#except spit on the roof and draw this

[kobbers]

I continue to love Dwarf Fortress' ability to tell you a story, if you're paying attention.

My current fortress is my first time back in DF in a good 5+ years, and obviously first fort in the shiny new Steam version. I've been a little impulsively reckless because I tried out the tutorial, which autopicks your starting location and supplies. I breached the caverns, had some Fun sending squads after forgotten beasts a little above their level, and after an ettin dropped an adamantine slab on death, that winter's goblin raid spiked to ~100 strong. Most of my soldiers were wiped out stopping the wave of goblins who'd managed to climb over my half-roofed-pasture walls, but the fortress endured.

We've been bunkered in pretty safely ever since, while I try to rebuild my military. The exterior has been secured and meatier defenses have been installed, and the caverns have been walled off while grotesque procedurally-generated monsters roam around down there and tear up all the native serpent-people and troglodytes. I'm not exploiting any mechanics to train my soldiers more quickly (yet), so day-to-day fortress management has settled into a largely hands-off routine.

Except for one very unhappy dwarf, one of my tavern keepers, who began appearing in the logs having mental breakdowns (stumbling around obliviously). These finally escalated to a full tantrum, where he started fistfighting everyone in sight until he'd burned off enough anger to calm down. The disorderly conduct landed him in jail - he served his time, but lost his cool again soon after. This time, he fatally paralyzed a fellow citizen in the brawl.

Back to jail he went. Desperate to try and manage his mood before his mental health reached irreversible lows, I sent dwarves to smooth and engrave his prison cell (dwarves appreciate art!), and build him a bed (to avoid negative thoughts about sleeping on the floor). Unfortunately he threw another tantrum while this work was going on, and killed another dwarf who was just trying to draw pretty pictures on his wall. (Interestingly, this all still counts as "disorderly conduct" and not murder to the justice system, probably because his intent was only to punch people. It just so happened that he punched them in the spine, and injured the nerves that allowed their lungs to function.)

I looked at the unmet needs in his profile. What could I do to help resolve some of the things that were making him unhappy, to help pull him out of the emotional pit he was in? A too-long unfulfilled need to be with family caught my eye. Sometimes you can't do much about this, because the dwarf left their family behind to emigrate to the fortress, but when I checked his relationships I saw his two children were babies. Probably in the fortress, then! Where?

When I zoomed to the location of one of his children, it took my cursor to an empty tile in the caverns, and I had a full-on flashback, suddenly realizing who this man was.

Forgotten beast, four years ago. A giant three-eyed spider invaded the caverns. I sent our primary squad of nearly-legendary fighters to engage, but there was a problem. It was sheltering up in the mushroom trees, spitting from range, and most of our troops used melee weapons. The captain of the guard threw herself into battle regardless, climbing into the mushroom tree and braving the beast's globs of deadly spittle. During the fight, the creature ripped one of the newborn twins she was carrying away from her (dwarven mothers, istg), and threw it out of the tree to the cavern floor. Then it did the same with the other twin. It followed them down and easily stomped them to death, and the captain flew into a rage. Their duel was sadly brief, but unlike so many fights where the loser passes out from pain/exhaustion and gets coup de grâce'd, she stayed on her feet and fought to her last breath. Her squad was able to finish the kill after she perished.

This was why our troublemaker was having such a hard time. I'd built a fancy tomb for my badass captain and the babies who fell in battle back when it happened, and this tavern keeper was the husband left behind. As goblins seiged the fortress and his pining for family only intensified over time, he'd finally reached his limit and could no longer hold it together.

I went back to trying to fix him, with the understanding that it was probably a lost cause. Maybe making sure he could have booze in jail instead of water would help? I waited for his next tantrum, where he helplessly canceled tasks to fight people because he was chained firmly to the prison wall. Then once he calmed, I swooped in and made a stockpile for alcohol that he could reach. Now to wait for someone to bri-- wait, what are those combat logs? There's no new tantrum ongoing, what...?

Turned out he'd earned a beating in addition to his prison sentence this time, and a fortress guard had finally come by to deliver it. The guard was armed, but as this was just a disciplinary beating, she only used her fists. Unfortunately she was still too strong, and it was the tavern keeper's turn to get a badly bruised spinal cord. I deflated a bit as I watched him suffocate, but couldn't help but feel it was a little bittersweet. He was no longer left behind.

[hollandorks]

shadows in the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

chapter seventeen

summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story

a/n: I won’t lie, I really enjoy this chapter! I’m a bit nervous about it and agonized over it too, which is why it’s a day later than usual. I hope you enjoy it! 

Series Masterlist

word count: 3194

It was time to catch an asshole in a mask. It was time to end this.

The Gotham streets were still slick with all the rain from the past week. Y/n slipped through the shadows easily, one eye on the crowds around the Iceberg Lounge–even more popular now that men patronizing it were being murdered, apparently–and one eye on the the darkness around her. She started across the street from the club, watching the entrance where Annika and the mayor had been photographed. Things had changed a bit since she had worked there, but the essence of the club was still the same. 

The pictures had definitely come from the building right across the street. 

She waited for a minute, watching as the door of the club opened and one of the bouncers stepped out, confused. She blinked and almost missed the shadow that darted inside behind him and shut the door in his face. 

She hid a smile into one hand. Bruce. 

After a moment of watching the bouncer banging on the door, y/n turned back to the task at hand. 

She was suddenly completely aware of how out of her depth she was. 

She wasn’t a detective like Gordon, or a genius like Bruce, so how could she expect to find the Riddler? How could she expect to figure out this puzzle piece? She wished she’d gone with Bruce inside the club. At the very least, she could fight. He’d made sure of that. 

She took another deep breath and calmed her mind. 

No. The Riddler was like her, except yeah, he was smarter. 

But he’d been chewed up and spit out by the corruption in the city, just like she had. 

That’s why he’d called her an inspiration, right? Even as her gut churned to think about it like that, she forced herself to dig deeper into the thought. She pulled up the memory every single cop and crime show and true crime documentary she’d ever seen and tried to draw on the knowledge to figure it the fuck out. 

The Riddler was playing the long game. That much she was certain of. 

He had planned and planned and planned before executing any part of it. The ciphers, the riddles, the staging of the bodies. The photographs being leaked. The cards. The bomb mailed to Wayne Manor. 

All of it coming together like pieces on a chess board, because that’s how he saw it, wasn’t it? It was all one long game to take out the corruption in the city. 

She stared up at the apartment building as mist drifted down from the thick clouds overhead. 

He probably lived in one of the apartments. Or at least rented one to use for whatever his nefarious purposes were. 

Alright, think, y/n told herself as she continued to study the building–part of her was hoping one of the windows would open and the Riddler would shout down at her, revealing his location. 

How best to figure it out, then, if he wasn’t going to give himself away? 

She headed for the fire escape and started climbing. She’d start at the top, see if the roof held any clues towards the Riddler’s whereabouts. He might have used the roof to take the photos. If that didn’t work, she’d make her way inside, maybe see if she could find someone awake at this late hour and ask if there were any weirdos with clear framed glasses living there or dropping by. 

Legs burning as she climbed, y/n wondered exactly how Gordon and Bruce had the patience for this shit. She felt stupid thinking that she’d just ask around and see if she could find the Riddler. She berated herself as she neared the top of the fire escape. She really should have gone with Bruce. This was stupid. So he had taken the photos from across the street. So what? That didn’t mean he was still here. Did it? Did she really think she was going to get lucky and just stumble across his location, take him in, and that be that? 

But what if she did? 

She thought about her promise to Bruce to not do anything rash. To let him and Gordon know. The Riddler was dangerous, so she couldn’t go rushing in if she did somehow manage to find him. She had to be careful, because otherwise the outcome might be bad. She wasn’t holding her breath on actually finding anything useful, but at least she was chasing down the lead. Just in case. 

When she reached the roof, flashes of blue and red illuminated the misty air around her. 

No, around the club. 

There were no sirens, no sounds, nothing, just the lights. Curious, she peered back down and saw tons of cops gathering around the club, every single one of them aiming at the front door. Based on the way the lights were bouncing around in the mist, they had the back entrance and alleyways covered, too. 

Her stomach dropped. Gordon had gathered the troops, and Bruce was in there. She really, really hoped the cops down there weren’t trigger happy. Bruce was already on GCPD’s shit list for escaping from right under their noses on their own turf. Hopefully capturing Falcone and delivering him to Gordon would earn him some much needed brownie points. She took a breath and firmly told herself that Bruce’s suit was bulletproof, and Gordon had his back. 

Y/n shook the thoughts off and focused on the task at hand. Because how nice and perfect would it be to deliver Falcone and the Riddler into GCPD’s waiting hands? How good would that make Gordon look? She smiled to herself as she nosed around the dirty roof, finding nothing but trash, cigarette butts, and an empty paint can that smelled suspiciously like urine. 

Nothing. She wasn’t great at looking for clues like Bruce was, but even she could tell that the roof had nothing to offer. She blew out a breath, the sound almost too loud in the quiet night. 

She pulled out the now-crumpled photos she’d taken from the desk and studied them. She held them up and peered over the edge of the roof, comparing them to what was before her. On the far side of the roof, she could barely see the front of the club. But closer to where she’d come up the fire escape, the angle was nearly perfect. It was just slightly too high. That, compared with the fact that there wasn’t much on the roof to begin with, made her think that the photos had been taken from somewhere inside the building, most likely the top floor. 

On a whim, she tried the door that led inside the building, and had her first stroke of luck. 

Unlocked. 

She glanced up at a security camera above the door and really hoped she didn’t get arrested. The small, blinking red light told her that the camera actually worked and wasn’t just for show. 

Wary, she quietly took the stairs down to the top floor of the building. 

The hallway was dim and dingy, the doors of each apartment painted with chipping red paint. There was a window at the end of the hallway. She crept over to it and peered outside. With a tilt of her head, she was able to see the flashing lights and cops gathered below. 

This was it. 

The apartment to her left didn’t have a view of the club, but the one on the right would. 

She fumbled for her phone and texted Bruce and Gordon both the apartment number. She needed to get out while she still could, let Gordon and his men surround the building and corner the Riddler. He was cunning, too cunning, and she didn’t want herself to be at the mercy of another bomb. 

Y/n slowly started backing away. 

The door swung open. 

“Y/n,” the man said, his face utterly unremarkable. His face was round, his eyes wide behind familiar glasses, his hair a light brown. He looked almost boyish in the light. “What a surprise.” He didn’t seem surprised at all to see her.  

Her heart stopped. 

The security camera was probably his. 

The man called the Riddler gave her a chilling smile. “Come in, I want to show you something. I won’t hurt you.” He stepped aside and held the door open for her. 

Y/n couldn’t think beyond the panic that was thrumming through her. Should she run? Would he come after her? Shoot her? Blow her up? She had no way of knowing, and that was the worst part. He said he wouldn’t hurt her, but he’d already mailed a bomb to her home. He’d already had the DA crash a car into a memorial she was attending. He’d already threatened her fiance, outed her as a confidential informant to a lot of very powerful people, and was likely the reason the Gotham Project had burned down. He’d already hurt her.

“Come in,” the Riddler said again, more firmly this time, his chilling smile morphing into something threatening. She hated that he looked so normal but was still so frightening. 

She stepped into his apartment, heart in her throat, palms sweating. Her taser was in her belt, her phone in her pocket, and her only backup was busy making the biggest arrest in Gotham history. 

The apartment was a wreck. 

That was the first thing she noticed. 

For someone so organized in his murders and schemes, the Riddler’s apartment was…messy. Beyond messy. There was stuff everywhere, so much stuff her mind couldn’t make sense of it all. One of the walls was covered in newspapers and painted words, the biggest of which said LIES. 

The door closed beyond her. The lock sliding into place was as loud as a gunshot. 

“I didn’t expect to see you,” the Riddler said pleasantly, as if she’d merely stopped by for a chat and nothing else. 

“I–” she started to say, but her throat was so tight with fear that no sound came out. 

There were notebooks, shelves upon shelves of them, cages, parts of weapons, bomb schematics, so many things scattered over every surface that screamed serial killer that her fingers were going numb with fright. 

He pushed past her, further into the dim and shadowy apartment like he was about to ask her how she liked her coffee. 

“What do you want from me?” she finally managed to ask. 

The Riddler didn’t turn around. He merely went towards an open window and a gun–a rifle–sitting on a tripod aimed at the streets below. 

Her heart stuttered again. All those people, she thought in a blind panic, stumbling forward with one hand out. The Riddler either didn’t notice or didn’t care what she was doing. 

“You’re like me,” he said quietly. “An orphan, chewed up by the city, drowning in its corruption…doing what has to be done to exorcize it. Like an infected wound.” 

She wanted to throw up at his words, almost the exact same words she’d thought earlier before heading up to the building’s roof. She watched his back, one hand edging for her taser. If he started shooting all those cops, the patrons and employees of the club….He could kill a lot of them while they all stood in the street, waiting. What if Lena stepped outside at just the wrong moment? Or Gordon? Or Bruce? 

