#rain us in comments it keeps us partially going

[that1notetaker]

jamie watch out! oh no he can’t hear us he’s got his airpods in

*spams self-promotional fic art after a month of no content* hi may i introduce you to our religion

@imdeadtiredtm and I bring you Chapter two of Apotheosis, Wreckage Wrought, aka The Bennett’s Take Charge: In which we introduce Mrs Joyace Bennett as a spunky mom and hell of a woman, where Jamie is a little shit and a nerd for all things spooky, and Sophie is a mastermind who can’t talk but makes herself heard anyways. Go check it out, our souls are for sale :))

[sakkiichi]

CASTLES CRUMBLING.

Memories of you are both cathartic and painful when he visits your grave.

ft. Kaedehara Kazuha, Xiao, Scaramouche/Wanderer, Lyney, Neuvillette x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst.

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

Autumn. The time of year that brought warm memories to the wandering samurai despite its chilly winds.

Shades of scarlet coated Inazuma’s grassy plains, like a rain constituted by droplets of dawn light when the maple leaves swayed to the ground.

And amidst this scene, you.

You, who danced to the tune of the foliage floating in the breeze; you, who snuggled his red scarf closer around your neck when he wrapped it around you, taking in his sweet cinnamon-like scent; you, whose hand used to fit perfectly in his, as you ran your thumb over the scarred skin under his bandages.

Kazuha finds himself staring at those now. He remembers all too well how you used to wrap them around his hand. Your lips brushed over every indentation in his burnt skin, overwriting storms with sunlight and blue skies.

“All healed now.” You sing-sang, the tenderness of your kiss over the wrapped scars.

It feels empty now, his grasp, still searching for you every morning, but you’re out of reach.

Even now, as the wandering poet’s head rests against you, he can’t quite feel your touch.

“Hello, my dove.” He begins, fingers brushing over the dendrobiums surrounding you. Moondust lashes kiss his cheeks when the sunsets in his stare cloud over, the image of your smiling face behind his lids. “It’s already autumn, remember how you called it our season, my angel?” He softly says, turning his head slightly, so that his forehead partially leans on you. “The leaves are turning red already, I’ve picked some for you.” Kazuha utters, as he gently threads them around the stone.

Hard. Cold. So unlike the warmth you radiated. He sighs, opening his eyes, tender hearths to warm your paralyzed heart.

“I’ve been writing too…” Dampness pools around his lashes. “Haikus, poems, because I know you love them, hummingbird…” The samurai’s voice cracks, vision blurry, as he traces the letters of the name he used to breathe in between kisses.

Your name. The only one that will forever echo through his sweetest dreams, double edged now.

Droplets of molten moonlight slide down Kazuha’s cheeks, colliding with the earth separating you from the world.

“We will meet again, my dove.” He vows, kneeling on the grass, moist by his tears. “In some corner of the next life. I promise, love.”

As he stands up, retracing his steps, the wind picks up.

Kazuha clutches his red scarf closer to him.

Your scent still lingers.

✧ XIAO

Spring had never felt so cold.

The sun over Liyue’s mountains is too dull; the glaze lilies appear closed off; the days feel too long.

The conqueror of demons makes his way through Guili Plains, his steps slow, as if that would keep away a cruel reality that’s set in stone.

He’s coming to meet you, and yet he’s never felt so far away from you.

In the few steps that separate the yaksha from you, an infinity of memories and bittersweet dreams seem to wash over him. They mingle with the scent of morning dew over qingxins bloomed anew.

Qingxin. What he used to call you.

“Xiaooo!” You cooed, a smile sweeter than the treat you offered him alight on your lips. “Dessert’s ready, love.” You called, offering him the plate of delicious almond tofu.

It was always his favorite, especially the one made by you.

His cheeks took on a tint not unlike the lipstick marks you left on him when you felt like teasing him, peppering his face with your honeyed kisses. You always used to chuckle at the sight.

“Qingxin…” his voice quivered, in awe, gaze of gold widened, sparkly. “There is no need for you to go through this trouble for me…”

“Nonsense!” You cut him off, hands cradling his cheeks. “I love making your favorite food for you, baby.”

Now he brings one of his own scarred hands to his face.

It’s so cold in comparison to your comforting warmth.

Yet even colder is the grey hue of the heavy stone that comes into view: the one marking the spot where you were laid to rest for good.

Slowly, resigned to the inevitability of reality, the vigilant yaksha reaches you.

Even though he knows he will no longer have you.

Xiao’s whole form trembles when he leaves the handmade butterfly over your gravestone. Its petal wings are all crooked, his grip vice-like in his anguish.

Now the flower-made insect will never fly again. A crystal bubble, lit up on his darkest nights, inside which dreams warm and sweet were recounted, as long as the adeptus stayed in your embrace; now shattered, only sharp fragments left to pierce his heart.

“I’m sorry…” is all the demon conqueror can manage as greeting, the moment he sits before you, head hung low.

The karma he bears had never crushed him this badly.

✧ SCARAMOUCHE

Winter squalls leave nothing but ashes behind.

The layers of snow have started melting, decrepit twigs following, the aftermath of a furious gale, death in its wake.

The wanderer seems to verse in the bony hands of it often, after all. This life, this world… they only ever took from him, shattered mirrors as the only remains of promises to never come.

He rests the back of his head on the frigid stone. He doesn’t care about the last remains of snow seeping into his very crafted bones.

Scaramouche’s hand closes into a fist, dirt and melted ice on his skin.

“They took you away too…” The puppet breathes, inexistent puffs of his words sifting against the blackened skies in the cold. His indigo gaze is clouded over, despite stars littering every corner of the midnight above.

A lie.

Make believe. Like thinking he could be happy for once.

Turning around, Scaramouche presses his forehead against what’s left to symbolize you.

“Why?” He asks, teeth gritted, to stop the helpless quiver of his lip. “Why you too?”

The softness of your human embrace takes ahold of his memories, as you both lay beneath the endless firmament above.

“Have you ever wished upon a star, Kuni?” You asked, your warm fingers combing through the distant nights contained in his shiny locks.

“Pft, are you serious?” He used to retort, the mirrored galaxies of his stare coming into view as his eyelids opened.

“Very.” You stated, without stopping your movements, eyes never leaving the starfields above.

“Why?” He asked, focused on your profile, as if a part of him knew how ephemeral instants like this would become, committing to memory the only constellation that lit up his hollow heart.

“Because it’s nice, to hope, to believe in things… wouldn’t you agree?” You smiled down at him, tender hands cradling the coolness of his jawline.

“Huh, if you say so…”

“You know I’m right!” You chuckled, poking his cheek playfully, his nose scrunching up in feigned annoyance.

“Ugh, whatever.”

“Make a wish?” Your fingers found his in the night breeze, entwining together, the warmth of a small sun just for him.

“Fine…” He sighed, closing his eyes, lashes of concealed dreams leaning on his perfect cheekbones.

“I wished for forever with you.” He croaks out now.

An almost god brought to his knees by the treacherous fate written in devious stars.

His vision blurs, headed skyward, the universe above, a multitude of molten wildfires to him, raining down in flammable rain, his own tears the match to ignite them.

The failed god weeps. Winter burns.

✧ LYNEY

“You never know what can happen in the blink of an eye.”

Those were the words the magician once uttered, as your eyes lit up in wonder. He believes to recall it was a summer night, when his dusky gaze set on you for the first time.

Beaming and shining with excitement, you marveled at his sleight of hand, as the lumidouce bell on the performer’s hand vanished, only for its petals to have tinted in rosy shades of rainbow when the bloom next appeared in your hair.

If anyone had told Lyney, in that moment, that you’d end up putting his heart under spell, he wouldn’t have quite believed it.

But thinking back on it now, the time spent next to you certainly feels like mere seconds.

A peculiar figure sporting a top hat makes his way towards Fontaine’s graveyard.

His steps are monotone, the usual cheshire-like grin on his visage is nowhere to be seen, and in his hands, flowers abound.

Lumidouce bells.

The color of goodbyes, separations.

And the summer nights under which he used to kiss you.

“Please, Lyney! I want to see another one!” You begged, hands clasped together, eyes reflecting the last rays of the setting sun.

Your lover hums, his gaze, the backdrop against which the sunsets in your stare sparkled.

“Well, mon coeur,” the magician leaned forward, “I’ll have to charge you for it this time, you know.”

You pouted, marcotte colored lips irresistibly sweet, a bite of sugary peach in the heat of an early midsummer’s night.

“Close your eyes, my rose.” Lyney breathed, in the little dusk-lit millimeters separating you two.

“Okay.”

Warmth flooded around him the instant his lips enveloped yours, akin to fairy lights in the coziness of a familiar room, fiery arrows that linked two hearts. Your lover’s hands cupped your jawline, spells written in the caress of his gloved touch over your skin.

A new breed of magic, with the sun dipping behind the nation of hydro’s mountains to give the lovers privacy.

When he next opens his eyes, the allure has faded.

No trace of you remains, save for the emptiness and cold beside him.

And the only nightmare he can’t undo; your tombstone all too palpable, too real.

“You really never know how everything can change in the blink of an eye, huh?” Lyney utters, his voice raw, hoarse.

Despite the lumidouce bells’ petals shifting from dusk to dawn the moment he lays them to rest over you, the magician feels like he’s shooting arrows made of shadows; there’s no fiery beacon to light up this night.

The curtain closes when he steps away, rainbow roses bleeding and lonely in his wake.

The sun has set.

✧ NEUVILLETTE

Off-key birdsong and steely skies.

Those are Fontaine’s Chief Justice’s companions today.

Alone, he sits next to the ghost of someone he used to adore.

Someone he still loves.

Crystalline amethyst eyes scan the horizon. Even the seas seem turbulent today, relentless waves colliding against jutting rocks, as if by persistence alone they could cut through them.

The wailing ocean mirrors Neuvillette’s actions; as if by staring in the distance, he could somehow conjure you up back into the world, on forgotten dreams and pieces of flashbacks alone.

“It looks like it will rain soon, my dearest.” He softly says, the words lost in the monsoon overcasting the heavens.

Naturally, no answer follows, except for the agonized cry of a fallen sparrow.

The Iudex of Fontaine sighs. An upheaval in the blowing mistral combs through his hair, the sensation unlocking the pages of a diary once rose-colored, now only scattered petals over a lake that’s gone still for good.

“Isn’t the weather so nice lately, Neuvi?” You chirped, knees folded over the azure flowerbeds. Your hands were carded through your lover’s long locks, silver seafoam running almost hypnotizingly between your fingers.

Sunbeams glittered all around you when his eyes opened up to you, enigmas from the depths being laid bare for you alone.

“It is, darling…” He trailed off, one of his hands touching the side of your face, eliciting giggles from you.

Pink dusted over the pallor of his cheeks whenever you did that.

If only all days could be sunny, if only he could have kept the symphony of your laugh forever playing…

The sea’s surface turns charcoal, undulating with the low whistling of uprising gales.

Dark spots start appearing over the stone where your name’s been eternally put to sleep.

Beneath the blindfold, Justice mourns.

It’s raining again.

[dawnisdreamlanding]

CHAPTER 3

Ghost x Reader x Konig

Neighbor!au and Roommate!au

About me | Masterlist |

Author's note: Hey hey hey! It's been a while hahahs I actually have chapter 4 and chapter 5 planned out but i havent got the energy to write them :') All i can say is that everything in this story has been going too well right now... >:)

(Also if you have any fanfic ideas/ asks feel free to send an ask or dm me :D)

You’re waiting once again for Simon to pick you up from work. It’s now become an almost daily thing for a month now, the two of you. You’d finish work, Simon would show up in his pickup truck and occasionally the two of you would eat dinner together.

