his muscles, so do with that information what you will. 

 He likes hickeys, but he’s not like super obsessed with them or anything. Will leave a few here and there and doesn’t mind if you give him one  or two. 

There’s no telling what a kiss with Mirio will lead to, so be prepared for anything.

He makes life spontaneous and fun, you never know what tomorrow will bring, but with him by your side you know you can face it. Together.

[thedragonnerd]

my soul may be damned, but my heart is still yours

(Concept Art AU 1/2)

Raya meets Namaari when she is seven years old, at her first Council of the Five meeting. Her Ma has recently passed, and Ba is reluctant to let her out of his sight, so he decides last-minute that she will accompany him to Fang on their diplomatic mission.

‘The lands of Kumandra may have been divided for 500 years,’ he tells her as they set out for their neighbour’s land, a large group of Royal soldiers surrounding them. ‘But the Council of the Five has ensured for centuries that trade and diplomatic discussions are still carried out, so that our lands do not fall into war and our people are protected. You are Heart’s Princess, and one day, these meetings will be yours to attend.’

To her disgust, Raya is provided a bodyguard for protection; this may be a mission of peace, but clearly Ba does not trust those no-good binturis in Fang even so. She resigns herself to an incredibly boring three days, where her father will talk with other adults for endless hours, and she is sat alone in a corner…But then, when they arrive in Fang and are greeted by the host delegation, she spies another small girl around her own age, peering out from around Chief Virana’s legs.

‘I’m Raya,’ she says, as soon as the adults are distracted. The girl gives her a small wave.

‘Namaari, Princess of Fang,’ she introduces herself. Around her neck lies a pendant in the shape of a dragon – Sisu, to be precise. Raya decides in that instant that her and Namaari will be best friends.

Indeed, they spend the first hours of the day in deep discussion. Namaari has been attending these Council meetings since she was five years old, and she’s a useful source of information, such as when the best food is brought out, or when the adults are too busy to notice small children sneaking away. At dinner later that evening, Raya slips handfuls of sweet desserts into her pockets, and grabs Namaari’s hand, ducking through the legs of everyone around them in order to lose her bodyguard. They sit in a dark corner and eat their stolen treats, laughing over silly jokes and their combined love of Sisu and all things dragons.

Being the Princess of the land, Namaari also knows amazing places to visit, and even better places to hide from the adults. Instead of three dull days, Raya spends them all with her new friend, talking, playing with serlot kittens, or getting into all sorts of mischief.

She can’t help but feel upset when it is time to return home.

‘See you next year in Heart?’ Namaari asks shyly, when Raya’s delegation is about to leave. Raya beams at her, scooping her into a hug before running after Ba.

--

They don’t speak in the interim year. Although Raya feels like Fang is now the land of new friends rather than binturis, the political situation is far more complicated than two young girls wanting to talk.

Raya thinks about Namaari often though, and when the first Council parties begin to arrive at Heart’s palace, she half leans out the window to see if she can catch sight of the other girl. Her frustration mounts as Spine and Talon are greeted by Ba, and then she sees in the distance the shining white of Fang’s uniforms, and almost falls out the window in her haste to go down to meet them.

She’s worried that Namaari might not remember her, or that their brief friendship didn’t mean the same thing. But as soon as she enters the courtyard, Namaari is already waving her over to say hello.

Later on, they are sat in Raya’s bedroom, talking non-stop until their voices start to crack, when Namaari pulls a small package out of a pocket, and thrusts it towards Raya.

‘A gift for the Heart Princess,’ she says, a light dusting of red across her cheeks. Raya takes it reverentially, and opens it to find a golden dragon pendant, with a shining blue stone in its center.

‘I love it,’ she clutches it in her hand for a moment, and then eagerly hangs it around her neck.

‘It’s so we can be matching forever,’ Namaari reminds her, holding up her own pendant.

--

Raya wears the pendant always. After the last Council meeting, her Ba and Chief Virana had agreed to allow letters to be passed back and forth between their daughters, and so Raya writes diligently to Namaari at least once a week, telling her of her lessons and training, of tasty food she’s enjoyed, of silly things Ba has said or done. It’s difficult to make friends as Princess, and the other children are wary of her when she wants to join their games, too concerned about causing offence by mistake. It seems to be similar for Namaari, from what Raya can glean from her own letters, and so they share their thoughts with each other instead, pouring out their young hearts in their correspondence.

Their meetings in Spine, Talon and Tail are similar as before. Raya is annoyed to see that Namaari is growing at a much faster pace, but besides that, it is wonderful to be able to hug her friend and hear her voice. And in the months between the Council meetings, they continue their letter writing, sharing their thoughts, their fears, and their hopes for the future.

‘I hope Kumandra can be reunited again,’ Raya writes when she is eleven, and frustrated with the amount of time left before she can see Namaari again.

‘When we are both leaders of our land, we will be the first to take that step, dep la,’ Namaari promises in her reply.

--

When Raya is twelve years old, the Council meeting should be hosted in Fang once more. But a week before the gathering, Raya finds Ba rushing around, throwing out orders to everyone in his vicinity.

‘Is there a problem, Ba?’ she asks, surprised at how stressed he seems.

‘Fang can no longer host the Council of the Five this year, so we are instead,’ he replies, before rushing away to organize more details.

‘Food is scarce, this season,’ Namaari had written in her last letter, and Raya re-reads it with more understanding this time.

She resolves to ask her friend more details when the Fang delegation arrives, but when she first catches sight of Namaari, there are no smiles sent her way. Namaari instead stands staring straight ahead, adorned in more formal clothing than Raya is used to seeing. As soon as the diplomatic greetings are held, the parties start to walk back to the palace together, and Raya deliberately falls back so she can walk with Namaari.

‘Alright?’ she asks her friend. She sees Virana grip her daughter’s shoulder tightly, and then Namaari is sending a fake smile in her direction.

‘All is well,’ she tells Raya, but her eyes say differently. Raya wants to question her there and then, but first comes the large feast where everyone must attend. At her age, she knows Ba will notice if she misses it, but she is almost tempted to forgo manners and drag Namaari away.

