#I was pretending everything was ok

[rosicheeks]

😓

[hellomayu]

the strongest the prettiest the fluff we need

[spacedlexi]

"sounds nice... having a partner"

[riaki]

thrifted romance | megumi fushiguro x reader

synopsis: you’ve never really spoken with megumi before, so when your friends leave the two of you behind on a snowy night, you take the opportunity to get to know him.

wc: 6.2k... SO SORRY I GOT CARRIED AWAY cw: swearing, college au, noncurse au, i don’t thjnk there’s anything else ??

this got way longer than i intended it to be and i rushed to grind it out so it may not be coherent.. if so i apologize :’3 and this one’s late but i hope the content makes up for it ! enjoy meemow barely proofread!

it's a late winter evening when you meet up with megumi and your friends on the side of the street— cozied up in puffy layers and a long blazer stained with coffee splashes and a few hot chocolate smudges here and there.

fall had melted away with the slow gradient of leaves from the trees, sinking into fluffy piles on the sidewalk that soon became coated and replaced with light snowfall; the first of many problematic inches. midterms were just around the corner, and with it meant late hours spent pulling all-nighters that left you exhausted, eyes dark around the edges with a lack of sleep; breaths of minty hot chocolate and coffee from the amalgamation you'd concocted to at least pretend to get into the holiday spirit.

(a fruitless effort, though— if not for your failure that warned you to stay out of mixology, but the way your roommate's cat had knocked over your mug and ruined the flashcards you'd been wrestling with and looked completely smug with itself.)

really, though, there was absolutely nothing jolly about school, or exams. so when your favorite inefficient, sidetracking study buddy had offered to spend the weekend out, who were you to say no? nobara had offered to go find a club, but it was far too cold out to frolic around in skimpy clothing and your expensive winter coats were much too valuable to risk being stolen in the haze of drunken students and sweaty bodies. so, you'd decided to go shopping, because what else is there to do with her? besides the usual karaoke session with the upperclassmen she seems to like so much, of course.

turns out, it'd had been a group endeavor. or, more accurately— a group of four, unlike the duo you had previously thought you'd be going out in. yuji and megumi were there too— friends from separate majors; you'd heard that yuji was involved in the uprising surge of software engineers and computer science majors clambering for a shot in the world of big AI tech companies, even though he supposedly was about as computer-smart as your teetering old grandma ripe with age, permanently stuck in her rocking chair crocheting the days away.

megumi, on the other hand, was a mystery. you'd shared a few classes together; his chipped dark nails that shone the same blue as his esoteric eyes beneath the warmth of the glowing sun, and his inky black hair that spilled over the collars of his simple gray sweatshirts like effortlessly graceful calligraphy on paper had captured your attention as smooth and seamless as the daylight turned to darkness, days cut short by the onslaught of cold. even so, you'd never brought yourself to interact much— he seemed like he'd prefer to keep to himself, if the way he'd disdainfully scoot away from anyone who tried to approach him and turn up the volume of his headphones indicated anything. you had laughed to your friend and called it introversion to its finest, only to promptly shut up when his unmoving gaze landed on you, leaving you feeling like a clown on the stage, rimmed by rich dark red curtains and a wooden floorboard as the beaming spotlight shines upon you imaginary button nose, hot and glaring under his gaze. 

even though you'd approved of his music taste once you snagged a few notes by the ear, you'd really thought his taste in fashion was too bland to be the type of person to shop with nobara— her meticulous style and image were much brighter and more flamboyant than megumi's jaded attempts at a splash of color through the occasional blue argyle or layered turtleneck. still, those were better than yuji's paltry attempts at fashion; at least the myriads of color on nobara's figure were coordinated. the pink-haired boy with funny scars on his face would probably have been better off learning graphic design or art, with the disasters of clashing colors on his person.

and he'd gotten the opportunity to demonstrate his questionable tastes on the chilly evening, when black ice had begun to form on the roads and the soft light of boutiques with slow jazz flowing from the speakers filled your frost-bitten red ears as you walked up to the shade of a nearby lamppost. once you'd all met up, nobara had hooked an arm around your elbow and dragged you off, leaving the boys to follow along like it was walking dogs.

honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if you were— at least, with yuji. he carried nobara's bags like she was the next princess in line, without complaint and with the little fearful quivers that dogs get in their legs whenever their owners scold them for barking or misbehaving, much like how nobara would yell at yuji if he dropped a single cream linen sweater or ruffled pink cami.

megumi, on the other hand, was far too lethargic and quiet to be considered any kind of canine. although the weaved bracelet on his left wrist with a cute little puppy charm you caught sight of when he'd rolled his sleeve up implied otherwise. the only reason he'd even had to do that was to rub the sickeningly sweet orange blossom hand sanitizer nobara had spritzed on each of your palms after you took turns petting a stray cat, one that seemed to take a great liking to you and megumi in particular.

the night seemed to drag on forever; pale yellow lights and holiday decorations blurred into swathes and bubbles of color in your vision as the hours passed and the caffeine from the cute little coffeeshop you'd stopped at earlier began to wear off.

but there had just been something magical about that evening; spending time with friends (albeit, more like acquaintances) had granted you a much-needed break from cramming your mind with an overflow of information that was sure to spill out the moment you answered the last exam question. so, when it was almost midnight and it was time to retire to your bed, you'd insisted on staying out for just a little longer while nobara and the rest returned to their dorms to catch some sleep. yuji had complained something about his legs cramping, but you were feeling giddy, and the stars were twinkling just as bright as the light in nobara's eyes were when you told her you had to soak in the fresh air for as long as you could before being locked in to study again as she laughed and headed home with her pink dog-boy escort in tow.

megumi had mumbled something about staying with you since it was late and he wanted to make sure you were safe. you didn't think too much about it, because if you did, you were sure you'd end up with a faced even more flushed than it was frostbitten from the cold.

so, here you were, strolling down the quieter side of town, a brooding boy with inky dark hair and hands pale with blue veins shoved into the pockets of his jacket trailing behind you. he had one airpod tucked into his pierced ear; you assumed he hadn't brought his headphones because yuji would be there to prattle and babble. even so, you were content not to say anything, so there was plenty of opportunity for him to wear both. but he wasn't. you decided not to linger on it.

you'd just finished writing a silly little note out of the crisp snow gathered on the windshield of some stranger's car; the flakes were cold and biting on your skin, leaving it feeling numb with little droplets of icy water when you pulled away to admire your handiwork.