Okay, you do partially feel as if you’re cheating on Konig in some way by having dinner with your neighbor (Konig said he had a work emergency and he was going to be gone for a month or two), but your roommate wasn’t here to keep you company anymore and you weren’t willing to eat dinner alone after being so accustomed to the company you had.

Today, the atmosphere in the car seems a little different than the rest. Just a little, though. You decide not to comment on it and buckle your seatbelt before he starts driving. “How was work?” Simon would ask the usual question. “Fine,” you would reply tiredly with a sigh. The two of you would fall into a domestic routine in such a short time, yet neither of you ever really questioned it.

The patter of rain provided a relaxing white noise as the two of you sit in comfortable silence, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. The streetlamps glisten and you turn to see Simon in his balaclava that he wears only when going on missions.

“I’m going to be deployed. Tonight.” He finally breaks it to you. “Oh.” You reply, but you can’t be sure if it sounded sad or understanding. Maybe both. “Do you know when you’re coming back?” He shrugs, eyes still fixated on the road. “I’m thinkin’ 2 months at least.”

There’s another silence that follows, but this time around it’s filled with a lot of unsaid words waiting to be spoken into existence. Simon turns to look at you. God, he wishes he didn’t because the red from the traffic light paints your features in the best way, and he doesn’t think he could forget this moment anytime soon. “You’ll be fine without me yeah?” Simon finally asks. You feel like there’s a secret message lying hidden somewhere in the question by the way he looks at you, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

---

You spend your days without Simon and Konig counting. Counting how many days it’s been since they’ve been gone, and the times you accidentally cook food for two. Today marks the 2 month mark, and to be honest, you still haven’t gotten used to your apartment engulfed in darkness when you get back from work. You sigh.

---

Simon spends his days counting unconsciously. He takes another long drag from his cigarette and watches the smoke slowly disappear into the night sky outside of a bar the team decided to celebrate their victory at. It’s a little chilly. Winter is approaching, and he hopes you’re warm and tucked into your apartment right about now. Soap stands beside him, accompanying him. “You goin’ home for Christmas, L.T?” he says. Soap expects Ghost to say no, or to say something along the lines of spending the holiday alone.

Ghost gazes at the stars which is something he doesn’t really do since he was a kid and god, he swears he still sees your face as the stars twinkle. He hums. “Got a Christmas gift for someone. Gotta give it to ‘em somehow.” Soap’s taken aback at his answer but chooses not to pry too much into his private life. Not this time at least. Suddenly the bar cheers with happiness and the clinking of beer bottles. “Happy for ya, L.T.” Soap says as a small knowing smile spreads on his lips.

---

Ghost spends the time taken for the trip back to his civilian life decompressing and when he reaches home, he wants nothing more than the dinners the two of you had before he left for the mission. But he decides the moment his duffel bag hits the floor, that he really, really needs to sleep first. That doesn’t stop him from thinking about you though, cause he dreams of the moment when he picked you up from work in his pickup truck.

You’re ecstatic when Simon tells you he’s back. You prepare dinner, finally making food for two (or three, with how much this guy eats). And you’re basically skipping when Simon knocks on your door.

Dinner with Simon is calm yet filled with excitement and happiness. You both catch up on each other’s lives, and you tell him about everything he’s missed out on since he left. You tell him about the stray orange cat that found its way into your apartment once (you still have no clue how) and has now become a visitor occasionally — you leave out the part where you subconsciously named it after him.

You’re washing the dishes and Simon’s keeping the leftovers for your lunch tomorrow when the topic of long distance relationships get brought up. “I mean, it must be hard to maintain relationships, right? Especially since you don’t get to see each other for ages.” Ghost hums in agreement, a sign that you’ve learnt to understand that he’s listening to you intently. “I can’t imagine working in the military is any easier. Hell, I felt a little sad when you left too, I can’t imagine what your girlfriend would be feeling.”

“Don’t have one.” He says. And you smile a little. “Yeah, but imagine if you did. It’ll be like one of those old war movies.” You giggle at the thought and Simon joins you in washing the dishes. “Oh, my darling,” you say in an exaggerated voice of a lover. “I don’t think I could love you anymore. The pain is too much to bear!”

Your theatrics tugs the corner of Simon’s lips upwards and he looks at you softly, arching his brow. “Y’ love me?” his voice rumbles, and it sounds something akin to the taste of vanilla ice cream with caramel drizzled on top which is weird, because you’ve never really liked the taste of caramel. Well, not until now.

There’s a certain softness in this moment, you tell yourself. There’s this feeling that you don’t think you could forget this look on his face. You blink and he’s taken the soapy cutlery from your hand and starts to wash the soap off them. “I forget how much I miss my soft bed when I come back. And being able to sleep in a little longer.” He sighs and it’s your turn to hum along. “And I missed your cooking.” He says a little softer this time, eyes focusing on the bubbles as they get washed away from the water. I missed this, you think.

Taglist: @gojo-mochi

[colderdrafts]

if it's not a bother, can we know Morgan's reaction to us saying:

to me, your eyes are beautiful! I like to look at them and laugh if you want, but they give me a comfortable feeling, even when you act crazy, they shine in a way that takes my breath away, beautiful like jewels..

Let's say Morgan did something good that deserves praise and we being nice to them, R would probably never say such praise but humor me pls lol

You're never bothering me, and sorry I'm so away lately 💙

Careful hitting them with sentences like that, they might just return the favor. If this came out of nowhere they'll probably wonder if you've eaten too many fermented berries, but realizing you mean it would leave them wordless for a second. Then they'll tease the hell out of you, lmao. Is that so? Maybe I should act 'crazy' more often.

Thanks for the inspo, I did a lil thing below the cut. In which Morgan for once does a good thing on your request, despite being a red-eyed menace.

"It sure is going fast," you comment, arms out to help you keep balance.

Morgan hums in agreement. "It's been raining a lot more than usual lately. The rivers here tend to overflow."

As proof of the statement, the dense forest you're currently passing through offers no easy routes to follow. It's spring. Presumably a combination of rain and melting of snow has been a contributing factor to the abundance of inaccessible flowing water.

You've braved the weather so far, both you and Morgan's clothes still damp from your last exposure to the elements. You follow the river as best as you can, but presumably you'd be unable to cross the deeper waters without being swept up by the current.

Instead, you cross over the outsprings from said river. Though even here it's not easy to stay partially dry when wading through. It has evolved from discarding your boots, to discarding your pants, to considering simply giving up - but that would mean an even longer trek back, and Morgan loathes staying in one place for longer than absolutely necessary.

You look back at your companion once you've reached somewhat dry land again. Morgan wades through the same area you passed easily enough, reaching shore just after you. Their eight long legs gives them an annoying, and very much unfair advantage in this terrain.

"Would you please just let me carry you?" Morgan complains once again, impatiently watching you dry off and pull on your pants. "My legs are long enough, and your added weight will keep me better grounded here."

You start putting your boots back on and glance up at them. Red eyes are staring into you, and you can feel their gentle pull writhing under your skin, trying to encourage you to change your mind. You quickly shake off the sensation to shut them out.

"And your legs will continue to do just fine without me," you retort, ignoring the exasperated sigh Morgan heaves. You finish up and get to your feet. "Let's just move aroun-"

A loud yell from further up the river interrupts you. Morgan steps close to you instantly and looks around, disregarding the argument in favor of locating the threat. Another yell follows, but this time it's high-pitched, not unlike the yell of a child. Looking up, you find the source of the sound.

Rapidly flowing downstream, swept by the river, you see a pair of feather-clad arms waving around in the air, desperately trying to break the surface to breathe. The strong current is flowing over the small body of the child, forcing them along.

Further up the river you see a bigger bird-person giving chase, yelling in distress.

Morgan chitters and squints at the display, curling a pedipalp around your shoulder. "We should move."

You stare up at them, incredulous. "We should help!"

Morgan continues staring dead ahead a while, analyzing the pair. Then, their stoic expression cracks in a vicious smile.

"Well. We shouldn't get in the way of a hunter's noble quest, should we?" Morgan mocks and laughs lowly.

You look at the adult again and, true enough, a spear is firmly attached to his back, jumping around along his movements. If he's a hunter, you'd do well to be out of the way.

But, hunter or not, there is a child in danger. And he's rapidly approaching where you're standing. Morgan might be contend to let him float you by, but you're certainly not.

You think it through. You're no help going in after the kid yourself, you'll be swept under just the same. But if you want Morgan to do anything, you'll have to do so fast. You grit your teeth, prepared to strike a quick bargain.

"Get the kid safely out of the water, and I'll let you carry me until we're out of the forest," you state, glaring up at them.

Morgan cogs their head at you, and smiles wickedly. "I do adore your proposals. Hm. Make it until we reach the mountain."

"That's a day more away!" you protest.

Morgan casually glances up the river, watching the kid's fast approach. "So it is. And it's my final offer. The wet bird has almost landed."

You pinch the bridge of you nose and groan. Of course they'd take advantage of this. "Fine! Until the mountain. Just do something!"

Morgan eyes you again. Purposely drawing out their response. "Do you promise?"

The kid's almost there. You pull at Morgan's pedipalp in urgency, dragging them toward the river. "Yeah, sure, whatever, just grab him now!"

Morgan sweeps past you and strikes their legs into the water, barely making the split second the kid would have passed you by. Thankfully, their aim is true, and they have the kid securely grasped by the collar of his shirt. Morgan hisses, grips the ground beneath them for better purchase, and pulls.

In one smooth curve, the kid is hauled out of the water, and dragged onto the bank of the river. Morgan leaves him lying there, flat on the ground, and steps back over to you.

"Can we please go now?" They ask impatiently, shaking off the excess water. For good measure, they also wipe off their claws in the wet grass.

You ignore them, and quickly kneel by the child's side to check on him. It's a little hard to tell his specific age, but with his small size you presume he's very young, not even close to adolescent. He's not moving, so you put your head to his chest to listen for his breath. Though, a second later, he starts coughing roughly, and you move back to give him some space.

Another shrill yell follows, and you look up to see an adult male bird, presumably the kid's father, rushing towards you. His eyes are trained on his lost child gasping for air. Morgan instinctively hisses at his rapid approach. With practiced ease, you put a hand out in front of them, before they can make the situation worse.

The man falls on his knees next to his child, palming over his face, cooing and babbling apologies. Completely disregarding the potential enemy in the face of crisis. Reassured his son is alright, he holds him tight, and stares at you with beady eyes. "I - I told him to be careful and - blue moons. I'm so relieved. Thank you."

Morgan's hands find your shoulders shortly thereafter, a soft but firm grip. They're not keen to hang around too much longer. But this might just be an opportunity. Maybe Morgan should have a taste of what happens when you try to do good.

"Don't thank me, I didn't do anything," you explain, pointing over your shoulder at your arachnid companion, hovering inches behind you. "They got your kid out of the water."

The parent frowns and looks up at Morgan then, visibly struggling to meet whatever facial expression Morgan has decided is appropriate to wear. You don't blame him. Taking their agitated stare head-on is not for those faint of heart.

The parent subtly leans his child behind him as this goes on, while his son grips his shirt tightly. Nevertheless, the parent nods in acknowledgement, and when he speaks it almost sounds sincere. "Thank you, then."