‘I must speak to you,’ Namaari whispers at her when they are finally sat with their food. ‘But in private.’

The meal feels the longest Raya has ever had to sit through, so when the food ends and people start to split off into groups for discussions, she gestures to Namaari and they run out the side door.

‘Let me take you somewhere private,’ Raya says, hooking her arm with Namaari’s and pulling her up the pathway. ‘I’ve been waiting to show you this place for ages anyway.’

It is forbidden to take outsiders to see the Dragon Gem, and as its newly-appointed Guardian, Raya knows she should act in a more sensible way. But this is Namaari, her dragon-nerd-in-arms, and she’s been wanting to share this special place with her for several years now.

When they cross the threshold and enter into the glowing chamber, Raya can see her friend’s eyes growing wide at the Dragon Gem shining brightly before her.

‘It’s beautiful,’ Namaari breathes, and then her expression turns serious. ‘Raya, this is what I needed to talk to you about. I need to warn you…I think Ma has something planned in regards to the Gem – I heard her speaking to-’

She stops speaking abruptly. The hairs on the back of Raya’s neck prickle, and she knows before she turns what she will see. The sounds of weapons being drawn confirms her fears.

‘Leave her alone!’ Namaari calls out to the Fang warriors, trying to step in front of Raya. But Raya is a Guardian of the Dragon Gem, and she steps into fighting stance, determined to protect both the Gem and her home.

She is only a child, however, and no match for a group of seasoned Fang warriors. She takes one strong hit, and falls to the ground winded, struggling to stand again. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Namaari pull out a flare and shoot it into the sky, and in what feels like the next instant, Ba is beside her, followed by a large crowd of Fang, Spine, Talon and Tail delegates.

Yelling ensues, and then there is nothing but chaos. The only thing Raya can focus on is the fight for her life.

‘The Gem!’ she hears someone cry suddenly, and time seems to slow down as she watches the Dragon Gem topple to the ground. The crash echoes through the chamber, and everyone pauses in their fighting.

‘It’s alright, it’s alright,’ Ba is saying, on his knees and with his hands hovering over the Gem. For a split second, Raya believes him; then there is a *crack* and a small fracture starts to run up the side of the Gem. The room’s glow turns from a serene blue to a sickly shade of green, and people start to scream and run away as the ground begins to tremor.

The Gem is now alit with green flames, which grow larger and wilder as something tears open the ground beneath their feet, and Raya sees a large mechanical arm reaching out of the darkness, attached to a monstrous body. The movement dislodges the Gem, and it rolls towards her, a flaming ball of now corrupted magic. Raya tries to scramble away, but the ground is still trembling and she falls backwards, watching in horror as it comes closer.

‘Raya!’ Ba cries in the distance, and she closes her eyes.

Then there is a warm weight on top of her, and a terrible, terrible sound fills her ears. Raya drags herself forward with her hands, her fingers getting scratched and bleeding in the dirt, and she pulls her legs out from under whatever is pinning her down. Twisting around, she finds Namaari lying on the ground next to her, screaming in pain. Namaari’s left hand is clutching the Dragon Gem, and Raya watches as the green flames dance across her fingers, a green glow emanating from her veins.

‘Raya, we have to go!’ Ba says, just as she is reaching out to help Namaari. He scoops her up by her waist, and starts to run in the opposite direction.

‘’Maari!’ Raya screams, trying to fight him off and get back to her friend. Ba’s grip is too tight however, and she watches helplessly as she’s carried away.

The last thing she sees before being dragged from the chamber is Namaari, writhing on the ground in pain as several mechanical Druuns crawl closer to her prone form.

--

Her Ba does not make it that night either. Instead, she watches as he is touched by one of the cursed Druun, a green light flaring in his eyes before he is turned to stone, frozen in his last moment of pain and terror.

--

It takes Raya two years before she can bring herself to return home. The Druun have moved on, searching for more populated areas, but she can’t shake the trauma witnessed that night. She wouldn’t go back at all, but her supplies are running low, and of all the places she knows that should be filled still with well-preserved food, it will be the kitchens at the palace.

She aims for a quick in-and-out mission, but once she has collected the food and packed her bags back onto Tuk Tuk’s saddle, she can’t help but hesitate and glance over her shoulder.

‘I’ll just be a moment,’ she tells Tuk Tuk, patting his nose when he grunts at her in concern.

Her first visit is to her father, still suspended in time leaning over the bridge’s wall, his face contorted into one final call of her name, and his arms reaching out. She still remembers seeing his face as she fell into the water, and she hopes she was the last thing on his mind also in those final moments, rather than the fear of the Druun.

After she sits with him for a while, she takes a deep breath, and turns to go to the very location where it all started. Her feet drag as she nears the entrance of the chamber, but she steels her nerves, and ventures inside.

The image before her is even worse than she recalls. Debris is littered across the floor, tossed aside when the Druun emerged back into the world, whilst every corner of the room is full of stone people – all those who were too slow to escape, or too stubborn to back down from a fight.

And there, in the middle of the room, on her knees with one arm reaching out, she finds Virana. The fear etched onto the Fang Chief’s face sends a shiver down Raya’s spine, but when she turns to follow Virana’s eyeline, she sees nothing. Namaari isn’t there.

‘I didn’t expect to find you here, dep la,’ comes a voice from behind her.

Raya whirls around, her hand flying to her father’s sword. There is a subtle movement from within the shadows, and then a figure steps out into the open.

‘Namaari?’ Raya whispers, shocked at the sight in front of her. ‘I thought…When did you…How did you..?’

She can’t even finish a question, and Namaari chuckles bitterly at her surprise.

‘How did I avoid turning to stone?’ she asks, her gaze drifting from Raya and towards her mother instead. ‘It would have been better if I had done so.’

And then Raya sees it – her left arm, no longer human but metal and shining with the same sickly green of the Druun’s magic.

‘What happened to you, ‘Maari?’ Raya asks, taking a step forward and holding out her hands. She pauses when Namaari backs away, shaking her head.

‘Don’t come any closer, Raya,’ she warns. ‘I’m not safe to be around. I’ve…I’ve been cursed.’

‘The Druun cursed you?’ Raya demands, confusion in her voice. ‘Why would they do that? HOW did they do that?’