"actually, maybe i shouldn't be doing that." you decided after a moment, mumbling under your breath. it was just a little message with a whiskered smiley face, but the headlights on the car and the bumper seemed to form a frown at you when you stepped back, shaking its motorized head at your vandalism.

"you think?"

megumi's voice sounded from behind you, a little weighed down by the cold with a wisp of warmth leaving his lips like a powdery exhale, curling into the prickly night air. he was standing on the sidewalk, observing you all prickly-like as if you were some flagrant toddler he was babysitting. you still had to get used to the way his voice sounded after rarely hearing it; the few crumbs you got when your professors forced obligatory presentations onto struggling students had sent this warm, fuzzy feeling collecting in your stomach at the rich tone of velvet it held. not rough or overly deep, but smooth and reassuring. the kind you could fall asleep to; like there was a lullaby just waiting to be poured from his tongue with little scratches in the indent of his tone.

of course, you hadn't heard enough of it to make such an assumption, so when you heard the little quip framed with irritation at the edges, it wasn't all sugary sweetness like you imagined.

"yeah, well, sorry i like to live a little," you huffed, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to resuscitate some warmth back into them with a small little sigh.

"you call that living?" he scoffs a little, cocking an eyebrow at the vandalized toyota behind you. now, it just looked a little sad; imaginary eyebrows over the red lights droopy in disappointment. you followed his gaze, before looking back at him and making a sour face as you stepped onto the sidewalk.

"maybe we just have different tastes, y'know? doesn't mean we don't have to get along like this," you mumbled, shaking your hands out a little to get the remaining snow droplets off before stuffing them back in your blazer pockets. "just like itadori and nobara. one has terrible taste in fashion and the other doesn't, but they both like their bright colors." you feel satisfied with yourself for that one, but clearly, megumi doesn't feel the same. but the corner of his pink lips seem to quirk up just a tiny bit, and you feel pride blooming in your chest.

there's just something about the way it looks— an almost implausible smile coaxed onto his lips by something particularly amusing, reaching his dull blue eyes in a way that made their usual tedious apathy morph into something like fondness, or appreciation. adding a shine to his navy irises the lamp light overhead could only hope to mimic. then again, you didn't let your mind linger on it for too long like usual— so instead you chalked it up to the one other thing that had caught your eye besides the sharpness of his jaw and the handsome slimness of his face: his jacket.

you take back what you said about his style and its blandness before— it would be unfair to what he was wearing right now. just a simple black turtleneck (one that you were sure he'd worn to the early morning wednesday lecture you had a few days ago, when the sun was still bright enough to catch on the condensation of the cup of lemonade your white-haired, oddly sweet-toothed professor had), and black jeans, but the vintage racing windbreaker hanging from his shoulders brought it together in a way that was unfairly seamless; all dark blues and stripes of checker; a neutral grayblue that reminded you of the sky on rainy afternoons, trudging about the shopping districts in tokyo. there were a few brand patches here and there, some red bubble lettering of names you didn't recognize in patches of color that brought out the shade of his eyes. maybe the labels of those energy drink brands you often caught him running on when the shadows beneath his long dark lashes seemed heavier than usual.

all that to say he looked good. like, seriously good. you didn't know how you hadn't noticed all night— but now that you had, it was hard to keep your eyes from his slim and tall silhouette (not that he minded). the jacket really complimented it.

"that's a neat jacket. where'd you get it?" you asked after a moment of chilling silence; he'd probably noticed you looking, and you prayed he didn't think you were checking him out. although, if that meant getting your hands on one of those windbreakers, you wouldn't really mind. he glanced up at you, tearing his attention from the sad snowy toyota camry that seemed worn past its years at the newfound attention on megumi's racing jacket. he blinked a little, and you didn't miss the little flake of frost on his eyelash; probably caught from brushing past a windowsill earlier. by now, most shops were closed; even so, the street still felt warm and safe. well, maybe it was to be credited to a person rather than the concrete— but like you had been all night, you ignored it.

"oh, this?" as if he was wearing more than one jacket (it was cute), "i thrifted it." and for some reason, you didn't expect to be surprised, but you were. him? thrifting? the few western-fashion tailored thrift stores you'd been to with nobara had been lacking— not like you'd been able to stay in them long; the artificial ginger had this... beef with reused clothes. she liked her clothes clean and fresh from the press, even if you reminded her they could just be fresh from someone else's press. megumi must be familiar with the antiquated racks of varied worn graphic tees and frayed pants if he could fish something that classy from a thrift store.

then again, it's not like you had any experience to go off of at all.

"really? y'know, i've always wanted to go thrifting," you sighed, stretching your arms out, watching the fabric of your blazer wrinkle and curve to follow the movement of your muscles. a light dusting of snow coated the surface, like powdered sugar on tiramisu. that makes the coffee stains fitting. "but i feel like i'm bad at it." you said, stepping over a crack in the sidewalk, the rubber bottom of your sneakers brushing against a little clump of pine green weeds.

"bad at it?" megumi echoes, following you with a faint ruffle of smooth fabric, like the sound of a zipper sliding down. before, the world had been a cool shade of gray, like smoke rising from a cigarette or the blurry blue of the sky from the window of a speeding bullet train. but now, you let yourself soak in the sound of his voice, like grinded coffee beans and a smooth, soothing honey medicine for your throat on a sick day when you get to cozy up in your bunk bed and watch the clouds drift by.

it's nice.

"yeah. like, i wouldn't know where to go, or what to find, or what to look for..." you trailed off, rubbing your cold fingers together again as your breaths leave in little exhales of coagulating mist in the cold night air. now that it was late, it the temperature would only continue to drop.

you walked in silence for a little longer, listening to the scuffles of shoes against concrete, glassy with ice that had begun to creep up on the roads like a steady stream of seafoam from the tides.