Morgan sneers at his gratitude. "You're fortunate my sentry still has a soft heart."

With that, they promptly lift you off the ground, and sets you on their back, quickly moving away from the couple remaining on the bank of the river. Your protest is ignored, and you're have to hold on to Morgan's torso for balance as they rapidly leave the scene. Suppose that's all the interaction you'll get out of them.

"That was good," you say after a bit, watching the forest slowly pass you by. Morgan remains quiet, wading through the deep, overflown waters with relative ease. You keep your feet resting high on their sides to keep dry. "Hey. You did a good thing."

"You made me save the child of a hunter. He'll grow up learning the best ways to kill me," Morgan chuckles darkly. "I only made sure we'll have another enemy to worry about."

"So, what, you would have just let a kid drown?" you challenge.

Morgan shrugs. "They would have done the same to me."

"You don't know that."

"I do, actually. My eyes are red, sentry," Morgan counters. "Generally my kind's not someone they wish to save. But especially not someone like me."

"And why does 'red' have to mean anything in this?" you ask. "It's just a darn color."

Morgans hand's absentmindedly trace over your arms around their torso as they think for a beat. You've half a mind to move them, but the warmth of their hands are strangely soothing.

"Truthfully, it makes no difference. You're right. It's just a color. But common-folk seem to believe that it makes me exceptionally nasty," Morgan explains. Then they chuckle. "Well, they're right, of course. So maybe there's some logic to it."

"No logic, except whatever's been cooked up in that frazzled mind of yours," you argue. "I don't think your eyes do that."

Morgan chitters. "Then I'm eager to hear; what do you think?"

"I think your eyes are great, actually," you state. "Pretty when you're calm, pretty fucking scary when you need them to be."

Morgan turns their head to stare at you for a second. Then they splutter, falling into genuine laughter. Their laugh is raspy and low, causing the hairs on the back of you neck to stand on end. "My dearest. You think my eyes are pretty?"

You groan and tug at their hair. "Not what I meant. Don't let it get to your head."

"Oh, it's already deep, deep in there. This will be with us forever," Morgan purrs, leaning back into your hand. Then they focus on you, a more calm look in their eye. You find the red shining there again, obnoxiously alluring as always. "But just so I know for sure. Could you come a little closer and tell me again?"

You grab their chin and forcibly turn their face away from you. "Focus on the road, you weirdo. You're driving."

"And I think your eyes are pretty, too," Morgan teases, and resumes your journey through the wet forest.

[wonuwrites]

We Can't Be Friends Song Reaction

Inspired by Ariana Grande's song: "We Can't Be Friends (Wait For Your Love)

hyung line version. Maknae Line Version

Warning: This is angsty and sad af, slight cursing, mentions alcohol, Minghao's has an Ice Spice lyric reference, hate comments, Mingyu's is a bit suggestive so respectfully: Minors fuck off and don't interact LMFAO. tbh this is more angsty and emotional than the hyung line and I'm only partially sorry.

A/N: using a song lyric as a prompt for each of the members. Decided to break this up from Hyung Line (Seungcheol - Jihoon) to Maknae Line (Seokmin - Chan). I already did 95/96 Line now it's time for the youngins. Like the hyung version, The parts are written in order from where the song lyrics show up. I tried to do different lyrics from the hyung line xo I hope you enjoy.

✫ Seungkwan: "I don't wanna tiptoe, but I don't wanna hide. But I don't wanna feed this monstrous fire."

Neither of you ever wanted to admit how much of a dumpster fire Seungkwan and your relationship was becoming. However, it was. Day by day, it was becoming more and more clear your once perfect relationship was close to ending. You knew that Seungkwan wanted to make it work out and he truly thought it was just a bump in the road. However, you just knew it was time to end. Seungkwan and you were sat in his car in front of your house while the rain was pouring down and you just felt sick. You had called and told him that you wanted to talk but the words just wouldn't come out. You didn't want to hurt him but you also did not want to tiptoe and hide your true feelings anymore. With one look after an uncomfortable few minutes of silence, Seungkwan knew what was going on started to get teary eyed which made you teary eyed as well. "Kwannie, I'm so sorry but you know it's for the best. We had a good run." You managed to get out. Seungkwan did a shakey sigh before looking out the windsheild. "It was a great run, (Y/N), thank you for all the precious memories. I will always love you." "I will always love you too, thank you as well." After that, you braced yourself for the storm and for this next chapter of your new life. You opened the door and got out before running to your front door. You turned around as Seungkwan drove off and that was when you finally let go and finally broke down. You were so scared to enter this next chapter but you knew it was what you were supposed to do.

✫ Dino: "Wait until you like me again. Wait for your love."

You felt your heart shatter into a million pieces as Chan stood in front of you with a defeated look on his face. He could have said anything, but telling you that he's realized he's starting to fall out of love with you was probably the most devastating thing he could have told you. "When? What? Why?" was all you could say while trying your best to stay strong. You thought you both were golden. "I don't know, all I know is I want to keep loving you but it's just hard to." "I'm hard to love?!" "I didn't mean it like that, (Y/N)." "Then how did you mean it Chan?" Your voice finally cracked and then you looked away so he could not see you cry which absolutely broke his heart. "I- I don't know but--" you then just sighed then walked past him toward the door and opened the door for him. "Well until you know, here's the door. I rather not waste my time with someone who only pretends to love me." He started to walk toward you to give you a hug but you put your hand out so he wouldn't be able to touch you. "Don't you dare complicate this. Just come back when you know what you want. I will wait for you to try to like me again but I don't want to be there while you figure it out."

✫ Minghao: "Know that you made me, I don't like how you paint me, yet I'm still here hanging."

"(Y/N) only dated Minghao for 15 seconds of fame." "(Y/N) thinks they are the shit for dating Minghao. They're barely a fart." "Minghao could've done WAY better. There is more attractive people and he chose (Y/N)? God I'm so happy he finally got a brain and dumped her gold digging ass." Normally hate comments made you laugh. When Minghao and you were together and saw hate comments you both would giggle at how much time they were wasting while you were both just living your life and being in love. However, now that Minghao and you are no longer together the hate comments hurt. What hurt is that after the breakup, Minghao and his company did nothing to stop the comments. You both had a pretty clean and fair breakup so the fact that they just let the comments attack you felt unfair. Your company tried everything in their power to stop the comments with threatening lawsuits, to mass deleting comments, to offering to manage your socials so you wouldn't have to read it. The offer was nice but when you were welcomed with boo's and slurs when you went to an event you couldn't help but try to put on a brave face but mentally curse Pledis and Minghao. Also yourself for even agreeing to date Xu Minghao to begin with. Life would've been so much more peaceful if you never even knew his name.

✫ Mingyu: "Not what you made me, it's something like a daydream. But I feel so seen in the night."

It was supposed to be a one night stand. However, Mingyu and you developed an emotional non committed relationship and it was pretty nice. A little too nice. You knew it was a dangerous game to get this involved but you couldn't help it. Something about Kim Mingyu was so addicting. He was the best drug you could be addicted too. The way he made you feel so seen on your nightly adventures. That's why it hurt a little bit when you saw him out and about and he ignored you. As if you were only good enough for a fuck but not for a casual 'hello' in the daytime. It broke you when he came over two nights after the incident and he scoffed at your hurt. He had assumed you knew what this was. "Is this not enough, sweetheart?" no. No it was not. However, you couldn't bring yourself to admit it to him so at that moment you realized if you wanted anything to do with Mingyu, you had to play by his rules. No matter how bad it hurt.

✫ Vernon: "So for now, it's only me. And maybe that's all I need."

Hansol and you were so codependent for your whole relationship. You were with each other every second. You didn't have to talk, just being in each others presence was enough. Or so it was. One day, you both just grew apart. He started getting busy with Seventeen and you started getting more and more projects at work. The distance was affecting both of you but you both were too scared to say anything. That's when the fight happened and both of you wished you said something sooner because maybe... just maybe you both would be in each other's arms or sending each other cursed TikToks that plagued your FYP. However, neither of you did and you both were just too damn stubborn to say something. After suffering for what seemed like an eternity, you decided to try to explore independence a bit more. You took a much needed shower, and started to curl your hair and put on some makeup. As you were getting dolled up you did some daily affirmations. The more you told yourself, the more confident you were becoming. Maybe being solo for awhile was a good thing.

✫ DK: "My love, I'll wait for your love. I'll wait for your love."

Seokmin woke up in a cold sweat and looked around. He saw he was in an empty bed and the nightmare he had of losing you was way too realistic. He quickly stood up and called out your name but heard nothing back. His heart was racing when he heard the silence. Where were you? He rubbed his eyes and and looked around the room a bit more and that's when he remembered he was in a hotel room for a schedule. He sighed before laying back in bed and grabbing his phone. He squinted as the light hit his face and couldn't help but get teary eyed as he saw your smiling face smiling back at him. He loved you more than words could say. He said it constantly but that still didn't mean that you both weren't going through a rough patch. He didn't leave on the best conditions with you before he left and regretted it. Instinctively, he dialed your number and pressed the phone to his ear. He just needed to hear your voice. "Hey baby!" He heard your voice say which made him tear up even more. "Hi," he whispered while smiling. "Seokmin? Baby, are you okay?" A tear fell down his cheek as he heard the pet name for the second time and his fears were calmed a bit. "Seokmin?" "Oh yeah... Sorry I- I um, I'm sorry." "It's okay, baby... what's going on though?" He sighed before sitting up and telling you about his nightmare and how he just loves you so fucking much. This made you lean against the wall as you listened to him explain his fears and your heart broke at his anxiety. Sure when he left it was rough but that's relationships. Relationships aren't all sunshine and rainbows all the time. When you explained that you heard him sniffle which made you tear up. "Thank you, baby." He whispered. "Of course, love. I'll wait for you to come home. Five more days right?" "Yes, just Five more days." "I'll wait for your love, my love. I love you always." "I love you, always."

ღ

A/N: whoops I accidentally wrote a novel for Seokmin's. Pls don't hate me lmaooo

[8bitsupervillain]

Higurashi When They Cry Hou Ch. 8 Matsuribayashi pt. 30

Let’s leave Irie for a minute shall we? I think we’ve had enough of that guy for now.

One, two, three, four

I know we haven’t seen the gaming club hardly at all this chapter, but I promise you they are coming. They’re coming, and they have the writer on their side.

Rude. Although, thinking about it I’m kind of with Ooishi in regards to these two. What does Takano actually see in Tomitake? Is it just a purely physical thing? I think it dives into what she sees in him later on in the chapter, but I don’t remember off hand. I don’t think they’re sleeping together yet, and I don’t think we see very much of the courtship between these two, but she likes him well enough I guess, and vice versa.

Maybe it’s just a personal thing, but even with what he gets up to later I really can’t bring myself to say Jirou Tomitake is cool. He’s just such a dork, always has been. From his humble beginnings in Onikakushi all the way to when he does stuff towards the end of Matsuribayashi I just think he’s a dorky man.

Come on Tomitake, I don’t think it could be any more obvious short of her just coming out and saying that she’d hurt you if you mess with her research.

The following text was spread across three screens, but I decided to just type it out, in an effort to be more economical with what screenshots and fragments are done in which part.

She said… “If you create problems for my research…” I wonder what she wanted to say after that…

I can’t help thinking she wanted to say something terrifyingly merciless.