‘Not the Druun – the Dragons,’ Namaari thrusts up her left arm, and shakes it twice towards Raya. ‘This is what I get for touching the Dragon Gem. I guess being a traitor from Fang would do that…even the Dragons didn’t like us.’

‘I don’t believe that,’ Raya says softly, and she inches forward slowly. Namaari’s eyes are unfocused as she stares into the distance, and so she doesn’t notice Raya until their fingers brush. She flinches away.

‘You saved me,’ Raya continues, ignoring her reaction. ‘That shouldn’t mean you’re cursed for it…the Dragons wouldn’t have judged you so.’

‘Well, there’s no longer any dragon magic to place judgement anyway,’ Namaari informs her, and their eyes meet for the first time in years. ‘It’s inside me, Raya…I can feel the power of the Gem burning. And they’re in here too.’

‘The dragons?’

‘The Druun…I can hear them calling. They’re looking for me.’

At this, Namaari suddenly grabs Raya’s shoulder with her human hand, opening her mouth to say another warning, and Raya can see the moment she is distracted by something.

‘You kept it?’ she asks instead, and her hand goes to cover the pendant around Raya’s neck.

‘We said forever,’ Raya jokes feebly, fingers rising to hold Namaari’s wrist in support. ‘Namaari, let me help you, please. You saved me once, let me save you now.’

They pause for a moment, staring at each other, and then an unearthly shriek pierces the air.

‘They’re here,’ Namaari breathes instead. ‘Run.’

Namaari disappears into the shadows in a split second, almost as if she were a ghost. And for the second time in her life, Raya finds herself fleeing from Heart’s palace without Namaari beside her.

--

PART TWO tomorrow...

OK, so this was meant to merely be a Concept Art headcanon list as suggested by an anon, but it kinda ran away with me, and I found myself writing endless 'childhood friends' points to build up to the moment Namaari even got cursed, let alone to the point that everyone wants to actually read where they have a showdown later on. Woopsie. It then went from ficlet to...sorta fic, so I will have to post the rest tomorrow since it is late in my timezone. I know lots of other people have been doing amazing fics, headcanons and art for this concept, so this is just my lil contribution.

[shibaraki]

Ahh can you tell us more about Houmi as your oc?? She seems so cute

Name: Takami Houmi Nicknames: Birdy / Mimi / Halloumi (Fatgum calls her this) Age: 9 Height: 4ft4 Appearance: pale skin and scars mostly on her legs, markings almost identical to Pro Hero Hawks by her eyes. Speaking of eyes, hers are also golden. Her hair is wavy, ginger and short, the ends stopping beneath her jawline. She has a pair of deeply burnt orange coloured wings protruding from her back and talons on her fingers and toes. Quirk: registered as Phoenix, which funnily enough has nothing to do with her wings. She was born with the wings and talons but at four years old developed the ability to control (not create) fire. She doesn’t have the sensory abilities like Hawks has but she is able to use her feathers similarly by heating the air beneath them to levitate them. The wings are fireproof as well as her entire body (this goes for all hot temperatures).

Currently she is nonverbal (due to trauma) and communicates through bird sounds and sign language. Her favourite colour is yellow and her most important person is her big brother. She loves dancing but when Hawks put her in classes she got really frustrated and scared the other kids by screeching lol. Her favourite place is the aquarium, she could stare open mouthed at the tanks for hours, they actually went back so often that the staff gave her a little mock employee badge.

When Hawks took her to UA and she met Eri she also met Tamaki - now she has a huge crush on him and her wings puff up whenever she sees him skjksks she gets really excited when he eats something that gives him wings too.

She's very wary and big on first impressions, so if you make a bad one I'm afraid it'll take a while to unstick it. She trusts a person more if she sees her big brother being friendly with them.

Her favourite student from 1-A is Todoroki, she finds him very calming and clings diligently to his ice side because she runs hot. Shoto likes to create a flame in the palm of his hand and she will play with it like a kitten with yarn. They also made friendship bracelets together, hers is red his is blue.

She does nest, she makes them everywhere especially when she's stressed. Hawks doesn't mind it at all, he has one big one in his bedroom after all. Carries a feather from Hawks with her always, especially if he isn't with her and she's being cared for by another adult.

Flinches if people raise their hands too quickly around her. Screeches if someone touches her wings without asking and getting permission. Can't swallow tablets to save her life, they have to be crushed up into a yoghurt. Really bad at receiving injections, will only do it after her big brother gets one first. She hates socks, oh my god she hates them so much please do not make her wear socks, it just feels wrong because of her talons. Speaking of talons, she loves taking care of them and painting them with Hawks.

She gets very possessive of her things and is known to scratch if you take them. Things also include her 'people'. Because of this she needs to wear little coloured caps on the end of her talons so she doesn't seriously hurt anyone

She hates summer and the hot weather, since it's hard for her to cool down. But she adores autumn/fall because all the leaves fall from the trees and she makes them fly with her quirk!

[sevenkittensinatrenchcoat]

You See: Jellylorum’s Arc and Why It’s the Best Grizabella Arc

Yeah, so, I got writer’s block trying to organize and write this properly, so I’m just writing off the top of my head. I can only hope that any of it makes sense.

I said that I might elaborate on Jellylorum’s hatred of pubs and Grizabella, and I decided to go ahead and do it, even though literally no one asked.

So, the general arc with Grizabella for most characters, especially Munkustrap and Bombalurina, is that Griz did something to offend everyone and they still hold a grudge, so they won’t let her back into the tribe, even though she might be literally dying. Then Grizabella sings Memory and everyone’s moved and they learn to forgive and Grizabella goes to the Heaviside Layer, which was probably Old Deuteronomy’s plan all along.