“I didn’t expect you to find me here before it was all over,” the Riddler continued. “I should have known you would be more clever than I thought.” He seemed…delighted. “How did you find me?” 

“The pictures,” she managed to choke out. “Of Annika and Mitchell. I compared the angle up on the roof. Got lucky I guess.” 

“Hm. Yes. I’m surprised our bat friend didn’t figure it out. No wonder he likes working with you.” The Riddler looked over his shoulder at her, eyes almost twinkling in the low light. 

“What are you planning?” she asked, because that’s what she was here for. Maybe, just maybe, if she distracted him long enough she could take him by surprise. Bruce or Gordon or both had to have gotten her text that she’d found him. One of them would come. They had to. She just had to keep the Riddler talking until then, and not let him take a shot. 

“Oh, that’s not for you to know quite yet. Like I said–I wasn’t planning for you to be here, but that’s just as well. You’ll get a front row seat.” 

“To what?” she asked, anger making her words sharp. She tried to smother her anger, her rage, her fear. If there was any truth to any of the crime shows she’d watched, she knew she needed to stay calm, to play along. That was the safest thing. And she’d promised Bruce she wouldn’t be rash. Just her luck–the one time she was trying not to rush headfirst into danger, it found her first. 

“You’ll see,” he said. “Though I hear you did get a front row seat to my last target. I should have seen that coming.” A flash of something dark in his eyes when he looked at her. “A shame I didn’t succeed.” 

It took her a second. 

He was talking about Bruce. 

He was sad he didn’t kill Bruce was that fucking bomb.

“You fucking bastard,” she snapped. “You try to kill the man I love, then act like you’re just having me over for fucking coffee or something? I’m glad you didn’t succeed! If I could, I’d blow a bomb up in your face, see how you like it!” 

He was facing her fully now, though she could tell he was still paying attention at least slightly to what was going on down below in the street in front of the club. She was suddenly very, very aware that the rifle was the only weapon she could see. Especially since he kept one hand behind his back when he turned towards her. She had her hand on her taser, but it wouldn’t do much good against a gun. And wasn’t it a thing for killers like him to booby trap their own homes? The whole place was probably rigged to blow. 

She swallowed thickly. 

“It’s for your own good!” the Riddler snapped. Darkness and pure, fiery rage flickered in his eyes. “Bruce Wayne and his lying daddy are part of the problem! You of all people should see that!” 

She’d pissed him off. The look in his eyes showed just how unhinged he was, even as the rage banked and died away. The almost blank look that overtook it was scarier than anything else had been so far. 

“Bruce isn’t corrupt,” she said, voice soft. She held one hand out in a placating gesture. “He’s good. Do you think I’d be with him if he weren’t?” 

The Riddler tilted his head to study her, the movement almost predatory. “But you didn’t know about his father, about Falcone, or any of that when you met him, did you?” 

She bit her lip. “No,” she said honestly. “But Bruce would never hire someone to kill someone. Especially not for power.” 

“Then why does he let the Renewal fund continue? Why does he leave Wayne Enterprises to run itself into the ground, connected to people like Carmine Falcone?” He seemed genuinely curious about her answer. 

“I don’t know,” she said, again telling the truth. “But he helped with the Gotham Project. He–he supported me last year, when I–” 

“When you almost died.” The Riddler hummed and turned to look outside briefly. She gripped the taser tighter, ready to strike, but he turned back around again before she could. “I will not miss a second time, y/n,” he finally said after a moment of thought. 

He meant he would kill Bruce next time, given the chance. 

“I’ll kill you before I let that happen,” she snarled, stepping closer. 

The Riddler’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t back down. “Bruce Wayne and all he stands for is just as much a part of the sickness plaguing this city as anything else. Remember how I said it was like an infected wound? If you don’t get out all of the infection, it will fester and grow and take over again. Bruce Wayne may only be a small part of that infection, but it will grow and grow and grow if you do not treat it!” 

He was nearly shouting by the time he finished speaking. Y/n flinched. 

The anger was back, brighter and hotter than before. “Then why didn’t you kill those assholes who’re still in prison? Williams and his ilk? Huh? Why’d you leave me to do all the hard work last year while you cowered away here, watching, waiting for your time to shine? Is that it? You wanted me to get most of the ‘infection’ so you could look good finishing it off? So you could look clever?” 

They were standing almost nose to nose now, her hand gripping the taser. 

His eyes flashed behind his glasses. “No!” he cried, voice almost anguished. “You inspired me. I wasn’t cowering and waiting! I was making my plans! It was all leading to this!” 

She scoffed and stepped back as the hand behind him moved. He was going to shoot her, she realized. He was going to kill her. Her chest squeezed tight with fear. Shit. She shouldn’t have made him mad. Shouldn’t have insulted him. 

And then something worse occurred to her. It was all leading to this, he’d said. 

Ice filled her veins as she realized this might be a plot against Bruce–against Batman. The rifle, the clues, the cards, all of it leading Batman towards this night, this place…

Towards the Riddler’s gun. 

He wanted her to have a front row seat–

To Batman’s death. 

“Put the gun away,” y/n said in a low voice. The Riddler flashed her a smile, all traces of his anguished cries gone in a flash. It was disconcerting, how quickly his emotions wavered back and forth from one moment to the next. 

Please, she thought, getting ready to strike. 

There was a commotion outside the window, a shout. 

Unconcerned by her, the man calling himself the Riddler turned back to the window, adjusted the rifle, and took a shot all in the span of a few seconds. She lurched forward, expecting him to shoot again, but he merely picked up the rifle as if to put it away. 

One shot. He’d only shot one person. 

He stepped away right as she gasped out an anguished “No!” and darted to the window, the taser forgotten in her haste to make sure Bruce was alright. 

Her eyes scanned frantically over the sea of cops and people spilling out of the club until she saw a dark shadow. A ripple of a cape. Pointed ears. He straightened from a crouch. 

Bruce was fine. 

Carmine Falcone was dead at his feet. 

Y/n barely took a breath of relief before pain exploded in her head. 

She thought she heard the words “For your own good,” before darkness overtook her and the world fell away.

Next Chapter

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[citronverveine]

Fic WIPs Openings

stealing this from @yabancreations who stole it from @boomchickfanfiction : sharing the opening line of 10 wips. This was a struggle because I very rarely start by writing the beginning, so I had to dig in deep to find some suitable ones :') I cheated and sometimes clumped the first few lines together because I apparently love short-ass sentences that don't give any information at all out of their context. All of them are for TGCF, all of them Hualian except the first one which is beefleaf.

Turns out a lot of them are! kind of angsty!

He Xuan is poor, unattractive, ruined, rotten. He knows this and he doesn't care. (That's the first lie. He cares very much.)

Xie Lian blinked his eyes open, feeling warm, fuzzy, and in love. In love already, so early in the morning: this is what his life was now. Go to sleep full of love, wake up with even more of it.

He wakes up with a gasp. His chest is burning, heavy in all the wrong ways, and his skin is soaked wet and salty. For a second, he thinks he might drown.

It is a strange thing to have your body torn to shreds and bear no physical reminder of it for the rest of your life.

With Hua Cheng, Xie Lian had learned and relearned intimacy, what it was, what it meant, and what it did to him.

Some days, being alive is harder than others. Even with San Lang, even with peace and a roof above his head. Some days he wakes up with a hollow chest, lungs that don’t fill completely, a fog behind his eyes.

"San Lang?" "Mh?" "Do you like sex?" Hua Cheng nearly spits out his drink.

“San Lang,” he mutters. “You’re supposed to be writing.” “But I draw better than I write. Gege deserves only the most beautiful things on his body.”

Xie Lian is somewhat aware that this is not normal. It's troublesome, sometimes, but mostly he puts up with it. He had the mind to ask his doctor about it, but it's been a while since he saw any doctor at all, and he has other things to worry about anyway.

It’s a day like any other. It’s a day like yesterday. Like before yesterday. Like last week. It can be any day of the week, any day of the month. It comes and goes. It haunts him.

[antibigotwhumpblog]

Crucifixion Pt.2

(Prev, Next, Masterlist)

Cw: Whump, Toxic Christianity, Mouth and Hand Gore

She might not have been able to move, but she could still feel it when he pounded the nail through her tongue. She forced back a scream. It began with the vibration of the metal against metal, then the curse the item held twisted the flesh inside the tongue tighter and tighter, and then the sting and tear as it slid through, and punched a hole in the roof of her mouth. He finally let go once the deed was done. Above all the agony the specific nail she had in her mouth was horrific. Her mouth hung open as she was paralyzed from shock. The man did draw a vial from his pocket. She resigned herself to his cruel intentions, but instead, he poured the children's tears over his fingers to clean her spit from his hands. As a human, he was physically insusceptible to the acidity of children's tears, but she could guess he'd apathized himself spiritually from the meaning of the substance as well. After he cleaned himself, the man motorized. He began to set up a large array of tools and weapons from the wall. She watched in her peripheral as she stared at the ceiling. She had nothing to be afraid of. Her tongue would heal just as probably as her wings would. They had regrown in the position the mortal had folded them into, but she had to hope they would be still functional. This man was nothing more than a human, and she was a mighty and blessed angel. He could make her cry by using pathetic, cheap bastard magick, but God served as her shield. The mortal's largest piece of equipment was a full-sized cross, except the peg leg had been severed. She could do nothing but watched as he placed a bucket of nails, and the same silver hammer next to it. Behind that, he'd unfolded a plastic table and displayed rows of sinful items she could not name. She masked her face like a sculpture. The mortal once again untied her ropes without touching her and allowed her to fall to the ground. Pain blistered around her ankles as her feet hit the ground, and she fell. The man picked a pocket knife out of his suit and glided the blade across her feathers. She tensed her shoulders. The mortal snapped the ropes off, and the lines scorched into her wings sizzled from the commotion. She tried to adjust them, but her wings wouldn't move. Her stomach dropped as she realized they had healed shut. She attempted to stand. The floor beneath her caught fire, and a beautiful orange wrapped its tendrils around her arms and calves. She shrieked and writhed back onto the ground. The fire died. She shivered from the miserable sting.

"You will do as I say," He instructed, "Kneel at the foot of the cross."

She looked up at him from where she lay on the ground but with the haunt of someone 100 feet above him. She looked at him with all the love for humans God placed within her soul. She looked at him with her master's terrifying holiness.

The human stared back without the fear of God, "I am your master now. You don't have a choice."

She hadn't moved, but the fire burst from the ground nonetheless. She held a scream in her throat, and the fire crashed over her back. Her whole body inflamed, it ripped blistering, firey paths along her skin.

"Go on! Crawl!" He shouted at her. His voice was low and angry.

She didn't have a choice. She gathered the strength to lift her arm and placed it outside the circle of fire. The cold air sucked a new pain out of her blisters, and she cried. She crawled as fast as she could out of the heat of the fire, only to find it followed her path along the floor to ensure she made it to the cross. She collapsed at its wooden foot. The human gave her no reprieve. He clutched onto her wrist despite her raw burn and fought against the slime as he forced her arms to stretch across the tallest cross leg.

[isleofdragon]

I think I have a curse.

Raptor Attack #3 went fabulous. I tried punching them off the swampward cliff, but they weren't getting shoved, and I think they broke all my legs, sooo I just jumped off the cliff. I looked behind me and was soothed by the sight of both these fucking raptors launching off the cliff after me. And as I watched them eat my corpse, I was happy.

I snuck down there again and lured them even farther away. We don't need a repeat of Red Raptor That Hid Nearby And Then Ambushed Me.

So I get back home and decide to build my new, second, better watch tower (first one kinda on hold).

And theres a Long Claws SO close. So I say "Topaz," (that's my igua's name), "let's get outta here. Let's vacay. I know a hill on the other side of the beaches. We can get cool stuff. Let's go."

We are sprinting gracefully along, and get onto the beach. And in the corner of my eye I see RED MIST. Oh fuck. Wait--an alpha?? This is the easy zone? I'm on easy mode?

No time to investigate. Do not stop running if you maybe see a raptor. Investigate later, or even never.

So I get across some water and finally turn back and YEAH ITS AN ALPHA RAPTOR.

Okay. Good thing I'm going on vacay!

I turn to face my route. I do not take one step. There is a SPINOSAUR. I retreat as much as I can without re-entering Alpha Raptor Danger Zone.

And I have nowhere to go except home. I'm about to sneak up a beachside cliff path when I remember: shit! that's where the Long Claws is! Okay plan A B C D? Plan D: I'll go the long route around, once the raptor meanders a bit farther from the beach. But that's when I remember:

Shit! If I go that way, I'll end up on the base of the cliff where I threw those fucking raptors!!!

🤭🤭🤭 I am genuinely having a great time. This is fun for me lol.

Okay so I ask my clever smart darling wife, who analyzes the situation and then suggests my "Thread the needle through the Spinosaur and the Alpha Raptor, which will absolutely take me right to the Long Claws, BUT Long Claws gave a fairly agreeable space bubble so i should be able to time things right and slip through.

I make it up the beachside cliff path and I'm hiding on the very edge. The Alpha Raptor has meandered quite a ways away down the beach, so I figure if the Long Claws attacks, I might need to leap off the cliff to escape (pretty sure Topaz can survive it).

