sobaism

[sobaism]

you think you're in a casual, no-strings attached sexual relationship with ushijima, quietly agonizing over your unrequited romantic feelings. he thinks you've been dating since the first time you slept together

[sobaism]

atsumu literally sees you in a little black dress and forgets how to behave

[sobaism]

Grovel - Part 4

Pairing: Adult Lo'ak x Fem Omatikaya Reader

Summary: How much more of this can you take?

Warnings: aged up characters, swearing, MDNI, sexual tension, lust, slight angst, mentions of death and blood, war trauma, past cheating, etc.

A/N: Honestly not super happy with how the sentences turned out but writing the actual content of this chapter was so much fun. I hope you enjoy:)

Grovel Masterlist

yawne: love/beloved

paskalin: honey (endearing)

kelku: home/hut

tiyawn: star/little star (endearing)

mawey: be calm

tewng: loincloth

The sun barely crested over the trees before you had set out of your kelku in search of the youngest Omatikaya prince. You had been afforded very little sleep even once in your own bed after spending the night with Lo’ak. Too many images of what had occurred in your drunken state last night had been painted in your mind and it had your stomach tied in knots. The worst part of this torture was the fact that you knew less about your drunken mishaps than anyone else.

 And Lo’ak….

Oh Lo’ak he didn’t even bother to fill you in on the details properly. 

So once you had tossed in your hammock for the thousandth time in the late morning you let out a groan, rushed to get ready for the day and went hunting for that smirking Sully. That lighting fire had only squandered for a moment when you looked over at the magical music device he had left with that note.

Although early in the morning, he was sure to be in the midst of some sort of morning Omatikaya politics or hunting party. You found him surrounded by a few males for an early breakfast around a fire. You were, however, surprised to find Neteyam already there and dressed. After his ‘activities’ with Talu last night you would have supposed he’d require further rest. 

Instead, it was him that nudged Lo’ak’s arm as you came into view, tilting his head in your direction to point you out. Blood still rushing at your ears and tail swatting back and forth like a whip, you stared the prince down.

“You.” One deadly point at him and then the next at the ground in front of you. Almost as if calling an animal to heel. The venom in your voice was enough to have the other males letting out teasing jeers and shoving at him.

Although swatting back at the other males for their jests and comments, Lo’ak’s expression remained soft and calm as he approached you obediently.

“Good morning, yawne.” 

Rolling onto the balls of your feet you peeked up over his right shoulder back at the group near the fire. Far too close for comfort. You’d suffered enough embarrassment already without another nosy party there to witness. So in one move you snatched his wrist and pulled the towering male deeper into the forest. 

Although surprised, Lo’ak didn’t lag behind for long. He allowed himself to be dragged until you’d chosen a suitable private location to lay into him. 

“Why do I get the feeling I’m in trouble?” The corner of his lips turned up even as he ticked his head to the side and observed your heated composure. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” You demanded, swatting at his arm. Lo’ak didn’t flinch. 

“You are going to have to be more specific than that, paskalin.”

“Decided to leave out some precious details last night, huh?” Your tail curved around your upper thigh, ears pointed and alert as you stared up at him. “You can quit this oblivious facade. Talu filled me in on everything.”

“Ah, I see.” He sighed, those dark brows raising as he rested his hands on his hips. “Well truthfully, yawne, I figured you wouldn’t want to talk about the kiss. I thought if you remembered you would insist on us pretending it never happened but if you want to dig into it then-”

“What?” You cut him off, eyes blown wide and heart already thumping at a new speed. “A kiss. Great Mother, what are you talking about?” You were certain this was just another game Lo’ak was playing with you but when your ire didn’t die down and his face dropped slightly, that theory began to look less promising. 

“Oh, so she didn’t tell you everything then.” His ears tucked back, but there was intrigue still dancing in his eyes. It always sparkled beneath those dark lashes when his attention landed on you. It gave the feeling of being put under those microscopes they used at the human outpost. The undeniable heat of his studying gaze. 

“I am not in the mood for jokes, Lo’ak.” You ground out. 

“Really? But you’ve been so pleasant this morning-”

“Shut up.” Hardly the comeback you were looking for but despite the sharp sting to your words, Lo’ak only struggled harder not to grin back at you. You were ready to tear his eyes out, or maybe your own depending on the validity of his claim, and yet all he could do was joke at a time like this. “You should have told me everything last night.” 

Lo’ak’s half grin slowly lowered into a thoughtful pout. You veered your attention away from those plump lips, afraid of the way your imagination was already piecing together what this supposed kiss would have looked like. 

“You’re right, yawne, as usual. I only thought you were already a bit embarrassed so I didn’t believe adding the kiss to the list would help matters.” 

“Embarrassed? What by the stars above do I have to be embarrassed of?” A lot. Oh so much that you had to spend half of your energy just pushing away the leering weight of thinking about what drunken acts you had gotten up to. 

“Nothing at all.” His hands raised in surrender before reaching back to take down his tied hair. “Attraction is a perfectly natural feeling and so is acting upon it.” Lo’ak casually drawled, skilled fingers now working to gather his hair into a low bun at the back of his head. 

“Attraction?!” It came out as almost a squawk, voice cracking in the midst. “Attraction to what? To you?”

Your tone did little to ruffle his feathers as he finished securing his hair and nodded calmly. “Like I said, natural.” 

“I am not attracted to you!” Heat rose beneath your skin, cheeks sure to already be inflamed into a deep blush. You prayed that Lo’ak would read that purplish hue as evidence of the rage you felt instead of this ‘embarrassment’ he claimed to know so much about. 

“I’m not asking you to admit it.” Those signature beads dangled as he casually leaned against the nearest tree. 

“Well good because there is nothing to admit.” You fired back, hands balling into fists. 

“Alright.” 

“Good.”

“Good.” He echoed back. Lo’ak pushed off the tree before striding past you. The perfect opportunity to escape and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from trailing after him.

“I’m being serious.” You insisted, frown deepening when you heard a deep chuckle emanate from his chest. 

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise from you, paskalin.” 

Your heated glare sought to burn a hole into the back of his head but keeping up with Lo’ak’s natural pace was a struggle that made your intimidation efforts that much less effective as one of his strides equaled about three of yours. It felt like hobbling after the taller male instead of the hunt you were aiming for. 

“But you don’t believe me.” 

Lo’ak twirled on his heel suddenly. Your skid to a stop was anything but graceful as you almost crashed straight into his chest. Four fingered hands went to steady you, but you pushed them away. However, with crossed arms you refused to retreat out of his space, determined to establish some sort of dominance in this conversation that has taken such a turn. 

“Why do you care so much if I believe you?” He mimicked your posture, crossed arms showing off the veins that traveled up that swirling blue skin into pronounced biceps. 

“Because…” You sputtered for some sort of reasonable explanation, but he had brought up a point. He was right, there was no logical reason for you to care about his opinion. So what if he had a big head about it, most days you just wanted him to leave you alone. “Because you’re wrong.” 

“Am I?”

“Yes!”

“Last night you told me I smelled good seven different times.” A lump formed in your throat, eyes desperately wanting to look anywhere else but him. 

“And you counted it.” You shot back, fighting the urge to shift your weight from foot to foot. 

“You’re right I did.” Came his immediate reply and somehow his instant acceptance of your accusation was that much more infuriating. “But that’s the difference between me and you, paskalin.”

He took one stride forward, but it was enough to close the last piece of distance between you two. “I’m not afraid to admit that I want you. Neither am I afraid to admit that I enjoyed the way you played with my hair. I savored every moment that you willingly sat there on my lap and when you suddenly leaned in to seal the night with a kiss, I couldn’t stop myself from kissing back.” Lo’ak didn’t touch you, he knew better than that, but with his shadow falling over your smaller form and purred words dripping from his lips it may as well have been as strong as skin up skin. 

“And yet you have the nerve to say you didn’t take advantage of me.”

“It was one kiss. I pulled away the second you did. And when your sister said it was time to turn in for the night I had every intention of walking you home myself and leaving you alone. But you had other plans. And yawne, I’m trying my best to behave for you but I’m also a male. A male that can barely breathe when I’m around your sweet scent so when the woman of my dreams is clinging to my arm and sweetly asking to stay in my kelku where she feels more safe, I tuck her into my hammock without complaint.” 

Every muscle in your body seemed to lock up, accurately aware of the last few inches between your chest and his stomach. Even more so strung up by the shameless confession falling from those perfect lips. 

“Is that the truth you were looking for?” He asked, one brow arching. 

A long pause hung between you before your motor functions returned back online. “I never said I want you.”

“Your scent does the talking for you.” 

Your right hand balled up into a fist again, almost tempted to deliver a right hand hook that ironically Lo’ak himself had taught you as children, but then you felt the dampness between your legs. You were appalled to find that even in your anger, your body had fallen prey to the weight of his words and presence. Even Lo’ak’s own essence that now surrounded you like a warm cloak. 

“You ignorant ass!” The insult was accompanied by one push to his chest that had him stepping back immediately. You were sprinting in the other direction before he could get in another word. 

Lo’ak supposed he had no right to be surprised when you were unreachable for the rest of the day. Perhaps it was not his place to push you earlier but he also couldn’t find it in himself to keep from being anything but honest when it came to you. He knew better than to believe that one night in his kelku and a gift or two would win back your trust. The long game was a road paved by immense patience. A trait that was not his favorite to exhibit. 

However, patient or not, you deserved to know the depth of his feelings. You may not have been willing to accept them yet, but that wouldn’t stop him from expressing them all the same. Bottling it up only made his tossing and turning at night all that much worse. Especially now that your scent lingered in his kelku. It was a new form of delicious torture to press his nose into the blanket that was still drenched in your natural perfume.  

Neteyam encouraged him to continue being diligent and patient, perhaps the only piece of advice that kept him from searching for you when he found your kelku empty upon dropping off your dinner. Perhaps he had a point, even if he were to find you it was obvious that the only thing he could expect from your company was snide comments and harsh glares. And yet, Lo’ak couldn’t help but feel a craving even for that. 

So when plans changed the following day and Lo’ak was invited to cliff jump with a group you were meant to be present with, he couldn’t jump fast enough at the opportunity. A storm was meant to be rolling in a few days earlier than anticipated so it was the last opportunity they would have for a while to dive safely. Meaning that some projects were set to the side temporarily. 

He should have known better than to expect you with the group of friends the next morning. Neteyam, Talu, and even Kiri present but not you. When asked about your absence Talu had simply rolled her eyes and claimed she had done everything in her power to get you out of the house for some fun. To play hooky just this once. 

And immediately Lo’ak knew where to find you. Ignoring the protests at his bowing out, Lo’ak gave a quick wave goodbye and bounded through the forest towards his destination. 

And for once, you weren’t difficult to track down. 

Norm had asked for a group to start dismantling one of the last surviving air crafts left behind by the RDA. He wanted to get it foraged for any remaining supplies that could be of use, however, the vehicle was left in a precarious condition. Hanging high in the trees above, it looked more like a crushed tin can than the death machine he knew it was during the heat of battle. Pulling it apart to even examine for anything salvageable would take a whole group of Na’vi an afternoon. 

And yet, there you were. Alone and cursing under your breath as you tugged at the crushed side door with all your might. Lo’ak stifled a chuckle when he saw the position you were in, legs wrapped around a higher tree branch so that you could swing upside down and try to access the left side of the aircraft. 

That threatening laughter subsided into a different feeling when he caught a glimpse of the way your beaded top barley clung to your chest in this upside down position. Only a few beads hanging loosely to cover your perked nipples. 

Gulping down the lump in his throat, Lo’ak fought the urge to adjust himself in his loincloth. No doubt, you wouldn’t take kindly to his presence in the first place, let alone any evidence of his sudden arousal. 

“I knew I’d find you here.” He called from below. 

He was caught between guilt and amusement when his sudden comment had you losing grip on the branch with a surprised squeak and sliding across the top of the aircraft. His smile dropped when you peeked up from the other side of the machine and leveled him with a fiery glare. 

“Aren’t you meant to be jumping off a cliff, dumb ass?” He heard your voice echo from above as he made quick work of scaling up the tall tree. The moment his head peeked up over the last branch, small hands scrambled to push at his own. “Go back! I don’t want you here.” 

Your feeble attempts to push him off were borderline adorable as he easily lifted himself up over the last hurdle and sat back on his haunches beside you. 

“You might have a hard time cracking this thing open on your own.” 

A muscle in your jaw ticked, tempting him to run the pad of his finger along your delicate features. God, even when you looked ready to beat him off with a stick you were nothing short of exceptional. 

“Not that it will stop you.” He added.

“What makes you so sure?” You challenged, rising to your feet swiftly to climb back to the other side of the aircraft. Lo’ak followed, as if drug by an invisible cord tying himself to you. 

“Because I know you.”

The comment earned him a scoff, your tail snapping back at him when his hovering got too close. 

“You knew me as a kid, Lo’ak. I’ve grown.” 

“Undoubtedly.” A few brisk strides spun him in front of you to block the path. “Grown more capable. Grown more independent.” Lo’ak paused, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “More beautiful.” He whispered. 

“Grown less gullible.” You shot back, causing him to stumble as you pushed at his shoulders to get him out of the way. He watched you pass, resisting the urge to keep himself within your bubble. Distance may make the heart grow fonder but no one told him that distance from you would drive him into madness. 

“Still just as stubborn as ever.” 

You resumed your position on the other side of the aircraft, this time ignoring the taller shadow that followed your every step. With precarious footing you were able to grip the edges of the crushed door but could only apply a small amount of force without losing your balance. 

“Yes yes I know, Lo’ak. I’m a stick in the mud. Don’t know when to quit and run off for fun and games with the others. I believe Talu has already beat you to the punch on this lecture. I’m not interested in a repeat. Not all of us can be a social butterfly like you.” 

For a moment Lo’ak was caught in the whiplash of your self deprecating misunderstanding and a comment towards him that seemed to almost be a complement. But then your left foot was slipping and his body was reacting before his mind could catch up. One rushed leap heaved himself into your space, one hand gripping the rack atop the roof of the aircraft while his other arm slunk around your waist to pull you back into place. 

Your smaller hands threatened to break his focus as they willingly clung to his broad shoulders for support. 

“You are nothing like me, tiyawn.” Those oh so kissable soft lips turn down into almost a pout. “And that’s what I love about you.” 

Ear tucked back against your luscious hair and tail curling around your own ankle, the surprise at his comment gave him enough time to gently lift your body to tuck against his with one arm before carefully dispositing you to a safe perch on his left. Thoughts formed more clearly without your mouth watering essence creating a fog around them. 

And yet, even staring at those beautiful golden eyes that were now relaxed from your usual glare, shot in his direction was too much to handle if he had any hope of expressing himself with more than one syllable responses. By Eywa, why did the Great Mother create such an exquisite creature to torture him with?

He turned, setting himself into a different foothold that allowed him to slowly start peeling back the thin crushed metal. Every muscle tensed as he forced it back inch by inch but the harder fight was keeping his lips from turning up into a crooked grin when he felt your intent gaze burning through him. A new spice nipped at your signature scent. Just a whiff of your arousal was enough to feel a renewed hardness between his own legs. 

“You may not be some exuberant social butterfly. You may not run after danger and adventure at a rate only skxawngs like me can manage.” The metal pulled back another inch, the sounding screech almost covering up your short mixture of a laugh forced into a scoff. “But I could never be you, yawne.” He paused, daring to meet your eyes. 

“So brave. So resilient. I’ve heard the stories.” The endless hours you had spent in the healers tent as wave after wave of mauled Na’vi came through those doors. There was not an ounce of him that could even feign surprise when he heard it was you that had spent the longest cleaning and stitching wounds, rebreaking bones back into position, sometimes even scrambling to rush that tent down the stream an extra mile as the bombs rained closer. 

“I think you have me confused with someone else. Perhaps one of your other girlfriends that in fact stormed into battle with a weapon in hand. I am no brave warrior.” 

Lo’ak’s eyebrows scrunched. He couldn’t find it within himself to even care for the brief snide in your comment when faced with your wavering confidence on display. You were never one to hide your emotions well, despite what you would like to believe. The mask you wore was always cracked, leaving him a sliver to peek into what plagues your mind. 

