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nc-vb · 19 days

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Let Me In ~ Doppelgänger Francis Mosses/The Milkman x Female Reader

Chapter 7

Word Count ~ 3.9k

Rating ~ Explicit

CW ~ minor mention of blood and gore, sexual content

Also available on AO3

taglist @luthien-elvenia-asher @fishfetus @gaudesstuff @nekee-lilac02 @msdevil333 @rrnrjn @maskedpacific

Fanart used with permission @kaworinx on Instagram and TikTok

You are walking the yard surrounding your home in early August.

Francis Mosses’ doppelgänger is beside you, his fingers laced with yours as the pair of you leisurely stroll. You love mornings like this. Lazy weekends when you shut the rest of the world out. There is just this, this safe haven you’ve created, away from the city where the invaders seek to gain entry and conquer, where the humans continue to try to see past the lies standing right before them, the deceivers and pretenders like the one whose hand you’re clutching now so tenderly. Except he isn’t like the others; nothing like any of them. He is yours, and you are his. There is nothing else like this phenomenon, what you have with him.

The blackberry bushes lining the picket fence are heavy with fruit, the plump, deep black specimens dull skinned, ripe and ready to be plucked.

“So many of them,” the copycat murmurs, halting beside you as your pace slows and pauses, contemplating the sight of those heavily laden shrubs.

You nod. “My grandparents used to make jam from them. I can remember spreading it on pancakes on Sunday mornings.”

“Do you still recall how to make the jam?”

“Yes. It’s not difficult. Just a bit time consuming. A lot of prep work.”

“We have the whole day. Want to try?”

“Really? You want to?”

“It sounds pleasant.” He tugs you gently towards him. “Everything with you is.” His lips meet yours, warm as the summer sun heating you through the button front dress you’re wearing.

“We need something to gather them in.”

“Will this do?” He reaches for the fabric of your dress about halfway down the skirt portion, lifting the loose material until it forms a kind of scooped makeshift basket.

“That’s what my grandmother did with her apron. Yes, this will do.” You reach for the handfuls he’s gathered, keeping the improvised bowl in place. “Only pick the ones that are black. No purple or red, they’re not ripe. Nothing shiny. Only the dull ones. They should come off fairly easily. If you have to pull too much, they’re not ready.”

The imposter milkman follows your directions and the dip in the fabric you’re clutching is soon full. It is a little awkward walking up the porch steps, balancing the unfamiliar weight at your front. There are stains on his fingers, on your dress as you dump the gathered berries into the colander he grabs from the cupboard for you, followed by a mixing bowl, anything he can find to relieve you of your burden. Overzealous in the picking, perhaps, but you don’t mind. The excessive berries would just have gone to waste otherwise, more than even your wildlife neighbors could indulge in.

“You should get used to having extra weight around your middle,” he murmurs against your ear. Still persisting in the notion of having a baby with you. The previous month had ended with your menses. You’ve no idea if it’s even possible to create a new life with the doppelgänger. You’re still conflicted about it. Afraid for its life, for yours and Francis’. But you can imagine the face. As a toddler. Convinced somehow it would be a boy. Identical in every way to his father. A father as devoted to him as he is to you. The child clinging to your side, standing in those same fields near the house in summer, looking at the world around him with those dark eyes that are unshadowed, not yet tired like his parent’s. Soft brown hair. Human, because you won’t let yourself imagine anything else; refuse to concede that it would be part doppel as well. “I can’t wait,” he says, his arms enfolding you from behind, your hands settling on his, the quartet all resting over your abdomen.

You smile, leaning your weight against his chest for a few moments before reaching for the faucet. It was time to rinse the harvest, removing the stray leaf or stem here and there. You fill a pan with water to boil to sterilize the lids of the mason jars. There are a set of them under the sink. The glass portion needs to be similarly treated. It will be hot in the kitchen with the stovetop working so hard. You lean and lift the window behind the sink a little higher, hoping for any sign of a breeze.

“Go pick out a record to play.” A new tradition. You let your lover choose the music, discovering what he likes best. Perhaps some of Francis’ favorites. Some for the invader alone. You cherish both selections equally.

The man and the doppel themselves; that is something your conscience has struggled with for many weeks now. You think you will always love Francis. But you love the new creature inhabiting his form, too. More and more with each passing day.

The music begins and you smile to yourself. Al Bowlly. Something from two decades ago, but a timeless classic. One of the records your mother had left behind when she’d moved to the city, inherited from your grandparents. You were long overdue for a visit to your mother and father. You’d received a letter not that long ago. Still safe. It was a worry that gnawed at you. One of the reasons you’d joined the DDD in the first place. Wanting to protect your family, the people you love.

The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

You spread a tea towel on the counter. The jars will air dry there after you’ve finished preparing them.