But what do I come NOSE TO NOSE with?

A GIANT BEE NEST.

I could go back, but then I'd still have to get passed either the Spinosaur or the Alpha Raptor (who was currently hogging the southern end of the beach, which blocks my other routes). But I sure as fuck can't sit next to this stupid beehive! These things killed my first Iguanadon!

The Long Claws is having a nice little meander over to the cliff. Appreciating the seaside breeze maybe? I lingered for a couple seconds and as soon as the Long Claws turned a little, I BOLTED.

ALL THE WAY HOME.

And I decided: I needed to deal with the bees that had spawned. After getting chased across a cliff, beach, waterway, and second beach by TWO carbonemys (I stole their egg RIP), I was worried the bees would follow me home.

So I whistled for my two toughest dilfs: Walker and Nath. And I lure the bees into the opening, where my dilfs start doing their best to fight em. But...I did not realize the dilfs lack of height would hinder them so much. And these GIANT BEES will not stop chasing me. I basically do a Scooby-Do gag, running back and forth, being chased by angry bees and slightly slower loyal dilfs. I loop back around to draw the bees right over the dilfs but they just cant take them out.

OH. ITS ONLY TWO BEES BTW. But ONE killed my last Iguanadon.

Topaz's health gets low. Panic mode. What the fuck. I can't hit these bees any better than my dilfs. I don't even have cool poison spit. And there's no way I'm risking killing Topaz while trying to hit them with spears or arrows.

I sprint home. It's my savior on my roof: Potato Shale. (She's more gray in the sunlight). And zip as close to her as I can and then wait. "Easy, Topaz. Let 'em come. I know it sucks to be bait, but if we can get 'em over here, we got a raptor on our side."

Success! Though, apparently I also left my house door open during my panic, which means every dog I own tried to come join the fight. Night was setting and I was scared and hurrying but I finally got everyone tucked into bed (aka, Dimorphodon on my table, dilfs out of my way, Moschops in the forge, Topaz on the third-floor roof, and Shale on the second floor roof.

What a day. Time for bed I don't know how to sleep so I stay up all night making uhhhhhh.

Okay I'm not using that word because the bots will find me.

I made sleepy goo :)

Cue the lovely morning. Triumphant! Brave! Amazing! Wonderful!

I decide that Topaz and I oughta make a loop and check things out. Maybe find a new friend!

LONG CLAWS. He's on the OTHER SIDE of my little home, somehow, and I almost walk right into it because he's in the thick trees with bamboo stuff and I barely catch a glimpse of those long claws silhouetted between the greenery.

"...No way. I don't even see it anymore. I'm being nervous, is all."

Linger...linger... Oh, okay! Its the Long Claws. Seems to be the same one from before, though I have no idea how it got across my area without issue.

Okay, fine, the Long Claws is fine. I'm going to the beach to see if that Alpha Raptor moved on.

A trio of parasaurs are foraging on the beach. What a good sign! If they havent been eaten yet, then maybe that Alpha Raptor moved on.

Wait. What is that, further inland? Is that another parasaur? It looks...different...

No red glow, though. And definitely too slow and steady to be a raptor. I would have guessed it was a Long Claws based on its size and movement, but it clearly had a more raptor-ish body plan.

Did I forget a dinosaur? Who else is that big and slow? Iguanodon are quicker and take smaller steps. But not a parasaur; no long head horn. I am trying to remember other slow, bipedal, parasaur-y raptor-y dinosaurs when it hits me.

So first of all, there are TWO.

And second of all, they are... They can't be! This is the default starting area! I've already fought off THREE raptor attacks, dodged an alpha raptor, had my vacay cut short by a Spinosaur, snuck around 1-2 Long Claws, and got into a fight with BEES, which I WON.

I sneak a little closer... And yeah. They are indeed carnataurs. Carnitaurs? I don't know. They look like if T Rex had a brother and you thought "oh that's your little bro?" and then the 'little' bro runs up to you and headbutts you with the full force of a charging dinosaur and roars 'DONT CALL ME LITTLE.' Like, they're not as big as T-Rex, and they have the siiiiillliest little arms, but they have two horn nubs and 95% of all the rage in the universe.

I've seen them ages ago, in my previous play. They were in the mountains, and on the other side of the conifer trees. And in other zones where you can respawn, briefly, if you want a quick glimpse around before one of the many predators kills you without even being seen. They make GREAT areas for a base...once you have a Yuttyranaus or something to fend off the carnitaurs.

I am on Baby Beach. Why are they here. I don't think my raptor can even fight them off. Raptors have the speed and strength to kill most things in a few seconds, but if the battle doesn't end soon, their low stamina and low health are easily overpowered once their speedy attacks have worn them out.

Maybe I need to move somewhere safer. But?? Where is safer than Baby Beach??? Uwa.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

“Why are you always so hateful? I was thanking you...” “Just as if I was one of those true knights you love so well, yes. What do you think a knight is for, girl? You think it’s all taking favors from ladies and looking fine in gold plate? Knights are for killing.” He laid the edge of his longsword against her neck, just under her ear. Sansa could feel the sharpness of the steel. “I killed my first man at twelve. I’ve lost count of how many I’ve killed since then. High lords with old names, fat rich men dressed in velvet, knights puffed up like bladders with their honors, yes, and women and children too—they’re all meat, and I’m the butcher. Let them have their lands and their gods and their gold. Let them have their sers.” Sandor Clegane spat at her feet to show what he thought of that. “So long as I have this,” he said, lifting the sword from her throat, “there’s no man on earth I need fear.” Except your brother, Sansa thought, but she had better sense than to say it aloud. He is a dog, just as he says. A half-wild, mean-tempered dog that bites any hand that tries to pet him, and yet will savage any man who tries to hurt his masters. --A Clash of Kings, Sansa IV

Sandor and Sansa on the roof of Maegor’s Holdfast, for the cover of A Clash of Kings vol. 2 #9 (November 2020), by Mike S. Miller

[tteokdoroki]

an ode to winter | dabi.

♡ pairing: dabi/touya todoroki x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 14.1K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: manga war arc!au, single-parent!au, unplanned pregnancy!au,  angst, fluff, smut.

♡ summary: touya todoroki had broken a lot of things, your heart, promises, your window a few times, but you swore he'd never leave your child feeling that way. but when he wants back into your life, will he take no for an answer? And do you even want to say it?

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, ( literally 5k of it ), MANGA SPOILERS IN THE EXTENDED ENDING,  mentions of pregnancy, mentions of semi-toxic!relationships, struggling with parenting, blackmail ??,   unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, losers ), handjobs, oral sex ( female receiving ), fingering ( female receiving ),  choking, branding, squirting, spit!kink, needy touya lol <3

♡ author’s note(s): OK so this started out as a fic for my bestie @ozzy-bozzy​ but then turned into this long ass vent fic bc i do be struggling!! i’ve barely written for touya so apologies if his character is off. special thanks to @bakugous-trauma for beta reading n @doinmybesthere for the summary and beta reading and thanks for 4.7K MWAH <3

♡ masterlist | requests

the snow had fallen heavy that day, its flakes dancing along the window panes while you’d brought her into the world. you hated the cold, the way it nipped at your nose and stung at your cheeks, how it could freeze over a heart so badly that it would take years to thaw it out. you’d complained about the ice sheets that frosted your windows to the doctors, the ones on the roads too, but they’d simply wrote it off as your anxieties related to bringing kori home for the first time in such weather.

funnily enough, your daughter much resembled the cold in many ways. you’d named her ‘kori’; meaning ice, since her hair was white as the crisp blanket of winter outside and her eyes a piercing shade of aqua marine, that for a while, had no meaning written behind them except for a cool curiosity that you knew didn’t come from your side of the family. she wasn’t warm either, the first time you held her, her flesh against yours was almost a painful spark of frostbite— you expected that it was related to the lineage she came from too.

you thought that you’d resent kori when she was born; for the struggles that her new life had brought to you. you’d given birth alone and afraid, having lost friends and contact with your family due to keeping your pregnancy a secret. if they had known who caused you to end up in this situation in the first place, you were sure you’d have lost them all anyways. you hadn’t a chance to attend maternity classes due to the hours you worked in order to ensure yourself and your child’s financial security. although, prior to her arrival, dabi had told you that if you chose to give your daughter the todoroki name; you both would be looked after when the right time came.

and like a fool in love, you’d believed him, avoiding the apologetic gazes of the doctors and midwives who’d delivered your baby as you filled out her paperwork and birth certificate. one nurse even asked you if you wanted to contact endeavour for support, and you couldn’t blame her— the rumours of your child potentially being that of natsuo todoroki’s had spread fast through the hospital and it was a given, figuring his bad boy college reputation. natsuo and his ventures into the college life were no stranger to the media, so it didn’t surprise you nor the doctors to believe that this wasn’t the first time a girl had given birth alone to a todoroki child. you suspected that if there were any, enji todoroki would have paid them off.

so you let them believe what ever false truth that might have plagued the hospital walls about yourself and your daughter— not having the heart to tell them that you’d probably receive a much larger sum of money to keep hush about the child that you mothered and the child who’s father belonged to endeavour’s deceased, eldest son.

so you realised, thumb held by the chubby hand of your sweet infant girl; that you couldn’t hate her for the mistakes you’d made and the mess you’d become tangled up in— you could only promise to do your best in raising her despite the odds and difficult circumstances, you could give her the life and childhood that her father never had but most certainly deserved.

“miss yn...”

your midwife; himari enters the room, calling for you— tearing your gaze away from the hypnotising sea-foam eyes belonging to your daughter, the way she looked at you only reminding you of dabi. you’d told him once that his eyes always took you to the mediterranean sea, to which he’d laughed and mentioned you’d never seen it before. when the pair of you realised that this was true, the boy with the black hair and intoxicating stare made an oath to you, that he would take you there someday so you could bask in the warm sun and dip your toes into the clear oceans. you only hoped that this oath still remained true.

“miss yn...” himari tries again, this time stepping further into your hospital room. your thoughts had carried you so far away that you hadn’t realised how close she’d gotten as she lingered by your cot. her hands lay flat against her pale blue uniform, nails you note—neatly trimmed— and a smile that would have made you feel comfortable had you not known she’d volunteered to care for you because she too believed she’d be paid off by endeavour. you almost felt bad that she thought the silly lie was true and that she had a shot at a big time bonus but it was funny to think that no one would believe her when she eventually took to the news to claim that she cared for the next heir of the todoroki empire. “it’s says here, that kori is scheduled for feeding— i was wondering if you wanted to continue breast feeding or try pumping a bottle or two today?”

chewing on the inside of your cheek, you hum with hesitance. feeding kori was something you’d never discussed with dabi, some of the nurses had assured you that it was possible for you to do both— so that you could grow closer to your daughter and form a tight bond whilst also giving the opportunity to others to feed her when need be. there weren’t many others, but you figured that dabi might want to give bottle feeding a whirl when he finally returned from the league business. the business that had made him miss his little girl’s birth.

kori gargles from hunger in your arms, drawing your attention back to her tiny form. a stray strand of hair curls against her forehead from underneath her blankets and swaddling— the end you notice has a slight tint of red to it. the icy shell around your heart thaws. glancing back up to himari; you grin with a decision in mind. “i’d like to try breast feeding again, we can use the pump tomorrow.” you say, voice quiet.

“do you need any help getting her to latch?” your midwife asks, aiding you into a comfortable position to feed kori.