“You fought just as hard as them. Simply in a different way.” 

“Lo’ak there is no need to shower me with flattery. I know that I stayed on the sidelines while they faced death. I am no fighter. I was never meant to be and I accept that.” 

Something seized in his chest, pushing his body into motion until he was back into your space, eyes bearing down at you with an intensity he hoped would burn through your stubborn defenses. 

“No one faced death the way you did, yawne. The others may have gone into the heat of battle knowing the potential consequences of doing so but you were among those that dealt with those worst case consequences day in and day out. You had a front row seat to loss and turmoil. Men and women’s lives hanging in the balance, that decision sometimes being made by the rush of your own hands. There is nothing about it that remotely resembles sitting on the sidelines and I don’t know what how you fucking did it.” His lungs seized for air. “I’ve had more than my fair share of war, but I could never imagine plucking up the courage to face that terror.” 

It was only after the spill of words that Lo’ak could recognize the way his blood raced. The heat that now had his tail flashing with an adrenaline that he could almost attribute to furry. Looking down at your flushed expression, lips parted and momentary disbelief at his sudden confession, he couldn’t blame himself either for harboring that anger. 

How could you not see what he did? Surely after all that you’ve endured, you should be the one spitting this speech confidentiality back at him. Telling him off for even attempting to court such a fearless goddess as yourself, and you would be right. And yet, all you could do is stare back at him with a wide eyed expression and the wheels in your head turning to keep up. 

“I’m sorry.” That timid whisper broke the silence and it was only then that Lo’ak had the sense to release his clenched jaw. You weren’t apologizing for thinking such things but rather for getting him so riled up and that had him drawing back within an instant. 

“No I…” He gaped for the right words, bottom lip tucking between his sharp teeth. “I simply…” He paused, brows pulled together as you looked up at him with curious eyes. “I wish you could understand all the pieces that make you so magnetic, yawne. I have never met someone who cares as much as you. Utterly devoted to the people, offering your whole self to a cause without a second thought. You’re not a stick in the mud, tiyawn. You’re a rare gem.”

It was not his intention to render you speechless but Lo’ak couldn’t claim to be against the view it gave. The tense scrunch of your features relaxed until those beautiful eyes were peering up at him with the sparkle of a rushing river beneath sunlight. A certain softness fell over your countenance, one that was made even more breathtaking when a pink glow blossomed over your cheeks. 

The trance you had fallen over could only last so long before you were muttering about getting back to work and sheepishly dipping past his shoulder. His lips parted for a just moment in search of digging into what change he had just witnessed but he quickly stopped himself. Lo’ak knew when it was best not to push his luck. You allowing him to stay and work was already more than he would have guessed to receive a few minutes prior, so he took that miracle in stride. 

However, there was nothing to sate the side of him that sparked with curiosity and desire when it came to you. He jabbered on about anything and everything he could think of just to shoot at a chance you would have something to say in response. For a while it seemed that nothing could steal your attention away from the task it was pinpointed on, that is until a sudden burst of frustration had you slamming your fist against the curved metal and cutting off Lo’ak’s current Metkayina story. 

“Stupid sky demon technology.” You muttered with a dark glint, trying once again to claw at the metal edge and pull back with all your might. 

The majority of your joint efforts to dismantle the aircraft had come from Lo’ak’s own hands. Meanwhile you had stubbornly continued to struggle at pulling back even the slightest slab of metal. You were being too hard on yourself. His hands were not only larger and protected by the rough calluses he had gained handling weaponry and scavenging around hard ocean rock, but he also had the prior knowledge of sky people weapons manufacturing on his side. He knew which areas were weak points that he could exploit and which pieces were unlikely to budge without better tools. 

Your hands were soft and nimble, perfectly designed for climbing trees and stitching up wounds. Designed perfectly for so many wondrous things that had him staying up at night and fighting the tent in his loincloth. 

Shaking the rotting thoughts from his head, Lo’ak cautiously shifted forward to gently pry your hands from the sharp edge of metal. One more tug and it was sure to draw blood. 

“Mawey, we will get it eventually-”

“There is no time for eventually!” You shot back. The soft tuff of your tail whipped at his cheek when you abruptly spun on your axis to walk past him. A shiver raced all the way down to the tip of his own tail. “It is supposed to be finished today. I do not have another day to spare. With the healer’s tent still half broken and so many injured still waiting on a new batch of medicine…I…I can’t…” The sentences broke into choppy waves as your jaw clenched and tail snapped frantically in the wind. 

He sensed the best thing he could do was silently wait as you spouted out your stresses into a jumbled mess. 

“There is still so much left to fix!” And although you didn’t specify he knew you were no longer just talking about the crumpled aircraft you had yet to dismantle. The war had left a mark on the village not only emotionally but physically as well. Homes were being rebuilt, roles restructured with so many gaps left from those now in the arms of Eywa forever. The list could trail on forever. Knowing you, there was undoubtedly already a list stamped at the forefront of your mind to adhere to. 

But the village would be rebuilt.

The People would heal, they already were. 

It was the emotional scars you harbored that stung under such uncertain times. The same sting that had you wound into a tight coil. 

“I just…I can’t…” You let that thought drop with a huff, small hands now pressed over your heated face. 

Wind whistled through the trees, blanketing the prolonged moment of silence. 

“Do you know what the issue is?” Lo’ak carefully leaned back against the metal side. The look that you sent through parted fingers told him there was not a universe where you would ever be interested in what he thought the issue was. Regardless, he took that lack of response as an opportunity to continue. “You are too tense.” 

You scoffed, arms dropping to cross over your chest. 

“Everyone needs a break, yawne.” The heat in your eyes tried and failed to scorch him as he glided forward across the branch. “And you,” His bent knuckle tucked under your chin. “You more than anyone, need a release.” 

That double meaning did not bode well with you. His hand was slapped away just as the pink darkened across your cheeks. 

“Let me guess, this is your charming way of offering such services?” 

“What services do you mean, paskalin?” Lo’ak couldn’t keep the comment from his lips if he tried. Yet seeing your reaction, he couldn’t fathom why he would want to. Pointed ears on alert and a burning fire in your expression that was all the more lovely than the stressed tension you had worn moments prior. He meant what he said about your responsible nature being admirable, but it was obvious that a little fun could do you a lot of good. “Any service you require. I’m always happy to help you release that tension.” 

Swiftly you ducked under his arm and skated past him. 

“Handing out offers like that so freely, surely I would need to schedule an appointment several moon cycles in advance. I think I will pass.” 

It’s meant to be another stab at his younger reputation as a womanizer, but Lo’ak couldn’t help but revel in the jealousy that dripped from your voice. Subtle yet oh so sweet. 

“No need for jealousy, tiyawn. The offer is yours alone.” He carefully crafted his path to let your arms brush as he passed by. You must have felt the surge of electricity too as you halted in place and faced the male now towering in front of you. “Everyone knows that I belong to you.”

A hitch of breath so subtle that his ears had to strain to hear it, but present all the same. 

“I am at your disposal.”

He was taunting you. 

Or well…he had been since the beginning you supposed, but somehow now it seemed to actually have a physical effect on you. 

He had offered to provide a release from your stresses, not the first time either, yet now that idea was persistent in bouncing around your head constantly.  It roused a heat to your cheeks and between your thighs at the most inconvenient of times. You had found Lo’ak attractive upon the first time seeing him back from Awa’atlu, begrudgingly albeit, but now that the idea of not only looking but touching such an exquisite form had been planted, there was no escaping your body's reaction. 

There were a plethora of reasons you could have been feeling this way and you were eagerly holding on to every single excuse you could think of. You repeated that list in your mind over and over when you lay awake at night in your hammock, pulse rushing and temple sweaty after having experienced yet another erotic dream where Lo’ak had inserted himself as the leading star. 

It was the stress. It was never his place to point out but Lo’ak was right in assuming that there was far too much tension and anxiety riddling your every day routine. It felt as if there was always something being put on your plate. Even when there wasn’t you were sure to find another task to busy yourself with that felt like the most pressing matter possible. So when you tossed and turned at night, there was no easing the coiled muscles that made your shoulders rise up to your ears. A list of responsibilities were constantly on your mind, to the point where you even found yourself grateful for the consistent meals that Lo’ak left at your doorstep. Eywa, knows you would have nearly starved without it.

Even further, there was a new development in your home. That development was named Neteyam. Neteyam who was eager to fill his days with Talu’s company and even more than eager to show his appreciation of giving her time in a very…physical manner. She spent half the nights in his own kelku but your older sister still insisted on coming home frequently to keep you company, at least make it feel like she still lived there. 

However, part of you wished she would simply move into the Sully male’s kelku just so you wouldn’t have to hear their very prolonged goodbyes that consisted of far too much tongue and far too little clothing. You could never mistake Neteyam’s taller shadow casted on the privacy curtains as they attempted to sneak inside together. As two individuals that claimed to be accomplished warriors, there was no way they could truly believe this lack of stealth to mask their rendezvous from you. Or perhaps, much like his younger brother, Neteyam did not care to be modest in his sexual activities, wearing it as a trophy like the cocky bastard he was. 

So there you had been left, splitting your nights between dreaming of Lo’ak in your bed, running through the constant checklist of responsibilities, and hearing the damning evidence of Neteyam bringing your sister to a higher bliss over and over. 

All things considered, anyone else in your position would have crumbled by now. So what if your primal nature had come out to the surface under the recent pressures? A little arousal was normal for someone your age and by no means going to be the thing that crushed your logic to dust. 

Avoiding Lo’ak had become a normal part of your routine and it had seemed like the most reasonable course to combat these feelings. On your particularly sharp days you managed to go without a glimpse of his face until dinner and even then it was from afar. You figured without any new content to fuel these dreams they would surely putter out and you would be left to focus on more important matters. 

That had not been the case.

Perhaps one of the more foolish decisions you had made because it seemed the longer you spent away from Lo’ak the more instant your body’s reaction would be at the next glimpse of him. Your craving for him only grew as you denied yourself of his presence. Even the short peeks at his smile as he sat around the fire with friends had been enough to feel saliva pooling along your tongue. 

And then there was that first night you had truly seen him dance. With such a long war season having come to a close, impromptu celebrations around the dinner fire had become almost routine. Jake Sully’s youngest son was the furthest from sheepish when it came to starting the vibrant dancing. He jumped at the opportunity, teaching those around him the dances he had learned from the Metkayina. 

And you had to admit…you were a secret fan of the sea people’s version of dancing. The men moved with such force. It provoked a sense of weight in their presence while simultaneously showcasing an admirable flow of grace. The muscle of his thighs were pronounced with every bend and stomp. Those dark tattoos rolled like waves as Lo’ak swished his hips in time with heavy drums. You wanted to run your tongue over every inch of that dark ink. Perhaps see how far those lines traveled beneath his loincloth. 

Feeling utterly mortified by your own silent lust you had tried to draw away from the dancing as soon as you were broken out of trance. Of course, you had not always been successful. More than once, golden eyes had caught your own followed by a four fingered hand reaching out in invitation. 

Never before had your natural desires taken such hold on your everyday life. There had been crushes and even lust before but this felt constant. And watching Lo’ak moving his body with the confidence and charisma you could only dream of having every night, it felt like a personal attack. Every quirk of his lips into a smirk felt directed at you in a display of the conquest he anticipated. 

So your patience had been a little more fried at the start of the next diving lesson. You had hardly heard any of Neteyam or Lo’ak’s directions to the crowd at the beginning of the lesson, too busy staring off into the trees and keeping your teeth from grinding together. 

“Neteyam says you have to slow your heartbeat.” Talu reminded you the next time your head had rushed up from under the water prematurely. Her soft hand gently placed over your chest but her sympathetic smile had only been met with your narrowed eyes and downturned lips. 

“Of course he did.” 

Your voice strained to keep the sarcasm from bleeding in too heavily. It didn’t matter anyways, not when she was already making heart eyes at the future Olo’eyktan from across the way. He took one step in your general direction and you knew then that now was time to escape the barely concealed love fest that was about to take place. 

Ducking beneath the water again you swam in the opposite direction until your lungs were scorched with the need to breathe. Over and over you had tried the exercise only to come up faster each time. 

The lack of sleep was catching up with you, enough to have you stumbling across the slippery rocks and naturally falling into Lo’ak’s arms. Rough hands steadied you back into a standing position, his tail just barely missing a brush of your thigh. He said something, most likely checking to make sure you were alright, but none of it registered. All you could feel was the heat of his skin and that natural musky scent that somehow wafted even stronger when he was soaking wet. 

Your eyes snagged his own for only a second before you were diving back into the cold water. At least beneath the surface you were able to block out the sounds and scents of the day that were too much for you to handle. If only oxygen were not an essential. Then you could stay down here forever. A perfect sanctuary to collect your thoughts. 

The next time you sprung up from the depths you allowed yourself a moment of respite. Heart pounding and lungs seizing you couldn’t imagine holding your breath again. However, without that distraction your eyes naturally wandered to where Lo’ak instructed a Na’vi male from the other side of the small lake. Water dripped from his braids and created a dancing trail down the curve of his spine. 

So much for staying away. It seems that no matter what you did, Lo’ak was there to throw your day off course. Even when he wasn’t there he haunted your dreams. You mentally cursed whatever spell he has managed to put you under. Perhaps dark magic existed after all. 

If only you could have a break, just one moment where you were able to breathe.

A release.

That’s what Lo’ak had said. His head would grow until it exploded if you ever told him he was right, but the fact still remained, you needed relief. And you needed it now. 

Lo’ak was hardly subtle in the way he peeked back at you from the corner of his eye. His ears remained standing tall atop his head and while one could claim it was to listen for possible drowning Na’vi in need, you knew that his senses were attuned only to you. And that thought…

That thought alone made something burn within you. A certain excitement blossomed as your instincts were fueled by the idea of being wanted. So many nights you had spent alone in your hammock while listening to Neteyama and Talu wrestle and giggle next door. So many dreams you had woken up from only to find yourself missing a touch that never existed. 

But here was a male in his prime and he wanted you.

And, by the stars above, you couldn’t help but secretly admit that you wanted him too. 

Why not let him sate your desires? After all, was he not the one that put you into this hazy state? Dash logic to the side and forget the consequences that would come later, it was your turn to escape the pressure around you and get lost in the strong arms of a Sully male. 

Lo’ak spotted you before the water line had even lowered down to your hips. A part of you felt bad when all it took was one look his way and he was already neglecting the student in front of him.

Everyone knows I belong to you

 You briefly heard him jumble together some messy instructions and an excuse before water was sloshing behind you. He at least had the decency to wait a few moments after you had exited the lake before trailing after.

Adrenaline pulsed through you with every step, drowning out the voice of caution long enough for you to round the corner and enter a secluded cave. It raged even higher when you heard smooth footsteps falling closer. 

So when Lo’ak finally rounded the corner himself and you got another glimpse of those charming, yet currently confused, features, something inside of you snapped.

“Are you alri-” 

His question melted against your lips into that sudden kiss. Although initially he let out a small sound of surprise, Lo’ak dove back into the kiss the moment his brain had caught up with what was happening. 

This kiss was nothing like the sweet ones the two of you had shared as children. This was ravenous - addicting. And this time, it was you that now pushed the tension between you from taunt to absolutely filthy territory. 

His lips were softer than you remembered, but created a beautiful contrast to the sharp fangs that threatened to tear into your bottom lip. When Lo’ak nipped at the flesh there in silent question you wasted no time in sliding your tongue past his plush lips. 

Lo’ak tasted of the night breeze and the smoke from communal fires at dinner. Every inhale that you could spare between the battle of your lips and tongue was infused with his unique essence. Night’s whisper that could chill your bones during a summer day. 

It had you fingers tangling quickly into his braids, his own hands gripping at your hips in response. And when you suddenly shoved him back against the cave wall, he submitted to your small show of strength without question. In fact, a delighted grin spread to reveal those white teeth and an animalistic glint in his eye. 

Whatever bug you had caught from him, lighting your primal desires with no bounds, it seemed he had caught it too. Nothing but pure hunger and desperation in his countenance, all signs of surprise or concern washed away by the cave’s shadows. 