I'm living in a kind of daydream and I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem, why to me that's everything

“How am I meant to not want to dance with you when this is playing?” Your partner’s lips graze the nape of your neck softly, his hands on your waist.

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

You smile again. A gesture that comes so easily when the imposter is around you. “After. You wanted to make jam, remember?”

“I want to make a lot of things,” he murmurs beside your cheek, his nose nudging aside a stray piece of hair that’s come free from where you’d pinned it up, mouth now on the patch of skin he’s cleared.

“Francis!” You giggle, playfully squirming in his arms. You aren’t really trying to get away. “I need your help. Use those muscles of yours and pulverize the berries. The potato masher is in the second drawer there.”

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

He rolls up his sleeves, beginning to crush the fruit while you gather the measuring cups and sugar.

“I know it’s equal parts berries and sugar. Three minutes to boil? And then another three after the sugar’s been added. Oh, I need the whisk, too. And one of the larger spoons to stir. Yes, that one, thank you.” Francis’ copy hands you the culinary tools you’re searching for, retrieved from the same drawer the masher had been in.

Speaking of which, he’s done a great job with the blackberries, making short work of them. For a brief second your mind teases an imagining of something far less pleasant being ground down like that, pulped human flesh, the gore that is left behind when a doppel feasts on a human. Your grip on the spoon tightens until it’s white knuckled and you force yourself to relax. You’re with him, the one that you love, that adores you. Your home. With the beautiful crooned words of longing issuing from the turntable in the background. Those horrors do not exist here. “Those look perfect. I think that’s maybe around six cups’ worth. But we’ll measure.”

Your estimate of the mixture volume proves fairly accurate. You begin stirring the berries in the stainless steel cook pot, watching the seeded dark red mixture begin to bubble, keeping an eye on the clock on the wall. The doppel is at the sink, already washing the used bowls and tools.

It’s time to add the sugar. You stir it in, once again timing your task, finally deeming the developing jam ready to be removed from the heat of the burner, switching the knob for the pilot light off as you move the pot to an unused burner.

You can feel the perspiration beading on your forehead as you whisk the heated fledgling fruit spread. Nearly there. Your strokes with the thin wired tool were releasing the natural pectin in the berries now. After that it was just a matter of filling and sealing the jars.

“What’s next? What can I do to help?” The doppelgänger asks, resting a hand on your lower back, where the heat lingers, making the dress cling damply to your skin.

“I think this is actually just about ready to start pouring.”

He turns over the mason jars that had been resting upside down over the tea towel to air dry, lining them up on the counter. You transfer small batches of the jam to a batter bowl, making it easier to fill each jar without spilling. A lot of dishes being used for this. Funny how you didn’t remember that part from childhood. Just the fun of making it with your grandmother.

The replicant screws the last of the lids on. The jam looks so inviting. You can’t wait to spread it on some toast with some butter after it’s had a day or two to set. Maybe just one day. You were really craving it now.

“It’s hot,” the imposter says, dragging a hand across his forehead. “I’m ready to head back into the tub after that.”

You like the idea of that yourself. “You should.”

“Coming with me?”

“I was hoping for an invitation.”

He kisses you and you taste the salt of his perspiration. “You look a little flushed. We definitely need to go cool down. And then heat up again.”

“Francis, you’re impossible. Go get the water running. I’ll finish cleaning up here.”

“It’ll be faster with both of us working together.”

You won’t argue with that, allowing him to assist you. Munching on some leftover blackberries as you work side by side. The last of the dishes done. Everything put away. Shutting off the record player on your way to the stairs. His hands work on the buttons of your dress after you’ve turned on the faucet to fill the tub. You loosen his belt. Shove the hem of his undershirt upward after he’s removed the outer layer. He reaches between his shoulders and pulls it free. You kiss the dip between his pectoral muscles lightly covered with dark hair. Suddenly finding yourself hungry for him.

“Should we wait on the bath for after?” he suggests.

“Yes. Definitely.” You switch the faucet off hurriedly, turning your attention back to him. He’s already entering the bedroom. The temperature in this room is hotter than it had been in the kitchen. No fresh breeze coming in through either of the windows. Just that stifling humidity. It needed to rain.

Undergarments removed. He kisses your bare shoulder, humming the song that had been playing the previous evening, when he’d met you at your front door, the start of your weekend together.

Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You sit down on the edge of the bed. A hand rests on your thigh as he kneels down. Fingers stained from some of the berry juice, garnet and magenta smudges along cuticles and nail beds. Your hand sinks into the hair you’d trimmed recently, finding it’s already growing long again. You bend to kiss his mouth and he tastes like the fruit, like summer itself, warm and fresh and sweet.

He leans to kiss the breasts that will one day bear the nutrition to feed your child, if it was ever meant to be, sucking gently, each nipple responding to that sensation, rising and hardening, the melody of that love song still emerging all the while.

