seasalthings

[seasalthings]

perhaps insane of me but considering that we know aventurine tested to see if he could die in the dream not once but multiple times—maybe one of them was to see if it was only to save him from self-inflicted harm. to see if someone else could kill him in the dream.

and he uses you.

[seasalthings]

perhaps insane of me but considering that we know aventurine tested to see if he could die in the dream not once but multiple times—maybe one of them was to see if it was only to save him from self-inflicted harm. to see if someone else could kill him in the dream.

and he uses you.

[seasalthings]

[seasalthings]

day 1 - straw hat

[seasalthings]

he's so baby even when he's like this

🦐

[seasalthings]

oh this is so delicious. especially if it was a curse he'd swallowed before and then put into you. a part of him always in you, now, so you're both tied in life and in death.

this goes with the reader who has a curse in them. minors and ageless blogs dni—you will be blocked.

gn!reader. near death experiences.

—

getou and gojo take you to tokyo.

it's summer; the cicadas hum, a constant choir. the wet lick of a heatwave has settled oppressive over campus. you're sweating, but they sit too close anyway, their skin tacky against yours.

you don't struggle.

"wanna come on our mission?" gojo asks, nudging you with his shoulder. he's sucking on an ice pop, his lips tinted blue, the same brightness of his eyes.

"do i get a choice?"

"nope!"

you sigh. "fine. i'll come."

getou chuckles, pressing closer. "you don't need to make it sound like a funeral."

(it will be, but none of you know that.

not yet.)

you groan. "just go get ready," you say. "i'll meet you by the gate."

you can feel their eyes searing through you; the thing in you flinches. you gasp in a sharp breath. the world blurs for an instant, a watercolor thing.

when the thing in you steadies, so does the world.

there's a shock of cold against your neck, a glacier's biting ice. you yelp as the ice lolly drips against you. you try to push gojo away, but he's stronger. he smears it on the salt of your skin once more, winter's kiss, and then pulls back.

"don't be late," he says with a grin, popping the lolly back into his mouth.

you scowl at him, holding a hand against the numb spot on your neck. it's sticky.

"be nice, satoru," getou scolds. too late, as always.

gojo laughs, pushing to his feet. getou joins him, though he nudges against you one last time. gojo waves energetically as the two of them leave. you don't return it.

as promised, you meet them at the gate.

they squish you between them in the manager's car. you hadn't expected anything else. you stare out the windshield as the landscape speeds by, their voices a background hum.

the manager drops the three of you off. you follow them into the site, the hairs on the back of your neck rising as the seething mass of cursed energy ripples towards you.

neither of them seem particularly bothered.

it's simple. at least for them. they dismantle the curse piece by piece, calling back and forth to each other with grins.

you just watch.

it ends as it always does: with them the victors. they're already making their way back to you, swapping jokes, when everything explodes.

it's thousands of small curses spewing from the wreckage of the special grade. they fill the air like a swarm of bats, swooping low and plucking at you the way a guitarist picks at strings.

gojo blasts a path through them. it fills instantly.

"shit, that's annoying," he groans.

"have fun," getou says with a chuckle. "it's your turn, anyway."

"ugh. fine."

it's too late for you to realize.

a pulse of cursed energy leaves gojo, rippling out like water. the little curses screech as it washes over them, disintegrating into ash. it rushes over you like the tide, all consuming.

the thing in you withers instantly.

your heart stops.

you clutch at your chest, sinking to your knees. there's ash drifting through the air like confetti. you see getou and gojo turning towards you, the way their jubilant expressions melt.

things get blurry, then. you think you're out of touch with the world, that you're just a step behind it.

"fuck!" you hear, but it's muffled, as if you're underwater.

something slides under your back. it takes your weight, holds you up. there's fingers at your jaw, pressing into the hinge of it. they snake to your mouth, dip between your lips.

something presses on to your tongue. it's rancid. meat gone rotten mixed with the sludge of overripe fruit.

"swallow," someone urges. "swallow!"

you think you do.

something unfurls in you. it webs across the root system of your nerves; it slithers its way into your heart. it wraps around it like a fist and pulses.

your heart pumps, just once.

it does it again.

your heart kicks. stutters. then it starts again, battering against your chest like a drum.

when it settles, your heart is beating in gentle rhythm, like waves washing against the shore. you hiss in a breath. your chest is tender, a stitched wound.

you peel open your eyes.

getou is kneeling beside you. his hair is loosening from its bun; it spills over his shoulder like calligrapher's ink. gojo is at your back, his fingers sinking in to the spaces between your ribs.

they're both talking, but you can't quite hear them. getou cups your face, his hands a cradle.