“no,” you smile after getting settled, pushing down your gown to expose your breast to your little girl. “i’ve got her, i can take care of her.”

you say the words more so to yourself than to himari, a hidden reassurance that you’re more than capable of raising your daughter on your own.

for now at least.

that winter, dabi never came home.

the snow melts, the flowers bloom and the seasons change. your daughter grows with the swift transition of the weathers too, her hair is a little longer now but the small curl of red against her forehead remains hidden and the same. her eyes open wider, still that deep shade of ocean blue, she can sit up on her own, throws toys out of her crib  and her favourite movies are bambi and bambi two. they’re the only things that she watches, which you hate, because they remind you of her. an innocent child who loses one parent and is left in the care of the emotionally closed off other.

you hadn’t realised how much you would need dabi, but still he is nowhere to be seen.

raising kori on your own proves a challenge, especially now that she’s a little bigger— it was easy after she was born; she was quiet and only made a fuss when she was hungry or needed to be changed. went down easy too, that was until her wails reared their ugly head as soon as the colder parts of winter hit. no matter what you did, the girl would cry for hours on end until her face would hurt from how scrunched it was and her fingers would turn red from the grip she had on your hands.

since her birth, you and kori had to move three times due to the noise complaints about her consistent crying throughout the day, evening and night. by the time february rolled around, you’d ended up in an apartment not so far from dabi’s old neighbourhood— it was a shitty area with high crime rates and an eerie feel to it that made you clutch your purse tighter when you walked home from the late night shifts— you had never had any intentions to raise kori in a dump like this, you wanted a better life for her than what dabi had, but your shabby two bedroom apartment in the dark side of town would be enough for now.

the rent was cheap since your current boss at the local grocers market was close friends with the building manager, but your boss was also a sleaze who thought offering you an extra 10% off of your weekly shop and an expired coupon for the coffee joint down the street would be enough to get into your pants. he was just another thing on your list that you hated about the world, about the current life you lead but you needed to keep him close to keep your rent low and a roof over your head.

besides, it had been a few days since you last saw him at work— the asshole was probably taking a few days to himself while you and your colleagues practically ran the store.

you can’t leave kori with a sitter; they never worked with her. your daughter was far too temperamental for the average person and would spend one night with her before taking their pay and quitting. the only person able to handle your beloved little girl was the old lady who lived two floors above yours, mrs. yamamoto. she was a sweet woman, widowed by fifteen years and had taken a liking to kori that one time you’d helped with her groceries when she couldn’t make it out in the february winter after your little girl was born.

it seemed kori liked mrs yamamoto as well, she was only ever quiet in the woman’s presence and you put it down to how high she had the heat up in her apartment. one time, it was up so high the power in the building went out for an entire night— which was hell for you since kori wouldn’t stop bawling. however; you appreciated the help, you’re sure that without the help of the elder woman you would have been far under the surface— drowning in regret.

but sometimes, it’s easy for the darker emotions to slip through the cracks— take a choke hold over your sanity. there would be nights where guilt would consume you and tears would flow heavily down your cheeks while your daughter slept. it was hard being alone, no one to confide in about the troubles of parenting or to reassure you that you were doing a good job at taking care of your child.

it didn’t help that winter was coming up again, kori’s first birthday fast approaching. the sudden milestone only made you wish that dabi was around more — it hurt you to know that there was possibility he’d run out on you and his responsibilities as a father but part of you believed that your lover was better. the eldest todoroki son appeared way too excited throughout your pregnancy to leave you with nothing.

despite not being able to make it to appointments due to his criminal nature, dabi had somehow manged to find the money to get you a 4D ultra sound of your baby, telling you a few odd jobs here and there allowed him to scrape the cash together. you never asked what it was that he did, afraid of what you might find in the eyes of the man that you loved so much.

why did you allow yourself to love a man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day if he hadn’t broken into your home? his seafoam eyes a glowing shade as he threatened your life through shards of broken glass and then wails of cop sirens outside. were you just as broken as he? had you not realised it yet? you could blame this whole mess on the fact that he kept coming back, but you always let him back in. dabi was a broken man who only knew blood and grit and grime and you were the girl with a chance to lead a normal life— yet you poured all of your heart and all of your soul into loving him because you were so sure that you could fix him.

and every single time you’d convinced him, convinced yourself that what you had could be normal and domestic— dabi would slip between your sheets, pinning you to your bed with your name heavy on your lips and the emotion of love painted into the turquoise flecks in his eyes. they burned with passion while his heated cock sunk between your plush thighs and welcomed him into your warmth. the moans you’d share while your skin slapped together, creating a bubble of safety where you were the only two people on the world.

dabi made promises against your swollen lips as his fingers swirled hidden messages of desire into your slick, puffy clit. he couldn’t give you the ring, the wedding or the house with the white picket fence and dog barking at the post man in the front yard— but he could give you every part of him from the good to the bad, the beautiful to the ugly and he would seal that promise with a throaty groan of ‘you are mine and i am yours...’ into your ear as you came together.

but it seemed that like all things, dabi’s promises were broken like shattered glass— never meant to be kept or eternalised. the shards cut your delicate fingers, the pain numbed as you were left to pick up the pieces and be strong for the small life you were now responsible for.

you were careful to not let the door fly in and hit the wall opposite as you unlocked it, stumbling into your two bedroom with kori’s chubby legs locked around your hips and bag full of groceries in your other hand. “look princess,” you coo down at your daughter sweetly, watching as she drools all over your staff lanyard from work. “we’re home!” bending down, you dropped the produce off by the door before heading off to your living room area, propping kori in front of her toy mat.

smiling down at her, you brush the pure white hair that curls over her cobalt eyes and kiss her freckled cheeks— heart swooning at the way kori giggles in your arms. she’d been on her best behaviour the entire week, keeping out of trouble with the staff at her daycare and mrs yamamoto in the place upstairs, so it was only right that you treat her.

“you hungry babygirl? want mommy to make your favourite, hm?” kori is barely old enough to talk aside from a few babbles and repeats of mama but that doesn’t stop you from asking.

“mmmamamamaa!!”

you press another kiss to her baby fat cheeks before heading to the kitchen to prepare her favourite dinner— spaghetti. ever since kori started eating her solids, she hadn’t been a picky eater and you noticed that her appetite much resembled dabi’s, who couldn’t afford to be fussy about any of the meals you’d made for him before he disappeared.

making the sauce is easy, a dish you’d prepared from when you were a child and used to cook with your parents— you retrieve the ingredients from the groceries and pull out the stuff you’ll need to cook them. you mince the vegetables easily like you’d been taught as your mind gets away from you.

you wish that dabi was here to enjoy the domesticity of your current life— maybe him being around would lift the dark cloud over your life. sometimes it hurt to know that he would be missing out on moments like this and you could imagine him sitting by the couch while kori played with her toys and you cooked for them both. in this world, he’d laugh at her fascination with colder toys and magnets— make a joke about how much your little girl resembles him and kiss your cheek when you served them both up their favourite meals.

tears pool in your eyes at the thought of your wish never being granted and that’s all it takes for you to slip and cut your finger while chopping up the garlic. “fuck!” you boss, dropping the knife and squeezing your hand around the wounded digit. you know that the clattering of the knife has scared kori, and from the way she looks at you, you can already tell that she’s seen you injure yourself. “god, fuck...that hurt.”

there’s a pause in time, while you rinse your cut under the tap, cold water soothing the sting before kori starts to wail like her life depends on it. in a rush, you grab a tea towel in hopes that it’ll stop the bleeding and head straight for your baby, hoping that you’ll be able to soothe her. by the time you reach kori, her eyes are red with tears and snot dribbles from her nose down to her chin while she babbles loosely all the new words she’s learned— in a whiny tone.  

“baby, don’t cry mommy’s got you,” you murmur to her, reaching out to the little girl with open arms. your heart breaks at the way her bottom lip wobbles in a watery pout. kori crawls into your arms, white mop of soft baby hair buried into the junction between your shoulder and your neck— her tiny body shakes with awful heaves and cries while her tears dampen the old hoodie of her father’s that you wear, effectively ruining the fabric. “come on honey, it’s okay! momma didn’t mean to scare you...”

she snivels in your arms, quiet for only a second while you walk around the apartment bouncing her. walking kori up and down seems to soothe her for the most part, a trick that worked when she was first born and had her horrible crying fits. “good girl, mama’s got you...” you continue to soothe her, brushing a finger under her white lashes to remove her tears. all is well for a second and it seems her tantrum has calmed, until she grabs onto your wounded finger and makes you curse in pain again.

“shit!”

“m-momma-!” kori whimpers, face creasing in pain as her cheeks start to heat up again. you fear that if you don’t do something soon she’ll bust a lung from crying.

you shake your head in an attempt to calm her down, baby sobs striking right through your body and resume bouncing her, hoping that it’ll work. “shhh kori, honey, it’s okay— mommy’s okay and so are you...” in the process of comforting her, you somehow trip over the discarded knife, sending it flying into the cabinets across from the island and making another loud noise that further spooks kori.

at this she screams bloody murder, the sound of her little chest heaving giving you a splitting headache. you were tired, tired of your daughter’s crying , working long hours with no help and raising a child all on your own. you were tired of the pain spreading through your head and your body and your heart. you needed an out or break at the very least.

you should feel guilty for what you’re about to do, heading for the nursery with a heaving baby in your grip. you can’t think of anything better to do than put kori down for a nap and hope that her crying tires her out— you do your best to pry the little girl from clinging onto your clothes and tuck her into her crib as she sniffles, quickly backing out of her room before she can call for you and make you feel even worse than you already do.

you close the door quietly behind you, somewhat sliding down it while your own sobs take over your body— shaking you violently as you hug your knees to your chest. you don’t know how long you sit there, biting your lips and holding onto in your whimpers while tears stream down the apples of your cheeks, but eventually

you find yourself drifting off with dreams of your happy family.

you jump awake a few hours later, surrounded by a thick darkness from the sky outside. the hum of the city streets helps to bring you back down to earth as you rub the sleep from your puffy eyes and blink away the exhaustion. you don’t quite remember when you’d fallen into a slumber but you figure that kori must have eventually, judging by the quietness that surrounds your apartment.

the blanket of the night allows your guilt to burn brightly in your chest— you shouldn’t have left her alone. scrambling to your feet, you stumble over to the kitchen counter and grab your phone to read the time. 11:06pm. it’s just about time that you check on your daughter, but with two steps of heading to the nursery and you’re met with foreign sound that doesn’t quite fit in with the usual creaks and squeaks of your apparent.

happy gurgles belonging to your baby creep out from underneath her bedroom door, low humming or singing to accompany her sweet sound. humming that you don’t recognise. with a pang of fear to your heart, you reach for the knife on your kitchen floor as a weapon of defence— this would go down nicely with the police. a single mother on self defence...yeah, that could work out.

the knife shakes in your hand as you approach kori’s nursery, barely steady even when you push open the door.

“...touya?”

nothing could prepare you for what you’d see after walking into that room but when your eyes fall witness to your love standing in the centre of the room with a little tuft of white hair cradled to his bare chest. the air around you tingles with warmth as if dabi has heated the place up with his quirk and your little girl curls into him as if she’s known him all her life. but she hadn’t, he hadn’t.

all at once, your heart heals just as it breaks— it’s been so long since you’ve seen the villain that you can’t help but notice all the changes in him, the way his eyes droop a little more with exhaustion and his hair dusted with a the slightest bit of white. he was noticeably thinner too, maybe from being away from a warm bed and good food for too long...so a half of you was relieved that he was home, the other— hurt and betrayed.

“hey beautiful,” dabi’s timbre voice fills your entire being, stimulating your senses into a dull tingle. his lips a drawn into soft smirk as he rocks kori back and forth, your  baby’s eyes flutter with the gentle indication of sleep. “how’ya been?”

if you weren’t frozen in shock, you would have given the villain a piece of your mind. how dare he...after all this time apart from you, from his daughter...ask how you were doing? your eyes flutter to the open window behind the oldest todoroki son, as if you need to look away from him to convince yourself he’s real and he won’t disappear when you look back.

proven right by meeting the cool, chartreuse sea of his eyes— your throat runs dry as all you’d ever dreamed of saying in this moment, flees from your mind. “what are you doing here?” you say, trying to sound firm even though your voice falls through.

touya stays quiet, twirling a long finger through the small curls on his—your daughter’s head. “i was in the neighbourhood.” he mumbles, gaze tearing away from you to focus on the content infant he has in his arms.

you should feel angry, you should be screaming and kicking at dabi— forcing him out of your home with your child safe in your own arms but your body doesn’t will you to. hurt seeps through your veins at the casual aura in his tone. of course dabi would treat the situation as if it never existed and that he’d been with you the whole time. the pain of seeing him with her as if he’d been in kori’s life from the very start wraps around your heart in a poisonous grip and squeezes hard until you’re choking back a sob, letting it sit in the base of your throat.

you refuse to break in front of him.

“you need to go. you need to put her down and you need to leave.” you attempt to assert yourself in a harsh bark, almost making dabi jump. he’d never seen you like this before, but then again he hadn’t seen you in a year. he could only imagine what motherhood had done to you, especially facing it on your own. touya hesitates, kori shifting in his soft grip— one he didn’t even know that he had as a villain but you steady yourself and repeat your words. “touya, i said you need to leave.”

“why? so you can fall asleep and leave her crying on her own again?” the villain spits out, harsher than he intended. he watches your face fall and your body curl in on itself and he feels bad. dabi had promised you a lot of things since realising he loved you, and not hurting you like his father hurt his mother was one that he’d just broken. relenting, the dark haired villain eases kori from his pec and tucks her into her crib.

there’s a beat of silence and then. “i’m sorry.”

“you should be.”

“yn,” he sighs, running a hand through the light roots of his hair as he leans over his child’s crib. the young father tilts his head, scanning kori’s face while he identifies every characteristic she has from the family he’d done his best to free himself of.   “i’m sorry, it’s just— just that she was cold and crying, so i took off my shirt and held her and she warmed up and—“ dabi pauses his quiet rambling, finally looking up from the slumbering baby tucked away into powder blue silk and locks eyes with you. “and she probably has my mom’s shitty quirk. and i can’t get over how much she looks like them, how big she’s gotten.”

touya finds his shirt after admitting that, throwing on the thin white material before closing the window he came through. he moves with the swiftness that comes with his job, and it’s almost peaceful to watch. you stay plastered by the door, torn between falling right into the palm of his hand and demanding the answers that you and your daughter deserve.

it makes you feel a little sick when he gazes down at kori with pride, it makes you queasy at how easy she was to handle to him. touya todoroki doesn’t know half of what it was to raise his child...but did that make you a bad mother? was there something he shared with kori that you didn’t? dabi hadn’t known what it was to love someone other than himself until he’d met you, but you’d spent your entire life around family and friends who took care of you and made you feel cherished every day. you had all of that before you had dabi, and you’d given it all up for him.

shouldn’t you be the one to easily put your daughter down for a nap? to soothe her tears? and for him to come so briskly into your lives and take care of it all when he doesn’t even know what you’d been through, hurts most of all.