Blue Moon, you knew just what I was there for

You heard me saying a prayer for

Someone I really could care for

Then he is between your thighs, every kiss still languid, drowsy, a leisurely summer afternoon gifted in each touch of his lips on your skin. Caressing your legs, the limbs that part to receive him. Gentle kisses on those nether lips, still humming, sending little vibrations into your body.

And then there suddenly appeared before me

The only one my arms will ever hold

I heard somebody whisper, "Please adore me"

And when I looked, the moon had turned to gold

His tongue strokes your clit and you lean back slightly, hands sinking into the mattress, arms braced to either side. His hands curl around your thighs and he sups at your sex, the pace still unhurried, easing you along into pleasure. Delving into your entrance, rolling the taste of you on his tongue before sweeping through the petals back to your bud, massaging it from side to side, up and down, pausing every now and again to plant a kiss on your mound or thigh, suckling the bundle of nerve endings and then dipping back into your canal in short, gentle little thrusts, the tune nearing its end, reaching the final verses, but yours have just started, that thrumming he sends through you, deep inside, an echoing response in your core.

Blue Moon, now I'm no longer alone

Without a dream in my heart

Without a love of my own

You let your weight rest on one hand so you can touch his hair again, meet the gaze of those dark eyes watching you, those depthless pools of desire you get lost in, drowning, a tide that washes you away into your release against his mouth.

You're sweating profusely now, damp inside and out as you scoot yourself back to the center of the bed, making room for your companion to join you.

There is always the little surprised sounding moan when he first enters you, as if he’s forgotten that feeling, rediscovering it each time his cock pierces your pussy. His hips roll against you in slow, lazy thrusts. He combs your damp hair back from your face, hair that has completely fallen loose, natural. He kisses your forehead and cheeks and lips, your jaw and throat and ear lobes.

“I love you,” he breathes against your neck. His voice sounds raw, full of emotion.

“I love you, Francis.” You grind up against his damp body.

His face hovers above yours. “Marry me.” You gasp as he grabs one of your thighs and rocks forward, pushing deep inside of you. “Marry me, be my wife. Stay with me always.”

Your heart pounds. To be joined with him like that. The mark on your arm only a faint pink line now. The traces of the bite completely disappeared. He wanted to put a ring on your finger. Everyone would know, then. There would be no concealing it.

“Be the mother of my children. Be mine forever.”

“Francis…”

“Please.”

“Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

“I’ll do anything to make you happy.”

“I am happy. Happier than I’ve ever been. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love you,” you add softly.

A heavy sigh as his body moves against yours, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. “My love, my only, mine.” His pelvis knocks against yours faster now. Your knees tightly embrace his ribs. Every part of skin your lips touch taste of salt. His hair is darker, saturated with sweat, the tendrils clinging damply to his forehead. A drop slides from his nose and pools between your lips. The arms bracing his weight near your face are trembling. So close to the edge of bliss.

“Love,” he gasps.

“Yes,” you answer, and he spills into you, filling your womb with his seed.

***

You sit inside the bathtub between the doppel’s legs, resting back against his chest.

“Close your eyes,” he instructs, and you obey, hearing something being lifted from that basin of water. The wash cloth, you realize, feeling the cool liquid dripping onto you hair, sliding down over your heated face. Repeating until your hair is thoroughly drenched in the bath water, his fingers slicking back those wet tresses, smoothing over your eyes, your cheeks, curling beneath your chin and lifting your face so that he can kiss you. Your eyes open and you see him smiling. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Good.” A rumble of thunder in the distance. Finally, the rain was coming. “Will we lose the power again, do you think?”

“Maybe. Wouldn’t be so terrible, though, would it? Just being here in the dark together.”

“Not at all. I have fond memories of doing that very thing.” He kisses you again and your stroke the damp cloth over his forearms. “I am going to get you a ring, you know. Propose properly.”

“I know.” You lift his left hand and kiss it. “We should tell my parents. Visit.”

“You want me to meet them?”

“Why not? They’ll be your in laws. The grandparents of your children.”

“Hmmm,” he hums. “We will need someone to watch the little ones. When it’s time to make more…”

“How many are you planning on?”

“I don’t know. There’s no specific number. I just want it. Badly.”

“I know you do. I do, too.”

“You’re still scared.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t let anyone harm you. You, or the children. However many there are.”

“I know you’ll be a good father. A good husband.”

His arms tighten around you. “You are my perfect everything.”

***

You do not lose the power that evening.

There is light for your repast at the kitchen table. Still too soon to indulge in the fruits of your earlier labors—pun intended—and neither of you want to heat up the house again using the stove, so you have a simple meal of bread, cheese, grapes, and iced tea, listening to the storm outside, this one much calmer than the last, starting to write a letter back to your parents, beginning with the exciting news of your engagement.

“Do you think your parents will like me?”