However, many people, even if they like Memory as a song, don’t really follow the Grizabella story. I’ve gotten the feeling that she’s not a popular character on this site, which is not helped by Munk and Bomba, much more popular characters, being against her for most of the show. The main problem with the forgiveness story is that the audience lacks any context. We don’t know what happened, so we don’t know if this is a story about forgiving someone for something petty, or forgiving someone who seriously wronged you. Most attempts to solve this problem fall flat. The 2019 film said that Grizabella went off with Macavity, but the movie had to alter the roles of several characters to get that to work. Mungojerrie worked for Macavity, and the tribe took him back. Demeter and Bombalurina had some sort of relationship with Macavity, and the tribe took them back. So, the movie makes Jerrie and Bomba more villainous and removes Demeter’s connection to Macavity, so Grizabella stands out. If you have to throw out large portions of what’s interesting about three characters to make your backstory make sense, it’s not a good backstory.

But, the show already sort of has a built in solution to this problem. While most of the characters hate Griz because of some past incident, there’s still at least one character arc about accepting Grizabella that’s based entirely on what the audience can see and hear.

This is where Jellylorum comes in.

If you pay close attention to how Jellylorum reacts to Grizabella, as well as to several other characters, you’ll notice that, though I’m sure she’s upset over whatever Griz did too, Jelly is not motivated by a grudge. It’s not about Grizabella’s past. It’s about her present.

Grizabella the Glamor Cat

Jellylorum, for the first few numbers, doesn’t really stand out. She’s always part of a larger group. In Gumbie Cat, she’s in a trio with two other queens. At this point, the audience really wouldn’t know what makes these characters stand out from one another. In Tugger’s number, Jelly is one of four older cats who are shocked and offended by Tugger’s antics, but the reactions of all four characters serve the same purpose. Jelly, Jenny, Skimble, and Asparagus are part of an older generation and they don’t get the things kids are into these days, finding them downright offensive.

If isn’t until Glamor Cat that this starts to change. At first, Jelly’s still the same as Jenny and Skimble, an older cat who stops the kittens from touching Grizabella. What’s different is how Griz reacts. Skimble leads Jemima away and Griz doesn’t comment. Jenny slaps Electra’s hand away and Griz doesn’t comment. But, when Victoria and Etcetera crawl towards her and Jelly runs in to stop them, Griz turns on her. Up until this point, the song has been fairly quiet. This is the first time Griz raises her voice, taking the orchestra with her.

You see the border of her coat is torn and stained with sand

Grizabella is dirty and beaten up by life and she accuses Jellylorum of responding to that, assuming that someone in Griz’s condition must be a threat to the children. This isn’t about a grudge. It’s about judging by appearances, specifically, the appearance of poverty, which will become more clear as we go.

When Demeter starts singing about Grizabella, she doesn’t sing about her glamorous past:

She haunted many a low resort

Near the grimy road of Tottenham Court

Tottenham Court Road, at the time this poem was written, was associated with crime. It’s a street in a lower class neighborhood which was infamous for theft and prostitution. So, Griz has been seen in a place where bad things happen. To think of her as a criminal is guilt by association.

The play decides not to tell us what Grizabella did to become an outcast, but it does tell us about her life as an outcast. From her character design, we can also see that Griz is in poor shape. This is the information the audience is actually given.

Bustopher Jones

Bustopher is easy to compare to Tugger, since the cats that don’t like Tugger all adore Bustopher. But, because we met Grizabella right before this, he can be compared to her too. Bustopher is everything the older cats see as ideal, while Griz is the opposite. Bustopher spends time among the rich in gentlemen’s clubs. Griz spends time in a working class neighborhood with a high crime rate. Even though they’re both probably strays, Bustopher presents as rich and Grizabellla presents as poor.

Just as different cats have different reasons for hating Grizabella, different cats have different reasons for liking Bustopher. For some, it’s his skill and gaining access to good food. Jenny has a crush on him. Misto likes that they look similar and that he’s the mature and sophisticated adult Misto wants to be. But, though Jellylorum’s part in the number is small compared to Jenny’s, the first thing she has to say about Bustopher is:

He doesn’t haunt pubs

Unlike gentlemen’s clubs, which are exclusive, pubs are everywhere and are for everyone. They’re frequented by the working class. Bustopher is only seen in the upper class parts of town.

Meanwhile, some of the locations Demeter mentions in Glamor Cat, The Rising Sun and The Friend at Hand are pubs. Bustopher doesn’t haunt pubs. Grizabella does.

The Glamor Cat Reprise:

So, a lot’s been implied about Jellylorum and how she admires things associated with the upper class and has disdain for things associated with the working class. But, this is where it all comes together. Grizabella accuses Jelly of treating her as someone to be feared and shamed because she’s from the bad side of town and looks it. Here, by repeating Grizabella’s words, Jelly confirms the accusation:

You see the border of her coat is torn and stained with sand

Jellylorum turns to Victoria, the pure white Symbol of Innocence who wears a sparkly pink collar, implying a wealthy owner, and points out that Griz is dirty and is both someone Victoria should avoid and strive not to be like. Victoria ignores her. Victoria is the feline equivalent of the sheltered princess, a proper young lady from a good family who hasn’t seen much of the world. But, Victoria is unaware of the implications of her status and sees someone like Grizabella as an equal. She doesn’t acknowledge class and doesn’t listen when adults try to explain it to her.

When Jellylorum pulls a kitten away from Grizabella, it’s always Victoria. The first time, it was Victoria and Etcetera, but Victoria is always involved. Victoria is never stopped by any other adult either. She seems to be Jelly’s responsibility, which creates and interesting contrast.

Gus: The Theatre Cat

After the Grizabella Reprise confirms that Jelly’s prejudice against Grizabella is based in classism, it would be easy to see her as a villain. The unspoken grudge of Munkustrap and Bombalurina is more sympathetic. 

But, very early on in act two, Jellylorum is given the spotlight, and we can see her good side. Gus is a lot like Grizabella. They’re both old and past their prime, but they once were stars of some sort. But, Gus is loved and cared for by everyone. Grizabella is one her own. 

Gus meets with his friends at the pub to tell theatre stories. You can tell from Jelly’s delivery when she brings it up that she’s not happy about this. But, she loves Gus anyway. Gus is old, his coat is a mess, and he hangs out in working class pubs, but Jellylorum loves him anyway. She’s perfectly capable of seeing beyond classist prejudice when it’s someone she already likes. She just hasn’t realized that Griz and Gus are the same. She can learn the lesson she needs to learn. She’s not a villain. She’s antagonistic, but she’s redeemable.