"why don't we go thrifting now, then?" he asks out of the snowy blue.

you paused, and you almost smacked straight into a pole. "now?" you spluttered, turning around to face him. the look on his face was unreadable; a mix between exasperation, amusement, an attempt at stoicism, and something like affection in the corner of his lips as they curved upward. it was like a CPR compression; the smile that sent fuzzy electricity through your veins and reinvigorated your heart.

"yes, now." he said it like you were stupid, which you might just be, the way you stared dumbly at his face. "the place i got this jacket from is just over there," he said, jutting a ring-adorned thumb behind him. you had to lean up and peek around his shoulder to see it; you wouldn't've noticed if he didn't point it out. it was tucked between two buildings, a stairway downward into the store. the only thing indicating its status as a retail and thrifting store was the broken neon sign and painted red arrow that gestured towards the staircase.

"looks really shady. and it's late." you grumbled after you got over yourself, and he shot you an irritated look. that was all he really seemed to be doing tonight; that downward knit of his dark eyebrows and the slight pout weighing his lips down. not very suave, you think.

he swallows hard, and you aimlessly watch the bob of his adam's apple. "well?" he prompts, a hard edge to his voice despite the situation. you stand there for a little while, marinating in the growing cold until you cant feel the tips of your fingers.

"fine."

one accidental slip on the crosswalk and a few minutes later, you're stepping down the last wooden stair of the thrift store and into the building's basement; it's much bigger than you would've thought, with an expanse of layered clothing racks that obscure your vision, the corners of the walls clogged with cobwebs and years of dust build up. there's a faint lingering scent of cigarette smoke and cologne; something vanilla that you've caught clinging to megumi's wrists and neck on the rare occasion you brush past him. faint jazz spills from the speakers, something in a swing rhythm with the signature lilt of saxophone that makes you think you should be out enjoying a romantic fancy dinner instead of being cooped up between old wrinkly moth-bitten clothes. but you're here with megumi, so you convince yourself you don't mind either way.

"you sure this is the right place?" you asked, trying (and failing) to keep the obvious distain from your voice as you kick a folded 'floor-is-wet' sign from your path and step into the store. you can't even see the cash register from where you're standing.

"yes, i'm sure. can you stop complaining?" you can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice, and you're sure you could see it too if you just turned around. "trust me. it's not all shit." his voice softens, and you freeze up a little as he brushes past you; the corridors and margins are tight, so he has to turn sideways to fit. even so, a tag on your coat manages to snag on his jacket, and you hasten to unhook it before he can notice. he almost disappears into the racks, and you have to follow him, pushing your way through thick coats and worn graphic tees that have cracked logos and balls of lints clinging to them.

you're no thrifting expert, but you're pretty sure the store's supposed to be in better condition than this.

"hey." megumi's voice soon snaps you back into reality, and you look up from the mustard yellow top you were eyeing warily to meet his sedate gaze. "the good stuff's in the back. c'mon." he doesn't give you much room to argue even though it sounds like you're here to do drugs rather than find clothing, and before you can react he's reached forward to grab your wrist and tug you along. a yelp of protest almost spills from your lips, but you bite your tongue and let him drag you along, trying to extinguish the hue of cherry you know is making a home on the tips of your ears.

you brush past patchwork coats and a few leather belts that've tangled with the lace from the silk shirts next to them, but nothing really catches your eye, until you realize that he's let go of you only because of the lack of warmth around your skin and you focus yourself on the current again. you glance up at him, but he already has his back turned to you, sifting through a rack of black shirts that all look the exact same. maybe you have an untrained eye, though.

still, you can't help it when your gaze lingers over the back of his neck; one strand of dark hair has caught itself beneath the collar of his turtleneck, and it irks you. and you decide to do something about it because you'll know it'll bother you if you don't.

time seems to move in a liquid slow; things are blurring and there's no mothballs or ugly recycled coats to get in your way as you reach over and swipe your hand across his neck, hooking a finger beneath the strand and pulling it out of his collar. it takes you a moment to realize what you just did, and when you do, it's like there's a permanent mark seared into your index finger just from the touch of his skin against your own. you think he might have whiplash because he turns his head around so fast to catch your gaze before you can slink away, eyes wide and eyebrows knit, and you notice his bottom lip is snagged between his teeth.

he raises an eyebrow, but before he can utter a shaming word that'll only make you feel more embarrassed you shake your head vigorously, apologetically.

"sorry— it was bothering me. i hope you don't mind." you managed to say, the words spilling out in a rush before you turned away and slipped past him, disappearing into an aisle of dresses. you can feel his gaze burning cold holes into your back as you distract yourself.

you don't let yourself linger on what you just did— you seem to be doing a lot of that, lately, especially with him as you go through a few batches of clothing. by now, it's far past midnight, and you're feeling much more sluggish than you'd like to admit. you haven't seen megumi in a good twenty minutes save for the few times you picked up a few shirts and a cute diner jacket you thought would look good on him. he just thanked you bluntly, taking the bundle of clothing from your arms before walking away to the fitting rooms. you wished he'd stay to let you see the jacket.

you'd tried on a few things, discarding your blazer in favor of a cute knitted cardigan you grabbed, but nothing seemed to stick the way you'd like them to. it would be a great help if you had nobara to assist, but you were sure she was snoring away at home right now, and at the thought of your warm, inviting bed, your knees wobbled a little and you balanced yourself on the wall.

"hey— oh, you alright?" it's an unfamiliar voice; you lift your head up, looking for the source. it's a young boy— he looks to be about your age, maybe a little younger. there's a blue lanyard around his neck, and he's got a spattering of freckles on his hands, which are curled around the collar of a white linen shirt. he must be the one who's tending to the store.

"yeah, i'm okay. sorry," you said hastily, pushing away and rubbing the back of your neck. how embarrassing— he didn't seem to mind, though. he just smiled, big and bright and toothy. cute. reminded you of how toddlers would grin up at parents with those huge red lollipops in hand.