You pop a few grapes into your mouth. “Yes. My mom is very similar in personality to me. My dad maybe a little gruffer, but he’ll soften with time. Especially when he sees how well you treat me. He’d probably like it if you asked his permission first. Just as a courtesy. A formality.”

Francis’ copy slices another piece of cheddar free from the block, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. “What are you going to tell them about us, exactly?”

“Just that we met while I was working. You’re a resident in the building. The truth, you know.”

“But that’s not the whole story.”

You set your pen down. “I can’t tell them what you are. You know that.”

“Of course not. I’m just…wondering what to say. Or what not to say. How to behave.”

You lift the writing utensil again but don’t use it, merely holding it between your fingers. “Just be you.”

He looks over the top of his glass as you resume writing, neat cursive script filling the page. “Don’t forget to mention how handsome I am.”

“Hush, you.” You smirk, tossing one of the crumpled rough drafts at him and he easily catches it, returning your smile.

“And that I’m a good dancer.”

“You are a great dancer,” you concede, pausing again to tear off another piece of bread.

“We didn’t get to dance earlier.”

“We sort of did.”

His eyebrows lift. “I’ve corrupted you. That’s the sort of innuendo I’d deliver.”

“Speaking of which. No talking about wanting kids when we visit with my parents, at least not yet. They’re against premarital sex. Society doesn’t favor unwed women and it certainly doesn’t favor women who are unwed and pregnant. It’s because of the war. The need to repopulate, our purpose to create more soldiers.”

“We’re engaged, though.”

“Yes. But still not married.”

“I don’t want our children fighting in a war,” he says solemnly.

“Neither do I.” You pause, hesitating midway through writing again. “We are at war already. They’ll be born into it, just by the very nature of who they are. What they are.” You sigh, setting down the pen. The letter could wait for now. You don’t like the dark look on the features of the replicant sitting across from you.

“Come on. I owe you a dance.” You rise, reaching for the doppel’s hands and he allows himself to be tugged to his feet. “Go choose a record for us, my love.”

You clear the table while he rummages through the sleeved recordings. You leave the letter where it is. You’ll finish it in the morning, drop it off on your way to work Monday. At least there was one more day of this relaxed comfort, before you had to go back to the reality of the DDD.

You join your fiancé in the living room, positioning yourself with your dance partner, smiling as you recognize the song that starts to play.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak

And I seem to find the happiness I seek

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“Fred Astaire, singing to Ginger Rogers. Another classic. This song was from the musical Top Hat. A big hit on the music charts.”

The doppel is silent, his hand warm against your waist, the other clasping your hand as you step and sway in a small circle.

Heaven, I'm in heaven

And the cares that hung around me through the week

Seem to vanish like a gambler's lucky streak

When we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek

“My mom loves that movie. You’ll curry some favor if you mention it. We’ll have to watch it together. The movie house downtown plays classics on Sunday nights. I’m babbling, aren’t I?” Two more verses of the song have already passed by.

“It’s alright. I don’t mind. We should go. I’ll take you.”

“A real date.”

“Yes, a real date.”

You grin, nuzzling his jaw. “I look forward to it.”

Dance with me. I want my arms about you

The charms about you

Will carry me through to

“I like making you happy.” He draws back to look at your features. “I want your parents to like me. I know it’s important to you. It’s important to me, too.”

“They’ll love you,” you say softly. “How could they possibly not?”

“Because…”

“No.” You release his shoulder, resting a finger against his lips. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s all that matters. I love you. You, inside of this man.” Your hand cups his cheek. “I’ve been calling you Francis all along. I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s…not something you could ever pronounce. The differences in language…”

“I’ll do my best to learn.”

“Sweetheart. Call me Francis. That’s who I am now. Your Francis. Yours.” He kisses you, and you become lost in the feel of it, in the sound of the needle of the record player tapping restlessly now that the song has finished, in the lullaby of the soft patter of the rain outside.

#I’m always going to be so soggy over this series of yours #the picture painted with every sentence is so vivid and beautiful!!!#and I know absolutely nothing about tnmn other than from what’s been on tiktok and I’m okay with that #but I just love all of this very very much 🥰#nice recs.

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nc-vb · 20 days

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𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 + 𝐘/𝐍 𝐇𝐂𝐬

Y'all are so far from god on this hellsite that I've come to purify your souls a lil. Just kidding, mine's probably just as bad as yours.

I come bearing some realistic Tomura and y/n headcanons I'd been thinking about...

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: none really; some sad stuff, maybe; small scenarios.

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧.

He would have never had gone to school. If anything, if he'd bothered to, Tomura had been tutored by Kurogiri, though AFO definitely made sure his "academic focus" had everything to do his own aspirations.

With his very little/non-existent interactions with other kids and not having any peers around him, he would have never had a best friend, or even a girlfriend at any point, so when someone - you - ends up showing a genuine interest in or a concern for him, he doesn't know how to take it. Seriously, it puts the boy on edge, so don't overdo it.