“you don’t even know her,” you start, tremble to your bottom lip as the sob in your throat builds up and threatens to burst. “you never saw her after she was born, never cut the cord, never knew her weight. you don’t know how tiny she was when she came into the world, you don’t know because you didn’t come!” with each word, stray tears manage to escape from your tired eyes, but you’re too fixated on dabi to bother to wipe them. it hurts to cry, it stings even as they stream down the apples of youth cheeks but you don’t move.

“yn, sweetness, i—“

“i know how much she weighed when she was born, four pounds and thirteen ounces. she was so tiny i was scared that she would break—“ you’re gasping now, almost choking yourself out on the pain that burns brightly in your lungs and claws its way up your throat. “i know her favourite foods, what fabrics irritate her skin, her favourite stuffed toys, how she likes to be swaddled in her blankets at night or that her curls make her face itch but they’re practically untameable.”

you start to heave, losing breath with every word and dabi does nothing but watch, keeping an eye on kori to make sure she stays sleeping as he steps towards you. “i know that i love her more than i’ve loved anything in my entire life, despite how much i suffered alone bringing her into this world. and i know that i named her kori after the ice that frosted the windows of my hospital room while i waited for... you.”

touya remains emotionless while you descend into madness, letting you cry it out. “i’ve been watching...”

you want to scream, beat his chest and blame him for how insane you’ve become. “watching isn’t enough touya, she needed you. i-i needed you.” you whimper, falling limp against the door frame as your hands move threateningly towards your hair as if you’re going to rip it out from the root. “...you couldn’t come and visit? not once i-in the eleven months that she’s been alive? not once while she’s been breaking me down and giving—“

“giving you a hard time? i tried, i took care of you from afar...i’m the one who made your boss disappear. the one who put his hands on you.” dabi sneers towards the end of his once gentle words, standing a breaths width away from you. you hate that you crave the same touch from him as he gave to kori, but you’re still so mad at him.

eventually, it all becomes too much and you succumb to the tears that wrack your exhausted body. you sway with each choked wail that tumbles from between your chapped lips and dabi surges forward to catch you after kicking the knife from earlier away, letting you sink into the warmth of his embrace. he feels like home, smells like safety and not a word is uttered as he brings you to the floor and cradles you like he did with his daughter.

dabi doesn’t need to say sorry when he shows you through how close he holds you to his heart.

when you finally calm down, dabi lifts you bridal style to your bathroom and draws you a bath with the salts and lavender extract from the cupboard above the sink. neither of you speak except for when he softly offers to help you undress— to which you decline— and when he tells you he’s going to fix something to eat.

you knew damn well that the villain could not cook, he hadn’t been when he was little since endeavour took away the entirety of his childhood and you’d only taught him the basics when he was still on the run and stopped by your place from time to time. his favourite thing back then had been to watch you cook to the weird music you kept playing, hips swaying to the beat and a sparkle in your eyes— but you didn’t do that anymore, he could tell those days were long gone.

dabi orders in takeout in the end and you have half a mind to curse him out for using your money— but the day’s events have exhausted you beyond your wits end, so you eat with him in silence atop your double bed after dressing in an old shirt of his. “stay the night.” is what you tell him, scared that he’ll leave. he puts his cigarette out on your balcony. the doors usually stayed locked so kori couldn’t crawl out on her own but you opened it for him since dabi liked to smoke and you hated the ash.

he promised to quit back then, and he hadn’t now.

“i’ll stay.” dabi says, throwing the butt over the ledge and stripping his clothes as he follows you to bed. he decides not to mention he wanted to stay anyway. you peel back the covers enough for him to slip in behind you, heated arms wrapping around your waist and settling on your tummy, where he rubs small patterns into your skin. the villain’s chest is ��overwhelmingly warm against your back— reminding you of the days where you would spoon and he’d wait with baited breath for kori to kick.

both of you lay together, wide awake in the dark for goodness knows how long. touya’s breath balmy against the nape of your neck and if you focused hard enough, you could feel his eyelashes fluttering against your skin. he pretends to sleep, refusing to acknowledge that his proximity to you affects him in the worst of ways— evident in how his prominent hard on presses against the swell of your ass.

rolling over, your heart skips a beat at the way your love’s eyes still manage to glow brightly in the dark— ignited by the flames of his quirk and emotions of angst from the past.

they flicker as he looks to you, pale skin illuminated by the silver moon slipping in from your balconies, scars as enticing as ever. tentatively, you reach a hand out to cup his face, not kidding the apprehension that paint his matured features even as you run your fingers down the scars on his jaw. “been a while since we’ve been like this,” is all you can muster up, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek while your free hand snakes between your bodies in an attempt to pleasure the man.

fear strikes you right in the chest, leaving you panting as dabi flips you onto your back quickly, pinning your wrists against the bed. “don’t,” he growls, almost feral in tone and in his eyes. “don’t do something you might regret in the morning.”

you lay still, staring at the man above you in an attempt to read him. doing so had always been hard, but tonight you can see every detail of his life and every part of him.  the fear of being his father and disappointing another group of people, a broken man torn between the people he loved and the life he led— you could finally see him. you wondered if it hurt him to be away from you and his child, if he ever thought of you.

you take a deep breath, fabric of the sheets fuzzy in your ears as you shake your head up at him. “i could never regret being with you,” you sigh, dabi’s gaze lowering. “i just need you...”

your proclamation is all the permission dabi needs before he ascends on your neck, almost whimpering at the taste of your skin against his tongue. you know that he’s avoiding your lips, scared that things may not feel the same if he kisses you there— as if your love might have fizzled out from the months that you’ve been apart. the villain’s mouth is hot against your skin, sharp teeth sinking into the column of your throat— it’s not hard for him to find the spots that make your back arch and body tingle, the dark haired man  would be embarrassed to admit that he had your body mapped out in his brain. you were all that he thought about in the months between then and now.

you miss his lips, but you fear that if you push your love to far he’ll clam up and withdraw from you completely. you can’t lose him while you have him now. in the meantime, your bodies press against one another hotly, burning while dabi paints shades of blue and purple deeper than his eyes against your flesh before lapping at each love bite with an odd tenderness people wouldn’t think he possessed at first glance. as he works, touya loses grip on your wrists, allowing them free roam across the expanse of his back.

your nails leave light tracks across his back, trailing up from his muscled back to the nape of his neck— curling in the white roots of his hair in an attempt to tug him up to your lips. “baby,” the old pet name tumbles from between them before you can catch yourself, laboured from where you’re short of breath. “please kiss me, please..”

with newly mussed hair, dabi is still for a moment before leaving one last mark at where your jaw meets your neck— wet tongue lolling over the fresh bruise while his large palm move back to cup your head. a thumb belonging to a scared hand runs over your bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh down while he watches your face for a reaction. “are you sure that’s what you want, beautiful?” the villain chuckles into the dark of the night, pink muscle running over his own lips to wet them in anticipation. “you want your man to kiss you?”

your senses go into overdrive, desperate for any kind of contact from the man above you— he feels so close and yet, a million miles away, even with his body making its way between your thighs and your chests pressing together eagerly.

“touya—“ you breathe, barely able to finish your sentence before the man himself delves deep into your mouth. his lips move with hesitance at first, sucking on yours slightly and parting for air more often than he should but you grip him by the whites of his hair firmly and tug him further into the kiss. your tongue dances along the seam of his lips, prying them open as you seek permission for entrance— dabi groans lowly as you tug on his roots and force your way into his mouth, tasting him as if it were your last time.

you swallow each of his moans that mingle softly with your own, while your tongues dance together messily— the kiss were and sloppy as if the two of you were out of practice. your worries fly out of the window from there, it’s good to know that neither of you had been with others during your time apart instead you feel like a teenager making out with their highschool crush for the very first time. dabi’s hips rut into the plush bed beneath you both and you can tell that even the slightest touches are riling him up beyond belief— it’d been almost a year since he’d felt you against him in any way and it didn’t help that you were so ready to accept him.

that you still wanted him.

whimpering at the thought, the villain pauses against your lips to catch his breath— panting softly. you can feel him pulling away, questioning if he deserves to be with you after everything he’d put you through. so, cupping dabi’s jaw, you let your free hand slip between your heated bodies and glide your fingertips along the waist band of his sweats.

“yn, i ain’t so sure about this,” dabi sighs, body twitching at the proximity of your hands to his hardness, his eyelids flutter shut and lock away his beautiful blue eyes— holding fear, insecurity and desire. “what if ya’still regret this later on?”

smiling up at him, you thumb at his cheek and work your hand deeper into his pants, past his underwear. “you’ve been away too long baby, i would regret not being with you more,” you coo up at him just as you grasp at his hardened length, watching as dabi shudders in your grip. his cock leaks hotly against your soft palm from going untouched for so long, your fingers explore him— tracing down the thick veins on the underside of his length. “let me make you feel good tonight.”

“fuck, sweetness. talk pretty with that filthy fuckin’ mouth of yours.” touya breathes heavily against your mouth, both of yours falling open in hot moans. cheekily, you run a thumb over his tip, circling the slit at the top. dabi collapses on top of you, burying his mop of salt and pepper hair into your neck as he drives his hips into your hand at his own leisurely pace. “y’better live up to those words—shit, don’t go letting me down, princess.” jade orbs finally open, heavy with lust and desire as the air around you tingles with a newfound desire to make each other feel good, settling on the planes of your marked and scratched skin.

your grip around dabi tightens while he fucks into your closed fist, wet sounds filling the room from where he leaks at his bright red tip— almost hot as his hands that dance up your sides and tenderly touch at your hips. so unsure, yet so needy. clear, thick precum guides the movement of your hand as it slides up and down your lover’s girth— he’s much bigger than you remember, swollen with an impending orgasm and dabi stutters when you reach further down his boxers to grip at weighty balls full of his seed, just about ready to burst.

he howls from deep within his chest, the noise only muffled from the drool that glides across his tongue before the villain’s wandering and scarred palms stop at your rib cage, settling just under your breasts. you don’t bother to stop pleasuring him even as his quirk ignites, blue flames burning right through your night shirt to expose your skin to the cool night air.  without even a second thought, dabi’s mouth ascends on your tits, taking one into the hot cavern while his free hand seers marks over the other.

the thought have being branded by your man makes your hips jump and your hand squeeze his cock in your grip— a reminder of what’s to come later on. his strawberry tongue rolls across your hardened nipple and you yelp in surprise with the sudden feeling of cool metal across the exposed flesh. “y-you have your tongue pierced?” you squeal as dabi repeats his actions, loving the way you arch your back into his mouth and your heart rate speeds up.

“never know when a bit of metal’s gonna come in handy, sugar tits.”

you barely have time to formulate a response before your boyfriend’s mouth is back on you, biting and sucking and marking your raw flesh like a man starved of his last meal— you don’t let up either, quickly pumping his cock as he continues to leak, painting your hand with teases of his incoming release. you’re sure that his sweatpants and the sheets below you will be stained with his arousal from how much precum oozes from his dick, slicking up your hands and creating the perfect flashlight but you don’t dare to think of anything else but the way dabi’s face twists with pleasure as he desperately thrusts himself into the softness of your palm.

his cheeks flush red, globs of drool connecting the roof of his mouth to his tongue while his eyes grow fuzzy at each step he takes closer to orgasm, the very drool from his mouth covers each of your breasts as dabi switches between them— creating a layer of wet against your supple skin that shines under the moon. you flick your wrist around him, faster, harder— giving the villain everything you’ve got to make him feel good.

“shit pretty girl, y’gonna make me...cum,” touya shakes in your grip, eyes crossing and tongue becoming lazy against your marked up chest. his salvia pools against your skin while he pants and fucks your wet hand as if it were your pretty little cunt clamping down on him. “fuck, fuck, fuck. don’t you fuckin’ stop, don’t you dare fuckin’ stop...”

he barks out the demands, but there’s a neediness to his tone and whine to his voice that makes you grin with pride, even if you’re barely there from having your nipples stimulated beyond belief. “cum for me touya, please, wanna feel you come undone for me.” you beg him, ever so slightly and it’s just enough to push the villain over the edge, sending him into an earth shattering orgasm. you don’t dare to stop as you jerk him off, guiding down from his high as his cock twitches from release and paints your knuckles with the thick white of his seed. he mewls contendly into your breasts, slowing his hips while the world of colours dance behind his cerulean eyes.