"no worries. i just thought i'd let you know that we're closing soon, since it's almost 2am." he said, shifting his weight on his sneakers. you nodded, about to give a hum of confirmation before another voice cuts through the slow jazz filling the stifling air above, all familiar in its smoothness.

before you could respond, though— "[name]?" megumi's voice rang out in the quaint little store, calling for you, and so you give the employee an apologetic nod before you turn and start toward the noise. you pass a mirror with a coat draped over the top, peeking your head around a tall rack of long skirts to catch sight of the raven head, in all of his glory. you notice that he's taken off his windbreaker.

"what’s up? we have to go soon," you reminded him, yawning a little and rubbing your eyes as you straightened up and stepped over to his side. there was another mirror in front of him, you noticed, with fading stickers pale in the dim yellow light stuck to the wooden rim. even so, with the smudges and the bare sheen of the silver, he looked good. that black turtleneck really suits him.

"i know. i just wanted to ask for your opinion." he said, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. you tilted your head curiously, and he held up a deep mauve sweatshirt, with some varsity logo branded on the fabric. it had a nice touch to it; a warm color that reminded you of red wine and slow evenings. you were sure it had been one of the pieces you'd picked out for him, but you were too sleepy to recall. "you should try it on. i think it'd look good," you said, gesturing toward the mirror.

you think you must've said something wrong, because he looks at you for a moment too long before he seems to catch himself staring and he nods, a choked little sound leaving his throat which he hides by ducking his head down and covering his face with his long bangs. you think you're hallucinating the pink on his cheeks.

after a moment, he glances at you. "hold this," he shoves his jacket towards you, and you have no choice but to take it. doesn't seem like he's used to taking no for an answer, but you're certainly not the one complaining when he tugs the sweater over his head, ruffling his soft black hair as he steps a little closer to you, observing himself in the mirror while straightening out the folds and fixing his turtleneck. you were right— it does look good on him. almost unfairly so— you don't know how he manages to rock granny clothes so well, like he was born a retirement home's runway model.

unlike him, you're not a reticent shut in— and although you'd like to say you have no problem telling him how good he looks, it's still a little difficult when the words feel like they're lodged in your throat in order to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again. but you ignore it and push on.

"you look great. i think it really suits you," you breathed, shaking your head as your hands tighten around his jacket in your arms. he blinks, adjusting the collar before glancing down at you. you take a moment to really appreciate the sight— him, bathed in the soft yellow glow of the chipped lights overhead. despite the dilapidated store and the antiquated, worn clothing surrounding him, he still manages to look like some ethereal angel boy you'd stumble upon in a bookstore on a dreary winter's afternoon and never be able to get out of your mind again.

ink black eyelashes flutter when he blinks, framing his eyes like the bangs falling over his face when he turns around again to observe himself in the mirror once more before he takes the sweatshirt off. it catches on his turtleneck, which rides up when he slips the mauve sweater over his head, tussling his hair and exposing the dip of his pale hips, all muscle and flesh and bone, and you pray he chalks up the red on your face to the cold. the end of his belt dangles from the buckle as you hand his jacket back to him, fingers almost brushing— just barely out of reach.

a meager conversation flows between the two of you; you follow him through the endless maze of used clothing until you somehow stumble upon the cash register and he buys his sweater; the only thing he manages to buy after all this time spent milling about in a dusty, dinky little retail store. the boy from earlier helps check him out, and the icy glare he receives from megumi when he glances at you seems to fly straight past your head as you pick at your cuticles. the tips of your fingers are still red from messing with the frosty snow earlier. you wonder when the car owner will find your message.

it's almost freezing when you get out of the dusty shop, emerging from the smoke-stained alleyway stairs and into the cold night air. your breaths almost seem to form a precipitate, and the thought reminds you of the chemistry conversions waiting for you on your desk beneath the lamp, and you cringe internally. staying out for a few hours longer seems way better than succumbing to the never ending stream of worksheets and documents calling your name. you wonder if your charismatic professor will let you get away with a few assignments if you call in sick. are papercuts excuse enough?

the click of a lock behind you signifies the store's closing— the employee left through a back exit, it seems. and you realize too late that you left your blazer in the dressing room when you turn around and a sigh falls from your lips. megumi, paper bag in hand, glances over at you.

"you okay?"

you almost forgot he was there, in his brooding vintage racing jacket glory. you shake your head, before sighing forlornly again. he notices this, making a little face; his lips press together and his pretty eyes narrow. he thinks you sigh far too much. you'd look prettier if you smiled some more. he likes it when you do.

"i left my blazer in there, but he just closed it and it's so fucking cold out," you whined, bringing your hands to your face and rubbing your eyes tiredly. you're cold and your fingers are going numb again, and there's light snowfall. so much for not losing your coat at a club. you can't tell which one's worse. "sorry to complain so much, but do you mind if we—"

you're promptly cut off; the words on your tongue left unsaid, burning with the taste of bitter black coffee. your gaze trails from megumi's hand, the clink of his silver ring against the zipper rail of his jacket as his fingers curl around the fabric, up his arm to the sleeves of his dark turtleneck, rounding the curve of his shoulders and up his neck to his face. he's not looking at you.

the words that leave his wet lips are so small and hurried that you think you're hallucinating them; when you inevitably looked back at this moment later, you'd realize that he was being shy. he mumbles something under his sweet breath, and you ask him to speak up.

"i said, you can use mine." he repeats, louder than necessary as he finally brings himself to look down at you from under his lashes, biting the inside of his cheek. his voice is a little strained, and a soft breeze carrying the smell of cinnamon and fresh ice rustles his hair. you blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights over a layer of thin ice, ready to shatter at a moment's notice.