Does he really trust that you mean well toward him? Eh, definitely not at first. You could be faking it, after all, trying to get within whatever good graces he has to make him more vulnerable. It takes a lot more encounters with you and a hell of a lot more mental diving to even begin to accept the idea that, maybe you do mean well...

It'll start to show in his behaviour and verbiage toward you, compared to the others, though it will take a while for this to happen, akin to a slow burn. He'll be less rigid and short at you, bothering to take care in the words he uses when addressing you. So subtly that neither of you may not notice, but he'll find himself making a point of being within your vicinity. If you're a member of the LoV, he'll definitely choose to sit or stand near you; when you're speaking, his intense eyes are always on you, either staring at you dead-on, or with that little side glance he does through his bangs. He's a people watcher; his focus will always be on you to see what your next moves or your reactions are.

His plans will always come first. Tomura isn't one to get so distracted so easily; he wouldn't be caught dead daydreaming about you, not when there's so much already on his mind -- and, if anything, you being in his head and on his mind has already plagued him. If he let himself daydream? Let's just say, nothing would get done.

Would he confide in anyone about any of this? Not likely. Or, at least, not directly. He doesn't exactly have many trusted confidants in his circle. Hypotheses and rhetoricals, "asking for a friend"-type scenarios -- all would be easily seen through. If, by some miracle, he chose to use any of these to confide in one of the other LoV members. Depending on who it is, they might tease him (Dabi), gush loudly about it (Toga), give him weird looks and a lot of "um's", "uh's", and "I don't know's" (Shuichi), or even give him sound advice?? (probably Atsuhiro??)

Tomura would most definitely not be the first person to initiate anything other than villain camaraderie or strategic planning with you. His heart and head probably couldn't take it, so you're going to have to be the one to take things into your own hands. You're going to have to be straightforward with him, even if it's difficult for you; it won't register with him if you don't, so just... tell the man. Spare his poor heart.

Physical contact... is rough. Oh, don't get me wrong. Tomura really would be as touch-starved as all the fics on the world wide web describe him to be. The last time he touched someone was before his Quirk manifested, and even when it manifested for the first time, it... it didn't end well. That sits on his mind every time you go to offer a kind gesture, be it as simple as a pat on the shoulder. He knows it takes all five fingers to activate it at first, so he's extremely cautious should he ever choose to return the sentiment. In hurting you, he'd see not only the first person to show him genuine kindness, but his mother, his sister, his grandparents, and his beloved Mon. He might take risks as a villain, but never with you.

But, despite his Quirk's capabilities, he craves your hands on him -- though he won't ever admit that. He does well to hide any sort of give his facial expressions might show whenever you do, and it is every time you do. His eyes used to widen, and there'd be a small bite down onto his lower lip. A small, sharp breath isn't out of the question, either, and would probably happen more often than physical responses.

Hugging might make him nervous. Like, a claustrophobic kind of nervous. It's not like he doesn't like it, but sometimes it overwhelms him and makes his heart race uncomfortably, so when you do hug him, please be aware of this. This physical contact thing is so very new to him, so he'll probably need you to take it slowly. And even if you're not the hugging type, it'll be alright; Tomura will most definitely understand. So then, maybe not hugging. Careful hand-holding, or your hand resting somewhere on him, his arm, his knee, his shoulder. It's comforting for you both to just be next to each other.

Maybe you come off as motherly to him at times, but boy, does he need that kind of guidance. Lord knows he's always so preoccupied with the LoV that he rarely remembers to brush his own hair. You do nag him quite a bit about his hygiene (though it's my personal belief that he is an excellent teeth brusher), and naturally, he becomes annoyed by it -- until he comes up with a brilliant idea where you brush his hair for him. Oh, it feels like absolute bliss; undoubtedly, he'd have some kind of itching up there to go with his dermatillomania, so when you drag a comb through it, or even just your own fingers mindlessly pulling through his long tresses -- knowing that you're the one doing it? It feels like heaven for him, like both body and soul stand before the pearly gates.

Your first kiss isn't spontaneous, and surprise, surprise -- you aren't the one to initiate it. It's been long enough that Tomura unconditionally trusts and favours you that he finds himself no longer waiting for you to make this move. Of course, he'd psyched himself up for it, calling himself a would-be coward if he didn't go through with such a simple plan, the word "plan" being used loosely and for a lack of a better one -- if he set some kind of constraint, there'd be little chance of him committing to it, less he desires his mental health to completely deteriorate.

He stiffens when you're finally alone, his mind reeling when he realizes the limited amount of time he has to pull things off, and do so successfully. It was you that had sat down next to him, striking up some follow up conversation with him after a group meeting about dinner regarding who'd be cooking tonight since it'd been decided against ordering out.