“here with me yet?” you murmur to him, grasping his wild locks to tilt his head up towards your face— dabi looks so blissed out but the smirk on his raw and bitten lips tells you the night is far from over.

pressing a searing kiss to your sternum, your boyfriend’s pierced tongue makes yet another appearance as he trails the muscle down your soft tummy— biting your navel as he goes. “never left gorgeous, but don’t you fucking dare think for a second that this is over, y’got that?” he sits up quickly, grabbing hold of your doughy thighs and using them to pull you down the bed. the pads of his fingers start to burn marks into your skin, dancing along your legs and stopping just above the waistband of your underwear. “gotta stretch this cunt open before i give you my cock, remind you of who the fuck you belong to.”

spreading your thighs nice and wide, you release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding as dabi’s hands finally come into contact with your slit, prodding at your slick folds from over your panties. lowering his face between your open legs, your boyfriend hums in satisfaction as he peels your sticky panties away from your pussy. “why, babydoll, you’re so fucking wet down here. this can’t all be for me, can it?” touya teases you, hot breath fanning against your unused sex while his fingers play with the string of your slick that coats them. “y’must’ve missed your man badly for your lil cunt to look this fucked up, s’pecially when i haven’t even touched’ya yet.”

you shiver and nod weakly, willing to say or do anything to feel more of your boyfriend against you. “s’all for you dabi, o-only you could get me this wet, n-no one else could take your place...” you mewl, hips bucking into the air while the man himself watches you grow needier and needier, hormones expelled into the air. dabi grins, leaning into your core once more to press his nose into your wetness, sniffing your spiked panties like the dirty man he is— only to then lay his pierced tongue flat against your folds, tracing your hole with the muscle while his nose bumps at your clothed clit.

“saved this all for me, huh? you’re so loyal, sweetness. waiting for me all this time…” he kitten licks at your cunt until you’re writhing amongst the already solid sheets, forcing his spit into your hole from over the thin fabric of your panties, creating a more prominent outline of your puffy lower lips as your thighs quieter around his head. they threaten to close as he works on you through your underwear— teasing and prodding at your sex to see if you respond the same way to his touches as you used to.

you force your shaking through his black and white locks, grabbing hold of his roots in an attempt to pull dabi back to your heat when he lifts his head from between your thighs— pushing your lips into a pout. “no, no no, baby, please— need you to eat my cunt, want your mouth on me, please!” you cry out, but you’re quickly pacified by his scarred hand which cups your pussy— seat of his hand grinding into your clit.

“god, if i had known you were still this eager to fuck me i woulda come home a long time ago, babydoll.” he chuckles, licking up your inner thigh and biting down on the plush flesh. “need’ta get rid of these though, they’re getting in my way.” the villain gestures to your panties, making you watch as his quirk burns it’s way through the silky material until it’s nothing but ash against your sheets. you gasp as soon as your cute little pussy is exposed to the cool air, missing the warmth of touya’s pink tongue against it. “better.” he sneers, eyes bright and glowing in the dark with a new sense of feral desire.

thick digits press into your tight hole at the same time touya takes to sucking on your swollen clit, forcing their way up your velvet walls in search for your pleasure spot. dabi chuckles against your sticky folds as you begin to whine, hips rolling up into your lover’s face while his tongue draws rough patterns onto your bud. you’ve missed him, missed this. the nights where the villain dabi would sneak into your home, becoming your touya todoroki between the four walls that you shared— where you would spend nights seeing stars by his hand or his cock and he would make you his over and over again. the memories have you clamping down on his digits like there’s no tomorrow, greedily sucking them in as he strokes at the walls of your sex and makes your whole body shake.

touya works hard at pleasuring you, apologising for his absence through slurping the juices from your folds only for you to gush and paint his scarred chin with more of your nectar. the way you taste makes him dizzy, he could spend the rest of his life between your thighs and never miss the outside world like he did before tonight. he wants to be good for you, make you feel good too and it’s not enough to feel the ecstasy roll off of your heavenly body in waves— he wants all of you, mind, body and soul to belong to him.

you can barely breathe, leaking with every swipe of his tongue against you and every twist of his fingers inside of you. you can feel everything at once, the euphoria crackling across your brain, high on the way touya makes you feel. “god, t-touya, don’ stop...feel so fucking good…” you heave in a drawn out moan, barely able to tell what’s up and what’s down as the villain pulls his fingers from your slick hole and replaces them with his tongue ( only after they’ve pushed down on your g-spot over and over again ).

“you’re not the one giving orders, sweet stuff, oh no.” dabi reminds you sloppily, looking like a child with no table manners as your nectar smears across his face. for his own satisfaction, he delivers a harsh smack to your pussy, watching as your entire body jolts and jumps up the bed. “your cunt is mine and i’ll do what i want with it, show you how much i missed it.”

his possessive words almost set you off, the knot in your stomach growing tighter with every pinch of your nub and every swirl on his tongue inside your walls, committing every ridge to memory. your body burns and you’re not sure if it’s from dabi pressing against you so hotly or because of the desire that fuels the fire inside you.

“yours, yours, yours!” you chant like a mantra, high pitched and whiny— your voice mixing with the crude sounds of your own pathetic cunt, that grows louder when dabi spits on your clit to add to your wetness. he lets it drip between your folds, fingers to busy with stimulating you to catch it before it slides between your lower cheeks, opting to use his tongue on you instead.

“ya’like that don’t you? missed your whinin’ pretty girl, fuck, even missed making you a fucking mess.” you keen into his touch, babbling incoherent praises to the man between your legs as he spreads you wider by the ass with one hand and forces his fingers back into your cunt with the other. his fingers curl into a come hither motion, repeatedly pressing down on your spongy spot as he sloppily makes out with your puffy nub— taking only one, two, three strokes to make your eyes roll into the back of your skull and your orgasm to wash over you.

your body convulses, shaking as you’re hit hard by your release— juices gushing all over your lover’s face even as he refuses to let up. “t-touya no...no no...can-can’t,” you whinge, tears clumping in your lashes. dabi spreads your lips again, using three digits instead of two to continue stimulating your clit until another release builds up inside your lower belly— clear liquid gushing out of your abused pussy and staining the sheets below.

he hums proudly, pressing a lasting kiss to your fluttering hole before reaching up to your lips to do the same, barely allowing you the time to catch your breath— chest heaving while you come down from your high. “so pretty when you squirt for me like that, sweetness,” dabi moans into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on him. but as soon as he comes, he’s gone— rolling you onto your stomach and lifting your hips so your ass sits in the air for him. “gonna take my cock now, kay?”

“kay,” you mumble into the sheets, brain too  fuzzy to resist as the villain manhandles you the way he wants.

after shoving down his sweatpants, the eldest todoroki grips the peachy soft flesh of your ass— smacking it a few times with his heat activated palms to watch the flesh jiggle and his handprint sink into the skin. you lean back, watching over your shoulder as his cock stands at full attention, hard from seeing you come undone on his fingers and tongue. it burns bright red at the tip, another fat glob of precum making it shine and making you dribble with anticipation. “y’such a fuckin’ slut, my beautiful slut… hungry for my cock even after i’ve wrecked your lil pussy so bad,” dabi says with a cocky lilt to his voice, the very tone making your hole clench around nothing. he taps his sticky cockhead against your slit, running it up and down your cunt three or four times— groaning as it slides between your cheeks. the sensation causes your back to arch as you wail, fingers gripping the bed covers so tight that you almost cause them to tear. “don’t you worry baby, ‘m gonna make up for lost time, you don’t have to miss me anymore.”

there’s a double meaning to his words that you don’t ask him to elaborate on, too caught up in the way he teases your hole as he dips his length in— only to pull it right back out. “don’t tease, need you badly,” you plead, earning yourself another harsh spank to your raw ass cheeks.

“shut the fuck up and let me fuck you,” the words are harsh against his tongue, but dabi utters them softly as he relents to his wishes. his cerulean gaze flutters down to where your bodies begin to join, his large hand gripping his length before he starts to push into your dribbling entrance. “god, you’re s’fuckin’ tight, you might as well be a virgin.” pussy spasming at his words, you leak against touya’s cock, creating a lewd squelching sound as he pushes more of himself into you. the weight of dabi’s thick girth causes painful, yet delicious burn which he eases by rubbing soothing circles into your clit once more. “been s’long, i outta fuck you open again, huh?”

“uhuh, take me again touya. make me yours, all over again.” you slur over the spit drowning your tongue, eyes fluttering shut when the villain’s hips surge forward his dick brushes against your cervix. his rough, calloused palm grabs your neck from behind, forcing you down into the sheets while he bottoms out inside of you and pushes the last of his cock past your entrance. the two of you groan in unison, touya sitting heavy inside of your walls before you muster up the energy to say. “move.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice, whilst dabi was enjoying the feeling of being engulfed by your soft, warm insides— cock twitching in relief from time to time— he finds it within him to pull back from your selfish cunt to thrust into you with all his might. the force pulls a broken squeal from between your bitten and bruised lips, your hips pushing back against dabi to keep him inside of you. the pair of you move in sync, bodies dancing in a sensual grind between lovers that moulds your cunt into the shape of your boyfriend once more. “oh fuck yeah baby, oooh, missed your cunny s’bad…” dabi yowls loudly, listening for the squashy sounds of your sexes moving against one another. “christ, you like when i talk about your pathetic little pussy like this?”

you bite down on your lower lip, embarrassed by your own bleats of pleasure when he degrades you like this. annoyed by your lack of answer, touya grabs onto your hips and pulls you off of his cock, only to slam them back into you seconds later. his pace is unforgiving and relentless from there, forcing your body up the bed with every thrust into your core. “yes! like it, love it, missed your cock so bad touya!” you cry, holding onto the sheets for dear life as his dick drags along your pleasure spots and his hands burn marks into your ass and hips.

weakly, you attempt to match his thrusts. circling the meat of your ass back onto dabi and squeezing around the head of his girth every time it plunges into your sopping pussy. your arousals mix as he pounds away at your hole, a thick string hanging between your bodies and dribbling down your inner thighs, tainting innocent skin. the wet noise reverberates across the room, creating a passionate symphony with dabi’s deep, pitiful moans.

even though it had been a while since the two of you had been intimate like this, dabi still knew all the ways to get your body going. he took you from behind but still let his marred hands wonder and explore the planes of your skin, pinching here and there, marking your body as his to use and his alone. there’s love hidden beneath his rough touches, little signs that he missed having you so close to him— having you split open on his cock while you dripped on his pelvis and ruined your bedsheets, was his own way of unleashing his pent up emotions of love, anger and despair onto you and you wanted it. you wanted his good and his bad while he fucked you like his life depended on it, balls deep inside the pussy of the woman he loved was where he was most vulnerable with you.

“s-shit, sweetness, you’re such a pretty mess, so fucked up on my cock, can feel you clamping around me like my greedy bitch should.” you’re stuffed so full, clenching every time touya drives his cock deeper into your gummy cunt, head prodding at the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. he’s losing his mind at how you choke out his iron hot girth, clear liquid seeping down your thighs at every thrust. “you’re my beautiful brain dead baby, letting me fuck you like this, yeah? missed you baby, missed this,” despite his words, touya is no better than you, mind hazy with thoughts of you creaming around him because of how good he’s made you feel. him, and no one else. you saved yourself for him after all these months, the least he could do was bring you to cloud nine.

he does so by angling his thrusts up to meet your pleasure spot every time, howling your name in the way he knows you like just to feel your hot cunny spew more of your juices out against his tummy. “missed you, thought about this for months,” you lament, elbows that kept you up finally giving out as your body tiredly collapses into the sheets— dabi’s balls still clapping against your ass. he follows you down into bed covers, chest pressing hotly against your back as the jackhammers into you from behind. “thought about your fat cock in my tight pussy, t-touched myself to you...made being alone worth it, made waiting for you to come home worth it. ‘cause i get to see your beautiful face when you fuck me…” you barely register what you’re saying, babbling incorrectly while the temperature of your body rises with your level of arousal.

behind you, touya’s cheeks burn with a new feeling. deep down, all he wanted was to be validated as a lover to you, he’d always been deemed as the bad guy incapable of feeling anything for anyone other than himself. but you, you had proved him wrong so many times and he still found your words hard to believe. yet, it felt good to know how much you loved him. snaking a hand down to your face, the villain squishes your cheeks together and brings you up to his own face despite the arch to your back— he keeps up his sinful pace, your lower cheeks bouncing with every push and pull of his length while he drips a globule of his saliva into your pouting mouth. “shut up,” he grunts harshly, although love is written across his cobalt eyes.

you smile up at him dopily, keeping eye contact with him as you swallow gratefully. “anything for you,” his hands slip from your squashed cheeks to your throat, cupping it as he holds you against him. more arousal pools in your lower stomach, turned on by the thrill of him being able to end your life right then and there, all it would take would be one flame but you know more than anything that dabi loves you and would never hurt you. “i love you, touya todoroki. i a-always will.”

your admission makes dabi’s heart stop in his chest, heated pants tickling your ear as he continues to take you and claim your body as his. with newfound vigor, he links his free hand with yours that lays against the bed and rams his cock into your core as hard and as fast as he can, determined to make you cum. “i—oh fuck, i love you too, sweetness…” the arsonist can feel the way your cunt flutters around his girth at his confession, tears building up in your eyes once more. god, you were so pretty like this, arched for him perfectly in the moon, stars illuminating every curve and dip on your body— showing off the stretch marks from where you’d carried his child. everything about you turned him on in the best possible ways and everything about you that turned him on, also turned out to be everything he loved about you.

your stupid big heart, your stupid big eyes when you say that you love him, your stupid smile when he used to kiss you and hold you and even now when he fucked you. touya todoroki was in love and in the worst possible way but he couldn’t say he regretted a single moment of it, not when you stayed true to him after all these months of being apart. you raised his child and you loved him all the same and a part of him is grateful that you never turned your back on him like everyone else he’s ever loved.

so the least he could do is make love to you, push his creamy cock into the depth of your core while kissing down your spine to watch you shudder oh so cutely. it’s messy and sloppy and the pair of you should feel nasty for the stench of sex in the air, lingering against your skin. but you don’t, how could you? not when love and adoration tingles in the air as well, it’s messy because of the unadulterated emotions you feel for one another— deep in vulnerability is where dabi grinds his cock slowly into you, hitting all the right places that make you scream his name into the night. makes him mumble incoherent praises against your bruised neck and squished cheeks as he lewdly licks a stripe up the column of your neck to behind your ear.

you gush around him and he grunts with ecstasy into your ear, tightening that knot in your stomach as you both step closer to your highs. “you like the way i fill this cunt up, huh? yeah? when i hold you like this, when i fuck you like this?” dabi mutters to you lewdly, holding onto his sanity by a thin thread as his own release sneaks up on him. “tell me you like it...fuck sweetness, please.”