He burned for you just as much as you did him. And a part of you, perhaps a selfish part at that, yearned to see if he was suffering even more than you have been. 

So when you dove back in to reconnect your lips with ferver, your right hand caught his left wrist before it could land back on your waist. Pushing your body flush against his, you could feel the ripple of tension across his abdomen and shoulders, but he showed no signs of rebellion when you pressed his hand back against the cave wall. 

His right hand mirrored the placement on the other side of him, nails digging into the rock. 

In no universe would you have a chance of overpowering him physically. Neither did your actions exhibit much true force in the first place, but Lo’ak allowed you to wrestle him into your desired position. 

Everybody knows I belong to you.

I belong to you.

He had every chance to spin the situation to his advantage, to finally take what he claimed to have been craving for years. But instead, it was you that got to take. Everything he had offered for you on a silver platter. 

You hadn’t meant for it to be a test, but regardless he had passed with flying colors. His patience was rewarded when you dragged his left hand back to your hips and released it to explore. You had some exploring of your own to do, lips brushing down the column of his throat while finally running your knuckles over the dark lines of his tattooed sides. 

The contrast of his calloused hands mapping out your soft skin was maddening. It had been a long time since someone had touched you in this way but you hadn’t realized how desperate you had become for a foreign touch. Or more specifically, for his touch. So confident and smooth yet voracious when he sought to leave the imprint of his fingertips along your hips and waist.  

“Fuck yawne.” His voice was wrapped with a gravelly timbre. One that traveled straight to your core. 

Such deliciously sweet torment he suffered as you bit harshly over his pulse, but Lo’ak blossomed like a flower beneath it. You could feel the way it took everything within him to not pin you to the ground and take what his body has been begging for. It was almost a more mouth watering display of strength to watch him contain his natural brawn with the veins in his arms popping, than experience the ease at which he could manhandle you. 

Leaving marks along his throat was not enough anymore. It seemed this game was creating a specific suffering for you as well, the rush of your own arousal becoming borderline painful to endure. He was eager when you tugged him down for another kiss. His knees bent slightly and back curved in order to accommodate the vast height difference. 

If you decided to, would he let you push him down onto his knees. A mighty warrior of both land and sea gazing up at you from a place between your thighs. His tongue only a few inches away from where you wanted it most.

The thought had your head spinning and nails digging into his shoulder blades. Lo’ak welcomed every increase of passion with just as much enthusiasm to reciprocate. However, you needed him closer. Needed to intertwine your bodies until there was no telling where you ended and he began. 

Without pulling away from the kiss you steadied your hands on his shoulders and bent your knees to jump. He took the silent cue in stride, managing to capture your waist in his hands just before you leaped. 

You felt as light as a feather being carried by the wind as he slowly lowered your body to slide along his chest and stomach until your legs could slink around his trimmed waist. There was no rush in the action, because for him there wasn’t any physical strain either. 

He dared to push his luck just an inch further. Four fingered hands smoothed down the curve of your spine before settling at the beginning of your backside’s curve. Permission was given in the form of your tongue swirling around his devilishly. And the Omatikaya warrior did not need to be told twice before he was sinking them down further and gripping a cheek in each hand. 

Your smaller hands gripped like claws in his ebony braids. And when you tugged back on them without warning, breaking the kiss, a wide grin spread over his features, accompanied by a husky laugh. Lo’ak Sully was not simply tolerating your devious attitude. He was fanning the flames to your fire, reveling in that rising heat. 

And heat there was. You could feel your arousal gathering in your tewng like molten lava. Surely he too could feel it seep through the fabric as your core was pressed against his pelvis. It seemed his patience could only go so far, as he used the grip on your ass to rock you down further to where a bulge had formed in his own tewng. 

It felt as if the sparks of a shooting star had rippled between you too. And you were drunk on it. Drunk on him. 

As he released another groan into your mouth, you knew that you would never be able to get enough of Lo’ak Sully. 

“Bro you can’t run off in the middle of a- oh sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Neteyam was turning on his heel before he had properly even entered the cave. He shuffled back out the way he came, but not before sending one last peak over his shoulder. 

Your gaze remained frozen to the space it had snapped to upon being interrupted. Neteyam was gone, but that didn’t change the fact that he saw you grinding against his brother while sticking your tongue down his throat. 

“Just ignore him.” Lo’ak pleaded between the open mouthed kisses he laid over your jaw. 

He groaned for a less pleasant reason this time when you wiggled out of his arms. Both of your labored breathing filled the cave as he waited for your next move. His eyes shined with hope even as his lips were on the verge of turning downwards. 

A similar feeling of disappointment had settled in your gut just as quickly. Regardless, there was no telling what you would do if you stayed one more second locked in this heated moment with him. 

And so with red hot cheeks and a stumble to your step, you sprinted to safety. 

Please comment, reblog, or send an ask with your thoughts. It does so much for my motivation<3

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[sobaism]

tooth and needle - a shigaraki x f!reader fic

You've had a grudge against Overhaul ever since an alliance between the Shie Hassaikai and your family's organization went south, and when he makes an enemy out of Tomura Shigaraki and the League of Villains, you see an opportunity to make a friend -- or maybe more.

Written for a Challenge Friday prompt from @pixelcafe-network -- I got the song 'Teeth' by 5 Seconds of Summer and the category 'suggestive', although I'm not sure how well I captured either. Canon!Tomura, yakuza boss!Reader, discussion of violence, lots of pointless lore I made up. M.

“Closer,” you instruct, and Noil, your drone operator, manipulates the controls to give you a better look at the motley crew of bird-masked figures exiting the warehouse. You had a hunch, and with the zoomed-in view, it’s confirmed. Overhaul, leader of the Shie Hassaikai and your sworn enemy, is spattered with blood, covered in hives, and scowling so hard that it’s visible even through his ridiculous mask. “Oof. Somebody got his feathers ruffled.”

“We’re down a buzzard,” Twill reports, and you glance her way. “Overhaul went in alone. He brought five as backup, but he’s only coming out with four. He lost somebody.”

“Which one?” You’re hoping it’s Chronostasis. You’ve only had one run-in with him, but one was more than enough. “Anybody important?”

“No.” Noil gestures at the screen with a black-painted, chewed-down nail.  “Chrono’s right there. Overhaul must have brought some cannon fodder in case the League of Villains got spicy.”

As expected. Your nemesis is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them – and it looks like he was right to expect trouble from the League. But Overhaul wouldn’t look like he’d been run through a jet engine if the blood all over him was his own. “Do we have any eyes in the warehouse?”

“No eyes, but we’ve got thermal scans,” Jersey reports. “The League is down a member, too. No trace. And one of the others is going cold, fast.”

You fight to hide your disappointment. It’s not like you were expecting the League of Villains to take down Overhaul for you. In fact, you’d have been sort of pissed if they had. Defeating the Shie Hassaikai is a privilege reserved for you, but you weren’t averse to the League weakening them a little. You’re tempted to tell the others to stand down, back off, leave the League of Villains to lick their own wounds. And yet –

The League of Villains has done more to disrupt the established order than you or Overhaul or anyone else. Shigaraki Tomura, heir to All For One, isn’t wise to write off. And right now, you and Shigaraki Tomura have an enemy in common. Overhaul fumbled Shigaraki, but you’re not going to make the same mistake, and you came prepared. “Let’s drop them a line,” you say, and Noil edges the drone through a broken window into the warehouse proper.

Jacquard, your gadget guy, builds his drones pretty quiet, but in the dead silence of the warehouse, even the quietest drone is going to attract attention. The surviving members of the League of Villains look up, and you do a quick headcount – Twice, Toga, Shigaraki, and the magician with the compression quirk, who’s down on the ground in a pool of blood, his arm nowhere to be found. There’s another pool of blood nearby, this one with a pair of dismembered legs off to one side, and you clench your jaw. Overhaul might look like a slaughterhouse refugee, but he did a lot more damage to the League than the League did to him.

And the League took more than one kind of damage, too. Even as they look up at the drone, you see the hollowness of their faces, the blank looks in their eyes. When Toga speaks, pointing up at the drone, she sounds more resigned than anything else. “Is that the cops? It’s pretty.”

You’ll have to tell Jacquard. He likes to make his gadgets look good. “Not the cops,” Shigaraki Tomura says. His eyes narrow through the fingers of the hand. “What do you want?”

Noil guides the drone closer to Shigaraki, until it’s hovering directly before him. Although you can’t see what happens next, you’ve seen the demonstrations – the front compartment on the drone opening, ejecting one of your business cards with a little more force than necessary. Shigaraki snatches it out of the air between his thumb and middle finger, turning it this way and that. “Twice,” he orders, “take Compress to a doctor. Toga, stay here. We’ll meet up later.”

You were hoping they’d stay in one place. You direct Noil to follow Twice and Compress, sacrificing your view of Shigaraki and Toga in the hopes that the business card you left will have the desired result, and after that, all you can do is wait. You’re not good at waiting. You pace, drum your fingers, roll your eyes, anticipation twisting in the pit of your stomach. You’ve been waiting for this, waiting for someone else to have a reason to go after Overhaul. You’ve got a lot to offer as an ally. And none of that is going to matter if Shigaraki dusts your business card and decides to go it alone.

The phone rings, scaring you out of your thought spiral, and Jersey picks it up. “This is the House of Needles. How may I direct your call?”

You hurry over in time to catch Shigaraki Tomura’s response. “I don’t have a clue. Whoever sent this thing to me.”

“Am I speaking to Shigaraki Tomura?” Jersey asks, and Shigaraki grumbles assent, his voice sharp and frustrated. “The card belongs to the Seamstress. She’d like to invite you and your friends to a meeting.”

“You saw what happened in there. I’m all meetinged out.” Shigaraki’s voice is heavy with sarcasm. You’re going to have to sweeten this deal up-front. You grab a piece of paper and start writing. “What the hell is the House of Needles, anyway?”

“Come to meet the Seamstress and you’ll find out,” Jersey says. She squints at the paper you’ve shoved in front of her, reading off your message. “The House of Needles is offering secure transport from your location to our headquarters, as well as a safe place to stay overnight, if not longer. We’ll also collect the other members of your organization and reunite them with you here. All the Seamstress asks is that you hear her out.”

“And what if I say no to whatever the Seamstress is asking?”

You knew he was going to ask that. You already wrote down the answer. “Then you’re free to go,” Jersey says. “No hard feelings.”

It’s quiet for so long that you wonder if Shigaraki’s hung up the phone. Then he speaks up again. “This sounds like a trap. You know that, right?”

You know how it sounds. If you were him, you’d have doubts, too. Jersey doesn’t need a prompt from you to answer him. “You’ll have to decide what it is for yourself,” she says. “Will you accept the Seamstress’s offer?”

Would you, if you were him? If you were down for the count and someone offered you a helping hand? You’ve been in Shigaraki’s spot before – unexpectedly on your own, with people looking to you for answers and a mission to complete, reeling from a double-cross you never saw coming – and there was nobody to help you. If someone, anyone, had reached out, you’d have grabbed on with both hands. You’re hoping Shigaraki Tomura is at least as smart as you.”

“Sure. Why not?” Shigaraki says finally. “You’re coming to pick us up?”

“I’ll send you a pickup location. A driver will meet you there.” Jersey presses a button on her keyboard and the message goes out. She sends a second one, with a different location, a moment later, this time to Twice’s phone. “A separate car will meet Twice and Mr. Compress. We’d be grateful if you let them know we were coming.”

“How am I supposed to know you’re coming?” Shigaraki asks. “Is there some kind of secret handshake?”

“The driver will be carrying a business card identical to the one you’re holding. That will serve as their identification.” Jersey waits for a response from Shigaraki. There isn’t one. “The Seamstress looks forward to meeting you.”

Shigaraki hangs up with a click, which is fine with you. He got the message, and he didn’t say no, and the ball is finally back in your court. You reach over Jersey’s shoulder and send the first message to your own phone, feeling it vibrate in your pocket. “Send Damask to Twice and Compress. I’ll get Shigaraki and Toga..”

“You can’t go.” Satin’s voice issues from the doorway to the control room, and you glance over your shoulder at your older cousin. “You’re not the backup anymore. You’re the boss. The boss doesn’t go picking up strays.”

“They aren’t strays. They’re allies. Maybe.” You duck past Satin, heading for your rooms. You know you’ve got your old uniform somewhere in there, and you keep talking, knowing Satin’s followed you. “People show who they really are to the people they see as beneath them. I want to see what kind of ally Shigaraki would be.”

“You’re testing him,” Satin repeats. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? After this shit with the Hassaikai do you really think he’s in the mood?”

“Given what we’re offering him – maybe – I bet he can get over it.” You change out of your day clothes and into the uniform you wore back when you thought you could live your life out of the House’s reach. “A common enemy isn’t enough to make a strong alliance. There has to be something more. And if he and his allies aren’t our type, I want to know that in advance.”

“And what are you going to do?” Satin challenges. “Let’s say you get him and Toga in your car, and he turns out to be an asshole just like Overhaul. What are you going to do?”

“Find somewhere to drop them off.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

You remind yourself that Satin’s trying to look out for you, not make you feel like a moron – and that not listening to their advisors is what cost your mother and brother their lives. “If it doesn’t work, that’s what my quirk is for.”

“Good,” Satin says. “Take the car with leather seats. It cleans easier.”

You zip up your uniform. “Got it. Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” Satin says, “Spider.”

She hugs you around your shoulders as you pass her, headed for the garage, and as you prep the car, you wonder yet again if she shouldn’t be in charge instead of you. But the House of Needles has operated the same way for centuries, and the rules don’t change unless they stop working. Leadership of the House follows one particular family line, and until the last members of that line are dead, leadership can’t pass to anyone else. Your mother was head of the House. Your brother was supposed to follow after her. With both of them gone, it’s up to you. You wonder what they’d think of what you’re doing now.

You’ve never felt quite at ease at headquarters, where everyone’s looking at you for answers you don’t have. You’re a lot more comfortable like this, behind the wheel, like you used to be when your brother was alive and all you had to do was find an odd job to do. You like driving. It gives you time to think, and you need time to figure out how to handle Shigaraki. He said he’s sick of meetings, and he’s probably sick of yakuza, too. It’s a good thing you aren’t a yakuza boss. Not quite.

Maybe the reason you’re never at ease at headquarters is because you were never meant to be in charge. You had an older brother, who was supposed to follow in your mother’s footsteps, and you were meant to go free. You weren’t tied to the House, to the underworld, the way Katsuya was, and the job you picked up as a driver was for extra spending money, nothing more. You can remember Katsuya sitting in the backseat while you drove him to a business meeting, quiet and awkward in a way he never showed to anyone but you. Sometimes I’m jealous of you, he said, and you let out a startled laugh. You don’t have to give your whole life to the family business. You can be whoever you want to be.

That’s a nice way of saying there’s no place for me here.

There’s always a place for you, Katsuya said firmly, and you kept your eyes on the road, ignoring the way your throat went tight. But you can belong somewhere else, too. The only place there’s ever been for me is here.

What would you do, you started, then coughed to clear your throat. What would you do if you could leave?

I don’t know, Katsuya said. He smiled at you in the rearview mirror. That’s the point, though. It could be anything. Just like it could be for you.

You’d been a spare to your brother’s heir since you were born, and it had always rankled you a little bit – how everyone favored Katsuya, paid attention to Katsuya, given him presents and lessons and never given you the time of day. That conversation was the first time you saw it for what it was. Katsuya was born to play a role. He’d never be able to step out of it, whether it fit him or not. But you could find a place you fit, build the life you wanted, with the House’s resources behind you and a place to come home to. You made eye contact with your older brother and smiled back. I’ll think of something.

Did you ever think of something? You can’t remember, because it all went wrong, and instead of getting out, you took your brother’s place. And now you’re here, driving to pick up two villains and bring them back to headquarters on the faint hope that they can help you get your revenge. You wish Katsuya had been right about you. He’d have been better at all of this than you are.