"oh— okay. um, do you have anywhere else you need to go..?" you said tentatively, reaching forward to take his jacket again. it was exactly like how you'd done back in the thrift store, but the vague sense of deja vu you get is accompanied by an endless fluttering of warmth in your stomach that melts away the winters and tiring exams, and the night seems to become a soft warm orange, as if someone's drained the cool hues from the landscape.

megumi just shook his head, reaching into his bag and taking out the sweater he'd bought earlier. he slips it on again, adjusting it over his shoulders and refusing to meet your eyes as he crumples the paper bag in his hands. you notice they're slightly trembling as he does it, fingers digging into the material with much more force than is really needed. his hair follows each movement of his head; the strain of the muscles in his neck when he swallows again and gestures for you to follow him back down the empty street, past cars coated in melting snow and jaunty yellow lights twinkling over the awnings of closed store windows, shut down for the night. the sweater suits him really well, you think; not too loose, but tight enough in the right places to send your heart racing a mile a minute.

you pull his jacket over your arms, tucking your sleeves in and zipping it up. it's big on you— that's no surprise, and you can almost taste the vanilla on your tongue, his cologne lingering on every fold of the insulated fabric. it's warm, and it feels like being enveloped in a tight hug. in megumi's head, he hopes— prays its him you think of if you ever feel that way again.

you walk in a stiff silence; both of you want to say something, but you're dancing around it, letting your words linger unsaid until the other breaks the ice first. it's only ever cracked once you reach the dorms, where you part ways. there's light snowfall, and a thin layer of white has coated his hair when you turn to face him. you reach forward, learning onto the tips of your toes to brush off the ice. his hair feels unimaginably soft beneath your fingers, slightly damp from the snow. but he's the furthest from cold when you pull away; his face is burning up.

by now, you can't bring yourself to mind.

"thank you," you said softly, sighing contentedly. you move to take his jacket off your shoulders and return it, but he stops you, holding a hand up. the expression on his face is unreadable, but his lips are pursed together in a way that makes you think he's pouting.

"don't worry—" a pause. " you can, uh. keep it. i know you wanted one. just... give it back when you want, yeah?" he says, curt. almost prude, if it weren't for the way he was avoiding your gaze out of embarrassment. it was like trying to play the world's most difficult game of whack-a'mole, attempting to catch his eyes and see the iceberg that's melted into pools of warm glittering affection in his blue irises. at the thought, you wonder if he likes arcades, and you make a mental note to suggest an activity to nobara the next time she has the urge for an escapade.

you don't bother asking him whether he's sure, because you don't want him to take his words back. so you linger there in a moment of silence, letting it hang over your heads like a warm throw blanket, cozied in front of a fireplace with a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. maybe a coffee mix like you'd attempted before.

angel boy clears his throat first to speak, all honey that links the syllables together like christmas ribbon; rich like orange flavored dark chocolate. "i'll see you later, then." it's short and sweet, but your heart is already flying so high on euphoria you can barely bring yourself to care, or suppress the giddy grin that's spreading across your lips.

yeah, you're tired. yeah, you're still a little cold and you think you need to thaw at your desk for a week until exams, but at least you've got his jacket to accompany you when your study buddy passes out first and you're alone on all nighters. frankly, you can't bring yourself to care— your head is spinning with the events of the chilly night, from crude messages in the snow to thrift store mothballs and lanyards, to one checkered racing jacket. but you don’t think it’s so bad when it threatens to stick to your memory, like chewed up gum under your professor’s desk. whether it’s from the students or the professor, that’s a mystery you’ll never solve.

"yeah. see you around, fushiguro." you can’t say the same about the mystery that megumi is, though. in fact, you think you’re already one step closer when you turn around and part ways, catching sight of him in the reflection of a frosted window. he’s slipping both of his airpods back into his ears, crimson at the tips.

the sound of your shoes against the rug stairway fills your ears as you clamber back up to your dorm, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and face flushed a pleasant warmth. even when you finally get to bed, you can't stop your eyes from drifting over to the bundle of lapis blue fabric sitting on your desk, and your mind from the soft spoken boy with eyes like the night sky and inky hair like calligraphy.

you decide you don't think his style is too bad, after all. and when you tell him that the next morning when he's still sleepy and his lashes fall slow when he blinks the weariness from his eyes, you get to enjoy the steady flush that stains his cheeks and prompts a hoarse cough from his throat when he ducks his head away and grumbles something under his breath, probably about being offended you even thought he was boring in the first place.

and if you ever ask, the only reason he lent you his windbreaker that night was to replace the scent of mothballs and dust with your sweet-smelling perfume.

so, as it turns out, you're able to get your hands on one of those pretty vintage racing jackets— except, it wasn't a new one; it was his. nobara hasn't stopped pestering you with questions since you showed up to class the next day; the only thing you hear for the next week is how much she regrets leaving early.

apparently, it's all yuji's fault.

my (riaki) stuff. don’t repost and/or plagiarize !

[aulerean]

Me, aimlessly scribbling

My brain, every time without fail: hey what if you drew Catra again remember when we used to draw Catra-

[crunchworldsupreme]

FinFin has been thinking thoughts [Audio recommended]

[collieii]

i'm sure it's been said but i do love how trimax handles wolfwoods death. i've seen so many stories that have characters die and they just go away after. i'm really used to stories where the other characters aren't allowed to grieve, the story keeps going and it feels like the other characters aren't really affected or get over it really easily. but in trimax wolfwoods death is so important. we see other characters grieving him. vash protecting the orphanage, expanding his power when he really shouldn't, because it was wolfwood's home, even though wolfwood is already gone. he gets an actual burial. vash and livio eating their way through the grief, which is more comedic but still shows us how important he was to the two of them, sets up how in many ways they're fighting in his memory.

even after he's gone he's still present in the story in such a strong way. we can see how he's affected the other characters, even when they don't explicitly mention him it's obvious that they're thinking about him. what he did when he was alive, and his death itself, are so important to the story even after he's not there. not just in a really abstract "this is someone we lost" way (though there are a lot of times his death and sacrifice motivate vash and livio to fight harder!) he's present in the finale in a material way to livio, who uses his serums to help fight against elendira, which ofc also ties into the way wolfwoods choice to ally with vash and fight against knives gave livio strength to do the same. wolfwood showed him that there are things worth fighting for, things worth protecting. that your body is a weapon, but you can choose what to do with it, use it for something meaningful.

and the way vash kills legato in order to save livio? vash outright says that he did it to protect what wolfwood fought for, sacrificed his life for. it's tied to the ongoing arc between vash and wolfwood, their conflict over the necessity of killing others. wolfwood pushed vash into having an understanding of his views when he was alive, demonstrating the necessity of that violence. simultaneously, vash inspired wolfwood to follow his path, a kinder one. vash remembers what wolfwood said to him, and his death gives those words added poignancy. wolfwood well and truly sacrificed everything to protect what he loved and fight for what he believed in. how can vash let that go to waste? he sacrifices something just as meaningful to himself, and he pulls the trigger. it brings him closer to wolfwood in a way he never was before. he understands now, fundamentally, what motivates people, motivated wolfwood, to act as he did when he took lives. there are so many other ways wolfwood is present in the story after his death i can't talk about all of them but it makes me so crazy