I kept my promise with her and we never talked about the issue again after that.

I suppose it makes sense to assume that she uses this as partial justification for injecting him with H173 in the other chapters.

A roll of a one

I know it’s kind of late to say this, but I don’t particularly care for the dice metaphor that keeps getting trotted out. I don’t know what could’ve been used in its place, but there’s just something about the constant dice comments that makes me roll my eyes somewhat. It’s not annoying necessarily, but I just kind of go “yes yes, get on with it.” when it comes up later on.

Man, when it rains it pours huh? Just as a heads up, the next two or three fragments will be a protracted session of just dumping on Takano. In case you don’t care about her or her seeming fall from grace.

On the one hand it’s kind of commendable that Takano wants her loved ones to live on forever as a result of her research into Hinamizawa Syndrome. But on the other I kind of feel that there’s slightly less than noble intentions on her part. This is entirely a fiction of my own creation, but it just strikes me that she wants to bring in the names of Hifumi, and Koizumi to potentially deflect from any future criticism of her handling of the research you know? I know her name would be on whatever paperwork future generations would read, but I just kind of get the feeling that this is a “we all rise, and fall together” type of arrangement. Again though, this is kind of just a very small feeling I had while reading this, and most assuredly isn’t the case.

Another thing I can’t help but wonder is if what Tomitake is saying is all just an act, and he’s fully aware of whats going on behind the scenes. During the injection scene in Minagoroshi Tomitake mentions “that faction” making it clear that he’s not in with the Koizumi faction or the mysterious traitor group Takano’s with after this. So I just wonder if he’s in fact fully aware that other factions are planning on shutting down Takano’s research and is just trying to ease her into the idea that it might happen? I also wonder if he’s really in favor of shutting the research down, but he just can’t say that to her since they’re together.

Based on a short conversation I had with @felixcloud6288 I am aware that this fragment, and the two or three after this are meant to take place closer to June 1983. Even at the time I was vaguely aware that I am most certainly playing these fragments out of chronological order.

Regardless, I was quite surprised when it was revealed that the government plans on shutting down their research. Given the way Minagoroshi ended I assumed they were fully supportive of all of the research, even though they were probably unaware of the ritualistic killing of Rika.

Also I lied, there’s a little tiny bit of Irie here.

[darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght]

Chapter 20- Part 1

Here we are again and…it’s still raining? After all this time? What, is the rain scripted to always be there for the sake of Cal’s fight? So he can do that Rainbow Road thing?

Well, regardless of that, it’s pretty clear Cal’s team relies on sunlight. Not only because of the boost given to Fire-type moves, but Solar Beam- which most fully-evolved Fire Pokémon can learn- fires off instantly in the sun. And that’s especially a problem because all three of Fire’s weaknesses- Water, Ground, and Rock- are weak to Grass. So…we just need to change the weather ourselves! 

Rain Dance is probably the best choice- and I’ve got a Pokémon that can do the job quite well…

Now, Meteo isn’t the only Pokémon I’ve got that can naturally learn Rain Dance. The other would be Lake the Ducklett- however, Ducklett learns Rain Dance at Lv. 34, which is too close to the level cap (while we're not at the Gym battle) for my liking. Meteo is a more comfortable choice, he learns Rain Dance at Lv. 20.

Of course, I'm sure Cal’s team is gonna have some Electric moves to deal with any Water-types I try to use in the rain- I know Torkoal did- so some more Ground-type would be helpful. Fortunately, I've got more options for that now, it's not just Crater anymore!

So in the end, the team looks like this:

Meteo to set up rain and do Weather Ball shenanigans, Riptide for extra Water coverage (and because I always bring my partner), Ravine and Cobalt for resistances and Electric immunity, Crater for her own unique resistances, and Glare for some extra utility.

Now, I doubt Cal is going to have any Pokémon above that Lv. 34 Magmortar, so I'd say Lv. 33 is a good place to be. So, time for some more grinding!

(One partial grind session later-)

So anyways, this happened also-

Nice!

Oh, by the way- I've been doing my grinding against the Unown in the Grand Stairway, and not too long ago, I looked into that Field Effect Read-Out I saw last chapter. Initially, I just wanted to see when was the earliest place I could obtain it, and…imagine my shock when I saw I was intended to pick it up as early as after the second Badge! And imagine my further shock when this information was confirmed elaborated upon by one of the folks reading and commenting on this Let’s Play!

So I looked into it further as a result and…well, let me show you.

So that flavor text is more than just flavor, it turns out. It's a…hint? Of sorts? Well, just get into a wild Pokémon battle first.

Oh look, it's Cobalt's brethren! Too bad it has to die in the name of science!

If you'll recall, Magnitude is a move that can break up the crystals and change the Field- and that's exactly what I'm gonna have Cobalt do!

Yeah! So it turns out, out-of-battle environmental interactions are a thing in this game too! That's…great, cool, something else to keep in mind, alright-

Also, turns out those stairs that I thought were Rock Climb spots actually are just normal stairs, even if they look a little off. Which means we're free to take the Read-Out!

Awesome! Now with that quick errand out of the way, let's get back to training.

(Another partial grind session later-)

Okay, now this is a thing-

Sure, I guess we'll catch it, why not, Shiny’s a Shiny.

Ring because of the sound effect- like, ringing bells and such. Anyways-

(Yet more training later-)

Lemme tell you something. This training session…it was not easy, and it was not fun. 

I used up almost all my medium Exp. Candies and my small Exp. Candies, fighting Unown could be tough because they might have a certain type of Hidden Power that Meteor, Ravine, and/or Cobalt were weak against, and the Grand Hall Trainers? There was only one of the three who was somewhat safe to train against, and even then he still had a Lv. 37 Pokémon- what happened to the balancing of those Trainers? Why do I keep running into these guys with Pokémon stronger than the current level cap? I assumed the balance and Trainer selection was based on which Gym you were at, but maybe not??

But even with all of that…I persisted, and in the end, the team now looks like this:

I gave Ravine and Cobalt Rawst Berries to make sure they can avoid getting burned- I don't want their Attack stats being hindered in any way for this.

So now, it's time for some sweet revenge! The first part of the battle is the same as before- lead with Riptide, switch to Crater to take the Electric Hidden Power, one-shot Torkoal with Earth Power.

And Magmortar is where we're gonna set up the rain. In comes Meteo!

Magmortar is probably charging up a Fire Punch, Meteo can take that due to being Fire-type at the moment. Which means Rain Dance goes up without issue!

Now, it's entirely possible Magmortar knows an Electric-type attack, likely Thunder Punch, so we'll swap to Ravine next.

Feint Attack…? Um- okay, Ravine can take that as well. In the meantime, she'll set up Stealth Rock just for-

Oh, well, okay then- rude. At least Stealth Rock is up for the rest of the battle. Plus, Ravine actually trained against a guy's Quilava at Grand Hall, so we're prepared for this! Rock Tomb should deal good damage and lower Quilava’s Speed for a follow-up!

…Oooor not…

Okay, new plan- Meteo! Water-types are just as effective and resistant to Ice!

Let's see how much Weather Ball does, huh-?

Oh, Quilava outspeeds? And its Hidden Power is also Electric-type? Okay-

Okay, note to self for another attempt- use Crater for the Quilava as well. I'm really getting tired of your bull, Cal!! This has to end eventually!!

Next

[radarsteddybear]

Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @rose-of-pollux. Thank you!

(I tag everyone and anyone who wants to do this!)

How many works do you have on AO3? 74

What's your total AO3 word count? 222,374 words

What fandoms do you write for? A lotta DuckTales (2017), a good deal of Hogan's Heroes, some Singin' in the Rain, and a smattering of other stuff. Though I'm not really writing DuckTales anymore (nor am I writing the smattering of other stuff).

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Ducktober 2017 (DuckTales 2017)

Numb (DuckTales 2017)

An Old Letter (DuckTales 2017)

A Phone Call and a Visit (DuckTales 2017)

It All Fades to Black (Encanto)

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? I try to reply to comments left on AO3. Since you have to respond to reviews on ff.net via PM, I find it a lot harder to keep track of which I've responded to and which I haven't, so I usually don't anymore.

What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Most of my angst comes with a happy ending, and on top of that, I don't have the greatest perspective of how angsty my angst is, but I'm going to go with Exchange (Scrooge has to pay a price to get Lena back from Magica).

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Jeez, I don't know. Most of them have happy endings. The two that come to mind are:

Things My Heart Used to Know (Louie has discovered who he is and not only found his family but also put it back together again)

Ashes (Cosmo gets to live out his happily-ever-after with the two loves of his life, Don Lockwood and Kathy Seldon)

Do you get hate on fics? Not quite hate, but I have gotten complete non sequiturs, people who don't seem to understand that I like to write scenes over full stories, and a couple of arguments over my chosen characterization of a character in one specific story (which I stand by).

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written? I've never written any, though that doesn't stop me from thinking about them. Lately I've been thinking about Captain Carter visiting the 4077th.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

Have you ever had a fic translated? No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? The closest I've ever come to co-writing a fic was when @eggs-arent-real wrote me a one-shot and I wrote her a sequel. We didn't post it, though.

What's your all-time favorite ship? Probably Cosmo/Don/Kathy from Singin' in the Rain. I'm also partial to Stucky and Aziraphale/Crowley.

What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will? Good question. I've not given up on any of these, mind you, but my Darkwing Duck plot bunnies may fall into this category; it's just that I have to rewatch a significant portion of the show to pull them off, and I have no idea when that's going to happen.

What are your writing strengths? Back in high school, I was told by multiple people that I was really good with imagery. I also tend to like my dialogue, and I've had a lot of practice writing whump and hurt/comfort scenes, so I'd like to think I'm pretty good at those, too.

What are your writing weaknesses? Coming up with full plots (as opposed to random, out-of-context scenes). And also endings. And getting characters from point A to point B without any/much dialogue.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic? If that's how a character speaks, then that's how a character speaks. Personally, I try to avoid it unless it's a canon piece of the character and/or it's plot relevant. I think I've only done it for Panchito and Jose of the Three Caballeros. And also Mark Beaks, who canonically peppers his speech with Spanish when talking to Fenton because he is awful.

First fandom you wrote for? Liberty's Kids. There's a good chance I still have it, too, though I'll never post it (I never finished it, anyway).

The first fandom I wrote for and posted was Iron Man: Armored Adventures, which is also the only fic I've ever deleted off the internet.

Favorite fic you've ever written? I've gotta go with these two:

Things My Heart Used to Know

“We’ll meet up in Duckburg,” he heard Scrooge say. “I’ve got a Bin there, and…” Another explosion, the biggest one yet, shook the Bin, and large chunks of plaster fell around them. “We have to go,” Donald said. Scrooge turned to Louie and pressed something small and solid and round into his hand. “Guard it well,” he told him before disappearing into the smoke. Or, Louie gives a new meaning to the nickname “Captain Lost.”

Ashes

Cosmo drinks his sorrows away after Kathy discovers that he and Don are more than just friends.

[lampmanliveblogs]

Sticking to the theme of there being a contradiction between the coven head's magic track and their personalities - neat freak Darius being able to transform into gunk, emberwolf becoming an animal themself, the healing head being decisively ok with harming- it's hinted that Adrian, the supposedly most powerful illusionist in the track, actually isn't that powerful himself. He takes a director's role and organizes his minions to cast the magic rather than doing it himself, he regularly used that illusion-amplifier artefact to perform fears like stabilising Gus' illusion, and he's overwhelmed like the rest when Gus unleashed a burst off as mental magic at the end. Adrian is arguably a weak illusionist on his own merits, but crafts the illusion of being the top dog in the coven

Don't forget the Bard Raine with their crippling stage fright.