When you reach the pickup location, Shigaraki and Toga are nowhere to be found, but you wouldn’t expect them to show themselves right away. You could be anyone, and it could be a trap. You put the car in park but leave it running, positioned for a quick getaway. Then you unbuckle yourself and step out of the car, making yourself visible from every angle. There’s a business card in your pocket. You take it out and hold it up to the light, and as you study the way the faint sun reflects off the shimmering surface, you see two shadows move in your peripheral vision.

You thought Shigaraki would send his subordinate out first, but instead he’s first through the door, looking both ways, his arm held out to keep Toga back until he’s decided it’s clear. Then both of them are on the street, making their way towards you. You remember your training and smile. “Hi there. You must be my VIPs.”

The information you’ve collected on Toga Himiko calls her bubbly, outspoken, gleeful. The girl in front of you looks blank and tired, barely a spark in her yellow eyes. You feel an odd surge of protectiveness, one you tamp down as quickly as possible once she speaks. “Are you from the House of Needles?”

“I am. The Seamstress sent me,” you say, which is true. You make your way to the passenger side of the car and open the door. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Toga glances to Shigaraki, who nods once. She vanishes into the car, but Shigaraki remains still, watching you. “Whoever was on the phone said they’d send a driver. Not a limo.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a driver if I showed up without a car,” you say lightly. Something about him sets you on edge, even though his posture is nonthreatening, even though you can’t see his face. “And it’s not really a limo. It’s, like – limo-adjacent.”

Your mom didn’t like limos. She thought they were tacky. Toga’s voice issues from inside the car. “Tomura-kun, there’s food in here! And fancy water. And soda – and those weird energy drinks you like –”

Shigaraki looks surprised for a second, and you congratulate yourself for adding the energy drinks – at least until he looks back at you, his eyes narrowing. “How long have you been watching us?”

“Long enough,” you say. You open the door a little wider. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get under cover.”

Shigaraki lowers his voice. “If you try anything,” he says, “I’ll destroy this car. Me and Toga will walk away fine. You won’t.”

“Understood,” you say, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. If he tries anything, you’ll kill him, and you can do it without tapping the brakes.

As you pull back into traffic, you keep one eye on your passengers in the rearview mirror. Toga’s exploring the amenities in the car, exclaiming over the snacks and drinks and whatever else you forgot to clean out after the last time this car was taken for a spin. “There’s skincare sets in here! Moisturizers, and cleansers, and serums – this is good stuff!”

Shigaraki’s got his back to the rearview mirror, but his skepticism floods the car. “Who puts skincare in a limo?”

“Who cares? They have sheet masks,” Toga says. “Want one?”

What would Shigaraki even do with a sheet mask? Put it on over the hand? It’s quiet for a few seconds. “I’m going to do one,” Toga says. “If Magne were here, she would. She liked fancy stuff.”

Her voice is wavering slightly. “Do ten of them if you want,” Shigaraki says. “If they didn’t want you to take them, they shouldn’t have left them here.”

You hear Toga unwrap a mask, and when you check the rearview mirror, you find her sprawled out across the seat, mask on and eyes shut. Shigaraki’s still upright, and the second you glance back at the road, he speaks up. “This isn’t soundproof, right?”

“It’s not,” you confirm. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Yeah. You can explain,” Shigaraki says. “What’s the House of Needles? Sensei told me everything about the underworld. He never mentioned you.”

“We’re not really part of the underworld,” you say. “More, uh – underworld-adjacent. But the House has been around for a while.”

“How long is ‘a while’?”

“It started during sakoku. Smuggling things out to sell to the West – textiles, mainly. And then when the European silk industry collapsed, mainly silk.” You hedge your words on purpose. As the daughter of the previous Seamstress, you learned this stuff by heart, but no one would expect a driver to have that kind of detail. “Getting into smuggling got them into other not-legal stuff. You have to do other illegal stuff to make the smuggling work. And it sort of just – went from there.”

“So you’re yakuza.”

Your mother hated that word. Your brother was fine with it. Neither of them are here any longer. “If you want to think of it like that, sure,” you say. “When the heroic system started to fall into place, the Seamstress at the time saw the writing on the wall. She shifted most of the House’s money into legal businesses, so that’s what most people see. We don’t look like yakuza.”

“I’ll say.” Shigaraki’s quiet for a few seconds, almost long enough to make you think he’s lost interest and let you off the hook. Then the divider between the backseat and the front seat slides open, and Shigaraki leans through. “Sensei never told me about you. So either you never did anything that mattered, or you’re so good that nobody notices it. You’ve got top-tier surveillance equipment, your money’s aboveboard, and you can afford to pick people up in a limo.”

“Limo-adjacent,” you correct. Shigaraki’s speaking right in your ear. You can feel his breath against your cheek. “What’s your point?”

“If you’ve got all that going for you,” Shigaraki says, “what do you need us for?”

“You’ll find out when we get there,” you say. “Put your seatbelt on.”

Shigaraki scoffs, but you hear some rustling in the backseat, followed by a distinctive click. “What did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t,” you say. “I go by Spider.”

You used to, anyway. Then Katsuya vanished and your mother died, and you found yourself with a new name. “Spider,” Shigaraki repeats, and goosebumps lift on your arms. “Weird.”

Spider, after spider silk, because it’s mostly useless. No matter how strong it is, it can’t be shaped into something that works, that helps, that serves. The second child of a Seamstress is always a Spider, a title used more often than your own name. You can’t remember the last time you heard your name out loud. Shigaraki shuts the divider, slumping down in his seat, and you respond too quietly for him to hear. “You have no idea.”

The teacup in front of Tomura is steaming spirals that look photoshopped. Everything about the room he’s in looks photoshopped, from the soft lighting to the walls decorated with sweeps of shimmering fabric to the furniture – according to Dabi, a mix of western and traditional styles that somehow doesn’t clash. Tomura didn’t know Dabi was into interior design, and said so. Dabi told him to shut up.

Before Kamino, Tomura would have bristled but let it slide. After today, he doesn’t even respond. There’s too much inside his head, and all of it comes back to what happened this afternoon when he saw one of his allies disintegrate in front of him.

No, that’s not what it was. Overhaul blew Magne apart, and what was left looked so familiar that Tomura almost threw up, even if he couldn’t remember why. He killed one of Overhaul’s minions without blinking, but he couldn’t get to Overhaul himself, which is what he wanted, which is what would have made the itching and nausea go away for good. Twice might have brought Overhaul to their hideout, but Tomura’s the one who screwed up by not having a backup plan, by not questioning why some small-time yakuza asshole would approach somebody with bigger dreams. Or delusions.

That’s what he called Tomura’s plans, wasn’t it? Delusions. Tomura’s hands curl into fists on his thighs, tight and fast enough that a split opens on his knuckles. Tomura swears, and a split second later, one of the guards is at his side. “Don’t worry,” Tomura snaps. “I’m not going to bleed on your couch.”

The guard doesn’t blink. She opens her hand and unfolds a handkerchief, which Tomura takes and presses down over the split for lack of a reason not to. It’s silk. The House of Needles must have a lot of silk lying around if they’re going to waste it on Tomura. Based on what Tomura saw on his way in, the House of Needles has a lot of stuff just lying around. Their headquarters are enormous, and everybody Tomura and Toga passed on their way to this room looked busy and focused. Tomura thinks of what Spider said about how most of the House’s business is legitimate. If this place is the nervous system for their illegal operations, he doesn’t even want to know how big the rest of it is.

And that brings up the question, again. This Seamstress, whoever she is, has money. Security. What the hell does she need the League for?

The door opens, and Tomura and the others all look up – everybody but Compress, who’s asleep on a couch that was waiting when he and Twice arrived. It’s just another guard. “The Seamstress apologizes for the delay,” she says. “Is there anything else you need while you wait?”

“Can we get more of this stuff?” Twice asks through a full mouth, gesturing at the tray of sweet and savory pastries he’s mostly demolished. He said he was going to eat his feelings, and he wasn’t joking. “It was gross but it tastes good.”

“Yeah, we could use more. Nobody else got to taste it.” Dabi is glaring at Twice. He and Spinner arrived last, heard the news about Magne last. “We’re all hungry.”

“More pastries,” the guard agrees without blinking. “The Seamstress will be with you shortly.”

She turns to leave. “Wait,” Spinner blurts out, and the guard turns to look at him. “Um. Sorry. Thank you.”

The guard inclines her head and vanishes out the door. The instant it’s closed, Dabi turns on Spinner. “Um-sorry-thank you? What kind of villain are you?”

“Villains can’t say thank-you?” Spinner’s face is flushing. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Villains aren’t supposed to be nice.”

“I panicked, okay?” Spinner snaps. He buries his face in his hands and his voice comes out muffled. “She was just really hot.”

“They’re all hot. Is that even allowed?” Twice asks. Dabi scoffs, turns to look at him, and Twice’s expression shuts down. “Don’t talk to me. It’s all my fault we’re here.”

“It’s his fault,” Toga says. She took all the skincare shit out of the limo – limo-adjacent – and she’s opening and closing a bottle of something that smells like flowers. Tomura knows she’s talking about Overhaul. It’s not hard for him to imagine that she’s talking about him.

Tomura’s not going to think about that. Tomura needs to get his head in the game and deal with whatever this Seamstress wants from him. Whoever she is, she sounds weird. Does she really only hire hot people? Tomura hadn’t noticed. He was too busy looking around, trying to figure out how an organization with this kind of footprint snuck past Sensei’s radar when a group as small and insignificant as the Shie Hassaikai could capture his attention, trying to guess what he's doing here. He couldn’t pick either of the guards out of a lineup, even though he’s been in the same room with them for half an hour. The only one he’d be able to recognize is the driver.

You’re pretty. Pretty respectful, pretty confident. Not the kind of thing Tomura would expect from somebody that low on the totem pole, and the contrast between you and Overhaul was as sharp as it gets. If it was possible to think any less of the Hassaikai underboss, Tomura would be doing it. If this place’s driver has better manners –

The door opens again to let in a guard with the extra pastries, but then it stays open, and someone else sweeps through. For a second, Tomura’s not sure what he’s looking at. It’s been a while since he’s seen someone in full traditional dress, and he’s never seen it this elaborate before. He doesn’t know shit about textiles, but he’d have to be an idiot not to recognize that what the Seamstress is wearing is top-tier, probably more expensive than anything else in the room. There are silver rings on her index and middle fingers, the kind that look like claws. Sensei always talked to Tomura about making a strong first impression. Somebody must have taught the Seamstress the same.

“Sorry,” the Seamstress says, and Tomura’s eyes snap up to her face. Your face. “I had some things to clean up. Mainly, uh – me.”

Tomura’s mind races, recontextualizing everything that’s happened since the drone dropped the House’s business card into his hand. “You’re the Seamstress?” Toga says, puzzled. “I thought your name was Spider.”

“It was,” you say. You make your way to the couch across from Tomura and the others, almost tripping on the hem of your kimono. “Before I became the Seamstress, that’s what they called me.”

You’re not an underboss like Overhaul – you’re the boss, the one all these people answer to, and you came to pick up Tomura and Toga in person. You wanted to observe Tomura, without him observing you at the same time. “You were testing me,” Tomura says out loud, and you look to him. “Did I pass?”

“You wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t,” you say. You’re fidgeting in your seat, trying to get comfortable around what looks like twenty yards of extra fabric. “Thank you for accepting my invitation. Before anything else I want to say that I’m sorry about Magne. That must have been hard to watch.”

“You watched it somehow,” Tomura says. “Were you going to do something?”

“When the meeting started, I thought it was going to end with the two of you banding together. That would have made you my enemy, just like he is.”

Now Tomura gets it. “What do you have against Overhaul? Some kind of petty yakuza rivalry?”

“Watch your mouth,” one of the guards snaps. “You’re in our house. Don’t speak like –”

“Let it go, Satin. They’ve had a really bad day.” You don’t look away from Tomura, and just like before, your gaze is almost painfully direct. It gets under Tomura’s clothes, under his skin. “It might have been some petty yakuza thing before, but it’s not that way now. And that means you and me have an enemy in common.”

“So why don’t you deal with him?” Dabi asks, and you glance towards him. Tomura feels his shoulders relax. “You’ve got money. Money equals power. Hire a wrecking crew and run it over his hideout. Problem solved.”

“It would be, if I knew where his hideout was. He’s much more paranoid than he looks on the outside,” you say. “Money might be power. But it’s not the kind of power I need.”

The pieces of your plan are starting to come together in Tomura’s head. You were watching, which means you know Overhaul left his card with Tomura. You know Overhaul’s interested in an alliance with the League, and you want Tomura on your side before that happens, so you can go through him to get to Overhaul. It’s not the worst plan. But Tomura doesn’t think it needs the hard sell you’re giving. There has to be something else.

“You said it’s not a petty yakuza thing,” he says, knowing you’ll look back to him, and you do. “What is it, then?”

“I can explain, but it’s a long story,” you say. “I don’t blame you if you want to skip that part.”

“We like stories,” Toga says. If Tomura had to guess, he’d say that she doesn’t want to leave yet. “Tell us why you hate Overhaul.”

“If you’re going to drop a bunch of lore, I need to take a leak first,” Twice says, and Tomura would facepalm if he didn’t already have a hand over his face. “That tea is really good. I drank the whole pot.”

“The bathroom’s down the hall,” you say, bemused. Twice hops up and Spinner follows him. So does Toga, and Dabi after a second. Now it’s just you, your pissy bodyguard, Tomura, and Compress left in the room. “You don’t need a bathroom break, too?”

“I don’t like black tea.” Tomura watches you nod to your bodyguard, who ducks out into the hall. “I should have known there was something up with you. You weren’t scared of us at all.”

“I don’t make alliances with people I’m scared of. I’ve seen where that goes.” You shift uncomfortably on the couch. “I’m serious about the backstory thing. You don’t have to sit through it. You guys can stay here for the night whether you accept my proposal or not.”

You’re being way too generous. Tomura feels weird about that. “Did anybody ever tell you you’re bad at being a yakuza boss?”

“I’m not a yakuza boss,” you say. “More like –”

“Yakuza-adjacent,” Tomura says, and a smile flickers across your face. Tomura remembers, relevant to nothing, that you came to get him yourself instead of sending someone else. Any one of your subordinates could have reported on him back to you. “Whatever it is, you need lessons. You’re the boss, not a taxi service.”

“That’s what I said.” Your bodyguard comes back in and swaps the cup of black tea in front of Tomura for a cup of green tea, complete with the spirals of steam that look too perfect to be real. “It’s her circus. The rest of us are just following her lead.”

“Don’t. You want this just as much as I do.”

“No, I don’t,” your bodyguard says, and you glare at her. “Revenge for your mother and Tasar, sure. This? This is a you thing.”

“Then let me do it.” You look back to Tomura, your face ever so slightly flushed, as the rest of the League comes back. “Last chance to get out of the backstory.”

Normally, Tomura would jump at the chance. He’s not interested in anyone else’s sob story. But something’s not adding up here, and he wants to know what it is, whether he teams up with you or not. “Go for it.”

It turns out that the Shie Hassaikai and the House of Needles have been feuding for a while – since the Hassaikai was founded, since the House is older. As far as feuds go, it’s not particularly violent, but they’ve been shredding each other’s profit margins, and around six years ago, the previous Seamstress – your mom – and the old Hassaikai boss decided to bury the hatchet with an arranged marriage between your older brother – Tasar, or Katsuya, or whatever – and the Hassaikai boss’s only daughter. Yakuza leadership isn’t necessarily hereditary, but the leadership of the House definitely is, and once your brother and the yakuza princess had kids, those kids would be in line to inherit both leaderships.

“Not everybody was happy about the merge,” you say. “Some people on our side thought it was going to be the end of the House –”

“It would have been,” your bodyguard interrupts.

You ignore her. “And people on the Hassaikai side thought it was destroying their chances of ever becoming the boss. Overhaul felt that way.”

“This sounds like a K-drama,” Spinner mumbles.

Your bodyguard snorts. “The Hassaikai boss tried to set up a second arranged marriage, between her and Overhaul, but her mom shot it down.”