“i love the way you fuck me touya, fuck! only you can make me feel this good,” you moan to appease him, bouncing back against his cock while his hips begin to stutter and your eyes begin to cross. it’s true, you love belonging to him, being able to bring him such pleasure and you know he feels the same way. the villain prods at your g-spot over and over again, stealing your breath away as he pulls you up and into your chest, changing the angle of his hips to bring you to the last hurdle. “baby—ohmygod—-touya! ‘m sososo close, don’t stop...don’t stop, gonna cum, give it to me, give it to me please!” you chant, eyes fluttering shut as you lean your head back against his shoulder and search for his hand, voice rising with every octave as you get closer and closer.

“fucking cum for me sweet girl, shit, cum all over this fucking cock.” dabi manages through gritted teeth, grasping your hand while the pace of his thrusts grow inconsistent.

that’s all that you need to hear before the damn breaks and arousal floods through your entire body courses through your veins. white dances behind your eyes in flashes as your release flushes out of your pussy and drips between touya’s balls, coating them in a layer your honeyed slick. you slump against your boyfriend, not able to mutter a word as you convulse in a silent scream and squeeze both his hand and cock alike.

gently, he pushes you down to the bed and pulls his cock from your intoxicating heat— his free hand clasps around his cock, palming himself towards a swift release. “yeah, oh fuck yeah, fuckin’ love you baby,” he cums on your back and your ass, thick, potent and milky seed landing on your flushed skin before he collapses beside you and exhaustion settles in his bones.

you black out for a few minutes after, fingers still intertwined but dabi manages to slip out long enough to retrieve a washcloth that's damp and warm to clean you both up with. you wake up just as he crawls back into bed with you, kissing your hairline while he makes himself comfortable. “almost thought i’d killed you for a second,” the villain jokes, slinging a loose arm over your bare waist and pulling you to lay on his chest.

“you couldn’t, even if you tried.” you counter sleepily, drawing star shapes on your boyfriend’s naked stomach. a comfortable silence sweeps over the room, despite the thoughts that linger on your mind. looking up at dabi, you notice him drifting off but still can’t help the words that slip from your lips. “why didn’t you ever come back?”

you feel dabi’s chest rise and fall with a deep sigh, fingers coming up to scratch at your scalp— something that used to help you to sleep when you were together before. “i was figuring out a way to get out of the league, to be with you and kori.” he says after some time, catching your eye as you give him a confused look. “shigaraki doesn’t know about her, i never told him. but i knew from the moment we found out about her, i didn’t want her to be a part of the life i’m involved in and knowing how the league works, they’d find a way to make use of her.”

you stay quiet, not knowing what to do with the new information and dabi’s reasoning for staying away for so long. on one hand you were grateful to him for keeping your daughter quiet and safe but part of you still wished he’d given you a sign to let you know it’d all be okay. grabbing your chin, he forces you to look up at him—passionate flames burning in his eyes. “i need you to trust me on this one sweetness, i promise nothin’ will happen to you nor kori. so long as i’m around.”

“pinky promise?” you ask him sweetly, feeling the truth to his words.

you hold up your pinky to the villain’s face, smiling through exhaustion as he rolls his eyes down at you. “pinky promise, babydoll. now get some shut eye, kay?” touya links your pinky with his, scoffing when you make him kiss them.

“g’night, touya.”

“sleep well, babydoll.”

the bed is cold when you wake up the next morning.

the panic sets in quickly, speeding up with the chirping of birds from your balcony outside. you shouldn’t be tearing up over the childishness of a pinky promise. he always made you promises but never actually kept the and as quickly as dabi had waltzed back into your life, he had left you alone and in the cold once more.

gathering yourself together, you stumble out of your bed— avoiding any mirrors that may show the cascade of marks dabi had left against your skin from the previous night. you feel embarrassed and ashamed that you let him back into your life so easily, especially now that you had kori to think about. tears start to well in your tired and puffy eyes as you head to the kitchen, thinking that a mug of coffee will calm you down before you prep your daughter for the day.

but as you wander out of your room, the familiar sound of your baby girl’s laugher drifts through the air— seemingly coming from the kitchen.  the sweet melody calls out to you and suddenly your casual stride to the kitchen becomes a brisk walk so you can reach her faster. “kori? baby? did you climb out of your crib again—?” you call out to her, stopping in your tracks when you round the corner.

dabi stands in the middle of your kitchen, still shirtless, with kori balanced on his hip— in one hand he holds a small blue flame, which you’re sure he believes is safe enough for kori to play with while the other steadies your baby girl while she claps and squeals. a first. you’re not too sure when the last time you’d seen her happy was, but you figure her father’s presence had something to do with it.

“i was going to make you breakfast, but the little shit woke up and i didn’t have enough free hands to make you a grilled cheese.” touya smirks over at you, diminishing his flame to grasp kori’s hand and use it to wave at you. she squeals happily, curls bouncing and eyes lighting up in a similar way to her father’s. your heart melts at the sight of them being together, seeing the mannerisms that they share and how joyous they seem. they both grinned the same way, shared the little twitch in their noses and even their sneezes. kori todoroki was an exact replica of touya todoroki, right down to the tiny red curl she had lost in her white locks.

“you know, i thought you’d left,” you make your way across to the island where dabi sets his daughter down and check her temperature— just in case her sudden change in mood is down to any sickness. “the bed was cold when i woke up.”

“didn’t i make you a promise last night, sweetness? i’m not going anywhere,” the arsonist reminds you, wrapping his arms around you from behind while you wipe at kori’s pudgy baby cheeks and give her the once over again. “if you’re checking the kid’s temperature, she's usually pretty cold because of my mom’s quirk. something ice related will be coming through, but she must’ve inherited your strong constitution. guess she has a normal body temp when i’m around ‘cause it balances her out.” while dabi explains the inner workings of kori’s incoming quirk, she claps and babbles excitedly from her place on the island— making a game out of throwing her toys off of it. all of dabi’s logic makes sense and you seem a little more relieved knowing how to take care of her from here.

picking her up, along with her stray toys, you set your baby down by her playmat again and switch on some baby-safe cartoons while you fix yourself and dabi some coffee, kissing all over kori’s face beforehand. he had whined when you pulled away the first time to give your daughter some attention, it was almost comical how the big bad villain had pouted then. “i wonder if there’s anything of mine she inherited or if it’s all you and todoroki genetics.”

“well, her pretty smile certainly didn’t come from me, babydoll.” dabi muses with a light chuckle, arms trapping you against his chest once more as you continue to make you both some much needed caffeine. the coffee machine whirrs as you sway together in the early morning sunshine, warmth from the sun brushing against your skin and touya’s hair tickling your neck before he presses kisses over your fading love bites while kori’s annoying shows play in the background. everything feels complete and at peace. you feel like a real family. “i could get used to this, this life with you.”

you spin in dabi’s arms, cupping his cheeks and taking in his face for the millionth time in the last twelve hours. “then stay, or at least visit some more now that you’re back. you may not feel it, but kori and i need you. everything has always been better when you’ve been around touya… and i mean that. stay.” you stare at him with pleading eyes, standing on your tiptoes to stare him down and communicate just how much you needed him here with you both.

and for once in his life, touya todoroki feels the most loved he’s ever really felt. here in this shitty two bedroom apartment with his angelic little girl and his beautiful girlfriend during the winter season— touya knows this is right where he needs to be. “i’ll stay, for as long as you’ll fuckin’ have me.”

“forever, then?” you ask, eyes lowering to your boyfriend’s lips.

“forever it is, babydoll.” the villain nods, following your gaze before leaning down to capture your lips with a promise written into your sweet kiss.

extended ending

you thought that the best kind of weather was when the sun peeked out from behind the clouds but the air around you was still as cold as a december’s day. the breeze is enough to make your nose run just a little, but occasionally the warmth of the sun’s rays radiates across your skin like a warm blanket, balancing it out.

it was the kind of weather where people didn’t know how to dress, some wore mismatched shorts and jerseys whilst others were decked out in scarves up to their cheeks and sandals where their toes flopped out. it was the kind of weather that reminded you of dabi and kori, they were your warmth and your cold, they balanced each other out and made your family whole.

kori sits on your right hip as you push the car door closed and wave goodbye to an accomplice of your boyfriend’s— your driver for the evening. your little girl’s curls are combed back into two even pigtails, dark blue bows in each one while the red lock of her hair ( now, much longer ) curls against her forehead stubbornly. she looks so pretty, all fancied up a dress that dabi had chosen for her on this particular occasion, the lace irritated her only slightly but the decapitated endeavour plushie her father had gifted her served nicely as a distraction.

you bounce her once, cooing down at your baby before you look to the hospital in front of you— a look of determination in your eye. ever since the night touya had visited you and swore to stay, he’d kept his word to the best of his abilities. being a villain was still a major factor in your relationship, he came when he could stayed if his job permitted it— taking care of your daughter when your shifts were long and even going as far as to learn his and kori’s favourite recipes to cook on the nights where you couldn’t or you didn’t fancy take out.

in the last few weeks his visits had become slightly more scarce with shigaraki becoming more and more demanding, but touya’s plan to leave the league was slowly coming to fruition along with endeavour and the hero society which had both carved a life of struggle for the three of you.

your boyfriend being busy had given you more time to reconnect with the friends you had lost over the last year, meeting up with those from college, mina and tsuyu ( who’d simply thought you’d gone off the radar ) for kori’s first birthday. they absolutely loved her and your sweet girl loved all the attention she was getting. you even had the chance to reunite with your parents, who were more remorseful that you felt you couldn’t come to them for help than the fact that you’d gotten pregnant during college.

of course, they all asked who the father was and you simply told them that he had died ( which was half true ), using the excuse that you were embarrassed to be widowed and with a child at your young age.

shaking your head, you enter the hospital and recite the words that touya had made you practice the night before. you were here by endeavours orders and needed to see mrs.todoroki. your lover had used some sort of hack to put you on the list of visitors for his mother but one look at kori was all the guards and staff needed to let you through. a few nights prior to today, dabi had asked you to do one thing for him before it all went down, kissing your knuckles over some sushi take out.

so despite your nerves, you would go through with this for him, especially if it meant your family could be together. some guards escort yourself and kori to rei todoroki’s room, leaving you with a curt nod and slightly more polite wave to your daughter. the room itself is slightly bleak, a chair and some blue cushioned sofas positioned in an L-shape parallel to the blanketed bed. there’s a tv in the top left corner which and a set of draws underneath where a clear vase sits— containing blooming blue flowers.

rei looks up when you enter, grey eyes flashing with confusion despite the blank look on her face as kori babbles happily in your arms. “who are you?” she whispers, hands retreating from her flowers and  folding neatly in her lap.

“oh! i’m yn, your son’s fiancé and this,” you beam kindly, further entering the room and being sure to lock the doors behind you. you nod your head down to your daughter who waves around her endeavour plushy— paying no mind to the situation unfolding. “this is our daughter, your granddaughter...kori todoroki! she’s just turned one and daddy thought it was about time she met you, isn’t that right pretty girl?”

“dada!!!”

rei blinks and you smile again. “she’s a daddy’s girl,” you explain and lift your hand to snow the small sapphire engagement ring on your ring finger. touya had proposed last night as well, certain your plan would work out. “and quite frankly, so am i! how can i not be when your son treats me so well.”

nodding slowly, the wife of endeavour looks down at her hands which you note, nervously fiddle with a stray petal. “so, natsu and you—?” you can see her trying to work it out, curiosity written across her features. you could see why the woman might think kori was natuso’s child— they looked a lot like each other just by first glance but rei was missing an important feature. the colour of kori’s eyes.