(Or the Plant witch Terra who is A-OK with killing. Or the Construction Head who is helping bring about the destruction of the Isles. Or the Oracle who did not see Belos' betrayal coming)

Now that I think about it, did we see Adrian Graye Vernworth cast a single spell without using his magic amplifier? Maybe some of his invisibility spells, but we never saw him cast those, so... who knows?

Not to defend him or anything, but I will say this: there is something to be said about Adrian's approach to illusion magic being more effective. He doesn't go for any big spectacles, he prefers a more subtle approach, playing mind games with his enemies. Now, that might be because he lacks the power to pull off large-scale illusions like disguising the entire school, but still. Keep in mind, the trick with the branding glove very nearly worked, and disguising Severine as Willow would have worked if Hunter hadn't been there.

Also, there is always the possibility that he got his high position not because of his power or skill, but because of his loyalty to Belos.

More asks below

And it's ironic since we see during the Day of Unity, he really did get roughed up after going through Gus' Negative Hollow spell.

And much like how Adrian ended up looking like the illusion in the end, even after all his efforts to hide it, Philip ends up reverting to his scarred appearance after the slightest bit of setback.

You're right, that is the exact same trick. I guess Philip got a taste of his own medicine in more than one way, huh? And of course, it wouldn't be a villain downfall without him being at least partially responsible for it himself. He hunted Hunter away, he pushed Kiki out of the room, and he literally threw The Collector off a bridge. All three of them, who would have stood by his side and could have seen the deception, were gone. And now they also hate his guts, which came back to haunt him even more.

I'd call this absolutely bonkers, if not for the fact that it fits surprisingly well.

I feel like I should add something, hmm...

Eda's gold and black eyes in her harpy form come from her reaching an understanding with the monster within her. It represents the truce between them and she displays it proudly, adoring her new form.

Belos' gold and black eyes come from him putting on his mask, hiding his face. It also represents his hatred of witches, being the same mask he wore as a kid playing his witch-hunting games.

Right, someone pointed it out in the comments as well, that Gus fell for the deception at first while Hunter saw through it because they befriended Willow at different points of her character arc. In some way, Gus kinda made the same mistake Amity did in this episode, forgetting Willow had grown from the meek girl she used to be to the powerful and confident witch she is today (though at a smaller scale).

They are both absolute disasters around their crushes but in completely opposite ways. It's good to see they have more to bond over than their... less than ideal upbringings.

As a fellow Big Brother, I can confirm, that stuff is genetic.

[silvysartfulness]

I posted 7,130 times in 2022

That's 205 more posts than 2021!

149 posts created (2%)

6,981 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@ebonykain

@chigrima

@cryptidsamoyed

@nientedal

@veliseraptor

I tagged 2,361 of my posts in 2022

#the untamed - 516 posts

#smile with tear emoji - 120 posts

#asksilvy - 105 posts

#refs - 99 posts

#i laughed - 89 posts

#note to self - 69 posts

#the happy songxuexiao roadtrip story - 68 posts

#blorbo from my shows - 52 posts

#beautiful - 45 posts

#oh tumblr... - 37 posts

Longest Tag: 104 characters

#you are in fact autistic please try to get help so just trying to live won't leave you disabled for life

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Chapter 48 - As The Waters Flow of Heaven Has A Road But No One Walks It is up! :D

The rains caught up with them at last, and any hope that it might ease the sweltering heat was thoroughly dashed – the air was so thick with humidity, it was worse than the mists back in Yi City, thick and heavy and hot.

And yet, despite the discomfort of damp, clinging robes and the relentless heat... there was a comfortable familiarity, a sense of peace to simply walking.

“I have been thinking, lately, about the flow of water,” Xiao Xingchen mused out loud, unthinkingly letting a nudge from Xue Yang's elbow steer him around yet some other puddle or muddy patch. “And I've realized that by setting my heart so firmly on what we hoped to achieve in Jinlintai, making it the one goal above all others... I blinded myself to the greater truth of what it is I – we - actually hope to do.”

“Of course,” Xue Yang amiably agreed, and he really should have seen the bad joke coming, he should have, “you are blind, Daozhang.”

—————————

Things are heating up, and it's not just the weather. 💚

I'm having a rough time with my creativity lately - please know that your comments and asks and fun tags are literally what keeps me going. If you enjoy this story and want more of it, please tell me so..? 🥺

Maybe even come hang out in my discord server? 💚

113 notes - Posted October 21, 2022

#4

See the full post

134 notes - Posted August 23, 2022

#3

Can't help but oblige and ask about your hc for the origins of Song Lan's mysophobia👀

I know I outright encouraged the question, but wow. 😂

So this was a headcanon I picked up for Heaven Has A Road after actually writing the events that partially gave rise to it.

When I was on vacation a couple of months back, I found myself without hand sanitizer after visiting a store, and after the last two years of pandemic and the super-strict regulations at that particular location, being unable to sanitize my hands for those few minutes before I got back to the hotel really made my skin crawl. Like there were potential pathogens all over them, to the point I could almost feel it.

And so logically, I thought to myself "Wow, this must be how Song Lan feels at all times."

And then my next thought was "Huh, and he was the one who immediately picked up on the abandoned zombie village having been devastated by a plague..."

So, a Song Lan who knows to spot the aftermath of a plague, a Song Lan obsessed with staying clean, avoiding closeness and touch... A Song Lan raised by a temple, because he had no family of his own...

Maybe the first plague he saw was his home village. Maybe toddler Song Lan was told by terrified relatives not to approach strangers, not to touch, wash your hands, keep clean - or the sickness will get you, will get us all...

And then it did.

Maybe Song Lan was taken in by Baixue because everyone else was gone. Dead. Their bodies twisted and swollen and festering, ruined and tainted by sickness. Uncleanness. And if you touch, if you get dirty, if you don't stay clean... It will get you too. Get you, and all those you care about.

He was too young to consciously remember any of it. In his mind, there's nothing before Baixue.

But after that, he never stopped compulsively washing his hands.

And he still can't make himself touch.

230 notes - Posted February 24, 2022

#2

Happy birthday, Xue Yang!

There will be happy endings in your future yet! ♥♥♥

253 notes - Posted July 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Just your casual reminder that when faced with an enemy knocked flat on his back, Xiao Xingchen’s reaction was to go straight for the heart.

No demanding he surrender. No using the spirit-trapping rope he carries in his sleeve to restrain him. No hesitation, no quarter.

In that moment, beautiful Bright Moon Xiao Xingchen was 100% down for ice cold murder, and you can’t tell me Xue Yang didn’t fall in love then and there. ♥

512 notes - Posted April 18, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[recordstellar-official]

Sandwiched in Time

Scene 3: A wall of caskets above the shore

Dulni breathed deep as they approached the storm. The waters foamed around the airboat's hull. It was there before even Kellarin's eyes could register it: a massive tidal wave at ninety degrees of angle. The instruction came far too late as it rose above the Mother Goose and crashed towards it. The deck rippled as Dulni kept herself balanced. The boat was pushed back, and the sea foamed once more.

"Unreef the sails," Kip yelled from the wheel.

"Are you crazy!? We turn back," Dulni replied.

Water splashed around them as the sky above them darkened. It didn't just rain, it poured. Dulni skated across the slick surface and towards the mast as the sea rumbled ahead of them.

Shezerin knew how to tie rope that was for sure,she thought to herself as she struggled to get enough grip on the knots he had tied.

"What's taking you so long?" Kellarin shouted after a few heartbeats.

The wave rattled the boat, almost capsizing it.

"Unreef the-!"

In one slick motion, Dulni cut the knot, partially unsheathing and re-sheathing her tachi in the process. She snatched the slack rope and tied it back into the spar. The Mother Goose sped forward, deeper inside the storm. Dulni fell forward as the boat was shunted upwards by the wave. Kip wrestled with the wheel, trying to guide the ship safely down the watery shockwave.

"We need to get to the eye of the storm," Kip shouted over the shrieking wind.

He turned the wheel starboard, keeping the boat on the crest of the wave.

The wave leveled and the boat landed safely on the open ocean. The skies were clear above, but the storm still raged behind and ahead.

"Well, what now?" Dulni asked.

The lean elf dropped his arms at his side. "I guess we just go with the flow," Kellarin replied. He could see an island, or at least what appeared to be one, but it was a speck in the distance. He could barely make out rows of pillars eerily shaped like caskets peeking from the edge of the blur that lay before them. Elf eyes had a way of seeing past physical limitations.

Dulni felt surprisingly rejuvenated,her magic crackling through her bones, tingling from the tips of her fingers, up the small hairs of her arm and shoulders, up and down the spine and up the top of her head.

"You feel it too," Shezerin commented.

"I'm no arcane caster, but Abreol's been kind enough to share secrets with me. It's about as confusing as gender," he continued. "I know that we're not near Chiang'long, but I feel that we need to check what is on that island," Shezerin suggested to Dulni.

"Kellerin, what do you think?" She asked. He shrugged. "It doesn't really matter to me. How's food?"

"I can make extra if we need it, at least for this part of the journey. I expect that continent proper will have us needing our energy for more combat and divination based need," Shezerin countered.

"Absolutely not! We have a strict timetable!" Kip shouted storming up from beneath decks. He was wearing coveralls, covered in soot and tinged with the smell of burnt oil. Padded sleeves were drenched black with grease.

"Don't touch me" Dulni said. Immediately she was disgusted by her whimper. She braced herself, scowling at the scholar.

"I am not going to have my mission delayed and sabotaged by a teenager's morbid curiosity." Kip's face was beet-red and looking as if it was ready to pop.

"Kip are you alright?" Dulni asked unnerved by the aggression on display.

"Day after day, having to put up with your antics. What was I thinking, hiring you?"Kip threw up his hands. "I don't know who's worse, you or the urchin," he said as he gave Shezerin a quick glance.

"I am a great assistant as I have proven." Shezerin replied.

"You got me her. That cancels out you sorting this ship and fetching me Kellarin." Kip countered.

"She's vouched by the guy you wanted, who has a reputation for being, well... point is, let me finish sir, if you can't handle her, how did you expect it to go with such a man?" Shezerin asked.

"I don't want to be anywhere near the Lid of Abymalm," Kip admitted. "Sailors claim those islands are connected directly to his Labyrinth of Terrors."

"Well, I suspect that we will have to deal with them whether we'd like to or not," Kellarin interrupted. "They probably see us. The longer we sit here, the more time they have to prepare. Defender's advantage." The elf moved up to the prow of the ship. "Kip, when's the quickest we can make landfall, and how much booze are you insisting we sacrifice for the survival of our lives and a gamble on this craft?"

Kip gulped.