You ignore that, too. Tomura’s jaw clenches in spite of himself. He doesn’t like that idea. He doesn’t know why it pisses him off so much, but it does. “Anyway,” you continue, “my brother got married. He and his wife had a daughter named Eri, and everything was fine until Eri’s quirk came in. I think we ended up calling it Rewind – when she touches something alive, she turns back the clock on it. The longer she touches it, the further it rewinds. And, um –”

You pause for a second. “My brother was holding her. She Rewound him into nothing.”

“So he died,” Tomura repeats. His hands are shaking. He tucks them under his legs to hide it. “Then what?”

“Eri’s mom left. Even the Hassaikai boss didn’t know where she went,” you say. “My mom and I tried to get Eri back, but Overhaul wouldn’t let us see her. He wouldn’t even tell us where she was. My mom and some of the council went to negotiate with the old boss so we could at least find out where she was staying, but the boss never showed up. Overhaul did. He killed my mom and everybody who went with her – and everybody we’d sent to work with them, since we’d shared personnel as part of the alliance.”

“So he sent you people, too,” Dabi says. “What did you do to them?”

“I didn’t touch them.” There’s something weird about how you said it, but you move on too fast for Tomura to figure out what it is. “Overhaul was willing to blow up the alliance and make enemies with us forever, just so he wouldn’t have to give up Eri. We were both there when they named her quirk, and I saw his face when – he’s doing something awful to her. I know it. And I want her back.”

“Do you?” The words leave Tomura’s mouth before he’s thought them through. “She killed your brother.”

“It was an accident,” you say sharply, and Tomura’s stomach lurches. “No kid can control their quirk that young. She didn’t mean to. Sometimes things just happen.”

No kid can control their quirk. She didn’t mean to. Tomura can’t work it out. Your brother’s dead, because of your niece, but you’re not saying it’s her fault. It was an accident. Sometimes things just happen. All of a sudden Tomura’s nauseous again. “She’s family,” you say, your voice softening. “Almost the only family I have left. Of course I want her back.”

You look at Tomura again. “I want my niece back, and I want revenge for my mother and everyone else Overhaul killed. You want revenge for your friend. He won’t take my calls, but he wants to work with you. I want you to tell him yes.”

“And then inform on him to you,” Tomura says. “Then what?”

“In exchange,” you continue, “we’ll provide food, shelter, and funding. And when the information you give us leads to the Hassaikai’s downfall, we’re prepared to offer a reward.”

Compress stirs on the couch. “How much?”

You give a number that makes Tomura’s jaw drop behind the hand. Dabi lets out a low whistle. “You don’t fuck around, huh?”

“Not when it comes to this,” you say. “I don’t just want revenge on Overhaul. I want him broken. I want him humiliated. I want to take away everything he’s ever wanted and ruin his chances at anything more. I want him to feel hopeless and useless and pathetic and alone.”

Tomura hears what you aren’t saying: Just like I did. “I want to crush his heart,” you say. “You can do what you want with the rest of him.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds. “Whatever I want?” Toga repeats, and you nod. “I have lots of good ideas.”

“Me, too,” Twice says. His mouth twists beneath the mask. “Let’s make him cry.”

“Let me get this straight,” Tomura says to you, as Toga turns to whisper in Twice’s ear and Spinner leans into eavesdrop. “You’re offering us food and money and a place to live, so we’ll do something we already want to do – and then when we do it, you’ll pay us more. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to do it yourself?”

“If I could do it myself, I’d have done it already,” you say. “If I go after him alone, and I screw up, Eri’s the one who will pay for it. Whatever you can take from the Hassaikai, it’s yours. I just want her home with me.”

“And you want Overhaul to wish he was dead.”

“That, too.” You smile, sharp-edged. “Get me his location and as much of the layout as you can, and I can bring him down.”

Once again, Tomura’s got the sense there’s something you’re not saying. “Hang on,” Spinner says. “You said you’ve got Hassaikai people here. Didn’t you interrogate them?”

“That, uh – wasn’t possible.”

“Why not?”

“I might have lost my temper a little bit.” You look awkward. “I’d just found out my mom was dead, and I didn’t know if Overhaul had given them instructions to attack us. So I just, um –”

“You said you didn’t touch them,” Tomura says. “What did you do?”

You stand up, almost trip on your kimono again, and steady yourself on the arm of the couch. “Follow me.”

Tomura follows you, and so do Dabi, Spinner, and Toga. Twice stays behind with Compress, and as you walk down hall after hall, Tomura listens to the others discussing your proposal. “It sounds good. Too good,” Dabi says. “I don’t trust her.”

“I do,” Toga says. “She’s pretty and she hates Overhaul. And I like her house.”

“It is a really nice house,” Spinner mumbles. “And the food –”

“Yeah, it’s great. Except she’s coughing up cash so we’ll do her dirty work. Some yakuza boss. She doesn’t have the stomach for –”

Dabi breaks off in a curse, and Toga runs into Tomura’s back, because he’s stopped, too. So have you. You’re standing at the observation window of a glass-walled cell with three corpses inside, and although Tomura’s gotten used to corpses by this point, the sight’s enough to startle him. He knows they’re human bodies. He’s just never seen bodies look like that.

“Wow,” Toga says quietly. “Did they blow up?”

“My quirk’s called Stress Test,” you say, staring into the room. “I can increase or decrease the pressure inside a system without touching it, as long as I know how much pressure there is to begin with. That’s what explosive decompression looks like when it starts inside a person’s skull. The room itself is a vacuum now, too. They’re perfectly preserved.”

So much for you not getting your hands dirty. Tomura glances at Dabi, eyebrows raised, and Dabi gives a grudging nod. Spinner looks grossed out. Toga’s nodding, a lot more enthusiastically than Dabi is, and Tomura turns to you. “We’ll take your deal,” he says, and you smile slightly. You hold out your hand to his. “What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Shake,” you say – and then you wince. “Sorry. I forgot about your quirk.”

Tomura doesn’t know how you could do that when he’s covered in hands. His quirk is the first thing everybody thinks about when they look at him. But something about it makes Tomura feel weird, just like a lot of things about you have done. It might have been a dumb thing to do, to offer him your hand, but it’s – not nice. Nice is the wrong word. Tomura extends his hand towards you, index finger raised. “It only works with all five,” he says. “So – here.”

It’s not really a handshake. Handshake-adjacent. One of the clawed rings on your fingers scrapes lightly across Tomura’s wrist, then over his palm as you pull away, and he fights to hide a shiver. “Deal,” he says. “Now what?”

You step around him, past the others, and start down the hall, already pulling at your kimono, folds of fabric falling away from your shoulders. “I have to get out of this thing,” you say, and Tomura’s eyes lock on your exposed skin, the curve of your neck as you glance back at them. “Then we’ve got work to do.”

You vanish around a corner. Toga’s watching you go, too. “I like her,” she decides. Dabi snorts. “Tomura-kun likes her too.”

“Yeah, I bet. I thought he was going to offer to help her take the kimono off.”

Tomura’s face heats up behind the hand. “We’re not going to stay long,” he says. “We’ll get the job done, get our money, and get out of here. Let’s not get comfortable.”

Comfortable. What a stupid word. Tomura thinks about your smile, your ring scraping across his skin, you tripping on your kimono as you tried to get out of it. The spooky light in your eyes when you talked about destroying Overhaul, and the way Tomura’s stomach twisted when you talked about what happened to your brother because of your niece. This might be a good decision for the League, but comfortable is the last thing it’ll be.

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @clemsoup @deadhands69 @absurdlogik @f3r4lfr0gg3r @chimaerakirin @minniessskii @commercialbreakings @dance-with-me-in-hell @shiggy-my-babygirl @lvtuss @hayesemmanuel @issaortiz @aikakuro33 @evilcookie5 @valentineshearts @aslutforfictionalmen @fiiveweeniies @lacrimae-lotos @sobaism @xeveryxstarfallx @sota-soka @stardustdreamersisi @babybehh @koohiii @atspiss @cheeseonatower @baking-ghoul @shikiblessed @boogiemansbitch @warxhammer @handumb @agente707

[sobaism]

KING XAVIER…

[sobaism]

can we get some hormonal reader and touya thoughts 😓

"natsuo... natsuo!" touya hisses his biggest little brother's name through his teeth. "stop laughing at me."

on the other end of the phone, natsuo's laughter doesn't stop—in fact, it gets a little louder, much to touya's dismay. the eldest runs a hand through his hair, gripping the strands at the root in frustration as he leans over the railing of the balcony—having fled outside for a moment of respite.

"you're laughing. she's trying to kill me and you're laughing."

"i think you're being a bit dramatic," natsuo's laughter finally eases enough for him to remark dryly. he chuckles again to punctuate his statement, or possibly just to annoy his brother more.

"i asked her what she wanted for dinner and then she started crying. and then she got mad at me for asking why she was crying," touya is emphatic in his description of the evening's events, though he's already recounted them twice prior in the short duration of this phone call. he'd called his little brother out of desperation more than anything. from what touya's been led to believe, natsuo has some experience with women and, failing that, is pursuing medicine. "aren't you like, a doctor? what's wrong with her?"

"medical welfare, touya. not a doctor."

"whatever," the eldest says dismissively. "is she like, experiencing a psychotic break or something?"

"that's not a medical term," natsuo corrects him.

"oh, yeah? thought you weren't a doctor?" touya counters snarkily, scrunching up his nose though his little brother isn't there to actually see it.

natsuo sighs in annoyance. "well, did you piss her off? what'd you do?"

"i didn't do anything," touya balks. he almost wishes he had at this point, considering how he's at his wits end. you've been acting so strangely all afternoon, it's like a little black cloud has settled over the usually cozy apartment the two of you share. touya's been walking on eggshells since the dinner incident, and he used you getting into the bath to call frantically for backup. or possibly moral support.

"well, did she have a bad day or something? have you tried asking what's wrong?"

he hasn't tried that, actually. but considering how you threatened to throw the bath stool at him when he tried to come talk to you in the bathroom, he isn't all that inclined to make a second attempt.

"she came home from work early and has been curled up on the sofa ever since."

"why'd she come home early?"

"dunno," touya scratches behind his ear. "think her back's bothering her or something. she's got one of those heated blankets on it—which is kinda offensive, honestly."

natsuo's quiet for a second.

"her back?"

"or her stomach, maybe?" touya muses, more to himself than anything. "she's all curled up like a bug. 's hard to tell."

"touya."

"what?"

"touya."

"what?" the eldest todoroki snaps, irritated with his little brother's ominous tone. "and would it kill you to call me nii-chan? little brat."

on the other line, natsuo sighs. a long, despondent sound.

"nee-san!"

"i'm your brother," touya snaps indignantly.

"no, I'm not talking to—ugh," there's some shuffling on natsuo's side of the call. take this, touya hears natsuo say, but his voice sounds more distant than before.

"hi nii-chan," shouto's voice suddenly comes across the line, and it's a welcome contrast to natsuo's exasperated tone.

"hi shouto," touya sighs, a hand pressed over his eyes. "how's it goin'?"

"good," the seventeen year old answers. "i broke a rib at school today."

"a rib?" touya asks. "are you okay?"

"i'm fine now," the youngest of his siblings answers, characteristically placid.

"well... keep up the good work, i guess."

there's a bit more shuffling in the background, and some voices touya can't quite make out.

"fuyumi onee-san wants to talk to you," shouto returns to the call after a moment.

"alright," touya says, glancing back over his shoulder to peek through the balcony door. the bathroom door on the other side of the apartment is still shut, which means you're likely still in the bath.

"can i come visit this weekend?" shouto asks.

"i gotta work on saturday."

"what about sunday?" shouto tries again hopefully.

"i gotta check with the boss," touya replies. "but she might kill me before then."

"okay, well let me know," shouto says, notably unconcerned by the imminent threat to his beloved older brother's life. "and tell nee-chan I say hi."

"i just told you she's trying to ki—"

"touya-nii?" fuyumi's evidently got the phone now, as her voice cuts him off.

the eldest todoroki sighs wearily. "yeah."

"your girlfriend's on her period."

touya freezes.

"natsuo told me to tell you that."

the eldest still hasn't managed to respond to his little sister's words.

"so be nice to her or stay the hell out of her way!" he can hear natsuo shout in the background, accompanied by more of his laughter, much to touya's (growing) humiliation.

"you disrespectful little b—!"

"touya?"

a gentle voice rips touya away from his own misery, and he whirls around to see you poking your head out through the balcony door, looking at him curiously.

"what are you doing out here?" you ask him, still dewy from the bath.

"talking to yumi," touya holds up his phone demonstrably, eying you a bit warily.

"oh," you say, pulling your robe a little tighter around yourself against the chill of the evening air. "tell her i say hi."

touya nods, waving you away. "get back inside, you're gonna catch a cold."

you seem to hesitate a bit. "are you gonna be long?"

"no, i'll be in soon," touya shakes his head, angling himself between you and the balcony to try and shield you from the wind.

you nod, stepping back in and sliding the balcony door shut. touya sees how you linger near the door, and swallows down a laugh.

"thanks, yumi," touya mutters, genuine appreciation in his words in spite of how quiet they are.

"s'me again," the smug voice that answers is not his little sister's, but rather his obnoxious brother. "and you're welco—"

touya ends the call before natsuo gets the chance to finish his sentence.

[sobaism]

thank god bc i still think abt him dressing up reader in the tiniest outfits to embarrass her !

it’s this dynamic again but this time reader specifically being very boyish and athletic and sort of being chigiris opposite in terms of being mistaken for a boy and sort of acting like one. is usually using that to her advantage so she’s very chivalrous but doesn’t know chigiri is a man .

anyways the thoughts in my brain are once reader finds out she’s deeply apologetic and embarrassed and chigiri is like. instantly into her. she’s a very good kind righteous person but she’s also kind of naive in her own and chigiri is like . being such a little freak about it

i’m skipping over their relationship timeline in my mind but just know it’s this. just know chigiri is putting her in an absolutely insane position and teeny tiny microkini and Oh My God

[sobaism]

in the same vein…… iida i wanna lick into your mouth and see your glasses get foggy in real time

[sobaism]

you're cute and it's tuesday

[sobaism]

virgin professor bakugou x college student reader.............something something you admire him for how intelligent he is but it turns out there is a thing or two he could learn from you.........

[sobaism]

Anomaly (Chapter 3) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Ever since he was rescued by All Might from All For One, Shimura Tenko's led a charmed life - except that he's a beta, in a society where alphas are privileged, omegas are prioritized, and betas are an afterthought. But when Tenko finds himself investigating a series of designation-swaps that have devastated the lives of the victims, he comes face to face with the terrible truths at the heart of society's placid, inflexible structure, and the enigmatic villain who's bent on exposing it all. The one they call Love's Executioner - otherwise known as, you. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

dividers by @cafekitsune

Chapter 3

As soon as they’ve got a clean-ish photo of the villain, the HPSC hands it over to the news and creates a tipline for civilians to call if they see her. Just like Magne predicted, the media does their worst, and by the time the first tip’s been called in, they’ve already given the villain a name.

“Love’s Executioner?” Tenko repeats. “That’s melodramatic.”

“It kind of fits the gravity of the thing,” Spinner says. “Most of the population is alphas or omegas, and they’re scared shitless. And based on what happens to people she switches, it’s not exactly wrong.”

But it should be. Tenko knows it’s one of those things that betas can’t understand, but it still seems wrong to him — loving somebody one second, being unable to stand them the next, just because their designation changed. If he had a mate, it wouldn’t matter what their designation was. They’d still be his mate. As long as they were still the same person, he could make anything else work. The only things alphas and omegas see when they look at someone is their designation. Tenko will never understand that.

Once the tip line is up and running, the HPSC gives the all clear to resume regular hero work. All Might and a bunch of other top heroes wind up on some kind of hellish HPSC Zoom meeting to discuss a response, while everyone else is supposed to go back to business as usual. Everyone except Tenko, who’s told to take the dispatch desk and stay there.

It’s bullshit. Tenko’s got more experience than all the sidekicks who are going out, and half the heroes, too. He should be out there helping people instead of in here routing calls. Failing that, he should be at the stupid strategy meeting. He’s the one who’s going to have to fight the villain — Love’s Executioner. That’s way too long of a name. Why would the media name her something that stupid? If he shortens it to ��the Executioner’ it makes her sound crazy intimidating, when she’s never directly killed anyone. He can’t shorten it to “love”, either. That’s a pet name. A stupid one. If Tenko had a mate, he wouldn’t use pet names for them. Or let them use one for him. Why is Tenko thinking so much about having a mate? He’s not going to have one. That’s not how things work for betas.