Memory

Griz appears one last time, Victoria tries to touch her, Jelly stops her. Same old, same old. Things don’t get interesting until everyone sits down. Jellylorum, along with Victoria, sits with Old Deuteronomy and Munkustrap. She’s right up there with the leaders of the tribe. This puts her on the same level as Munkustrap, who has his own lesson to learn from this.

Memory makes Jellylorum realize how much Grizabella is suffering. She’s not on Tottenham Court because she does bad things. She’s there because she’s in a bad situation and has nowhere else to go. Griz is also caught up in memories of her past like Gus is. Jelly, like everyone else in the tribe, figures it out.

When Victoria gets up to touch Grizabella, she looks back to the adults to get permission. Old Deuteronomy nods, letting her go ahead. But, it looks like all of the adults in that corner consulted each other. Munkustrap, at this moment, makes the decision to forgive Grizabella. Jellylorum, at this moment, makes the decision to accept Grizabella as an equal. She’s no longer beneath someone like Victoria.

Then, when all the cats greet and welcome Grizabella, Jelly looks very guilty, more so than the other older cats do. She’s realized just how petty she was being, that she was even worse to Griz than most of the tribe, because they either had a more emotionally-charged reason, or they just didn’t know any better.

Jelly’s story arc is a classic “don’t judge a book by its cover” story, with the symbols of class being the cover she judged.

In Conclusion:

Everything about this arc is based on information the audience is given. We can see that Grizabella is in bad shape. We know where she’s been spending her time because Demeter tells us. We can confirm Jelly’s motivation with the Grizabella reprise. We can compare how the characters of Gus and Griz are described:

You see the border of her coat is torn and stained with sand

vs.

His coat’s very shabby, he’s thin as a rake

Jellylorum sings the former line with disdain, but she sings the latter line with sympathy.

Jelly’s arc is where Grizabella stands out the most. Griz calls her out on her bullshit, is shown to be completely right in her judgement of her, and then is able to change her mind.

And, the emotional impact is all there, because no important information is hidden from the audience. The arc begins with the words “you see”, because you can.

[kanene-yaaay]

Sleep

Kanene’s note: Heya! It’s me, Mario!!! dfghjkrgthjk jk jk. Okay, that idea hit me in the middle of the night and I think it’s very cute!! So have a bit of tickles and fluff and teases today! 

Warnings, fun facts, random things and stuff:

* This characters don’t belongs to me! They all belong to the anime/manga Boku no Hero.

* This is a SFW tickle fanfic, so, if you don’t appreciate this kind of content, please, look for another blog. There are a plenty of fabulous arts in this site!!  ^w^)b

* This is Switch!Yamada with Switch!Aizawa. They’re in a romantic relationship. Around 2.200 words.

* The Ler!Aizawa part was inspired by these tickle-headcanons! They’re absolutely amazing!!!!

* Sorry for any spelling, pontuation and grammar mistakes! Any and every advice is very very welcome! \(-w-)/

* Consume some of your comfort content! Fanfic, series, movies... anything that makes u happy! Drink water, sleep, eat and love! Today is another day and I’m proud that we’re both still here.

[~*~]

Yamada woke up to complete darkness.

 Which wasn't such a rare occurrence. With both his and his husband’s tendencies of having migraines their room was often bathed in a total lack of light, and that,  together with the fact of Aizawa being an incorrigible cuddle bug who soaked his ‘daily dose of morning snuggles’ – as Hizashi loved to call them and loved even more the other’s blushed face and deadly glare directed at him every time he dared to say such thing -  was enough for him to find no surprise at all in feeling the pressure of Aizawa basically using him as his own personal bed.

 “Morning, babe.” He maneuvered himself to gently kick Shouta’s legs off him, which resulted in the immediate locking of arms on the blonde’s waist, Shouta mumbling whatevers as he nuzzles his chest, making Yamada giggles quietly. He began to comb Aizawa’s hair with his fingers, both out of adoration with how much adorable his husband could be and to take it from his own face so he would be able to see what time it was.

 Eight in the morning. Yep. Time to start getting ready for their meeting with Nedzu and his usual Saturday patrol. He would also need some time in between those to call the Radio’s station and see if everything was ok with today’s interviewed, get a couple more of songs to play tonight and make sure to come back at two in the afternoon so he and Eri could have some quality time as Shouta slept a bit to not pass out on his night patrol.

 OK. That sounds like a plan! Time to begin the day with a proper breakfast since both were equally horrible in keeping a healthy routine and he would probably forget to eat lunch since Eri wouldn’t be there with him serving as an adorable, lovely reminder that humans have basic needs in order to be alive.

 He tried to move, receiving an annoyed growl as an answer, the arms squeezing a bit firmer. Hizashi snorted.

“Sho, I need to make breakfast and wake up Eri, okay?” He kissed the top of his head and traced an imaginary flower on his cheek, voice soft, feeling the other melt on him, humming happily. “You can sleep a few minutes more.”

 “No. Warm.”

 “I will bring you our cats, you can show your undying love to them, then.” Hizashi tried to pry the other’s grip from him, unsuccessfully. “Come on, let me go. We have a meeting to attend with Nedzu today, remember?”

 “Fuck ‘im.”

 Hizashi controlled himself to not bark a laughter, fingers itching to get his phone and amplify his blackmail treasures. “Shh, he will hear you.”

 “’don’t wanna cats,” Aizawa’s tune was slurred and he deposited a tired kiss on his bare shoulder, “I wan’ you.”

 And damn if that didn’t turn his weak heart in a happy gooey puddle, his smile going from one ear to another and his resolve to be a responsible adult and get out of the bed was almost burned to total inexistence.

 Key word: Almost.

 Especially when the raven haired adult sighs contently, his breath lightly tickling his neck and leading to a quite evil idea to gain form and color on his mind. His smile got wider, eviller.

 “Okay, babe.” Yamada’s hands rested on the other’s sides, going up, fingers smoothly running across his ribs, his nails barely grazing the skin as they went slowly back and forth, back and forth. A soft ‘tsk’ flew on the air as the smaller began to squirm. “Let’s have some fun then, shall we?”