End of chapter 2

[lilalbatross]

5, 10, 15, 16, 19, 27, 29, 30 for the ao3 ask meme <33

oh boy okay here we go

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

definitely Anything for you, my Shoresy fic. teeny tiny fandom for a weird niche canadian hockey comedy, but the response i got was really lovely and it's somehow in my top 5 for kudos, comments, and bookmarks. that was the first thing i posted after a couple brutal months for mental health and writers block, so those comments and stuff are really special to me

and then a special mention to chapters 6 and 7 of Austin Alone because people came fucking flying out of the woodwork to scream at us within the first couple hours of posting lmao i don't think i'll ever see anything like that ever again

10. What work was the quickest to write?

oh hands down it's What the fuck is with the spatula?, which i wrote in a single 4ish-hour sitting and a lot of that time was spent rewatching the Are You The One? ep they're watching so i could get the sequence of events right lmao. look, i just have a lot of feelings about drunk idiots brute forcing their way through complex probability with a spatula, and i needed to project that onto my otp

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

dragging the carcasses of so many half-written fics, but trying to actively work on Acesodyne, which is a billy x owen post-1x07 multichap canon divergence about injury and music and grief and healing and i’m trying not to let it spiral out of control and it may not ever get posted even if i do finish it but hey we’ll give it a shot.

also determined to actually finish Downpour, which literally started as just “i bet if they stood in the rain Billy’s hair would get in his face and it would be cute and Owen would kiss him about it” and somehow turned into a bit of a trauma and body worship thing??? idk don’t ask me i don’t have any answers but i do have a 2.5k partial draft that i should put some hours into

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

lol it's "Established Relationship" from all my billy x owen oneshots where they're together at the start and i'm not giving you all the fucking backstory for how that happened, just jump in and we're off.

(...but also you and i know that the "how that happened" is usually Austin Alone if people know what details to look for lmao)

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

i don’t see myself drifting away from billy x owen any time soon, so definitely gonna keep thinking about those bastards more than literally anybody else in this fandom (except you lol). i also want to do more Shoresy/Goody. i wrote the one oneshot, but i have a multichap outline that needs some massaging and i think could be interesting. and i get to slam more canadiana into fic, which i really can’t do when all my other shit takes place in texas lmao

and then i’m sure i’ll get surprised by a pairing and end up spitting out something isn’t even on my radar yet. who knows, maybe i’ll finally find a Ted Lasso pairing that i want to write about. Colin and...[insert name here idk we’ll see but if i write about anyone it’ll probably be Colin]

27. What do you listen to while writing?

*gestures vaguely at my entire spotify wrapped* no but seriously. depends on the fic but i’ll generally have a playlist, album, or even song that i loop for each fic. sitting there long after midnight had a very angsty playlist. touch the sky and bite the asphalt was Maneskin’s album Teatro d’ira hence the fic title. i’m pretty sure with a gift for burning was Let Me Drown by Orville Peck. Acesodyne’s playlist is heavier on acoustic guitar/pop-punk because it’s a lot of songs that i know how to play on guitar so i can connect a physicality to what i’m trying to write

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

gonna resist every bone in my body that wants to be self-deprecating and couch this with all the weaknesses i see etc etc. big fan of this paragraph from with a gift for burning:

So many voices he wants to hear tonight. Numbers he knows by heart, burned into his muscle memory and connected to nothing. Harkes’ line had stayed in service the longest. Nobody canceled his contract, and it rang to voicemail for months before the unpaid bills piled up and his line was cut off. Billy called, again and again on bad nights, until his mouth shaped the words in time with Harkes’ rhythm. “Yo, it’s Jake. Leave a message if you want, but you should have just texted.” The last time he called, a confused teenage girl picked up and Billy threw his phone against the wall.

I was a little drunk when i wrote it, and then when i reread it i immediately had a moment of “oh :(” and then i knew i was onto some shit and it helped me break the direction the rest of the fic was gonna go lol

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

I did not expect my stuff to steer so hard into angst quite as much as it does???

but also in some ways biggest surprise was just that i...can... (don’t look at me)

send me ao3 wrapped questions if you want

[drabbles-of-writing]

May i ask for Luz and Raine headcannons (plz their interaction single handedly undid most of the trauma from the rest of the episode)

your so right anon. i love them. stepparent and stepdaughter energy to the max. desperate for more interactions between them in the episode tomorrow I'm begging

Luz, as evidenced, thinks Raine is the coolest person ever. partially bc they're really important to Eda, partially bc she has Heard The Tales and how can she NOT think they're cool?? the first hour in the new rebel camp is spent following Raine around and pestering them with questions. Raine was a teacher for some time and genuinely likes kids (obv they have like 3) so even when they were doing other work they were listening to every word while adding in their own comments/questions in brief brakes. at some point Luz apologizes for all the questions n Raine is like "??? we've been answering each others questions wym"

Raine was pacing in circles the entire time it took for everyone to rescue Luz after they nabbed Eda like "oh titan im gonna mess this up. im going to mess it up SO BAD" bc this is Eda's kid and they very much want Eda's kid to like them. course they ended up meeting King like 2 hours early cause Steve popped in with him and Raine managed to Mostly pull it off. they went through. a lot of different 'scenes' with themself in their head before they got Luz back. Darius may have bonked them over the head and told them to stop worrying so much, kids actually like them. this did nothing for Raine's nerves, but they hid it well

all the BATs kids swarm Luz whenever there's nobody else around. they have some of their own separate reasons (Katya knew Luz from her first day in the Isles, Derwin rlly wants to learn about glyphs, Amber wants someone closer to her age to talk to) but the base reason is This Is Eda's Kid and also Raine Likes Her. and back in their day, Raine deciding to hang around a kid usually meant the kid was about to be a new member of the BATs, so they kind of defaulted to the 'welcoming vibe' on instinct. Raine keeps trying to shoo them off insisting that the BATs aren't even a thing anymore please leave Luz alone but they are PERSISTENT. Raine tries to apologize for them but Luz is absolutely THRILLED bc the kids tell her all kinds of things Raine did as a rebel that Raine was either 1) embarrassed about and 2) forgot. it's an interesting time

Raine is vibrating in the corner trying to restrain themself from asking Luz if she wants to learn bard magic. Obviously she kind of had, shes in every track of Hexside, but Raine is quite actually One Of The Best and also they really want to see what kind of instrument she'd play best (they're best bet rn is a ukulele, but that might be the 'hey what if me, eda & luz all played strings' talking) until eventually they just. start playing their viola. its like late as hell and everyones still a bit high-strung so Raine plays something soothing to 1) help everyone out and 2) work on de-stressing themself. among some others, Luz is there who hangs out around Raine until they're done playing and then excitedly asks to b taught, cause she's still just in the basics of bard training. and Raine practically Lights Up

Eda was a little bit resentful that Raine got along so instantly and eagerly w Luz when it took her a while to get used to the kid. obviously it's not like Raine was trying to be the Better Kid Person™ that's just how they are but it still made Eda feel a little shitty for a bit. she tries to casually ask Raine when they got so good w kids, aside from the fact they're a teacher n Raine is like "first of all I had, like, 3 other kids before this. second of all I still genuinely have no idea what I'm doing. I'm just doing nice things and hoping it works I have absolutely no clue anything abt Luz I'm just trying to copy what I thought you would do" and Eda is in SHAMBLES over it

Luz and King have the whole "you BETTER make it up to Eda for lying abt remembering her she was a mess over it :(" and course that makes Raine feel even shittier but Luz is immediately plopping down next to them like "dw I gotchu we're gonna make SUCH a good apology gesture" and the first ten or so are completely over the top and not something Raine would ever do for obvious reasons and also bc they know that wouldn't do anything w Eda, but Damn if they aren't touched by how much Luz is trying. as if Raine and Eda weren't making longing heart-eyes at each other from across the room like half an hour earlier. points for effort

[yesimwriting]

The Promise of Rain

A/n finally writing that Kaz Brekker x reader angsty-fluff where the reader is all sunshine-y and Kaz is dramatic as always lol 

Might make this a blurb series bc i like this dynamic so much lol

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x sunshine-y reader 

Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Kaz has a conversation with the reader (who’s a runaway princess) about what happens to people who stay near him. 

-- 

He once said that he didn’t believe in Saints. A moment later he conceded that perhaps they existed in order to appease Inej, but he was quick to tact on that if Saints existed they didn’t care about him. Inej and I had exchanged a look, she pleaded with me in silence to let him be. I opened my mouth despite the look in her eyes, but he had walked away before I could get any words out. 

He believes that the Saints don’t care about him, but as soon as he was dragged in by Jesper, bleeding and more broken than usual, it had started to rain. The rain is a promise. The rain is a sign that he will wake up. 

I tap a finger against the forgotten book on my lap, ignoring the dried blood I’ve been too anxious to wash off. When Kaz wakes up he’ll either scold me or partially tease me for waiting here by his bedside. The rain continues, cascading down invisible hope. 

“Save your prayers, even for you the Saints won’t regard me.” Kaz. His voice is raspier than it should be and his slight condescension is blighted by the tired flatness of it. But it’s him. He’s speaking. 

I tear my gaze away from the window, almost forgetting to tamper down my relief before finally looking at him. I haven’t known him long enough to see him in any level of defeat, but I’ve heard enough stories. The fictional exaggeration of those that fear him have made him seem so immortal. Some part of me must have internalized that because to see him like this, to see him so human is too intimate. 

“Don’t be so narcissistic.” Something about Kaz always leaves me feeling challenged, like each comment is some kind of dare. I adjust my posture. “I wasn’t praying because I knew you’d be okay.” 

His expression is unchanging. “So much faith in me?” 

There’s a soft edge to his words, an attempt to twist some kind of awkward denial out of me. Some days I don’t think Kaz enjoys anything and then other days I think he enjoys any misstep in my words. 

I shrug, pushing down the flood of relief still attempting to crawl out of my chest. “You’re always okay.” I scratch the back of my wrist idly. “It seems the safe bet.” 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been taking gambling advice from Jesper.” 

I half roll my eyes. “No--Jesper and I don’t play together anymore.” I let out an easy sigh. “Last time I beat him he bordered on a hissy fit.” There’s the slightest hint of upturning at the corners of his lips. “I should go tell Jesper and Inej you’re awake.” 

“I think you should change out of that dress first.”

He was more likable when I thought he might die at any second. “Wow--Kaz Brekker the professional stylist.” He has no right to judge the formal gown I’m in. Yes, my outfit is ridiculous, but I’m only wearing it because the Crows needed someone they knew at a merchant’s party for a part of some scheme they wouldn’t share the details of with me. “Yes, I’m aware that this dress is more tulle than anything else, but I’m only wearing it because I was helping you.” 

I wait for some retort about how he could have managed without my assistance or some kind of comment about how I didn’t need such a large dress to flirt and distract the guards as the Crows snuck into the merchant’s private office. “You fit in there more than you said you would.” 

From anyone else, I’d consider this an insult. “I was making an effort for the sake of your plans.” 

“I saw you before I went into the office, you knew the dances, the man took your hand.” 

That’s the weirdest observation I’ve ever witnessed someone reflect on. “That’s how those dances tend to work.” I don’t hide the confusion in my expression. “How much blood did you lose?” 

Kaz’s piercing gaze drops to the blanket on his lap. “Not a concerning amount.”

“Why do I feel like we have different definitions of ‘concerning’?” 

His eyes flit upwards, a partial smirk playing at his lips. “We define a lot of things differently.” He pauses, “You defined the life you slipped into so easily tonight as something you could never do.” 

“I can’t.” What is his problem? “One dance is different than an eternity of planning teas and marrying some man who only keeps me so I can rear his children.” 

“You’d end up marrying someone who could give you things.”

He better not be implying I should be having children. I’m seriously starting to hope he did lose a significant amount of blood because that would be some kind of explanation. “I don’t want anyone to be giving me children right now, but I guess your concern is ni--”

“No, no,” he screws his eyes shut for a long second, “You know what I meant.” I stay silent. “You’re technically a princess, y/n, you could have more than the Barrel.” There’s an odd silence as he pauses. “Someone like you should have more than the Barrel.” 