The people watcher that he is, as you animatedly speak about how anybody but Toga should do the cooking, his eyes remain on your lips, mentally noting how despite their soft appearance, parts remain chapped or habitually bitten down upon; anxiety, or something, he's sure. Man, does he want to kiss those lips of yours.

And he does, silencing your words with a clumsy, assertive push toward you, the four fingers of each of his hands firmly holding onto you by your upper arms to keep you from budging -- not that you would. It startles him when you reach for him in return, having taken a moment before to allow yourself to realize what'd happened since you were in the middle of your sentence, and finally kiss him back, your lips softer than he'd imagined.

Tomura would be the kind of person to become completely immersed in you. Everything about you; all that you do, all that you are -- somedays, it seems like a borderline obsession, a depressive thought that he keeps to himself, until you start returning the sentiment. He loves that you've done the same to him -- your consistent worrying and domesticated behaviours around him, your natural ability to keep him grounded without even trying, and even the occasional reality check you're forced to serve him when he becomes too impatient with his life choices and career decisions.

Everything you are before him has done a one-eighty on him -- to be perfectly clear, he wasn't even sure that you'd accept his kiss. Everything had been platonic in nature, all the touching and caring and coddling of his well-being. This had been a fifty-fifty shot and it hit its mark. And now, with his hands still around you, lips separated, his head bowed toward his lap, Tomura takes a deep breath to gather himself, to keep his eyes from watering, before sitting up again.

"I agree," he says, rising to his feet to leave the room. You blink at him, confused. "Don't let Toga cook."

In private, however, Tomura is losing his mind; that brief show of self-control he'd given you moments ago barely lasted long enough for him to shut the door on his own heels. He replays things in his mind to keep them ingrained there, and this is one of those things he never wants to forget -- both his first kiss, and his first kiss between the two of you.

Of course, Tomura isn't so detached -- all the LoV members caught a whiff of some intention of his when the two of you didn't follow after them through the door and remained behind to eavesdrop. Dabi and his silent mocking with just a single expression; Toga and her excitement over her own correct hypothesis; Spinner, who wasn't present for the meeting and had just arrived but was barred from the room and not knowing what to say in response to the news; and Atsuhiro, congratulating him with a clap on his shoulder and a whispered:

"You have some gloss left on your cheek".

Despite the embarrassment that soon after followed, Tomura could admit to himself in the privacy of his room that this had been the happiest he'd truly been in a long time. He blushes like a teenager when the feeling of your lips on his replays for him; when he can still feel your hands on his chest, he wishes he could cement it against him, a permanency he'd have to ask for from you that only makes his face burn hotter.

He doesn't wipe the gloss away. Not yet.

But from then on, at least, it seems things had been made easier; more natural. Whenever you see each other, there's a tender greeting, a chaste kiss to the cheek or the lips, like the normal domesticity Tomura could have had within a normal reality.

Tomura doesn't want to sleep alone anymore. Now that he knows he doesn't have to? It's another thing that's difficult to "ask" of you (not that he'd asked to kiss you, of course), but he wants to do more than just hold your hand, and the urgency has him blurting the request, to which you happily agree to.

Tomura would probably want to be the "big spoon" for your first time together. To feel your warm back against his chest, have his one curled around you while the other offers comfort to your head as you sleep soundly against him. You're so at peace in his presence; it brings him such a great feeling of joy that something like this could happen to him.

Otherwise, when he desires to be the "little spoon", it's because he wants to be able to breathe you in, bury his face into you when you hold him close beneath the sheets, his half-gloved hands curled between the two of you or around your middle.

When Tomura sleeps well, he's a loud snorer. He just is, I know it. And you make it easier for him, so good job.👍🏼

Deep down, he knows, though: you're both a couple of villains. Things like proper dating and being "boyfriend and girlfriend" were close to untenable. The closest thing he could think of in regards to planning a date? Asking Kurogiri to warp you somewhere secluded with some takeout and your laptop to watch movies you pirated. He's not a romantic by any means, but maybe you are, and he finds the need to impress you and indulge in that potential truth.

But you know, too. You never dared to dream of a simple life, not from the moment you stepped into this world. You never dared to dream that you might find someone in this crazy journey. It wasn't even a dream to begin with, but you found yourself in love with this idea of love, awhile sitting next to Tomura to enjoy it.

From the corner of your one eye you watch his expression, how calm it is; how unbothered and vulnerable he is at your side. And you know full well how rare this is to see of him. For the time you've been in his acquaintance, or as a member of the LoV, his rigidity and snide stoicism had always been his front. It's so nice to see this change.

Tomura's sure you like that about him, that he's capable of such kind gestures, but really, you're just glad he's able to enjoy this reprieve. He wonders what you're thinking about when you're trying to sneak a good look at him -- of course, he noticed. He's not definitely not as exposed as you thought he'd be.