"you're okay," he says, the first thing to break through your daze, a shattering of river ice. "you're okay."

something in you stirs. it has a mouth like you've never felt before, its teeth sunk into your bones.

"what did you do?" you croak.

but you already know.

—

it will take years, but one night, suguru will come to you. there will be blood spattered across his clothes, rusting into a deep brown.

"i'm leaving," he will say. "come with me."

his curse will throb within you.

you will not have a choice.

you take his hand and let him lead you out the door.

[seasalthings]

brought war into your bed

part one: harbinger

hawks can strip you bare with nothing but a glance.

but you can see him, too.

AO3 version

part two: bring your hunger

notes: uh. hi. not entirely sure what i’m doing here and certainly couldn’t predict i’d be writing fic for a birdman but. here i am. there are more chapters on AO3 but i’ll catch up here eventually!

pairing: hawks x fem!reader

rating: explicit

series warnings (will be updated as the series continues): non-linear narrative, sex, dirty talk, wing kink, angst and fluff, earthquakes

this chapter: smut, brief dirty talk

word count: ~1k

“Hey,” you pant softly, cupping his face between your hands, a cradle of flesh and bone.

Hawks goes still.

Keep reading

[seasalthings]

brought war into your bed - II

part two: bring your hunger

hawks can strip you bare with nothing but a glance.

but you can see him, too.

part one: harbinger

notes: my life story is me not being able to leave something alone. and thus: this became a series. as i said on ao3, continuing this is an interesting exercise in trying to keep some of the tone of the first part while having more dialogue. so it goes. there’s one more chapter up on ao3 but i’ll bring it over soon!

pairing: hawks x fem!reader

rating: explicit

chapter warnings (see part one for series warnings): non-linear narrative, reader has a quirk, smut, dirty talk, wing kink.

word count: 2.5k

Hawks is unpredictable.

You can’t quite make sense of him, of how he appears and disappears, a migratory pattern only known to himself, the secret of it tucked high into the corner of his lips. He’s a comet of a being, streaking crimson through the sky of your life.

Comets have long, lonely paths through the universe. You wonder if he’s caught in your orbit. You think it’s more likely that you’re caught in his. Hawks is too nimble to be snared in your gravitational pull, too fleeting to curve back around you. Some comets only pass through the Earth’s night once, never to be seen again.

Keep reading

[seasalthings]

your body a dwelling

sometimes home is a person.

notes: this is just v self-indulgent fluff bc i miss everyone who is home to me. title is a rework of a line from the costar horoscope app (pls don’t @ me on my horoscope bullshit skdlfjsdf). also idk why but the idea of keigo not bothering with keys bc his feathers are a multitool just gets me every time.

pairing: hawks/gn reader

warnings: the tiniest hint of maybe-angst sprinkled into the fluff, lil bit of avian-acting Keigo but only minor, that’s pretty much it!

You used to think the sound of home was the quiet, piano-key plink of chiming metal. You knew the sound intimately, could hear the bell of the keys falling into the cradle of the basket by the door, and then your little apartment would grow a hint warmer, would fill with soft, cozy, familiar affection.

That was before him.

Keep reading

[seasalthings]

endure

part one: sealed

The Commission trains Hawks to assess and adapt at a lightning pace. They train him to take apart villains with stunning precision.

They train you to endure.

But then fire opens up around you, cerulean bright and consuming, and you’re not sure you can.

notes: this wouldn’t leave me alone and i have a tendency to give in to my goblin brain. this should be just two parts if i can control myself. i’m slowly catching up to my AO3.

pairing: hawks x reader, slight dabi x reader

rating: explicit

series warnings (will be updated as needed): oof okay. some manga spoilers. implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced rape/non-con, implied/referenced torture, canon-typical violence, smut, fluff and angst.

this chapter: brief smut, implied/referenced child abuse, canon-typical violence.

word count: ~4k

The Commission President is haloed by the mid-morning sun.

The golden light streams through the office window, catches at the edges of her, and you think of how sometimes the deals struck in daylight are the most malicious of them. If you spill secrets like wine in the light, you have swallowed down all of your fear. You know nothing can touch you.

“Do you accept?” she asks.

(Hawks thinks it callous, you know, this charade of choice. You are not deaf to the soft whisper of your shackles tightening around your wrists, but you think it might be worse for him.

You don’t have the promise of the sky, after all.)

Keep reading

[seasalthings]

brought war into your bed - iii

part three: teeth

hawks can strip you bare with nothing but a glance.

but you can see him, too.

part one part two

notes: in which i continue to try to remember to catch up to my ao3 with a varying degree of success. i would link the previous parts if tumblr wasn’t such a dick.

pairing: hawks x fem!reader

rating: teen for this section, explicit for the series as a whole

chapter warnings (series warnings in part one): earthquakes, reader has a quirk

word count: 1.5k

You’ve never met anyone who talks to you like Hawks.