[iyuro]

"let's go on and on together forever. i wouldn't mind being like the scorpion and having my body burnt a hundred times over as long as it really was for the sake of everyone's happiness." - giovanni, night on the galactic railroad

[account-name]

i think phone guy blames himself a lot for what happened to his son, poor guy :(

[zappedbyzabka]

🖤💀🖤💀

[decarbry]

hey,, what’s up friends, I bring you... a literal summary of the Yabureme story up until around war arc events. obviously this is spoilery so if you don’t want to know what happens until the relevant comic pages come out don’t expand the post! this is just for people who don’t mind spoilers. also keep in mind that this is a summary so I kind of just. word-vomited. it’s... weird? short and sweet but not in some places. a literal mess. I put 0 effort into writing good and some sections are more wordy than others because I've thought them through for longer and have them more solidified. also things are subject to CHANGE between this and the actual comic pages so read with a grain of salt. the major events are probably gonna remain the same though. things might get inserted or removed. idk. also it’s LONG I’m so sorry. enj... oy ?? ?

Aizawa has been taken. Midnight and Nezu attempt to comfort Mic; there are no leads, but the faculty have already started working schedules out to help search, which reassures him. Though he is desperate to join the search, Nezu refuses to give his blessings until he knows Mic won’t act rashly. Mic hosts the Sports Fest in an attempt to ground himself and find unity with the students.

Hidden away, Garaki has begun his work on Aizawa. The injuries are bad; though Garaki is an accomplished and varied medical professional, he can’t do what Recovery Girl can, so Aizawa is merely stabilized and the bio-engineering in later dev stages will be relied on to do the heavy lifting. Aizawa suffers 2 days and nights of infusions (one for each new quirk) and barely powers through an intense fever on the last night. The capsule is the final and longest stage to allow the quirks to take hold and the body to heal. All for One is a regular voice in the background during the entire process, though those visits stop after an incident in the capsule in which Erasure activated for a solid ten seconds and strikes everyone in the room before going inert again.

Time passes with no news. Mic is becoming frustrated and less willing to listen to reason. Classes 1-A and 1-B attend their summer camp with Vlad and various other heroes that have substituted since Aizawa’s absence. Bakugou is kidnapped by the League in an attempt to recruit. Though the topic is raised, Shigaraki refuses to do more than tease Bakugou about his missing teacher, as well as use him as a bargaining chip. We still have yet to see him since his abduction. The mission to rescue Bakugou begins.

All Might engages in combat with AFO at Kamino. His weakened form is exposed to the world and he musters up his strength for the last strike. Instead, OFA fails, and all heroes present immediately know why. Edge Shot rushes to interrupt Erasure while Endeavor attempts to reach All Might. Neither get there in time and All Might takes a blow straight through his chest. Endeavor takes over the fight against a wounded AFO and Edge Shot engages in battle with Yabureme. Edge Shot is killed and Endeavor manages to subdue AFO.

Hours after the battle ends, Kurogiri searches for Yabureme, who has not reappeared as he was meant to. He finds Yabureme badly injured and hiding after his fight with Edge Shot and warps him back to where the League has taken up to recover. Shigaraki only knew that AFO had plans for Aizawa, not that Yabureme was to be a gift for him, but Kurogiri informs him of this. Shigaraki is unimpressed considering Yabureme’s wounds after only a single fight, but he’s going through some stuff, so he has license to be a bratty child for a night. Once Kurogiri hears from Garaki, he takes Yabureme to be patched up. Later he’s returned to the League, who as a whole are unsure about what to do next now that AFO is captured.

While everyone else is appalled to hear rumors that the supposed-missing Eraser Head was present at Kamino and had a hand in assisting the villains, Mic suddenly has a new fire lit under him. He breaks away from UA and strikes out on his own, against the pleas of friends such as Midnight. He manages to track the League’s movements after much work and finally sees Yabureme for the first time… but is unable to reach or speak to him as his quirk is erased during their escape.

Class 1-A witnessed Mic depart and, with the help of other pros, manage to convince Mic to let them help in catching Yabureme. He is very resistant to putting them in danger but relents with the alliance of Midnight and Gran Torino. During a previous sighting it was noted that Yabureme’s movements slowed and stiffened the more eyes were open on his body, so a plan is hatched to surround Yabureme with as many enemy quirks as possible in order to stun him.

Yabureme is located. He’s alone, which is odd, but not wanting to miss their chance, the operation is launched. Surrounded by what he believes are hostile enemies, Yabureme opens enough eyes to erase the quirks of every student, stunning himself. A short battle ensues; Kaminari is injured but proves instrumental in the discovery of a weakness in the Nomu: that an electrical current will force all of his eyes to close and subsequentially interrupt Erasure. Mic, Gran Torino, Midnight, and Class 1-A succeed in capturing Yabureme.

Too much of a threat for any normal prison containment, Yabureme is taken to Tartarus. They learn: about the nature of his engineering, that exhaustion has nearly killed him, that unlike every other Nomu contained so far he is not a corpse, and that three quirk factors were combined to create Yabureme. Erasure and Dupli-arms (or related) are confirmed, but the third is still being investigated. Because the third quirk is still unknown, containment is at a risk and a shock collar is placed to help mitigate any attempts at escape. The students are brought in to speak to him after everyone else, including Mic and Midnight, fail to get any response out of Yabureme. Unfortunately, the students are also unable to get through to him. Their failed efforts leave them dejected. Yabureme doesn’t speak a word the entire time he is inside Tartarus.

After a few days, the third quirk is activated by an unknown trigger. Yabureme and AFO escape Tartarus with the help of Kurogiri— the timing of the pieces prove that this was orchestrated from the beginning.