Maybe Tomura's a little detached, at times, a little recluse against his emotions and feelings, but he's not weak, feeble, or submissive (and I'm saying this under appropriate pretences; get your minds out of the gutter) by any means. His instinct and desire to win and to lead will always be stronger than any of his more "recessive" traits.

Spontaneous kisses would soften him up, one hundred percent of the time. But please don't do it in front of others; he's gotta keep the "boss" image up at all times, after all -- especially after he'd been caught the first time. But when the two of you are alone? By all means, go nuts; it's not like he nor anyone else would stop you.

If you did happen to kiss him in front of the others, I don't believe he would be particularly angry about it - that would be a poor word to use - but I feel like he would have some watered-down "tsundere" traits that would show.

Given that he's a people watcher, if you'd decided to watch him back after catching him studying you, it could end in one of two ways: a staring contest, or him flat out breaking eye contact and pretending to busy himself with some menial task (especially if you're around others). But you've got a funny look on your face every time you manage to catch him, so even if he looks away or has that contest with you, that small smirk of his will show up on his cute lil face.

#ahhh it was nice rereading this; I’d almost forgotten I’d done it 🥲#wow three years ago tho…#nice recs.

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nc-vb · 20 days

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Ooo that sounds nice!! Sobs I totally understand not wanting be touched by strangers tho. I can barely touch with anyone close to me 😔🤚🏻 so yeah can def relate to you, mootie

SOBS??? THATS SUCH A BUMMER WHAT THE HECK 😭🥹 I’m so sorry that’s so sucky. Time to call of work/j but yeah that’s definitely fair of you to not wanna be out in all of that

Hurray for a chill day!! Think I’m gonna do the same this weekend tbh. Might just vibe and listen to music and write some selfship lore stuffs hehe

AND YESS I AM AND OMG?? HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS!!?? I used to be obsessed with him, too!! was like very much only writing for him ngl 😭💀 but yes 😈😏 i finally have selfship lore fleshed out and may be getting a shigaraki selfship comm aha poor acheron got put on the back burner for now 😭🤚🏻 I LOVE HER BUT ITS SHIGARAKI HDBDBDB

yeeeeeees it’s been such a weird thing to get over and like, I don’t even know when it started??? even my mama touching me gives me that same feeling sometimes if I’m not the one to engage in it first 🥲

Chill day went okay!! And for today’s chill day, I slept in until 3 hehehe but now I have to clean out my closet… ugh. YES WRITE LOTS OF SELF SHIP LORE ABSOLUTELYYYYY 🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼 tis the answer and truth to all things~

AHHH YES it was mostly in 2020-21 and I even once did a long ass headcanon post for him on my old blog (imma actually reblog it here bc it was cute and more people should enjoy him skfhsks), like I adored him AHHHH YOURE GETTING A COMM SKDJSKS ✨💕

Acheron: 🧍🏽‍♀️

SKDDJSK she’ll be waiting for you when your hyperfixation calms itself hehehe BUT I GET THIS bc before Aventurine??? I’d gotten back into Kaveh and started working on that old fic of his id planned out? But then another soggy blondie shows up and what else am I to do but indulge in him

AND ABSOLUTELY IF YOURE GONNA GET SIDETRACKED BY ANYONE, IF ITS HIM???? understandable, mhm mhm

#✦ nice chats.

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nc-vb · 20 days

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#nice art: friendos.

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nc-vb · 20 days

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♡ Alhaitham will come home an hour later than usual some evenings, all because his daughter insists on inspecting every leaf, every flower, every bug or animal she spots in their way home from school after he picks her up.

he watches her with a gentle smile at her innocent curiosity and endless questions, tugging at her papas fingers every time she sees something new. Alhaitham picks her up and places the small child on his shoulders so she can pick fruits to bring home to you, laughing softly when she giggles as he spins her in a few circles while perched on his shoulders.

he remembers the warm, guiding encouragement of his grandmother, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes as she smiled in pride and joy when he would read to her as a child.

she comes home with rocks, or a worm in her fist, or a bag full of fruit she picked to wash with you at the kitchen sink. it’s precious, and Alhaitham smiles at her demeanor, a child with dreams and things to learn as she grows, his child, and he is all too happy to teach her with a loving hand.

#girl dad Alhaitham my beloved 🥹#✦ nice rec.

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nc-vb · 20 days

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#I feel like sleep would both help and hinder Kaveh #but we’re playing the long game of good health and fortune #so him sleeping full each night is a two bird with one stone kind of deal #god you know what— an apology from his mother probably too tf I’m still not over that shit myself #✦ misc.

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nc-vb · 20 days

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“sorry i'm late,” you sigh, hurrying into the teacher’s lounge much later than usual. shoko’s the only one there, feet propped up on the coffee table as she flips through a medical journal. you throw your coat over the back of a chair before joining her, trying to rub the sleep from your eyes

“morning, sunshine.” shoko chuckles, handing you a mug. “this is a double shot, but maybe i should have gotten you a triple? what kept you up last night?”