 His index fingers stopped their dance to focus on his lowest rib, circling that sweet spot in the middle of it while the other fingers concentrated in clawing the horribly sensitive skin around it, staying firm on their task even when Aizawa jumped with the ticklish jolts that hit him.

 “H-hi-hizasshhhi.” His tone was low, warning. His brain still trying to wake up enough while his body wobbly fought to escape from the sensations, his struggles increasing specifically when his husband adjusted him so he would be laying on his back on the top of him, arms criss crossed on his chest.

 “Oh, is someone finally waking up? ~” Aizawa scrunched, Yamada’s breath hitting his ears. However, his attempts proved themselves futile as the other took as his duty to nibble, huff and puff on the ticklish spot, going from one ear to another with ease, finally breaking his husband’s barriers and being rewarded by a low, fast giggly fit. “I wonder what I did to deserve that my incredible, handsome decided to bless my morning with his sunny presence today!”

 “Hizashi, I am going to k-ILL” His snickers suddenly raised an octave as the blonde gave a quick squeeze on his hips that made his waist jerk instinctively.

 “Now, now, is that way to greet the love of your life?” Hizashi whined. “Stop laughing, Sho! I’m trying to hold a serious conversation here but something tells me you’re distracted.” Yamada kept lazily poking him, slow enough to leave him breathing properly, but quick enough to tear snorts and chuckles from his firmly pressed lips.

  “D-d-don’t.” His face was in flames as a barely muffled squeak fell from his mouth as Hizashi gave a quick nip right behind his left ear, letting out an adoring ‘Awww. Isn’t he adorableee?~’ in the process.

 “I am- I am going to get you back for that! You know I will!”

 “So grumpy, so cutee. ~”

 He tried to turn in order to give his beloved a deadly glare which usually made his students and villains fear for their lives, his eyes only barely catching his husband’s bright smile before his breath was stole when his partner resolved to attack, unmerciful squeezes mixed with a couple of thumbs digging energetically on his hips, kneading, tickling.

 His laughter filled the room.

 “HIZASHI!!” He kicked and trashed, but in vain.

 “What is it, babe?” The other started to switch between his tickle spots, knowing he couldn’t take it too long or they would be late. “Wow! I didn’t know you could be so alive in the mornings, love!! Have you been hiding that from your awesome husband all along?” Nails scratching on his armpits, fingers prodding his ribs, wriggling on his waistline, drumming on his belly. “All that beautiful laughter? All that wonderful snorts? And giggles? And squeals? Now, I am wounded, Sho! I thought we didn’t keep secrets from each other!”

 When nothing except laughter and squirming answered him, he decided to stop, deciding the few minutes of fun were already enough adrenaline to maintain Shouta conscious enough until he prepared his coffee. He quickly laid the other on the mattress, resting some kisses on his face as his husband got his breath back.

 “You-” He gasped, hiding his smile behind his hand. “You better run.”

 In a second Hizashi was out of their bed, “OkayloveyousomuchbabeI’mgoingtowakeEriupdon’tkillmeIloveyousosomuchbye.”

 And run he did.

 [~*~]

 Shouta dumped his capture weapon on the couch, immediately seeing three blurs of fur dashing from his peripheral vision directly to the object, meowing and getting tangled as they fiercely ‘fought’ with it. Shouta knew that this being his weapon and therefore an important part of his work, he shouldn’t let his cats play with it. However, as he petted two fluffy heads that popped from the cloth and the exhaustion started to totally take over his body and actions, he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had some spare scarves somewhere, he was sure.

 “Dumb cats.” He fondly remarked, scratching their newest kitten under her chin before adventuring to his room, stopping only to check on Eri and relax as he found her calmly sleeping on her bed. Good.

 His eyes narrowed as he noticed the light coming from under his bedroom, sighing and putting his eyedrops, already aware of the other fight he would have to face.

 “Hizashi,” it’s his greeting. The blonde hums, glare still clued on the screen in front of him, head resting on one of his hands, “it’s three in the morning and we have classes tomorrow. Turn that thing off.”

 “Hypocrisy, hypocrisy.” Yamada sings, hand rocking in the beat of his imaginary melody, the tiredness dripping from his words. Yet he took off his headphones, turning on his direction with alert eyes. “Are you hurt?”

 “Nah, slow night.”

 “Good.” Hizashi smiled. A small, true smile that spread a warm feeling across his chest and only made his resolute to protect his husband from every bad thing in the world grew stronger, even if the ‘bad thing’ which threatened him right now was his horrible sleep schedule. “We saved some dango for you.  It’s on the fridge.”

 Aizawa nodded, watching him turn back to his computer. “I’m going to grade 1-A tests when I am back.” And that perked the other’s attention, since both had the habit of grading tests together in order to get some quality time on their incredibly busy lives.

 That is why the taller was sitting on the bed with a pack of papers in his hands when Shouta came back, falling on the mattress face first, relaxing on the soft fabric. But, he couldn’t concentrate on that feeling now, turning to his left and trapping Yamada with his arms around his sides, legs entangling.

 “Sleep.” He clued his face on the other’s stomach, his voice vibrating across the skin and gathering a mix of snort and squeal, probably because of the ticklish sensation.

 Oh. Ticklish.

 “Babe, I really can’t right now. There are those videos I asked for my students to do and I really need to analyze and give them the results before the weekend.” Aizawa scolded his expression so his devil smirk wouldn’t be noticed by Hizashi, instead he looked up, locking their eyes, his features inexpressive as ever.

 Hizashi bit his lower lip.

 He frowned, intense glares.

 “Okay, okay! You know I am weak for those kitten eyes, your cheater.” The blonde pouted and pointedly ignored the smug shining on his partner’s face. “But this is only a break, ok? Just some cuddles and then I’m going to finish my work.”

 Aizawa hummed, not quite agreeing, not disagreeing. Yamada laid down and chuckled as the raven haired adult quickly hid his face on his neck, a hand absently running on his back and melting his strict pose.

 “Cuddlebug.”