He chatters at you constantly, a songbird chorus of early morning sound. Sound spills from him like wine, thick and rich, until you’re dizzy with it, until you’re dizzy with him.

For someone who never shuts up, Hawks is remarkably good at saying nothing.

Hawks pours words between the gaps in his ribs to try and feel full, you think. You can’t quite make sense of him, but you know hunger when you see it.

(When you feel it.)

Keep reading

[seasalthings]

melting point

giran sends you a client.

you weren’t ready.

aka: dabi’s fire burns hotter than any standard surgical staple can withstand, but you’ve never made anything standard in your life.

pairing: dabi/f!reader

warnings: smut (18+ please!), slight choking/hair pulling, trust issues (bc dabi), reader with a quirk, sort of soft dabi, ambiguous ending.

word count: 6.5k

notes: this literally exists because i was thinking about how hot dabi’s fire has been shown to be but mans literally has metal all over him. like,,,

also i couldn’t fit it in but please know that giran gives reader a fire extinguisher as a gift at some point in time.

“There’s a client,” Giran says, voice tinny through the crackle of your phone. “Got a project I think you’d like. Could be a bit of a challenge.”

“The project?” you ask. “Or the client?”

Giran laughs.

“The client, then,”  you grumble.

“Both.”

“Great,” you sigh.

But you don’t say no, and late that evening, a man appears in your kitchen like a ghost. He has eyes the color of the tropical sea, all searing, sunlit blue, and great swathes of bruised-plum skin, puckered and pitted.

You drop your mug of tea. There’s a hint of a smirk curling at his scarred lips. Your heart rabbits, the pulse of it hiccuping a word over and over: danger.

You catch the mug inelegantly, swearing as the hot liquid spills over your hand, and then you huck it at him.

Keep reading

[seasalthings]

brought war into your bed - iv

part iv: greed

hawks can strip you bare with nothing but a glance.

but you can see him, too.

part i  part ii  part iii

notes: in which i (yet again) try to remember to catch up to my ao3 with a varying degree of success.

pairing: hawks x fem!reader

rating: explicit

chapter warnings (series warnings in part one): smut (oral, m receiving; dirty talk ig), non-linear narrative

You had forgotten how quiet the early mornings can be. There’s still the underlying pulse of the city, that electric hum of ever present noise, but even that seems muffled, as if the city is merely murmuring in its sleep.

There’s a sleek town car idling at the curb of your complex, and you suppose you shouldn’t be surprised that the Commission managed to send something that looks so out of place in your little corner of Fukuoka. You suck in a shallow breath as the driver opens the door. Once you’ve slid inside, the door shuts with a soft noise, and you think of the porcelain chime of teeth clicking closed around a mouthful.

“Good morning,” you say politely to the woman seated across from you, tugging at a loose string on your sleeve.

She ignores you. She’s got her keyboard sound on; it fills the air, a quiet morse code tapping out a warning that echoes through you. Your chest hums.

“Before the meeting,” she says, still not looking at you, “remind me of your Quirk.”

Something flickers through you.

“Is this a test for me?” you ask.  “Or for him?”

Keep reading

[seasalthings]

brought war into your bed - v

part v: swallow

hawks can strip you bare with nothing but a glance.

but you can see him, too.

part i  part ii  part iii  part iv

notes: in which i (yet again) try to remember to catch up to my ao3 with a varying degree of success.

pairing: hawks x fem!reader

word count: 2.3k

rating (this chapter): teen

chapter warnings (series warnings in part one): non-linear narrative, reader with a quirk, vague implications of quirk discrimination

Your Quirk counselor has tired eyes and soft hands.

“-clearly a combination,” she says, her voice barely seeping through the thin wood of her office door. You fidget on the too-big seat your mother nudged you into, your toes barely touching the floor.

There’s a series of murmurs.  You kick your tiny feet, make your sneakers blur into a kaleidoscope of colors. The secretary’s face pinches into a frown and you kick once more before stopping.

Words drift around you like slow-falling snow.

“-instinct-driven-”

“-hard to fully assess-”

Keep reading

[seasalthings]

"Disagreeability"

I love words that look fake n.n

BNHA but I'm curious to see who you'd pick for it so dealer's choice!

Disagreeability for the made-up fic title ask game! i also love fake looking words (my fav’s kerfuffle)! i went with hawks for this because a) i’m predictable and b) while i think all pros are - quite frankly - bad patients, hawks strikes me as one of the worst. mans wants to get back to it quick as possible, even if it’s not the best thing for him. also i did not mean to actually write a drabble, but i did.

warnings: brief mentions of blood and stitches, hawks has a concussion, i am not a doctor

“Yo,” Hawks says, giving you a jaunty wave as you step into the hospital room.  He looks far too chipper for someone with a worrying amount of blood blotted in his hair, rusty against the spun-gold strands.