He speaks like his word is law. That’s the one habit of his I can never seem to forgive. Is Kaz telling me to go home? To go back to a mother who dreams of marrying me off and a father with a temper that often leads to violence? He may be Dirtyhands, but he is no one to tell me who to go back to. Not after I risked my anonymity to get him into that merchant’s office. 

I shut my book and stand in one swift motion. “I’m going to tell Jesper and Inej that you’re awake.”

“Y/n.” I ignore him. “Y/n.” Again, I ignore him, approaching the doorway. The rustling of sheets leaves me frozen, hand on the doorknob. “Y/n.” 

Without thinking, I turn on my heels while glaring. There’s no way he’s proud enough to have climbed out of bed wi--and he’s standing. Standing almost directly behind me. 

“Kaz Brekker, I am going to say this one time and one time only.” I keep my words measured and my tone flat. No room for argument. “You just had nine stitches put in near your heart, get your ass back in bed before that is no longer your only injury.” 

He pauses, lips pressed together into a tight white line. And then his mouth opens, pried open by an oddly light sound. Did he just--Did Kaz Brekker just laugh? He doesn’t laugh. I didn’t think he was physically capable, and now he laughs while I’m threatening him? I should hit him on principle alone and damn the consequences. 

“Did you--” I’m gaping at him with a rage I am not accustomed to. “Did you just laugh?” 

Kaz is quick to shut his mouth. “You did swear you’d get me to laugh one day.” 

Saints--now he chooses to have some kind of sense of humor. “Not while I was threatening you for being an idiot after saying my lineage means that I’m meant to be trapped in the life I desire least.” 

“I didn’t say that.” I raise an eyebrow. “You don’t deserve more than this because of your family, you deserve more than this because--” He cuts himself off with a sharp sigh. “Do you remember what happened the day we met?” 

He had wanted to return me to my father for the money. I had managed to convince him I could be more useful working for him without profit. The first day had been tense, I had sworn to myself that I would hate him forever. 

“I remember really hating you.” I remember thinking him beautiful despite his darkness. “I remember it started raining on our way here.” 

“You had a hood, but you pushed it off your head to feel the rain.” I don’t remember that because indulging in the rain is instinctual to me. “You looked at the rain, and you smiled--and then you saw a woman with a child and you took off your hood and gave it to them.” 

“What does that have to d--” 

“Watching that felt like intruding on an intimate moment I had no business knowing about, but it wasn’t that to you. That moment was nothing to you because that moment was who you are.” 

I don’t understand what he sees in something I can barely remember. “Kaz, what does that have to do with anything?” 

“I’m the monster that children believe live under their beds, I’m the bastard of the Barrel, I’m someone who gets blood on everything near them.” His gaze is harsher than I’ve ever seen it as he focuses on the dried blood splotched across my hands and arms. “And then I can’t even help you wash it off.” 

Those last words are the closest to broken I’ve ever heard him sound. “Kaz--”

“And you’re the girl who looks at the rain like it’s a gift from the Saints.” 

Is he implying what I think he’s implying? Even if I believed him such a source of evil, even if I felt like touch mattered that much--why would he care? I keep the much more frightening implication at bay as I exhale. Clarity will only make this conversation worse. “That doesn’t matter.” The words leave me in a low whisper. 

I stare at the ground until his silence is something I can no longer bear. Looking up as cautiously as possible, I take in his expression. I’ve never seen him look so--so enraged. “It doesn’t matter?!” He doesn’t bother hiding the fact that he’s practically seething. “I’ve viewed your presence here as temporary since you first came and despite that, when I saw you there…” The breath he lets out is practically pained. “When I saw what your life is meant to be--I didn’t want you to go.” 

The admission breaks something hard in my chest. “I never wanted to go.” My eyeline drops to the ground. “I didn’t want to go when you were trying to make me, I didn’t want to go when it was only for that evening.” I swallow a lump of emotion restricting my throat. “When you were bleeding out and Jesper had to carry you back here I let myself imagine what it’d be like if you died. And it hurt. It hurt so badly I asked myself if I would rather never know you than feel that pain.” 

“Would you?” His voice has gone hollow. 

I finally look up again. “No.” That word leaves me more bare than any physical touch ever could. 

“I stain everything that stays with me,” his voice has seamlessly shifted back to a tone meant for business, “Me wanting you to stay is more than enough reason for you to leave.”

My chest aches as emotions I’ll never be able to place a name to pound against my chest. “I’m a princess that ran away from her family and tried to befriend her kidnapper--you can’t possibly be narcissistic enough to believe that you’re what’s corrupted me.” 

“Y/n,” his voice is gravely again, the way it was when he first woke up. 

“No. What could you possibly think I’d say to that?” He’s insane--I’m not even sure I understand what he’s implying. “You know I’ll never agree with what you’re saying, so I have no idea what kind of reaction you’re looking for.”

“Maybe a genuine one.” 

The comment is so frustrating I can’t help but roll my eyes. The irony of Kaz Brekker asking for a genuine reaction to an emotionally heavy comment is almost laughable. “My genuine reaction is that you’re acting like an idiot because I don’t agree with anything you’re saying, but calling someone an idiot after they’ve been stabbed in the chest is a little insensitive so I can’t give you my genuine reaction.”

Kaz half-scoffs, “You don’t agree? Y/n--are you hearing me!? I want--I want you to stay.” Even angry, the admission warms me. He lets out a frustrated sigh. “More than that I want--” 

“What?” 

He shakes his head once. “I want something that can never be because I can’t give what needs to be given to get it.” 

“Kaz, if it involves me staying you don’t need to give anything for that because I don’t want to go.” 

“I-want-you-to-stay-with-me.” The admission is pried from him by some invisible force. He speaks so fiercely the sentence comes out as one angry word. 

He speaks so quickly a part of me is convinced that I misheard him. I watch him as he moves back to the bed, sitting down in a way so resigned I wonder if I blurted something out on instinct. 

“Kaz,” this is embarrassing, “I wanted to stay with you even when I wanted to hate you.”

I take in his measured expression, the only thing implying any kind of reaction is the way his eyebrows draw together. “Don’t say that, you don’t understand what that means.” 

“Why? Because you’re convinced you’ll ruin me?” 

“Y/n, we’d be together with a wall between us, keeping us from ever touching.” 

“I will tolerate any amount of damage you’re so convinced staying with you will bring, I will stay with you and never touch you and think nothing of it--but I will not stay with you just to stand in front of a wall.” I let out a tired breath. “I will stay with you but my one condition will be that you have to let me know you.” 

Kaz’s intense gaze wavers. “The first thing you’ll know is that me allowing you to stay is a testament to my greed.” 

I give him a sharp look, “It’s not greed if I want to be here.” 

He half sighs, leaning against a pillow as he turns to look out the window. “It’s raining,” he muses, “The Saints must have done that for you.” 

The sentiment is so soft my heart feels like it’s constricting. “I thought you didn’t believe in the Saints.” 

“If they exist, they do so for people like you.” 

I push past the emotion in my chest as I move to sit in the same chair I was in earlier. “I was honest when I said I didn’t pray for you.” I scratch the back of my arm, a coldness passing over me. “I didn’t pray because I knew you would be okay because you had to be.” 

“They wouldn’t have saved me,” he mumbles, “Or maybe they would have for you.” 

I shake my head once, staring at the rain with more fascination than before. 

--

General Taglist: @theincredibledeadlyviper @grishaverse7 @lonelystarship

[jt-artsandfics]

Jealous and protective pt3.

This one's gonna be a lot longer then normal just becuase it has alot more charcaters but since Bi-han already has his own with this I'm leaving him out of this lot. (As much a it pains me) I'm keeping these all with the gender neutral them becuase I find it easier writing that in a whole unless someone partially ask for a set gender. So without further delay enjoy.

Warnings: swearing, curssing, gore (it's mortal kombat), nsfw hinted in some spots, Sex. Talk of sexual harassment.

Rain- Jealous and protective

-Rain despite what he believes, he is a very jealous man. Not to mention he is very over protective borderline possessive.

-He as killed people for the fact he does not like them nesr you and has made it clear on multiple occasions to others. But Rain can be quite sweet when alone.

- he may be egotistic but he also has a soft spot of his S/o.

-He loves showing his partner off but at the same time wants no one to know about them. It was very much a learning curve with his S/o very different cultures, life experiences and such.

-This man hasn't had the best experience with lovers, has been turned down on multiple occasions.

-So once he has you, your gonna have a hard time getting him to let go of you.

-this man gets it many fight becuase of you.

-does not like other Kombations being near you, and has made it very clear to everyone to stay away from what is his.

- for someone known for being a traitor he's loyal as fuck to you as long as you do not betray him.

- man radiates bratty bottom energy an the knows he does.

-------

" Hello my treasure" Rain whispers as he pulls his lover into his embrace. They smile lightly as he rest his head in the crock of their neck.

"Hello my Prince, where have you been off too?" They ask lightly running their hands up to his masked face and slowly remove it. He smiles lightly as his lover runs their hand over a bruise in the side of Rain's face.

"Babe did you get into another fight?" He lets out a huffed breath while trying to look away from his lover only to have them grab his face and force him to look back at them.

"Rain baby, look at me" they say softly as his eyes flick to then. They smile lightly at him and press a soft kiss to his lips. He hums in contentment arms snaking around his lover. His lover pulls away gentle running their hand up to pull away the rest of his head gear.

"So.. who pissed you off and how badly do They look now?" They ask lightly making him laugh gently. His S/o runs their hands thought his hair pulling at the soft strands

"I discarded his body, you will not find anything left of that wretched man." He huffs pulling them closer as he holds them.

"Now what did he do to piss you off so badly Rain?" They ask pulling him in for another kiss. He hums lightly once again enjoying having ha I lover in his arms and indulging in the moment.

" he called you my Whore, and he bragged about how he could make you scream, as you can guess. I did not take kindly to that" it's quite between them again as she sighs into their shoulder.

"I do not enjoy degenerates who do not know their places, they will learn to respect you or end up dead" he said moving away and grabbing his lovers hand. They walk thought the quite corridors together.

"Rain, thank you. I know you might not understand it from my side but thank you for telling me. I know I'm not the easiest to love and I know you are trying your best too. So knowing that you're willing defend me over something like that, it.. it means alot to me" They say to their lover. Rains eyes flick over to his treasure. Pride filling him.

"No one gets to touch you, you are mine. To love to make scream and to claim" he can see their face go bright red at his comment.

"Love you too my Prince"

Johnny Cage - jealous and protective

Younger Johnny is alot more jealous then older Johnny. But older Johnny is more protective.

Young Johnny- this man could rival Rain with his Ego. He gets jealous when people take your attention away from him.

-He is kinda an attention whore.

-he likes making sure people know you are his weather that be thought leaving marks on you, giving you gifts or always hanging off you.

-he's very hyper, he does calm down as he gets older but this man is very energetic and wants to fight any and everyone who flirts with you.

- man radiates the " I'm a kick your ass becuase I want to show off and so they can stare at my ass"

Older Johnny - older Johnny has alot more life experience, he doesn't get jealous as easy as he used to but he is very protective.

-Man's a Dilf he's knows what he wants and knows how to make people back off and leave you alone.

-will wrap a protective arm around you, place a kiss on your cheek and as you if this guy is annoying you.