 A yelp escaped from his lips as Aizawa used a thumb to prod the so, so sensitive skin between his shoulder blades. The morning events from yesterday fell on him as a bucket of cold water, sending shivers down on his spine, essentially when Yamada tried to wiggle away, finding his form very well secured on his love’s arms.

 “Shouta, no.” Shouta hummed, his voice vibrating on the sweet spot that was his neck, his stubble helping in nothing the giggles which already began to bubble on his throat. “Shouta, please, my love, light of my life,” he could almost feel the other’s wicked grin grow, the hand tensing behind him, “no, no, no! I can’t! You know I can’t! Shouta, I-”

 And with no warning a loud shriek - which didn’t break their windows due how fast Aizawa activated his own quirk - dashed from his mouth, laughter blooming as a mix of pokes, scratches and kneading along the whole extent of his upper back, even giving some special attention to his ribs and spine, kept him in stitches.

 His back arched at the tickly tickles, sending him directly to the unbearable nuzzles of his husband, the main reason for so many squeaks and squeals make themselves present on his uncontrollable laughter.

 “Tsk, tsk. One would think that such a known pro-hero would be able to put up with a better fight.” Nuzzle. Scribble. Unintelligible pleas of mercy. Raspberry. “Always so easy to read…You could at least try to pretend you aren’t loving every. Second. Of. It.”

 “Shouta! Nono! Shuhuhut up! Shut up!”

 “It’s not my fault you were always so defenseless to teases. What about we train you to endure them?”

 Hizashi shook his head, laughing and shrieking too much to gather a real answer.

 And, as sudden the attack came, it was gone. The hand went up to gently massage his scalp, tearing a relaxed sigh from Yamada as he fought to get his breath back, high-pitched giggles still tripping from his lips since the light tickles continued on his poor neck, sporadic kisses and eventual nibbles on the spot right under his chin maintaining his gigantic, bright smile.

 “So ticklish, so helpless. Just a few well placed touches and I can already defeat you.”

 “You talk as if you were any less susceptible.” A squeeze on his knee warned him about the possible consequence of his words. Hizashi pinched his thigh in retaliation, although much less energetic.

 “Don’t. Different from you, I want to get some real sleep.” And then he started to comb the blonde hair, Yamada’s eyelids began to drop, his tiredness now being much more present as the other used his number one melt spot against him.

 “Cheater…”

 “You will survive.” Shouta tilted his head up and kissed his husband’s lips, also starting to drift away as Hizashi’s arms pulled him closer.

 “Good night, babe.”

 “Night.”

[abluescarfonwaston]

Gregory Week - Flowers

Day 2 of Gregory Edgeworth Week (note: contains delayed speech Miles and Gregory excited when he does start talking. He’d had taken steps to learn how to communicate even if Miles didn’t talk because he loves his son but please take care of yourselves.)

“So when do I get to meet the most important person in you life Gregory?”

She smiled at him and his chest ached. He wanted to run his fingers down the length of her braid. Kiss every blossom weaved in. She was beautiful and kind and perfect.

“Soon Flora. Soon.”

He sat on the floor next to Miles as he sorted through his building blocks. Arranged them by color and size. “There is someone I would like you to meet. If you would be partial to that.”

Miles considered one of the strange pieces. Debated where to put it. Set it down carefully so all the lines were straight. Nodded.

“Thank you.” He outlined when she would come over and for how long. Miles always appreciated that. Knowing exactly what he was up against. It made grocery store runs less daunting for them both.

Hopefully this would be less upsetting than the grocery store.

She brought a large bouquet of flowers with her.

“Don’t worry, we were going to throw them out anyway. Oh! But- But I’m not trying to give you subpar flowers it’s only that-”

He took them. Cradled them in his arms. Breathed in their sweet scent. “I love them.” He wasn’t sure anyone had ever given him flowers before. Not before her. Kept them on the desk at work until she threw them out and replaced them with new ones.

It was the little things like that. Like how she packed an extra orange for him because those convenience store meals don’t have any fruit in them Gregory! You have to take better care of yourself! You’ll get scurvy! Or how she reminded him to sort through the mail collecting on his desk. Or just pulled him up out of his chair to stretch. 

Or how she laughed so bright and warm and it filled his chest. Just like it did when Miles giggled.

He wanted to be good for them. Be better. Be put together and organized and not be constantly two weeks behind on laundry and debating which of Miles shirts had the least amount of stains so people wouldn’t think he was failing as a parent. 

“Well I like doing laundry Gregory. And we all need a little help sometimes.”

Oh he could love her. Marry her. One day.

“This is Flora, Miles. She’s one of my friends.”

Miles hid his face in his pant leg. Waved with one hand and clung with the other.

Her lips pressed together into a frown. Cast a worried gaze up to him.

“When you said he wasn’t talking yet, I thought he was younger.”

Add this to the list of ways he’s already failed Miles as a father. That he didn’t know they were missing milestones.

She sits next to Miles as he flips through the pages of his favorite book. Evidence law. There’s a little chick on the front with a deerstalker. He’s had to move his current law books up out of the reach of sticky fingers because Miles loved to take them out and stare at them. Mirror him as he read his own tomes. Although these couldn’t be interesting, they were just text.

Miles wiped his nose against his sleeve again. A button up with a bowtie. If he dressed Miles up fancy enough maybe no one wouldn’t notice how his shirts hadn’t been ironed in months. She leaned closer and pointed to one of the pictures. Braid with all those beautiful flowers falling over her shoulder. Asked him a question about it.

Miles sneezed. A tiny kitten of a sneeze. Neither could stop the instant coo. His sneezes were just so cute. Miles tugs on his sleeve and then covered his nose with both hands. Tissue please. He understands. Retrieves one and hands it to him. Blows his nose with a honk.

(I hope he isn’t catching a cold.)

Dinner is Miles favorite. Which isn’t the most impressive of meals but in the debate between impressing Flora and making sure Miles was as happy and content as possible for the duration of the meeting, keeping Miles happy had won. Besides, he barely had time to clean the spaces she’d see before she’d come over, much less make something fancy. 