But he’s going to fight Love’s Executioner. If she gets the upper hand on him, he might not be a beta anymore.

The thought sends a lightning bolt of discomfort and anticipation down Tenko’s spine. What is he thinking? He knows what happens to people whose designations are swapped. People are sick, people are miserable. People kill themselves over it. Tenko doesn’t want to be an alpha or an omega. He doesn’t want to know what heats or ruts feel like. He just doesn’t want to be alone. If he faces Love’s Executioner, he’s going to take her down, so she can’t hurt anyone else. End of story.

He’s half-asleep at the desk, routing calls, when Midoriya skids to a stop in front of him. “They found her,” he bursts out. “She’s in the Ibuki Mountains, on foot. She’s alone.”

“On foot,” Tenko repeats. “How did they spot her?”

“Kyoto’s in lockdown, but Shiga isn’t. Somebody spotted her and raised the alarm.” Midoriya is practically vibrating. “It’s genius, isn’t it? We’ve been watching public transport, but of course she wouldn’t use that. She could have taken the train out of Kyoto last night, picked a stop, and started walking.”

“It’s not that genius,” Tenko says. “She’s in an isolated area, and she sticks out like a sore thumb. Did she really think no one would spot her? And if she’s all alone, she can’t use hostages to negotiate with us —”

Midoriya gives Tenko a weird look. “What do you mean?”

“It’s weird that she’s not worried,” Tenko says. Midoriya looks even more confused than before. “That we might kill her.”

“Heroes don’t kill people.”

All Might killed Sensei. Lady Nagant killed criminals before she decided to switch it up and start killing public officials. “Even if we did,” Midoriya continues, “we can’t. We need her to change them back.”

“Who said she can do that?”

“There are people. Not many, but a few. Toga brought the reports.” Midoriya drops a folder onto the desk in front of Tenko. “Unless there’s somebody else with the same quirk running around, she can take it back if she wants to.”

Midoriya’s phone buzzes with a Hero Network alert and he races off, leaving Tenko to flip through the reports. At first he’s wondering if there’s a time limit on the swaps, where they’d revert back automatically, but the time each of the eight people in the file spent with their designation messed up varies dramatically. Some people dealt with the swap for a day or two, others for weeks. One person, a beta from Okayama, got swapped back within the hour.

That fits with Love’s Executioner’s pattern, at least in Tenko’s head. There are hundreds of victims. But she doesn’t swap kids — except by mistake, apparently. All eight people who’ve been swapped and reverted back to their original designation are under twenty. That’s weird, for a villain who’s operating at this level. Sensei never cared about who he hurt. He didn’t want Tenko to care, either. But Love’s Executioner cares, apparently — enough to go back and fix her mistakes, at what’s probably a serious risk of getting caught. She’s put in a lot of effort covering her tracks.

With that in mind, the Kyoto attack makes even less sense. Based on her MO up until now, Love’s Executioner isn’t within a thousand kilometers of stupid. She had to know that the attack would bring the full strength of Japan’s heroes down on her head. And now she’s alone in the mountains, with no cover and no backup, nowhere to hide. It’s like she’s trying to get caught.

If she wants to get caught, Tenko’s glad to make it happen. The HPSC taps him to make the capture, just like All Might predicted — and they want Midoriya to back him up, which All Might didn’t predict at all. “It’s just a precaution,” Midoriya shouts in Tenko’s ear as they’re hustling across the helipad and into the chopper that will fly them out to the mountains. “If she gets the upper hand on you and uses her quirk, I can tell us everything we need to know about her!”

Midoriya’s quirk is called Quirk Analysis, and it does pretty much exactly what it says on the tin. If a person activates their quirk while Midoriya’s looking at them, Midoriya gets an instant download of everything there is to know about how that person’s quirk functions, including any and all potential awakenings. Tenko can’t deny that it would be helpful, although if he gets swapped, he probably won’t care much. But he can think of a better use for Midoriya, given that Midoriya’s got One For All. “Is there any reason you can’t use Blackwhip to restrain her?”

“When I’m using it on someone, it’s a physical extension of me,” Midoriya says. “Same as Hawks’s feathers or Tokoyami’s Dark Shadow. Based on our knowledge of how the victims were attacked, anything that’s physically connected to our bodies can carry the quirk.”

Tenko’s starting to see why Love’s Executioner is going to be such a difficult catch. She can swap anybody who touches her, even if they’re touching her through a medium that’s not skin on skin. Long-range attacks would be ideal, but those tend to do damage, and they need her alive. Not just alive, but in a mood to cooperate. Tenko’s watched the police try to get criminals to cooperate before. The ones who got beat to shit beforehand usually aren’t interested.

All Might debriefs them in the helicopter, shouting into his headset. It’s a pretty simple mission. They’ll drop Tenko into the mountains near the villain’s position, then drop Midoriya somewhere with a good line of sight. Midoriya and Tenko will coordinate to find Love’s Executioner, and then Tenko will capture her. Alive, and as close to unhurt as possible. It makes perfect sense. Except for the HPSC’s instruction, which All Might delivers with a pinched look on his face. “For this mission, Tenko, it’s gloves off.”

“Are you kidding?” Tenko asks. All Might shakes his head. “You just said to capture her in one piece.”

“You have the control you need,” All Might says. “The HPSC wants Love’s Executioner to understand that the threat is real. To be as reluctant to touch you as you are to touch her.”

“Okay, but if touching is the problem, how come Lemillion isn’t doing this?”

It’s quiet for a second. “I guess you didn’t hear,” Midoriya says. “Lemillion was in Kyoto.”

Tenko’s stomach clenches. “There’s a strong suspicion that she chose Kyoto specifically to target him,” All Might says. He looks worried now. Tenko’s not a mindless All Might fan — he’s watched All Might burn toast too many times to think All Might’s infallible — but All Might looking worried is never a good sign. “We are not dealing with someone who acts without thinking. If she took this escape route, there is a reason why. You will need to be very, very careful.”

The more All Might talks about it, the less Tenko wants to do it. But if he can’t get out of it, the next best thing is to do it fast. “I will.”

Tenko gets dropped into the woods, as close as possible to the villain’s last known position while still keeping the helicopter out of earshot. He knows people hike around here. There are plenty of trails to follow, and he sets off down one of them, Midoriya talking in his ear from the instant he lands. “Okay, I see her. She’s doesn’t look wounded but she’s not moving too fast. It’s definitely her. I can see the fingertips. No visible weaponry, but she could have something hidden under the coat. She’s aiming for that clearing up ahead. If you catch up to her there I’ll have a clear view.”

“Where are you, anyway?”

“Up around the rim trail, towards the bridge. I have a great — huh.” Midoriya trails off. “She was there a second ago.”

“You lost track of her?”

“No. I was looking right at her, she just — she’s only got one quirk, right?”

“People can’t have more than one quirk,” Tenko says. He changes direction slightly, angling up towards the rim trail. If they don’t have eyes on Love’s Executioner any longer, there’s no point in operating separately. “Keep looking.”

“I’m looking,” Midoriya says. It’s quiet for a second. “I have more than one quirk. All Might said that All For One —”

“Yeah, well, she’s not All Might and she’s not All For One,” Tenko says shortly. He doesn’t like talking about Sensei with anyone, Midoriya least of all. Midoriya won’t understand, can’t understand. “So just shut up and look.”

Midoriya actually shuts up for once, and Tenko keeps hiking upwards, towards the rim trail. Multiple quirks? No way. Sensei’s dead. He couldn’t give Love’s Executioner extra quirks, unless she’d had them since — however old she was when All Might rescued Tenko. And Tenko would have known if there’d been another person with him in Sensei’s clutches. Love’s Executioner only has one quirk, and Midoriya probably just blinked, and she’ll resurface any second now. And Tenko was kind of an asshole. “I don’t think she has more than one quirk, but she could have stopped moving and disguised herself. If you haven’t seen her yet, go back to the spot you last saw her and look for anything out of the ordinary. Okay?”

Midoriya doesn’t say anything. Tenko gets that he was kind of an asshole, but mid-mission isn’t the time for the silent treatment. “Okay? Midoriya, acknowledge.” Nothing. Tenko picks up his pace through the woods. “Midoriya, acknowledge.”

“Acknowledge,” Midoriya says, but his voice sounds wrong. “She’s here —”

Fuck. Tenko picks up the pace, wishing — like always — that he’d put some or any effort into cardio the last time he was training. He knows it’s not going to matter how fast he gets there, that Love’s Executioner could have swapped Midoriya back and forth a dozen times already. How is she restraining him? How is he letting her? Tenko didn’t think that Midoriya would be so scared of getting his designation switched that he wouldn’t take down a villain. But it doesn’t matter. Taking her down isn’t Midoriya’s job, it’s Tenko’s. And taking Midoriya hostage is the first thing Love’s Executioner has done that’s made sense. Tenko breaks through the tree line and onto the rim trail, heading towards the bridge.

It’s a decent bridge. Scenic, probably, over a gorge with a nice view of the river, wide and flat. Love’s Executioner stands near the middle of it, holding Midoriya in a control grip. Midoriya’s blindfolded. Neither of her hands are making contact with Midoriya’s skin, but the threat is there. Gloves off. Just like Tenko is.

Tenko steps to the edge of the bridge, leaving his hands open at his side. “You’re not going to kill him or swap him,” he says to Love’s Executioner. “Why not just let him go?”

“Who says I won’t swap him?”

Tenko knows that voice. He doesn’t know from where, but he’s heard it before. “He’s eighteen. You don’t swap kids. When you do, you swap them back.”

“Civilian kids,” Love’s Executioner says. “This one’s a hero. He signed up to deal with things like me.”

“Sure.” Tenko takes a minute step closer. “Seriously, though. He’s just a kid. Do you get off on wrecking other people’s lives?”

Love’s Executioner laughs harshly. “Do you care?”

That voice. Tenko knows he’s heard it before. “I care about stopping this.”

“Stopping it?” A shake of the head. “You don’t even know —”

What started it. “You,” Tenko says, shocked, and you incline your head. “You’re the one — from Shiroiwa —”

You were the one who gave Tenko the tip about designation swapping, and you had a mask on. Tenko remembers thinking that it was because you were embarrassed, but now he knows the truth — you were in disguise, lurking around the scene of the crime, messing with him. Or you would have been messing with him, if you hadn’t told him exactly what was going on. Why would you give yourself away like that? “What is wrong with you?”

“Don’t sweet-talk me like that. People will say we’re in love.” You adjust your grip on Midoriya, and Tenko realizes that you’re one move away from breaking Midoriya’s neck. You have been this whole time. “It’s this situation that’s fucked, not me. I just shut down an entire prefecture, and the HPSC sent the Wonder Twins to stop me instead of an army? Don’t act all big and bad when you’re nothing but cannon fodder.”

“Cannon fodder? Give me a break.” Tenko steps closer, and you rotate, keeping Midoriya between you and him. “You think pretty highly of yourself for somebody who sneak-attacks civilians.”

“Think about it, Shimura. They sent a beta hero to face me, and his backup is somebody whose quirk lets them analyze other quirks.” Your eyes are cold. “This isn’t a capture mission. It’s intel. They’re hoping you get swapped so they can learn more about me.”

Tenko keeps his expression blank. Blank should have been his default this whole time, but it’s not too late. He can walk it back. He doesn’t have to show you how quickly it all snapped into place for him, how stupid he feels for not realizing it before. You don’t need to know that you’re right. That the HPSC looked at what happened to Lemillion and decided to throw somebody who doesn’t matter right into your path.

You nod, even though Tenko hasn’t said anything. “I’m not going to play their stupid game,” you say. You shove Midoriya towards Tenko with enough force to send them both sprawling. “Get lost.”

Tenko doesn’t have time to check on Midoriya. Midoriya is conscious and can take off his own blindfold. You might have been right about this stupid mission, but it’s still Tenko’s job to capture you. Fuck the HPSC. You’ve been hurting people. Tenko doesn’t care about anything but stopping you.

You’ve got about two seconds’ head start, but Tenko’s gauntlets are loaded with tripwires. He fires one off, then tackles you just as you’ve gotten your ankles separated and risen to your knees. He straddles you, pins your hands down, only for you to knee him hard in the back, get your feet back down, and arch your back hard enough to destabilize him. His mistake, for not getting high enough on your chest. Tenko grits his teeth against the pain and grabs for you again.

This time he catches you around the waist as you’re trying to rise and throws you down, pinning you from the side instead. But he’s a second too slow in dropping his weight, and you slither free, flipping him over and straddling him instead. Unlike him, you didn’t fuck up your positioning. Tenko can’t knee you or throw you off, and you’ve pinned both his hands. Your red hair falls in a curtain around Tenko’s face and yours, and he makes eye contact, his mouth dry and his heart racing. “Stay down,” you order, and you try to run the other way this time.

Tenko can’t figure out why you’d go that way. Midoriya’s that way, and given that you’ve decided against swapping either of them, he can take you out. But Midoriya’s still got his blindfold on. Fuck. Tenko vaults onto the bridge’s railing to cut you off. “Why don’t you just come quietly? That’ll be faster.”

“All of this will be faster if you run, Shimura.” You draw a knife from the inside pocket of your coat, and based on your grip, you know how to use it. “Stop trying to make me play your game.”

Tenko can’t just let you escape. You have to know that. But you’ve got a foolproof escape, and you aren’t using it. “A knife? This is a weird time to get shy about your quirk.”

“It’s a weirder time to get shy about yours,” you say. “You’re half-assing this and you know it. Come at me with everything you’ve got or leave me alone.”

“If that’s what you want, fine.” When Tenko charges you this time, he aims for your knife.

Getting it away from you is way harder than it should be. Your grip is covering the entire handle, which means Tenko has to Decay it from the blade, and you’re delivering punch after punch while he’s trying to get a grip that won’t cut his palm to ribbons. He twists your wrist with a four-fingered grip and you drop the blade, but Tenko doesn’t loosen up until you drive your knee into his abdomen. You’re doing twice as much damage to him as he is to you. Being a hero fucking sucks.

But the HPSC didn’t send him out here to be a hero, apparently. Maybe they’ll think twice about using him as bait after he brings you back in one piece. Or mostly in one piece. If Tenko’s not a hero, he doesn’t have to act like one. When his attempt to throw you goes awry, he slaps one hand against your abdomen and activates Decay.

His control is good enough that he only Decays what he wants, which is the first two layers of skin off the spot his hand is touching. That should be more than enough, and any discomfort Tenko feels about using his quirk on a human being dissipates the instant he feels the fight go out of you. You’re not going to die. You’ll get all the medical treatment you need in the prison hospital, and you won’t be able to hurt anyone else. Tenko catches you as you topple sideways. If you hit your head too hard, you might forget how to use your quirk, and there are a lot of people you need to swap back.

You’re limp in his arms, head thrown back, throat exposed. Something about it catches Tenko’s attention in a way he’s not familiar with, and he’s so busy trying to figure it out that he doesn’t see your hand rising to the side of his face until it’s already too late. “I didn’t want to do this,” you say through gritted teeth. You lift your head and Tenko sees your eyes, bright with awareness and fury. “Have fun.”

Your touch is soft against Tenko’s cheek, but the activation of your quirk feels like a tsunami crashing down on him. Everything goes haywire — sight, sound, taste, smell, every nerve ending in his body lighting up on fire, so unlike anything Tenko’s felt before that his mind simply closes up shop. It all goes black —

— but only for a split second, before the fucking smells wake him back up. Midoriya’s caught him. Midoriya’s finally got his blindfold off, and he smells awful. Tenko shoves him away, gagging and struggling to speak. “Not me. Her. Get her!”

Midoriya lets go of Tenko and turns towards you, but you’re already scrambling clear. Through hazy, watering eyes, Tenko sees you climb up onto the railing and jump off. He wants to tell Midoriya to catch you. Use Blackwhip, use something, forget all about your stupid quirk, but catch you — but then he opens his mouth and Midoriya’s disgusting scent drifts in and Tenko’s gagging all over again.