-unlike his younger self he radiates "if you hurt my S/o I'm going to deck you into next Tuesday"

-------

Young Johnny

"Johnny!, Johnny are you ok?" The man looks up and smiles his face bloody. He pulls them into a hug kissing their forehead as he stands victorious.

"You know you don't have to fight every person who talks to me babe" they sighs wrapping their arms around his shoulders. Johnny laughs lightly as he picks his partner up and heads for their seats.

"Baby!, that guy slapped your ass what else what's I suppose to do, stand back smile and wave?" His lover gives him a worried smile. He leans down to kiss them into for them to push him away a little.

"Nuh uh your lip is busted you have a black eye, before anything, I am patching you up you gonk." They say to him as the pull out a handkerchief and begin to wipe the blood off his face.

"You know one to these days Johnny your gonna get into a fight that your not gonna win, and I'm gonna have to pick you broken and blooded body up and put you back together" they sigh givign him a quick peck on the lips. Johnny smiles brightly pulling them closer and deepening the kiss.

"Well as long as I have you to put me back together sweetheart then I'll happily enjoy every moment of it" he says which earns him a punch to the shoulder from his s/o

"Hey what was that for!" "Becuase your an idiot, but I guess your my idiot huh?" Johnny gives a lopsided smile to his lover pressing another kiss to thier lips.

"My hero huh?" He asks earning a snort from his lover before they cover their mouth.

------

Older Johnny

Music plays in the background of the little area that had been converted into an office for Johnny. Both himself and his S/o are working away filling out reports and fixing up files for his daughter.

"Baby do you have those report for me?" Johnny ask turning around to face his S/o. A small smirk crosses his lips as he sees them bent over a desk digging thought some boxes. He gets up quietly making his way over to them.

" already on your desk hun, along with the incident report from yesterday" they call back to him. They only forward feeling a set of hands grip their hips.

"Hum.. well I see another incident report coming up soon" he chuckles pulling them closer as the stand back up.

"Oh well you, get to do the paperwork this time babe" they say giving him a kiss on the cheek as they continue working thought files.

Johnny pulls them away front he table gentle and spins them around to the music softly dancing and swaying hips.

"Johnny, holding out on the good moves are we?" They ask with a chuckle pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He picks them up and sits them against the table hands roaming lightly.

" Yo!, I didn't know older me was getting it on with that hottie!" A very familiar voice calls out front he door way making both johnny and I groan.

"Kid you have five second to get the fuck out or I'm decking you into next tuesday" he says turning around and giving his younger self a death glare of a life time. His younger self take the hint and disappears but can be heard in the distant going off about it.

"God i hate him, he so insuffable" Johnny grumbles earning him a laugh from his partner. "Is that jealous I hear baby, do you miss your golden days?" His lover says trying to get under his skin.

"Not a chance, besides I doubt he'd be able to keep up with you" he chuckles. "Well I do have to say younger you is very much a brat. Glad to see you aged like fine wine" they reply pressing another kiss to his lips.

"Keep that up baby and I'll be railing you into tomorrow, this old man still have some life in him" he jokes earning him a look from his lover.

"Bring it on then hot stuff"

Kabal- Jealous and protective.

- kabal gets jealous when people over step their boundaries when it comes to his lover.

- he doesn't take shit from any one who wants to try and flaunt their good looks. He knows he looks like shit but he'll be damned if someone takes the one good thing he still has.

- he loves showing his S/o off. And spoiling them, but some people (Kano) decided to make cracks about it and he loses his shit at them.

- he loves cuddling with his partner to make sure they are safe.

- he hates having to leave for missions becuase he worries about them.

-has and will beat the shit out people who don't back down from flirting with is S/o even after they have stated they are claimed.

-been in to many brawls with Kano over the mans foul mouth when around his partner.

-sweet beef jerky man. You look after him and help him with things and he's gonna be puddy in you hands.

- please give him love man's been thought alot.

-------

"Sweetheart! Have yo uy seen my moisturiser?, I'm starting to flake again and it ain't pretty" Kabal yells our from the bedroom. His s/o quietly makes their way to the door way.

"Big box on the top shelf has a collection of them in it, I got a whole lot for you when I was shopping so we don't have another accident" they say walking up behind him and pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"What would I do without you" he says leaning back into them lightly. They laugh lightly pressing a kiss to his neck and pulling away.

"Trip crash and burn, no pun intended baby. But that's mostly how it would go" they chuckle. He shakes his head and heads to the shelve with the box of lotions, moisturizers and pretty much any available skin care thing in it.

"Would you mind doing my back while I get what I can reach?" He ask lightly even tho he knows they would never pass down the opportunity to touch him. He strips off his shirt leaving on only what was necessary of his gear.

His s/o hovers over his back gently pouring moisturiser onto his back and lathering it up. Kabal sighs feeling his lovers hands gentle run over his back pressing into sore spots and flakey areas.

"Hey babe, I have some of the guys coming around tonight, just let me know if any of the bastards step out of line ok?" He ask looking over his shoulder to them.

"Ok baby, I'll let you know if I need you to knock Kano out again" this makes Kabal laugh as his lover continues to take care of his back.

After finishing up on his shoulders and back Label roles over onto so that he can face his lover. "Gods I love you, you know that" he says pulling them down to lay on his chest.

"Baby let me finish doing you moisturiser then you can cuddle ok" they say beginning to repeat the process again.

"Kabal you Cunt!, where you at?" Kano yells put from the kitchen before malign his way to the bed room to find Kabal laying down with his S/o on top of him. Kano leans against the wall taking a mouthful of beer before staring them down again.

"Your beers shit, get something decent like fucking XXXX gold or Iorn Jack becuase ethos is like drinking piss" Kano huffs as he finishes the bottle.

"Good to see you too Kano, you only one here so far?" Kabal as he sits up. His S/o moves from his lap and gives Kano a small wave.

"Hi Kano" "hey love, and yea only me here so far other fucks are probably pissed out of their guys, might show don't know wirh them fellas" Kano replys before heading back to the kitchen.

Kabal throws on a shirt and he and his S/o make their way to he kitchen to find Kano making himself at home.

"So you gonna break anyone else arm tonight becuase boys and I have bets it being Wade who has a go at em" Kano says, he opens another beer and puts his feet up on the table.

"Kano, feet off table. And if he decided he's gonna try it he's gonna get broken. Y/n is already aware" he explains earning a smile from his S/o.

"My bets on James, man's been getting hands. Remember Kano if he has a go and I break his nose you'll owe me" Y/n says wirh a bright smile.

"Hahah Kabal you got yourself one of a kind"

--------

Hasashi Hanzo- Jealous and protective.

-when Hanzo gets jealous a part of scorpion shows it's head. He's death glare is a killer.

- he tends to distance himself more becuase he does not wish to hurt his S/o

-other times he with become clingy becuase he just want to be close, he wants to tryvand prove to Himself that he is aloud to be happy again.

-his jealous stems from a few things but mainly his own thought. Nightmares and dreams cause him the most pain with it.

-and after all who wants to try and hit on Scorpions S/o other then Johnny. (Man ahs no care for his life)

-very beefy and warm man, needs a good hug and to be told he's doing well. He just wants someone to tell him he's doing great.

- man's a grumble blanket, his glare tells people to fuck off as it is. And not only that it's very well known that you are the partner of the Grandmaster of the Shirai Ryu.

-------

Hanzo's brow twitches as sweat roles down his face as he sleeps. Eyes flickering under his lids as he fights in his sleep. His S/o peacefully asleep beside him as he fights his dreams.

The room begins to heat up more then normal. Blankets scatter as Hanzo shoots ups his eyes glazed.

"You will not touch them!" He yells. His s/o shoots up blanket throw off them as they look to their lover.

"Hanzo!, baby, hey it's just a dream your ok" they say moving to him. His head shoots to them. His glazed eyes focused on them.

" Scorpion?, scorpion I need you to let Hanzo come back to me ok?" Their voice is gentle as they place their hands on his chest.

"I can not, you will get hurt, we must protect you" he says voice filled with pain as he continues to scan the room.

"Babe, we are in the fire gardens, in your room. Come back to me honey. What are five things you see?" They ask, scorpion twitches under their touch.

"I see you, Satoshi's baby blanket, the walls, our blankets, Harumi's orchid" he says as he pulls them closer his lover rest against his chest and his eyes fade back into the sweet chocolate brown.

"Now handsome four things you can hear" they say kissing thier lover softly. " I can hear cicadas, your voice, the wind and my heartbeat" he whispers. His lover runs thier hands thought his hair untangling small knots and curls in his hair.

"Now three things you can feel baby" they whisper to him as he pulls his lover to lay on his chest as he falls back onto the bed.

"Your lips, your heartbeat, your skin" he says curling up around his lover. "Baby, talk to me are you ok?" They ask kissing Hanzo softly on the cheeks and then his lips.

"Forgive my sweet love, I did not mean to scare you." He replys, they move to lay on top of Hanzo straddling him. "Hanzo, baby you don't very have to apologise for something like that, understand. You have been thought so much and I am never going to hold that against you. They are both quite for a moment.

"My dream, you were taken from me, forced to love another. I became jealous that someone had taken you from me, I let scorpion take over. But no matter how close I came to you I could never reach you" Y/n can see the tears shimmer in his eyes.

"Its ok hun, I'm not going anywhere, I'm right here with you. And I know you will fuck up anyone who tries to take me from you." They smile pressing their lips to his. Both humming in contentment.

"Let's go back to sleep baby, I'll keep away your demons" they whisper as he rest his head against their chest.

---------

Kuai Laing- Jealous and protective.

- Kuai out of the lot is a lot more closed off to jealous, he does experience it but stays quite about to msot times.

- he becomes very cuddly for the fact he doesn't wish to lose his lover.

- man can be scary when needed.

- he really is the definition of a polar bear. Cute cuddle but also ready to rip someone's face off if they hurt his family.

- kinda man who is really shy in person but is a monster in bed.

-him being jealous transfers to that he may not say it with words but his actions speak very loud.

--------

"Kuai, I've been looking for you" the cryomancer peaks up hearing his lovers voice. He turns to see them walking towards him. He's smiles lightly patting the spot beside him.

"Forgive me I've been meditating most of this morning" he says lightly. His lover moves to sit close to him, they place themself in his lap and wrap their arms around his shoulders.

"Now a little bird told me that you might be feeling down, am I correct?" Kuai smiles shaking his head.

"My live I have you now why would I be feeling down about the most precious thing I love" he says pulling them a little closer.

"Hmmm... well then I believe your shadow of a brother has been spreading rumours babe, sad you were a little jealous of him being back" at that Kuai sighs leaning his forehead against his lovers.

"I do not knwo why he spread rumours, I am quite happy to have him back, I do not particularly like the way he 'whores' himself out" the cryomancer replys earning him a small giggle.

"Has he tried to make a move on you?" It hurt him to ask, he didn't believe his beloved would go for his brother after choosing him for his personality and enjoying his company but he still wished to be sure.

"He's made a few.. comments but no hasn't tried to get in with me baby, besides I happen to enjoy my cryomancers shy, easy to rile up and a sweet kisser" they remark leaning down to pull him into a kiss. He returns it before pulling away.

"As much as. Would love for this to continue beloved, I do have work that had to be done." He sighs.

"I'll see you tonight them my handsome, strapping and gorgeous man" they say giving him one last kiss before disappearing.

"Bi-han we need to have a word"

[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