He reaches out and strokes the soft petal of the flowers on the table. They really made this place seem nice. Adult. Not like the bachelor pad turned baby playground it was. They could go to the farmers market together, swing Miles between them, and buy fresh fruit that wouldn’t rot in the bottom drawer half the time. Purchase nice art to hang on the walls. Always have fresh flowers for the vase. Have enough time to actually clean the dust he’d only noticed built up on the shelves once she’d stepped in the door.

(You’re getting ahead of yourself Gregory. Taking things too fast.)

“Miles dear? Is something wrong?” Flora asked.

He was wiping at his cheeks. Tears flowing. Snot running down his face. Discomfort and distress in every line. Breaths ragged like the start of a meltdown.

“Miles?!”

He scooted off his chair. Ran to his room. The door slammed closed behind him.

They stared at each other. Those beautiful flowers framing the shot.

Wilted alongside them.

“I should go check on Miles.”

He could never tell what the problem was with Flora. Miles seemed to like her right up until he started crying out of the clear blue. Began to sulk whenever they’d go to see her.

“I’m sorry Flora. Perhaps when he’s older...”

He knows she won’t wait that long.

She shouldn’t have to.

She leaves him with a dried flower and a book on sign language.

“So we can communicate even if you don’t talk.” He says and signs achingly slow. Has rehearsed these motions countless times in preparation. He wants to hear his son’s voice more than anything. But even more than that he wants him to be happy and understood. “I love you Miles.”

Miles plays with his trench coat. Fiddles with his attorney’s badge. He’s always worried Miles will pop it off and hurt himself. So far he’s been content to just shine and admire it. Cocks his head the way he does when he doesn’t understand a direction. Say that again?

He does. Begins to repeat the explanation on sign language. Miles shakes his head. Waves his hand. “Just the last part?” Nods. He hesitates. “I love you Miles.” He says and signs.

Miles watches his hand. Looks down at his own. Adjusts his right hand into position with his left.

I love you. He signs back.

His glasses immediately begin to fog. Tears blinding his eyes. “Can I…” Oh he doesn’t remember that word. He’ll just have to make one up for now. “Hug you?” Held his arms out wide. Shrugged his shoulders. Cocked his head.

Miles nodded and climbed into his arms. Pressed his ears against his chest. As if listening to his heartbeat.

I love you. I love you. I love you. He hoped Miles heard with every single beat.

I love you.

Miles played quietly under the bench as he argued his case. He didn’t like bringing Miles to court – one very prominent memory from when Miles was even smaller that ended in him covered in sick, making closing arguments through tears, and lightheaded with hunger came to mind. He really should have just switched to formula sooner. He hadn’t been able to keep up with the calorie demand. – But the Judge was always incredibly lenient about such things. Had taken a crying Miles off his hands to rock him to calm more than once. Refused to give him back until the trial was over, cooing his questions to Miles the entire time.

Wait. Did he just say-

“Hold it!” He began to say. Your statement contains a contradiction.

“HOLD IT!”A voice he did not recognize called out. High and loud. Young. He glanced around for it’s source. “Or Statement contains a,” Hesitation. He peered over the bench to the voices origin. To where the prosecutors, judge and courtroom were all staring. “Con-Tra-Dic-Tion!” Every single syllable was over and carefully enunciated.

Miles little grey head stood on the other side of the bench. Finger pointed.

The court erupted into noise.

Did he just- Oh that’s so cute! – why’s there a toddler – did you hear him?!

He rounded the bench and scooped him up. “What did you say?!”

Miles jumped. Looked away. Startled. Head bowed like he’d done something wrong.

“No- no no no. Miles what did you say? Can you say it again? Any of it. Say anything again.” Nuzzled into his hair. “I love you so much please say something.” I want to hear your voice so bad.

(Am I pushing too hard? Am I scaring him? Too much. You’re making this too big a deal. You said it was okay if he never spoke.)

It would have been. He loved his little boy. No matter what.

But he couldn’t help but want to hear that voice.

Miles buried his face in his shoulder as he squeezed him to his chest.

“… Father…” Came the embarrassed little squeak.

Oh I love you I love you I love you.

The prosecutor cleared his throat. “Gentleman… I believe we were in the middle of a cross examination?”

He rounded on the witness. Pointed with his free hand. “Yes! We were! And as my favorite legal assistant has just pointed out,” Miles giggled. Oh he loved that sound. “Your testimony directly contradicts the evidence.”

“Thank you.” The defendant’s eyes glittered with unshed tears. “You truly saved me.”

Miles studied him from behind his legs. Eyes catching on the brilliant fabric of the magicians cape. He pressed his hat to his chest. “I was just doing my job.” Bowed.

“Yes!” Magi laughed. The light caught on the glitter on his cheeks. “Take a bow!" Ah. That was… “You’ve put on a magnificent show.” Removed from his sleeve an entire bouquet of flowers. Handed it to him. “Truly. Thank you.”

He accepted it. They were beautiful.

He knelt. “And for the legal assistant and his indispensable aid,” Pulled one more beautiful flower out and presented it to him. “Here.”

Miles reached out. Took it. Inhaled.

Sneezed.

Sneezed again.

Magi covered his laugh as Miles sneezed once more. “Oh dear.” Pulled out a colorful handkerchief for him. “My apologies.” Took the flower back and made it disappear as Miles blew his nose. “I didn’t realize you were allergic.”

Allergic.

He dropped to the floor. Pulled Miles to his chest.

“Oh Miles. That���s why you didn’t like Flora. She always had flowers on her.”

And he was just allergic enough to be irritated.

What a fool he was.

“… Father.” Miles was tapping him. He forced open his eyes to Miles signing at him. “Why are you laughing?”

He received an invite to Flora’s wedding not a month before. They seemed very happy together.

That could have been us. If only I’d know about your allergies.

Father? He repeated.

“Because I’ve been very silly. And caused you unnecessary pain.”

(I’m not a very good Father at all am I? I keep messing up.)

“… Oh. You want another handkerchief?” Magi asked. “Here you go.”

Cloth touched his face. He opened his eyes to Miles very seriously wiping the tears from his face. Just like he would for Miles. He let him finish his very serious work.

Miles dropped his hands. Considered him from where he stood in the nest of his knees.

Raised his right hand and signed, “I love you.”

Oh Miles.

“I love you too.”