Midoriya’s gone for a while, long enough for Tenko to get some fresh air, and long enough for him to fumble a pheromone-filtering mask out of his utility belt and put it on. It doesn’t work all the way — he can still smell it — but he can’t taste it anymore. “Did you get her?”

“She fell too fast. I couldn’t even see her in the water.” Midoriya looks miserable. Tenko would feel miserable, too, if he could feel anything but sick. “I called for help. They’re coming to pick us up, and they’re sending search parties downstream. They’ll find her.”

Or they’ll find what’s left of you. That was too long of a fall. Midoriya thinks so, too, or he wouldn’t be making that face. But that’s not the only thing that’s off — Midoriya stinks, he looks like he’s going to cry, and there are patches of raw skin all around his eyes. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

“The blindfold,” Midoriya says. “She superglued it down. That’s why I couldn’t get it off in time.”

Somewhere in the midst of the miasma of disgusting smells, Tenko’s heart manages to sink. “You didn’t see her use it.”

Midoriya shakes his head. Tenko can hear sirens approaching from somewhere. People will be here soon. They’ll find out he got swapped. The capture was a bust, and so was the intel-gathering, because you neutralized Midoriya before Tenko even got there. It was all for nothing. Tenko using his quirk on you was for nothing, too, and that’s why this happened. You didn’t use yours on him until after he’d used his.

Midoriya is apologizing to Tenko. Tenko puts his head down on the concrete and closes his eyes. “Did you get anything?”

“Yeah. One thing,” Midoriya says. “There was this, like — pheromone burst when she activated her quirk, but it was all from you. I went up and down the bridge and I couldn’t smell anyone else.”

“So she’s on suppressants.”

“I’m on suppressants, and you can’t even breathe around me without a mask,” Midoriya says. “She’s not an omega or an alpha. She doesn’t have any designation at all.”

<- Chapter 2

taglist: @qardasngan @eliankm @clemsoup @absurdlogik @chimaerakirin @commercialbreakings @shiggy-my-babygirl @hayesemmanuel @aikakuro33 @valentineshearts @fiiveweeniies @sobaism @sota-soka @babybehh @atspiss @baking-ghoul @boogiemansbitch @handumb @agente707 @warxhammer @shikiblessed @cheeseonatower @koohiii @stardustdreamersisi @xeveryxstarfallx @lacrimae-lotos @aslutforfictionalmen @evilcookie5 @issaortiz @lvtuss @dance-with-me-in-hell @minniessskii @f3r4lfr0gg3r @deadhands69 @shigarakislaughter

[sobaism]

you’re all i know, angel

You’re not moving fast enough. 

Six months in an official relationship be damned, you’re not moving fast enough. This isn’t what he pictured when he saw you, isn’t what he planned. 

Why? Why is it not enough?

Do you just–not love him like he loves you? Does it not consume you, tighten around you like a vice, change you to the core, nearly steal life from you?

. . .To be clear, Izuku didn’t just fall in love with you. Not even on a whim, no he grew in love with you. He nurtured the little plant that turned the soil of his heart and sprouted new buds with every moment you’re together. Even when the roots threatened to kill him, choke the life out of him, he still untangled them, washed them, and planted them again, deeper, deeper, deeper still.

Izuku didn’t fall in love because this love could never end. Not like a fall. 

No, he’s a good sower, he will have this love grow and blossom and fill him completely. Fill you completely with time.

He doesn’t do half-measures for your future. 

Well, he did once, but now he can’t. Not anymore.

He hates that he has to do this, but you leave him no choice.

. . .You’ll be better for it. . .

. . .it’s cute that you think Izuku’s only been to your home while you were there, even with his new key.

Again, thank you for that. That Frankenstein key he made was getting duller by the day.

read here ｡𖦹°‧!!

[sobaism]

blood for the wip guessing game! :)

Thanks for the ask! Here's a sentence with your chosen word from The Yawning Grave (the found-footage horror au):

“This looks like blood,” he says, and three cameras zoom in on the spot he’s pointing to.

[sobaism]

Cee I am here for degradation kink deku

he lovessss itttttt. he loves when you wrinkle your nose at him like you think he's gross for any of the strange kinks he has, he groans like you stabbed him when you see his big, fat cock and push it away with your foot like "ew, why is it like that? don't touch me with that thing. like, truly, you end up being into most of the weird shit he's into, too, but you both have fun engaging in a bit of you pretending to think it's disgusting the first few times you try it, for spice lol.

[sobaism]

i think you have an established safeword with deku even for vanilla sex, because you get off on telling him how gross and perverted he is and how he should stop and he gets off on all of that even harder when he just keeps going

[sobaism]

hi i love all ur fics, especially ur shinsou ones! do u think u could write for shinsou using this prompt:

"i’m obsessed with a food blogger who writes about cheap ways to be gourmet in your 20s and i flirt with them over comments but they never post pictures of their face and ALSO there’s a really cute grocery bagger at the store down the street who teases me and always asks to join me for dinner and i definitely want to say yes"

SOMETIMES

You really like flirting with the cute cashier at your clocks grocery store. You also really like flirting with the funny faceless YouTuber in his comment section

(thank u sm for this ask i loved it)

—————————————————————————-

GOCHUJANG MAC & CHEESE PIZZA MindJack · 459k subscribers 7 hours ago · 15:39 · 679k views Description Burnt the shit out of my mouth eating this but it was worth it… [SHOW MORE]

perfect first date meal icl y/neats 6 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.9k  [Thumbs Down] 

 ⤷Are u asking me out rn… MindJack 5 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.9k  [Thumbs Down] 

  ⤷are you saying yes rn…. y/neats 5 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.9k  [Thumbs Down] 

—--

Despite what the contents of your fridge might suggest, you are actually quite a terrible cook. 

You don’t want to be. If it was your choice you’d be the next chef on Hell’s Kitchen, yelling alongside Gordon Ramsey. But, unfortunately, you completely lack the skillset to even think about auditioning. You burn things, you overmix them, you undercook them. No matter how closely you follow a recipe you somehow manage to mess things up. It doesn’t help that most of the ingredients you buy are substitutes for the expensive things you really should be using. But it’s not your fault. You’re just a college student trying to get by, your low paying part time job nowhere near enough to fund your hobby. Even with the detailed tutorials made by your favourite YouTuber, you still struggle. 

In all honesty, he's probably the reason you’re so into cooking. You’d found his account on a whim, when he only had about a hundred subscribers, and you’d instantly fallen in love with his content, the recipes that looked like they came straight out of a Michelin stars restaurant. 

His channel is different from most of the cooking content you see. He doesn’t talk, other than the very rare occasions you catch a glimpse of the soft lilt of his voice. He uses captions that shouldn’t be as funny as they are, and lots of different angles of his cooking. It’s a testament to how good of a cook he is that he’s amassed as many subscribers as he has with only his words.

He doesn’t show his face, but you just know he’s attractive. The smooth planes of his hands that he’s not shy to pan the camera too, the flowery apron he always has on tied over what you think is a pretty muscular chest. 

It only makes the fact he actually knows you even better. Well. Knows might be an overstatement. Your relationship is solely an online one, with you commenting under all of his posts and him replying every time. It helps that you’re one of his oldest fans, and so you think he’s memorised your handle by now. You even sometimes get a mention, your name sweet against his tongue as he teases you about your horrible cooking that you’ve warned him about.

Mina likes to remind you that he’s faceless, and so there is a chance you could be flirting with a seventy year old man, but you doubt any seventy year old looks like that. And if he really is a senior that does, then you think you’re okay with it. 

It’s all just for fun, anyway. You guys don’t really talk outside of a comment section, both of you are too scared to cross over the line from a fan and a creator to actual friends.

Today's recipe looked incredible. That’s why you find yourself milling about the grocery store near your college accommodation. It’s a nice place, only a ten minute walk, and it has pretty much everything you could need. The only issue is, you have to look presentable, considering the fact that everyone who works there are students from UA, including your favourite cashier, Shinsou Hitoshi.

He’s cute. He’s really cute. Soft purple hair, these dimples that crease his face every time he smiles. He always looks tired, mainly because he usually works night shifts, but you think it makes him all the more attractive. Shinsou also seems very familiar for reasons you can’t quite place, but you’re always shopping in the middle of the night, so your brain is never working hard enough to figure it out.

A chill settles over your skin as you walk through the vegetable aisle. Your UA hoodie is baggy and overworn, and you pull the material over your hands. You don’t even know why you’re in the vegetable aisle. You don’t even need any. You consult your phone as you wander around, dropping things aimlessly in your basket. 

When you’re ready to pay, you walk right past the self-checkout to Shinsou. He’s sitting behind the till, and when you get close enough you can see him playing block blast on his phone. You peer over just in time to see him lose. He tuts softly and you shake your head.

Shinsou glances up and the smile that graces his lips is almost instant at the sight of you.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.” He nods in greeting, shutting off his phone and placing it to the side.

You hoist your basket up. “It hit one am so I thought I’d get up and get my shopping done.”

He snorts a laugh. “You know, you could be normal and do your shopping during the day.”

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to see your insomniac ass.” You tease. 

Shinsou rolls his eyes but you see the tips of his ears turn red. He peers at the ingredients in your basket suspiciously. The flour, gochujang and macaroni. 

“What the hell are you making?”

“Don’t look at my delicious ingredients like that,” You pout. “It’s this recipe I saw online.”

Shinsou looks wary and you scowl. “What’s that face for?”

“This face is for worry.” He grabs a plastic bag from under the counter, free of charge for you. “You should probably warn the building manager.” He muses.

You cross your arms, but it's hard to look angry with the smile that's fighting to fill your face. “And why is that?”

“Make sure the building is up to code. Fire safety is no joke, Y/N.” He fixes you with a look, and you splutter.

“I’m not going to set the building on fire!”

“Only time will tell.” 

Shinsou is well aware of your horrible cooking, courtesy of the countless pictures you’ve shown him of all your failures. He thinks they’re very funny. Shinsou always has advice ticjingnto fall off his tongue, because according to him, he's an excellent cook. You’ll believe it when you see it.

You take your bag out of his hands. “You just watch. Today is the day I will persevere and cook the greatest meal you will ever see in your life.” You say determinedly.

“Tonight.” he corrects you.

“Shut up.”

Shinsou watches with hooded eyes as you clumsily shove your bank card back into your wallet, his chin resting on his hand. The dark green polo he wears, embossed with the store’s logo, fits loosely against his chest. He has nice hands, you think. And nice biceps.

“I could just cook for you.” He suggests, and you ignore the soft lilt in his voice, no matter how enticing it is. “And I can assure you it won’t taste like shit.”

“My food doesn't taste like shit.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“It doesn’t taste like shit all the time.”

You want to accept his offer. You really really do. But the last guy you’d spoken to had left your crying in your room for a week, and you refuse to let any more college boys trample all over your heart. You’re sure Shinsou wouldn’t do any trampling, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. But god, if he doesn’t make your resolve weak. He seems to enjoy the little back and forth you two have, though, so you hope the two of you can keep flirting and acting like you both don’t want something more.

“You’ll see, Shinsou. It’s going to be great. I’ll bring you a plate.” You promise.

“Please don’t.”

He’s right to be scared, seeing as you in fact do burn your pizza.

-

STRAWBERRY CHEESECAKE COOKIES MindJack · 459k subscribers 4 hours ago · 19:32 · 403k views Description Heaven in a cookie if you can ignore the obscene price of strawberries… [SHOW MORE]

sweet just like you y/neats 3 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 426  [Thumbs Down] 

   ⤷Cringe   MindJack 3 hours ago   Reply [Thumbs Up] 993   [Thumbs Down] 

    ⤷ur supposed to flirt back..     y/neats 2 hours ago     Reply [Thumbs Up] 327  [Thumbs Down] 

     ⤷Not on main baby     MindJack 1 hours ago       Reply [Thumbs Up] 376   [Thumbs Down] 

–

“You’re just over-mixing, I think. And your oven is too hot.” Shinsou’s nose wrinkles a little as he  breaks one of your cookies in half. 

Cookies might be an overstatement, because they’re somehow rock hard on the outside and gooey on the inside. They’re still slightly warm, seeing as you’d baked them only a few hours ago, and Shinsou is doing a pretty good job in being polite about it all. You’re currently leaning against the register as he lays them out in front of him. 

It’s late, again, and there’s only a few other people milling about the store. You didn’t actually need any groceries today. You’re supposed to be finishing the essay that’s getting dangerously close to its due date, but you were bored, and made up some excuse to yourself that an energy drink would help you work better. You’d bought the cookies on a whim to see if all his culinary bragging had any bite to it.

And it did. At least you think it did. He gives you some pretty helpful advice.

“But how do I know when to stop mixing?” You ask. 

“Well, the butter and sugar is hard to over mix. Once you add your dry ingredients, the second the flour streaks are gone and everything is combined, you stop.” Shinsou explains it in a way that doesn’t make you feel stupid.

You nod slowly. “I see.” 

You push the container toward him. “Try one, please.”

Shinsou fixes you with a look. “No.”

“What? You have to, I brought them all this way!” 

He shakes his head, pushing the container back towards you. “Don’t try to poison me while I’m working.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t actually care if he eats them or not. You just think it’ll be funny, considering the fact you tried them yourself so you know they taste like crap. You shake the container in a way you hope is enticing.

“Come on, please? For me?” You try to make your voice sound as syrupy sweet as you can.

He looks at you for another beat, before sighing heavily.

“Fine. Only because you’re begging so nicely.”

“I- Shut up.” You mumble, looking down to ignore the teasing smirk on his face.

Shinsou grabs the one that looks the least deformed. He eyes it warily, his tongue darting out to lick his lip.

He shuts his eyes. “Deliver us from evil-“

“Just try it!”

He does. A very small, tentative bite. But It's a bite nonetheless, so you can’t complain. There’s a beat and you watch his jaw work as he chews. You allow yourself to hope for a second that maybe they’re not that bad, but then he winces, pretty features creasing.

“Y/N.”

“Shinsou.”

He shakes his head. He reaches under the counter for some water. He swallows, and you watch his Adam Apple bob as he leans his head back.

Shinsou groans, shuddering. “You need to never bake again.”

“It’s not- I’m trying, at least.” You pout.

The container clicks as he shuts it swiftly. You crack open the Redbull you’d just brought. The sound echoes through the nearly empty store. The drink is cold and refreshing, and the can cools your palms.

“Trying how? Where are you even finding these recipes?” He laughs.

You grab your phone out of your pocket. “This guy I follow on YouTube.”

“I think you should follow someone else.”

You shove his shoulder. “No. I love him, he’s so cool. I’m always flirting with him in his comments, you know.” You smile mischievously, showing him the YouTube page.

Shinsou has a very weird reaction to that. His eyes widen just slightly, his mouth parting to speak words that don’t make their way out. You squint at him.

“Are you alright there?” You half joking and half asking, because he doesn’t really look alright.

His eyes search for something in your face. “Are you fucking with me?” 

Your brows furrow, your phone going a little limp in your hand. “What?”

Shinsou seems to shake himself out of whatever shock he was in, because he slips your phone out of your hand and starts scrolling through his page.

“Nothing.”

“You’re so weird.” You say, but you drop it, leaning in a little closer so you can watch with him.

He nods approvingly as you point out your favourite recipes. “Wow. Amazing. These videos look incredible.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

“I’m being serious!” He exclaims, and you snatch your phone out of his hand.

“No, you’re being sarcastic. Or mocking. Or both, actually.” You sigh dreamily. “That’s my boyfriend you’re making fun of.” 

“Your what?” Shinsou splutters.

“You heard me. It’s only a matter of time before we make it official.” You wiggle your left hand at him and point dramatically at your ring finger.

“You’re delusional.”

“He literally wants me. Look.”

You pull up the most recent of your interaction, and Shinsou’s jaw drops a little.

“That’s you?”

“Yes!” You grin. “Isn’t it romantic?”

Shinsou just nods wordlessly. He rubs at his eyes, shaking his head slightly.  “Do you know who he is? Is- Isn’t he like, faceless?”