“nothing," you quickly defend.

“you sure? because i'm not above blocking all the exits until you tell me.”

“you promise not to judge?”

“not out loud.”

you roll your eyes at your best friend, but wring your hands tightly in your lap as you recall the events of last night. “have you ever had a…a special dream–”

shoko sits up straight, eyes wide as she says, much too loud, “you mean a sex dream?”

“shh!” you swat her on the arm, glaring.

shoko ignores your obvious distress, grinning from ear to ear. “who are you having sex dreams about? is it ijichi? akari? oh my god, is it me? is it gojo? don’t tell me it’s gojo…”

“i may have been dreaming about…kento.”

“nanami?!”

heat immediately pools in your cheeks. “you can’t tell anyone, especially gojo. and hey, don't say it like that!”

“i swear i’m not judging!” she promises. “if anything, i approve!”

“ugh,” you groan, heading over to the counter to put your unfinished mug in the sink. “i don’t know what’s going on with me.”

“fantasizing is normal. i’ve fantasized about everyone here. you, nanami, even gojo.”

“seriously?”

she takes a sip of her coffee, shrugging. “i'm a scorpio.”

that explains nothing and in no way makes you feel any better. if anything, you’re starting to feel a little possessive over someone who isn't even yours.

“well i need to stop thinking about him like this,” you mutter, frowning.

“back to your dream. did you guys…do it?”

“shoko!” you gasp, gaze darting to the open door.

“so you did,” she deduces. “was it good?”

it was great. not that you’d tell her.

“hey, naughty is good. naughty is sexy,” she laughs.

you rest your hip against the counter, shaking your head. “i can’t dream of him like that again. i can’t go on missions with him if i’m having these…inappropriate thoughts.”

“why? cause you want to be his good girl?”

some clears their throat loudly.

both your heads whip toward the door, where nanami’s standing with his briefcase. “good morning.”

as he walks further into the lounge you wonder two things. first, how much he heard. second, how much force would it take to put your head through the wall–

“excuse me.” your entire body stiffens when a hand is placed on your waist, nanami gently moving you to the side as he grabs a mug from the cabinet.

memories of last night’s dream invade the crevices of your mind, causing you to quickly step out of his reach. with his back turned you look to shoko for help, who simply makes a circle with her thumb and index finger and–

you feign casualness when nanami turns to face you, sending you a small smile before taking his coffee and making a swift exit.

shoko bursts out laughing as you groan, wishing you could melt into the floor.

_____

“look at them. they're totally talking about us,” gojo mutters, peeking into the teacher’s lounge.

“so?” nanami asks, prying gojo’s hand from his sleeve.

“so, what do you think they're talking about? oh– oh, shoko just pulled out her phone. maybe they're talking about the thirst trap i posted for–”

nanami grabs the back of gojo’s shirt collar, dragging him away from the door. “why would they be talking about a picture you posted for your fiancée?”

“because i'm hot–”

“please stop talking.”

“you’re hot too, nanamin! someone’s been giving you the look lately.”

that makes him pause. “really? what look?”

the sorcerer wriggles out of his grip, an irritatingly wide grin on his face. “got your attention, did i?”

“what did you mean by that? what look?”

“the look. you know, the one where you’re picturing someone naked. fantasizing about them. caught her once while you were cooking us dinner. speaking of, what’s that one dish you made with the…”

nanami tunes out gojo’s nonsensical rambling, focusing on the few important things he’d shared as they walk down the hall. you were picturing him naked?

interesting.

_____

when you open the front door of your apartment, nanami is standing there with a bag of groceries and a bottle of wine.

oh no. this is how the fantasies always start.

“i was on my way home and wondered if you’ve eaten yet.”

you’d eaten two hours ago, but you step back to let him inside and get set up in the kitchen.

soon enough, your little kitchen is filled with the sound and scents of a home cooked meal. nanami is a natural in the kitchen, tossing veggies in a pan and stirring his homemade sauce.

(it almost looks as good as nanami does with his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, cooking dinner in your apartment.)

you’re snapped out of your thoughts when he reaches over to refill your glass. he refills his own, covering the pot and leaving it to simmer as he turns to where you’re perched on the counter.

“i wanted to talk to you about something,” he says suddenly, sweating his glass down.

“hm?”

“i’m not above a few fantasies of my own.”

you almost choke on your wine. “gojo told you–”

he’s standing between your knees now, taking the glass from your hand and setting it aside. “i fantasize about you too.”

“you do?”

“i could tell you about them,” he suggests, voice dropping to a whisper as the tip of his nose nudges yours. “if you’re a good girl.”

#✦ nice rec.

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