You rake your gaze over him. He’s bathed in the afternoon light, but he’s wan beneath the rosy apples of his cheeks. There’s the faintest tremble to his wings, as if the wind is still caught in them. You’re far too familiar with that little tremor. He’s gotten better at controlling it through the years - before, his wings would quiver and puff up like little red dandelion tufts - but you’ve got a practiced eye. The Commission had made sure of that when they paired the two of you together.

Still, you have the distinct feeling that you’re always a few steps behind Hawks.

With a sigh, you sidle up to the hospital bed he’s perched on. Despite his lazy grin, his amber eyes track you, his pupils sharp little pricks of black. “You look terrible,” you tell him.

“Ouch,” he says. “Thanks for the confidence boost. Ruthless as always, I see.”

When you reach out to touch him, it’s with careful, choreographed purpose. Hawks stills, just for a second, and then he lets you tilt his head up so that you can examine the large, pristine bandage taped over one fluffy brow. He’s warm against your touch.

Your fingertips prickle with the urge to heal him, but you tamp it down ruthlessly. Head wounds are tricky things.

“Did you refuse painkillers again?”

He makes a face. “It’s just a headache.”

“I meant for the gash in your head,” you say. “And it’s a concussion, as you know.”

“I’m fine.”

You raise a brow.

He raises one right back.

“They want to keep you overnight,” you say.

He groans, low and rich and dramatic. “It’s just a concussion.”

You start to open your mouth, and he quickly tacks on: “And a gash, I know, I know.”

You sigh. When you drop your hand from under his chin, Hawks catches you by the wrist. He presses the pad of his thumb against your pulse point, his calloused skin rough against your delicate inner wrist.

Boundaries are a strange thing, with him. The edges bleed like watercolors, until they smear into something indistinguishable. The Commission seems unbothered. They’re more interested in what your healing Quirk can do to keep Hawks on the move.

“Hawks, ‘just’ is not something you apply to a concussion and a cut that required that many stitches,” you say.

He makes another face. “It’s hardly the worst I’ve ever had.”

“Is that supposed to make it better? Because it doesn’t.”

His wings flutter, opaque in the sunlight, nature’s stained glass. “C’mon, don’t make me check out against medical advice again! They were real grumpy last time.”

You narrow your eyes. He meets your glare easily, his lips curving into a little smile. His eyes crinkle at the edges, honey gold under the sun’s touch, and you wonder how one person can hold so much light. You pull in an irritated breath. Hawks’ wings rustle, and not for the first time, you consider that he can sense impending victory.

“You know that my Quirk isn’t the best with head trauma,” you say. “You’ll need to stay under observation for at least a few more hours.”

"Great,” Hawks says. “I vote for your apartment. Your couch is more comfortable.”

You sigh. “I meant observation here.”

He shrugs. “I’d rather be with you,” he says, as if you’re supposed to be able to fight back against that.

“You’re the worst,” you tell him.

He just grins.

send me a made-up fic title (and character) and i’ll tell you what i’d write

[seasalthings]

us together for a while

in those early, sleep-blurred seconds, he’s still yours.

pairing: nanami x reader

warnings: major manga spoilers for chapter 120. angst, smoking, brief mention of pills/medications, kinda unhealthy coping mechanisms. not canon compliant post shibuya.

word count: ~1k

notes: i swore to myself the first full thing i wrote for nanami wouldn’t be angst, yet here we are. title is from tamino’s ‘habibi’

The touch that wakes you is painfully tender.

You barely feel it, just a wisp of sensation slipping beneath your skin to rouse you. You sway between worlds, caught between sleep and reality, everything blurring into something unreal.

“S’early, baby,” you slur, cracking open a bleary eye. The bedroom is smeared cobalt with the approaching dawn, a liminal kiss of blue. “Come back to bed.”

Keep reading

[seasalthings]

no thoughts head empty just gojo carefully doing your lipstick for you, layering his favorite shade over your pursed lips with gentle, feathery strokes

and then immediately pressing the pad of his thumb against the plush of your lower lip and smearing it, dragging the lipstick warm and waxy across your soft skin as you look up at him with wide eyes

it’s followed up with a heated kiss, until your lips are slick and swollen, the corners of them smudged sloppy with fading color

gojo pulls away and tilts your face up towards him to examine the mess he’s made of you, a delighted smile pulling at his own lips

you start to say something but he kisses the complaint right out of you, tells you that you still look good, and that besides -

he likes you better messy, anyway