In the wake of the escape, Mic is told in secrecy that Yabureme has not removed the shock collar, probably because of its failsafes. It’s been tracked, and his location is known— a new operation is underway to recapture him. Mic rushes to get there first, finding Yabureme in solitude at an abandoned building, having split ways from the League temporarily to avoid getting them tracked while he tries to find a way to remove the collar himself. Mic and Yabureme have a tender moment, or so Mic thinks… but Yabureme slyly uses Mic’s obvious obsession with him to get the hero to take the collar off. Mic falls for it and Yabureme flees.

Though it seemed to be just manipulation, this kind interaction has left the first shred of uncertainty in Yabureme. He returns to the League and resumes his role in protecting Shigaraki and the others. A long period ensues where the League and the heroes play cat and mouse, Mic returning to society in order to accept help from friends and family rather than trying to go it alone as he had before.

Day after day, Yabureme’s doubts deepen as small things burrow into his mind: things like a song on the radio, a familiar black cat, names that he’s heard before. He can’t shake the face of the hero that spoke to him gently and had something warm in his eyes. He meets Eri, but seems to be merely a moment of warmth in her life before departing. Time passes.

The League grows frustrated with Mic, considering his constant interference as troublesome and annoying. Dabi sets a trap for Mic and attempts to kill him. Without any understanding of why, Yabureme takes the worst of the trap himself. He drags an unconscious Mic away from the inferno before collapsing with horrific burns across the right side of his body. Mic wakes in time to feel Yabureme’s heart stop, and in his anguish accidentally causes it to start again with the impact of Voice against the Nomu’s chest.

Mic manages to smuggle Yabureme to a hiding spot, containing him with the only thing available: simple metal handcuffs. Recovery Girl answers his call to the secluded site warily, unhappy that she is asked to keep such a dangerous secret. She stabilizes Yabureme and begins healing some of the burns, but considering his physical deterioration and exhaustion, can’t do much in one sitting.

When the Nomu wakes, Mic and Yabureme have their first real conversation, speaking mostly about the latter and how he’s feeling, what he’s thinking, and why Dabi, his supposed ally, would harm him so badly. He also points out that Yabureme could get out of the cuffs easily, and yet, for some reason, hasn’t.

On the second day, Recovery Girl returns, but so does a second guest: All Might. He is partially wheelchair-bound, the apparent repercussions of the wounds he took at Kamino. He expresses his unhappiness with this situation: Yabureme needs to be properly contained, not hooked to a chainlink fence with fragile metal handcuffs. Mic wants his blessing but plans to keep Yabureme here at least for a short while, highlighting the fact that he’s behaving more openly now than he ever did while in Tartarus. They notice Yabureme watching them and All Might speaks to the Nomu alone. He and Recovery Girl have agreed to give Mic a few days with Yabureme until his burns have been treated, but that he will be returned to Tartarus after that— and now that the third quirk is known, escape will not be possible a second time. He shares some belief that Mic is right that there is hope for Yabureme and that if anyone deserved a path back to normal, it was Shouta Aizawa. He urges the Nomu to try his hardest to remember anything he can.

In the ensuing days, Mic spends time conversing with Yabureme. Unlike the catatonic state he was in while at Tartarus, Yabureme is nervously conversational, answering questions and asking them on his own. He admits his confusion and doubts to Mic, and Mic learns that the whole reason Yabureme was unresponsive while at Tartarus was because of the lights and the intense head pain they cause, utterly decimating his senses and thoughts. He wasn’t shutting down because of his programming or a need to be disobedient— he simply could not function in those conditions.

The morning of the intake comes. Tsukauchi and numerous officers arrive to take Yabureme into custody. Mic attempts to keep everything smooth, warning Yabureme about their arrival and making sure that there aren’t too many men appearing at once. Yabureme nearly panics anyway at the sight of firearms, but is calmed when Mic holds his hands and gives encouragement. Yabureme is taken into custody without a struggle, though he shuts down when he’s led away from Mic.

Mic apologizes to Tsukauchi for hiding Yabureme, but is forgiven considering the relative ease of the capture. The detective promises to keep Mic with Yabureme as much as possible this time around, since his presence clearly helps. He also acknowledges Mic’s request for accommodating Yabureme’s aversion to the bright lights of the prison, especially with the confidence that it might help with getting information out of the Nomu. Yabureme’s shutdown reverses some when Mic reappears in the police transport to travel with him to Tartarus.

Yabureme and Mic arrive at Tartarus and the Nomu is immediately assaulted by the lights. He’s given relief in the form of a sedative. His wounds are checked over while he’s out: it’s discovered that his right eye took far too much damage from Dabi’s flames and must be removed before the dead material causes an infection, shock, or worse. The majority of the burn scars will be permanent because of the lack of proper immediate care in a supplied burn ward. Aside from a handful of new scars and wear and tear, nothing else is noted.

Yabureme startles awake, finding himself in a Tartarus cell with Mic at his bedside. The lights are dimmed rather than blindingly bright. Mic gives him the rundown of what happened, and proudly tells him that the hardest part, getting to the start line of his recovery, was over. He is questioned for the first time the day after waking, and though he is much more responsive to interrogation compared to his last stint in Tartarus, Yabureme still shies away from answering questions that would cause the League a disadvantage… though he is clearly conflicted.

So begins Yabureme’s long road back to someone he didn’t know he used to be. Mic becomes the only foothold of stability Yabureme has, finding that his physical reassurances such as hugs and hand-holding are intensely grounding. The second time he is questioned, he holds Mic’s encouragement in his mind, and manages to talk shortly about some of the Leagues’ hideouts.

He still has doubts about all of this Shouta Aizawa stuff, but Mic works him through stories of his past gently and at a slow pace. The first bit of information that helps Yabureme see that the possibility exists of a connection between himself and this other person is a story Mic tells about Aizawa feeding cats on the street; Yabureme shyly, but excitedly, admits that he does that a lot too. After this, things begin to come more swiftly. Mic brings him his wedding ring, and Yabureme asks to hold Mic’s as well, and remembers the sensation of them clicking against one another in his hand.