You pat his arm. “Oh, Shinsou. I don’t even need to see him to know he’s fine. Look at his biceps. And his arms. And those beautiful hands. What I’d let those hands do to me.” 

You pull up a random video and hold it up to him. Shinsou, again, reacts differently than what you expect. He doesn’t say much, just nods along to your words. You think he’s blushing.

“And he cooks? And really well, at that? I’d let him wine and dine and f-“

“Okay!” He cuts you off. “Let’s calm down.”

You laugh. “Is all this talk too much for you?”

“Yes.”

You glance at the time and curse. “Shit, I should probably get going. I have an essay to write.” You mumble.

You grab the snacks you’d brought and give Shinsou a wave. “Think about me if you get bored.”

“Definitely won’t.”

—-

SCALLION FLATBREAD WITH CHILLI OIL MindJack · 460k subscribers 10 hours ago · 13:02 · 679k views Description If you don’t like spicy food then grow up because this… [SHOW MORE]

that shot at the end is insta worthy 🙏love that flowery apron y/neats 8 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.0k  [Thumbs Down] 

 ⤷Shall I post MindJack 5 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 1.9k  [Thumbs Down] 

  ⤷yes mindjack insta page when?? post cooking thirst traps plz y/neats 5 hours ago Reply [Thumbs Up] 489  [Thumbs Down] 

—-

You were joking about the Instagram page. 

Well, only slightly joking. Mindjack solely resided on YouTube and TikTok, the latter only being clips from his videos condensed for engagement purposes. You thought Instagram would be a nice place to get a little more content from him if anything else. 

Your conversation with Shinsou was another stark reminder that you actually didn’t know what MindJack looked like. Obviously, it’s not like your flirting was going to go anywhere. But, on the one in a million chance it did, you’d like to know who it was you were thinking incredibly inappropriate thoughts about.

So, when you glance at your phone during your lecture after it buzzes on the table, your heart nearly falls out of your ass when you see what it is.

MindJack has requested to follow you. 56s 

You think it’s a fake account at first. You have the same username on all your socials, so it’s no surprise that if someone was sad enough to pretend to be him, they’d find your account. Your comments on his videos are not exactly private.

You open up the request, glancing up at the lecturer you’ve been trying to focus on. She’s looking away and you’re sitting in the far back, so you don’t feel rude to pick up your phone with more purpose.

The page is blank. He has the same caption as his other socials, the same profile picture. If you’re being honest it looks pretty legit. And what’s the worst that’s going to happen if you accept? It’s not like you’re going to get hacked. Probably. So you approve the request and shut your phone off, not thinking much of it.

And then your phone buzzes again. 

You shoot an apologetic look to the person next to you, who’s getting increasingly annoyed at your phone. You look at it once more.

MindJack 

1.2k followers . 0 posts

You follow each other on Instagram

MindJack: Hey

This is getting weird now. Maybe weird is not the right word to describe it. Exciting might be better.

Y/Neats: hiiii

A few minutes pass without the reply, and the read receipt stares back at you mockingly. You pout, disappointed in falling for someone’s stupid prank.

MindJack: I have no idea what to say right now

Y/Neats: wait so is this actually MindJack

Y/Neats: or am I being punk’d 

MindJack: Punked?

Y/Neats: YOU NEVER WATCHED PUNK’D??

Y/Neats: it’s like a hidden camera prank show that I might be staring in.. seeing as ur ass could be a fake

MindJack: No my ass is real

MindJack: Workijf on getting that verification

So it is him. The nerves you had that he wasn’t disappear almost instantly, and the excitement increases. Your chest fills with a weirdly sappy feeling that he’d actually taken the time to find you socials, request it and message it. Maybe all those YouTube comments weren’t just for fun. It’ll be a nice story to tell your kids, at least.

You spend the rest of your lecture texting. The conversation is stilted at first, only slightly, but you get past the awkwardness quite easily. He’s fun to talk to. You find yourself trying to stifle laughter at some of the stuff he says, and when you have to pack up and leave you immediately miss him.

And, surprisingly enough, when you make your usual nightly trip to the grocery store, MindJack seems to be on Shinsou’s mind too. Because when you rock up to the counter with only a pack of m&ms, he frowns.

“You not cooking tonight?”

“Nope.” You sigh. “I’m not in a mood to nearly burn my kitchen down again.” The card machine beeps at you to pay, and you dig around your pockets to look for your wallet.

Shinsou tilts his head a little. “But Mindjack posted a new video.”

Your eyes dart up to his the second the name leaves his mouth. It seems you can’t avoid the guy.

“Yeah, but the recipe is too difficult for me.” You shake your head. “And I have none of the right equipment.”

Shinsou nods slowly. You’re still eyeing him a little, because he looks lost in thought, and you're sure you haven’t said anything for him to look that confused. Just before you’re about to ask if he’s okay, he speaks up.

“Come over to mine tonight and we can make it together.”

This request feels a little different. Not like his usual jokey flirting the two of you do, but it feels real. 

“Are you being serious?” 

“I always am. But tonight more than most.” 

You realise, while he’s speaking, that he’s nervous. He looks fine, but you can see his hands wringing beneath the counter where he thinks you can’t see. You smile a little shyly. 

You want to. You really want to. You think texting MindJack has made the little burning feeling in your chest for some romantic attention worse. It makes the fear that you’ve been harbouring over dating dissipate, and the hopeful way Shinsou is looking at you certainly makes your decision easier.

So, against your better judgment, you nod.

“Alright.”

Shinsou looks just as surprised as you feel at your acceptance, but he recovers quickly, flashing you a bright smile that makes your cheeks flush. 

“Perfect. I get off in ten, if you can hang around.”

You glance at your phone and laugh a little.  “So you’re taking me out on a date at five in the morning?”

Shinsou raises his eyebrows. “A date, huh?”

You blush. You shake your head quickly. “Well- Hang out, I mean. Not a date. This-“

“Oh, it is a date.” He reassures you, his smile easy. “It’s just cute seeing you all flustered.”

“You- I’m going to wait by the front.” You say, ignoring his teasing laugh as you do.

He doesn’t take too long. Shinsou looks nice outside of work. He’s wearing one of the campus hoodies and a pair of jeans that fit him nicely. He’s got two cans of Monster in his hand and he passes you one. You grab it, the condensation cooling your hands.

“Hey, this is my favourite flavour.” You crack it open and it fizzes over your fingers. 

“I know.”

“I can’t decide if that’s charming or creepy.”

Shinsou hums, holding out his arm for you to take. “I prefer charming.”

You think your arm fits perfectly between his. The sunrise creeps behind the buildings, the deep orange light warming your side. You’re used to catching the sunrise. Most of your shopping trips tend to be in the early hours of the morning, and, much like the cute guy on your arm, you’re quite the insomniac. 

Conversation blurs easily with Shinsou. You talk about your course and he talks about his, and you find there’s a lot more to him than your conversations at the till. He plays bass, and he has been trying to figure out how to sneak a pet cat in without his nosy next-door neighbour telling on him. 

The walk doesn’t take long, and Shinsou makes you close your eyes so he can quickly tidy up. You think you look a bit stupid standing in his doorway with your hands over your eyes, but he’d insisted.

You sigh. “Shinsou, I don’t care what your place looks like.”

“Well, I do.” He sounds a little out of breath from all the running around. “I have to impress you.”

A minute passes, and then you feel two warm hands circle your wrists. Shinsou pulls your hands off your face and you're greeted by a very handsome face.

“Hi.” He says.

You bite back a smile. “Hey. Can I look at your place now?”

“If you must.”

It’s the same setup as your place, and it’s what you assume all the student accommodations look like. The very tiny seating area, the slightly bigger kitchen and the room that’s tucked away. Shinsou place is decorated quite nicely. There's lots of vinyls hanging up around his wall, plants tucked into every corner of the room. There’s a few pictures hung on the wall and also a hole.

Shinsou sees you looking at it and laughs a little awkwardly. “Yeah, my friend is a very destructive drunk.” 

“You know you’re not going to get the deposit back cause of that.” You chide and he rolls his eyes.

“I’ll make him pay. Bakugo has a shit ton of money saved, he’s so anal about that stuff.” Shinsou says.

Your kitchen is definitely your favourite part. It seems Shinsou has spent most of his time decorating this place, with the expensive cooking equipment and the fridge that’s stacked with all the pricy ingredients you never have the guts to buy.

It looks oddly familiar. 

You don’t know why. Something about the counters, or the decor. You can’t quite place it. You figure it’s probably just the fact it looks the same like all the other student accommodations. It’s also nearing half five in the morning, and you think you need more rest before you can figure anything out.

“Alright! I’m ready to bake. Or cook. Or whatever we’re doing.” You cheer.

“Baking today. Scallion flatbread, according to MindJack.” Shinsou reads off his phone.

“Do you have all the ingredients?”

“Yes.” 

You furrow your brows. “You haven’t even checked.”

Shinsou leads you to stand behind his counter. “I just know. I have a cooking sixth-sense.” 

You drum your fingers on it. “I’m excited! This might be the first time I ever cook something that doesn’t turn out like shit.”

Shinsou snorts. He’s busied himself with pulling out ingredients and bowls. “I hope your bad cooking juju doesn’t rub off on me.”

“What- I don’t have bad cooking juju!”

Shinsou winces a little. “Yeah. Of course you don’t.”

Shinsou finishes grabbing everything he needs. He quickly tugs off his hoodie and you act like you’re not trying to catch a glimpse of his bare skin when his shirt rides up.

He rubs his hands together. “Okay, so. Grab me flour. We need three hundred grams.” Shinsou points to the bowl, and you salute.

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, you can definitely keep calling me that.”

You elbow his side lightly. Shinsou searches in a drawer for a scale, but honestly there’s really no need because you quickly dump what you think looks like three hundred grams into the bowl.

“Okay, so- Y/N, what are you doing?” Shinsou speaks around a laugh, grabbing the flour out of your hand.

“What? It’s three hundred grams.” 

He looks at you like you’ve grown another head. “Are you being serious?”

You frown, grabbing the bowl protectively. “Did I do something wrong?”

Shinsou laughs boldly now. “This is why your baking is horrible. You need to measure.”

You roll your eyes as he tugs the bowl out of your hands. He pours the flour back into the bag as gracefully as he can so he can measure them again. You draw little hearts in the mess he makes on the table.

“I don’t have a scale, though. Only my eyes.” You pout.

He scoffs. “You’re not real.”

“I am!”

Shinsou decides to measure the remaining ingredients. He slides the bowl over to you once everything is inside. You’d pushed the sleeves of his t-shirt up for him and the strong muscles of his forearms are dusted with flour. 

“Now mix. Carefully.” He instructs. “I need to clean the counter.”

“Okay.”

You do mix. The dough feels sticky in your hands, and you mush it between your fingers. You make a face and you hear Shinsou snicker behind you.

“Stop laughing at me.” You stick your tongue out at him and he flicks water in your face.

It’s fun cooking and actually being good at it. Shinsou shows you how to roll out the fough, how to crinkle it in the pan. You let him do that, a little too nervous to get your hands so close to the hot metal. Your eyes sting from the heat of the chilli oil and your hands are silky because of the oil you spilt, but it might be the most fun you’ve had all week.

He presents the flatbreads on a pretty marble plate. 

“Wow! I can’t believe we made these.” You marvel.

“Yep.” Shinsou breathes. “Looks almost exactly like MindJack’s, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah. I hope it tastes the same too.” You add.

Your fingers burn a little, since the food is so fresh. The bread crunches as you bite into it and you make a noise that sounds strangely similar to a moan.

“Oh my god.” You speak around a mouthful. “That’s so good.”

Shinsou only hums in reply. His fingers tap the table a little impatiently. You’re too busy munching on the flatbreads to notice. You’ve never made anything even remotely as good at this, which you think makes it tastes all that nicer.

“These are so nice! I love-“

“You still haven’t realised?” He cuts you off quickly.

You look up at him. He’s watching you intensely, biting at his lip nervously. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, brushing your fingers on a tissue.

He nods. Then shakes his head.

“I’m okay. I just. I thought you’d have noticed by now. I thought I was being kind of obvious.” He explains.

You’re confused. The sunrise is creeping in fully through Shinsou’s open windows, the chirping of the birds and the start of the morning rush cutting through the calmness of his kitchen. It’s too early for all this problem-solving. “What the hell are you on about?”

Shinsou stammers. He tries to explain, you think, but his mouth clicks shut. Instead, he quickly walks over to the closet by the front door. You lean over the counter and watch him pull something out that he hides behind his back.

“Close your eyes.”

“Shinsou, not again.”

“Humour me. Please?” 

You can’t say no to those bright eyes. You reluctantly close them again. You hear a bit of a commotion and you almost open your eyes. You fumble around the table for the flatbreads. 

“Okay. You can look.”

You do. And you’re greeted by Shinsou, wearing a pretty flowery apron that looks like it belongs in your grandma's kitchen. 

You stifle a laugh. “You look stupid. Is this what the big reveal was for? You-“

And then it clicks. 

Because you recognise that apron. It’s the same flowery apron you’ve unfortunately thirsted over multiple times. And it’s like everything just sort of clicks. The familiarity of Shinsou’s kitchen and his voice. The weird way he reacted when you brought up MindJack. Everything sort of falls into place, and you’re not sure whether to feel excited or completely and utterly mortified.

“Oh my god.” Your breathe.

Shinsou laughs a little. “Yeah.”

“Oh my god.” You groan, covering your face with your palms. “There’s no way.”

“Have you finally connected the dots?” He teases, walking back over to you.

“Oh my god. Please don’t look at me.” You wave your hands at him but he doesn’t flinch, leaning his elbows on the counter beside you.

“Why? You’re my biggest fan, after all. I’ve been dying to meet you.” He drawls and you peek at him through your fingers.

“So I’m guessing you know I’m y/neats.”

Shinsou snorts. “You did tell me yourself. And very cute username, by the way.”

He runs a hand through his hair. You rub at your eyes as if it’ll help erase you almost telling Shinsou he could wine and dine and fuck you.

“When did you even realise it was me?” You mumble.

“Two days ago. When you showed me my own YouTube page.” He reminds you and you wince.

Your brain feels like it’s running six hundred miles a minute. Shinsou and MindJack being the same person does sort of make sense. They both have the same humour, the affinity for cooking. That uncanny ability to make you feel like your fifteen with a crush again. The chances feel one in a million, and while you should still feel embarrassed, you’re starting to get a little excited. 

“You’re like, famous, you know.” 

Shinsou smiles. “I know.”

You take another bit of the flatbread. It’s so good. It’s now dawning on you that you’re eating food made by it’s original creator, which makes it taste a hundred times better.

The room has been silent for a beat too long and Shinsou watches you carefully. “Have I weirded you out?”

“No! No, not at all, I’m just. I’m shocked. And embarrassed. I’ve been- I’ve been thirsting over you to your face.” You rush out, eyes darting away from the careful look on his face.

Shinsou holds up his hands. “Hey, don’t stop on my account.” 

You huff a laugh. Shinsou still looks worried, though. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. 

“The second I realised, I knew I had to tell you. I felt- I don’t know, I thought it’d be weird if I knew and you didn’t.”

“I thought you’d figure it out while we were cooking.” He gestures towards his kitchen. “It’s the same setup as my videos, you know.” 

You yawn. “Shinsou, it’s six in the morning and I haven’t slept a wink. You think I have the energy to figure out this mystery?” 

He snorts. “Apologies, apologies. I thought the baking was a nice touch.” 

You smile. “Yeah, a little.”

“Well. Now that you know, and we’ve gotten all the awkward introductions out the way.” Shinsou looks at you again with those bright purple eyes, his hand reaches down to grab yours. “Will you finally say yes to my request for dinner?”

“Hm. If you let me help you cook, then sure.”

—————————————————————————-

anon I love u lemme lips u.. this is such a good prompt it was so fun to write!!!! And guys plz formatting all that text nearly killed me.

I hope u all enjoyed!!

[sobaism]

you and shinsou pretend not to know each other at a work conference and he lasts about five minutes before he has to drag you off to a quiet corner, hitch your thigh over his shoulder, and lick your pussy through your tights while you bite down on your clutch purse to keep from screaming