With Mic’s help, and the help of a therapist that meets with him daily, more and more begins to come back. Even memories he reclaims are left blurry and dull, but once the flood gate opens, it doesn’t close, and Yabureme’s progress quickens the harder he works. When his memories begin to focus on Class 1-A, he asks to see them. Plenty is still missing, but he apologizes for the things he did to them, focusing on Kaminari and the wounds inflicted during his first capture. He wants to work for their forgiveness, but doesn’t expect it. Midoriya mentions that he seems a lot more like his old self, which fills Yabureme with a hidden relief and encouragement.

Time passes. Yabureme continues to work hard at getting back to himself, and the image of Shouta Aizawa gets more clear by the day. His old mannerisms begin returning in small amounts: rolling his eyes at stupid things Mic says, muttering about things that annoy him. When he gets a surprise visitor, both Mic and Yabureme are surprised to find Kaminari requesting advice for a hitch in his hero training. As Yabureme converses with Kaminari in an observation room, Mic and Tsukauchi watch, and both are amazed to see the clearest image of Aizawa they’ve seen since before his abduction. Mic takes the opportunity to ask about a road that leads outside of Tartarus and, though Tsukauchi doesn’t shut it down, he admits there are many concerns— specifically regarding hidden triggers that might still exist inside Yabureme’s mind. An idea is floated: bring someone in with a voice-copying quirk, and see what happens when Yabureme is faced with orders from Shigaraki or All for One.

Yabureme (Aizawa? Yabuzawa by this point?) agrees to the experiment, though he is clearly discomforted by the idea, unsure of how he mind be effected. The experiment begins. Yabuzawa is secured heavily just in case, but he is clearly determined, if nervous. The voice-copying quirk speaks in Shigaraki’s voice first, ordering him to turn his head to one side. Yabuzawa doesn’t seem to have a problem disobeying, but when the speaker doubles down and becomes hostile about his refusing to obey an order, Yabuzawa spirals and has a panic attack. All for One’s voice cuts in with an order that is obeyed immediately, and Mic is only able to snap him out of it with a slap to the face. The results are clear: Shigaraki’s orders can be ignored with enough work, but AFO’s orders seem unquestionable. Yabuzawa is frustrated by his own perceived failure in the experiment, understandably upset that despite all of the progress he’s made, they still hold some power over him.

Time passes. Yabuzawa improves with his response to Shigaraki’s voice, though still shaken after being faced with it, can do so without panicking. AFO’s orders seem unbreakable. Mic once again breaks the topic of getting him out of Tartarus, and after some debate, it’s agreed that the UA students and the hero efforts (and Yabuzawa himself) would benefit more with Aizawa back in the world. By this time the unknown of the League and AFO and the PLA have long been poisoning society’s trust in heroes; Erasure can’t be hidden away in a bunker with tensions growing by the day.

Mic is permitted to confine him to their apartment under police guard for increasingly longer periods of time, regular check-ins and evaluations, and lots of rules. Yabuzawa isn’t permitted to be alone with anyone aside from Mic, and when outside of the building must cover his neck, arms, and hands. Finally, the shock collar is back as a last resort. If you read this whole thing you’re a certified #1 Yabureme fan sorry I don’t make the rules

[fluffypotatey]

Pre divorce shadowpeach didn't seem to be the type to fight a lot. In fact the shadowpeach divorce probably blew up that big due to all the unsaid frustrations they never let out.

So I'm just imagining shadowpeach never fighting in an obvious way (closest to fighting would be backhanded comments or barbed words) but that just makes things more unsettling

oh yeah 100% it didn’t help that swk was always leaving FFM out of his need to get stronger and be the best and be respected. not to mention they probably never saw their times together as the right moment to voice their concerns out loud because this was their time to wind down and they just had to wait it out, wait until everything was perfect enough to have those talks

[electoons]

giving my ldb a daughter. embarrassing for all involved. mostly me

[sah-xx]

My hc is that everytime Forever's pc/minecraft crashes, it's q!Forever passing out from exhaustion after going through the nether and then the purgatory right away, someone let my poor baby rest ;-;

[adhdandcomics]

adding to my tags because i’ve been thinkin a lot about the post i just reblogged and have more thoughts:

i’ll be real, the more i saw ‘hey adhd influencers are so annoying’ the more i worried that i was unconsciously contributing to the spreading reputation of adhd folks as annoying and over-pathologizing every symptom they experience

and then i realized. i am not a goddam influencer or life coach or representative. obviously i have some obligation as someone who cares about myself and the people that like my comics to not spread harmful ideology or blatant misinformation but i never intended myself to be a “’increase your productivity!!’ blog OR a ‘if you have XYZ you have adhd!’ blog. and i do this for fun, and originally started this blog bc i had a lot of internalized shame and self loathing about my adhd and thought if i could make it funny i might have less of that. let’s get real! and it worked!

i’ve obviously done this kind of thing— (hey these symptoms might be adhd!) a lot before in my life & on this blog, but there’s more to it than trying to be an “influencer” or whatever. a term that didn’t even exist when i started this blog!

i felt very isolated trying to find out if i had any mental problems & what have you originally because of large advice (etc) blogs with staunchly anti self Dx views at the time

so i overcorrected when i DID get dxed and tried to validate everyone who was like me. and of course. not the best course of action always for the ol mental health. tried to be the source of positivity and jokes that i didn’t see because the online adhd presence was near non-existent.

and anyway. i make a lot of fun of myself & the way m brain works in my comics obviously but it is not my obligation to... how do you say.... not be annoying online.

because if folks interpret MY little jokes as a strict guide to diagnosis. that’s on them, really, not me. i also believe “making adhd your entire personality” is a non-issue. so what if people find out they have it and get over excited with identifying as adhd. saying this as someone who DID do it. criticism of this gives the same vibes as people being annoyed that young queers make “being queer” their whole personality. im very obviously more than a guy with adhd, and id reckon other adhd comic artists are too. (im friends with a lot of them!) it’s fine to post about it online.

anyway. i just don’t take myself too seriously and i’m a comic artist for myself first! and you know what, i’ve been considered annoying my entire life. what do i care if a few more folks think i’m annoying. neurotypical or not

[lunarharp]

little bit of modern au (SPOILERS for the zelda game.)