“oh no, your other son. the eldest one.” you correct her with a sinister shake of your head. swiftly crossing the room to set your daughter down in rei’s lap. you watch with an evil air of satisfaction as rei todoroki freezes with fear, as the mistakes her family paid out to touya suddenly come to the forefront of her mind. she wobbles with kori still in her grip and you shoot her a dark glare— reaching over to fix her flowers in their vase. “touya picked these out, always said that you loved them. such a pretty shade of blue, no wonder why they’re your favourites, right?”

“please leave.” she looks up at you pleadingly, shaking like a leaf in the breeze outside. oh how you wish your fiancé was here to see this but he had more important things to do.

rolling your eyes, you grab the remote to switch on the tv— pinching kori’s nose affectionately to make her laugh again. “come sit with me rei, let’s watch some tv to help you calm down.”

the woman nods weakly, barely moving an inch as you take a seat beside her with a smile. you skip channels a few times, pride swelling up in your chest when you finally land on the right one, touya’s broadcast flashing across the screen. he sits leisurely in a chair, shirtless with all of his beautiful scars on display— a painful reminder of his childhood and what he’d become. “i, touya  todoroki, was born as the eldest son of endeavour. today i’ve killed over 30 innocent people until now, some to protect my family. my daughter, who i have not been able to see due to my father. i would like to let everyone know why i’d end up committing such a hideous act.” he speaks such calmness and clarity, and you can’t help but feel emotional at how he stands in front of the world.

kori grins, leaping up at the sight of her father on the screen and claps her hands. “dada!! dada!! lookie s’daddy!!” she squeals while rei struggles to breathe, panic set in her eyes.

you put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, offering her a sweet grin in an attempt to calm her before the oncoming storm. “keep watching, mrs.todoroki, touya said we’d be one big, happy family after this.” the words are sugar coated and sickly sweet, carrying the dark meaning across to your fiancé’s mother.

looking away, your heart swells while touya tears down the hero society and spills the truth for all of japan to see. you were grateful to the man he’d become— loyal to you, to your daughter and the dreams that you had. the satisfaction of seeing the real villains of the world fall was much greater than any hush money enji todoroki could ever offer.

fin.

— TAGLIST:

@husband-to-tomura-shigaraki @grace-todoroki @toshiuwu  @whet-ones-write​

[aimfor-theheart]

COIN TOSS– PART II

(18+ MINORS DNI)

PART I

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x Reader, a little Shouta Aizawa x Reader

SUMMARY: As you fall asleep, you wonder faintly, almost sadly, if you’re the first thing he’s fully touched without losing in a long time.

You are Eraserhead’s troubled protege with a Quirk that cancels out others the moment they touch you. Tomura Shigaraki takes great interest in you.

(Enemies to lovers, a lot of angst, some hurt/comfort)

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, age gap/power struggle, violence, gore, Tomura’s trauma specifically, (in later chapters) murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut, some blurred lines, rough sex, a smidge of a spit kink, a smidge of somnophilia (let me know if I’ve missed anything!)

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading or interacting with this!

A/N: again, thank you @randomrosewrites for beta-ing!! and thank you guys for the support and comments on the first part! here is your part two!! it's tomura heavy, but for those who love shouta, there's a lot of him in the final part! i hope you enjoy! let me know what you thought!

i also am obsessed with making playlists for when i write and i spend far too much time organizing it all and making sure the songs blend together so if you'd like to take a look at the playlist i made for this fic, it's here!

Read on Ao3

***

Shouta, like the responsible adult he is, soothes things out with you. Well, it doesn’t feel very soothed to you, but Shouta’s made his position clear and you’ve both returned to some semblance of normalcy.

He keeps his distance.

You try not to overstep, but you’re aching and furious.

(You’re holding a secret, too, letting it tear apart your insides, letting it turn circles in your mind until all you can think about is the chill of rain, the bite of a desperate kiss).

You hate that Shouta has retreated from you now. You hate that he’ll stop his hand before reaching out to touch you, like he always has to make sure, like he has to decide if that will be good for you. If you can handle it.

You feel shockingly alone.

You lash out at him more, bicker and argue over things you never used to. You don’t even know why you do it, can’t stop yourself from trying to dig into him. You regret it every time when all he gives you is impassiveness, levelheaded coolness. An adult speaking with an unruly child. He’s good at that, unfortunately.

Some days you want to beg him for answers. Why can’t you love me the way I love you? Is it me? How would you have me? If I was older? I can be more mature, I can be better and better and better–

His undercover work grows greater, draws him away from both you and Shinsou more. Shouta seems to ghost around your life now, drawn away from you, keeping a very careful space between you both.

But there are nights where he tells you to train with Shinsou alone now. You feel responsible. Mature. You glow with pride that he can trust you with one of his students, that you could be a mentor to Shinsou, too.

You grow closer to Shinsou because of this, too, when it’s just the two of you in the gym.

There is one evening in particular, when you’re both sprawled out on the floor taking a too-long water break because Shouta isn’t around when he admits that he used to be– still is sometimes– feared for his Quirk.

He tells you everyone expected him to be a villain.

“I used to be a thief,” you admit, “I was a petty villain, I guess.”

Shinsou looks at you and if he’s surprised, he doesn’t entirely show it, except for the lifting of his brows. You don’t sense judgement from him, though, when he asks, “Really?”

You take another swig of water, humming in affirmation. You swallow, “I was homeless, had no money, nothing. I was stealing from a supermarket when Shouta caught me.”

“You were just trying to survive,” Shinsou adds, like he’s trying to justify the crime, like it soothes him to know there was a good reason for a misdeed.

“Sure,” you reply, fiddling with your water bottle, “But I stole things I didn’t need, too. Just things I wanted.”

“But you’ve changed,” Shinsou says and you can’t tell if he’s trying to reassure himself or you more. “You’re a hero now.”

“Only because my circumstances changed. I was given a roof over my head, food to fill me. Clothes of my own that fit and weren’t torn. I was accepted.” You explain, “If it hadn’t been for Shouta, I would never have become a hero.”

Shinsou is silent, watching you.

“I’d probably be in jail. Or still a thief, in the least, if any other hero would’ve caught me.”

You don’t know why, but you think of Shigaraki suddenly. You think of how young some of the League of Villains are. You wonder if it had been them who offered you food and a home, if you’d be with them now, and not here, sitting on the floor of a nice, sparkling gym attached to U.A.’s dorms.

Something strange grows inside you, something a little bitter. It simmers with sympathy for them, for their lives. For kids like Shinsou with their villainous quirks. You wonder if he’d been poor, if he’d been alone, would he be here, too? Or somewhere else?

“But you were good before,” he says, and it almost feels naive, “I know you’re good.”

You shrug, “Good is relative, you know? I thought I was good because I didn’t kill people, I didn’t steal from other poor people, but society didn’t think I was good. I was still a thief.”

“But you were only a thief because you needed to survive.” he says again, “When given the chance, you changed and became a hero.”

“Exactly.” you say, “How many villains do you think just needed a chance?”

Shinsou goes silent now. His brows furrow in thought, pinching together in a way that makes him look a little too old for his age. You think all of the kids at U.A. grow up too quickly, all of them with too much on their small shoulders.

They’re only kids.

You’re barely older.

Shigaraki is barely older than you.

You push him out of your mind, toss your water bottle aside, and rise to your feet again. “C’mon,” you offer Shinsou your hand to help him up, too, “Shouta would kill me to know I let you lay around so much.”

This seems to pull him from his thoughts and he snorts, taking your hand.

You pull him up. And you both stare at each other a moment. You think he looks at you in a different light now and it isn’t bad, no, he seems to be pondering you more.

(And you’ll realize later that he’s become more sympathetic, that he sees you in villains now, reminds himself they’re people, too, with lives and needs and wants–)

It gives you a strange hope, as you begin to train with him again, to know that he’s the future of hero society.

***

Tomura spots you while he’s out stealing with Toga. Usually it’s Twice or Magne with her, but Twice was onto something else and Toga had decided to latch herself onto him for the day. He’s grown to tolerate her.

Besides, she’d managed to steal him a jean jacket, dark, rough, and worn with holes but it keeps him warmer while still being able to keep the hood of his sweatshirt up to hide himself. To blend in. She’d stolen herself something, too, as the weather begins to get colder and they still don’t have a base, wandering aimlessly.

(He feels stupidly responsible for them. But he’s learned good leaders are, in some way, responsible for their people. They don’t have to care in any way that is emotional, but they have to care in some way, make the group feel important to them. And begrudgingly, they are important to him–)

You’re with a boy around Toga’s age. Wild violet hair. You’re laughing at something he’s saying and you’re sharing street food, he thinks, something that’s warm, steaming up into the air.

He feels a vicious surge of jealousy for a moment. It’s so sharp and jarring that he reaches up to scratch at his neck, tearing into his skin.

But the boy looks too young and you tousle his hair like he’s a younger brother, not someone romantic. While there’s familiarity between you two, it’s not overly intimate.

Toga, unfortunately, follows his line of sight.

She looks between him and you. She tilts her head and Tomura can practically see the gears turning in her strange little mind.

“Do you know them?” she asks, almost innocently.

He doesn’t know why, but he says, “Just her.”

Toga looks back at you. She watches as you talk with the boy– the sun through the autumn leaves cast you in tangerine light, all golden and warm.

When she looks back at Tomura, a smile creeps onto her face. One that he knows is going to give him a migraine.

“She’s so pretty,” she trills, eyeing him too closely.

Tomura scratches at his neck again, harder, wincing a little when he feels a cut reopen.

“Do you have a crush, Tomura?” Toga sings, dancing in front of him to force herself into his line of sight.

“No,” Tomura snaps, bristling, which only seems to encourage her.

“Let’s say hi!” she says, about to bound off and Tomura catches her by the scruff of her jacket like a kitten. He’s wearing his partial gloves, but he still keeps a finger away from her.

“No,” he hisses, firmer now, pulling her back towards him. “They’re heroes. Don’t get distracted.”

Toga twists in his hold, wide-eyed for a moment, before her face settles into another enormous and excited smile. “You’re in love with a hero, too?!”

Tomura grits his teeth, snarling out, “I’m not in love with anyone.” He shakes her then and she yelps a little, “Now focus. We need food and I don’t want to deal with them.”

Toga finally squirms her way out of his hold, pouting at him, “You’re no fun.” she whines and all he does is shoulder past her. He stalks ahead, trying not to look at you again, if only to not draw your eye.

“Do you want to starve?” he asks waspishly, glancing at Toga over his shoulder.

She huffs, rolling her eyes, before hustling to catch up to him. She hums a strange little tune the rest of the time, knocking into his side, throwing him new looks as if to suggest they share some sort of commonality or secret. He grits his teeth but suffers through her torment.

When they return to the rest of the League with what they’d stolen, Toga announces to the whole group, “Tomura is in love with a hero, too!”

The migraine that had begun earlier in his temples reaches full force now. He doesn’t bother trying to deny it. He decides he doesn’t care.

Dabi’s laugh grates on him, though, “Is that so? Which little hero?” he asks Toga, and just as she’s skipping past him, he snags her, snatching the granola bar she’d had in her hand from their little raid.

She turns to grab it back and he pulls it out of her reach, “I don’t know! Give that back!” she squawks, clawing at him.

She must really dig at him because Dabi hisses, “You little twerp–” Just before Magne snatches the outstretched granola bar from Dabi’s hand. She hands it back to Toga, who quickly rushes off with it now.

And thankfully, for Tomura’s sanity, you’re not brought up again.

But he hadn’t noticed you– hadn’t noticed the way you’d seen him with Toga, too. Just a girl Shinsou’s age, following after him like an eager puppy.

Shinsou had trailed beside you like that, too, when you’d both walked back to U.A. with full bellies and new coffees in hand, warm and content.

***

There is a night where Shouta is out doing work undercover and you’re left to patrol on your own. You can’t take Shinsou yet, since he hasn’t earned his provisional license. You don’t mind these nights, by yourself, when you stick to shadows and rooftops, watching the city from above.

It’s cooler now and you tuck your face into the high collar of your hero uniform to hide from the wind that brushes past.

It’s been a quiet night so far. There are other, flashier heroes patrolling, too, meandering around the sidewalks to deter petty crime.

You check the time on your phone, noting that you have a little less than an hour until your shift is over, until you can go home and take a hot shower in an attempt to warm yourself up– especially your fingers, the tips of your ears.

You stretch, standing on one of the low roofs of a building. You’re stiff from crouching, so you decide to move around, change position. You use a grappling tool to shoot it onto a higher roof of the next building. You scale the bricks easily and once safely up, retract your grappling hook.

You look out over the quiet city, the golden light of lampposts, the meandering of cars through the streets. Some restaurants and bars are still open, their windows look warm and inviting with the flush of people inside.

You waste most of the last hour of your shift trying to remain warm, keeping a careful eye on the world below.

Towards the end, you notice a familiar figure in one of the alleyways down below. You don’t even see his face, just the back of his hoodie, just the angle of his shoulders.

Just the way he walks.

The thought should frighten you– that you know him like this, that you’re familiar with just the movement of his body.

Shigaraki Tomura walks away from the soft light of the main city, slips away into alleyways and darkness. You glance at the time. Your shift is nearly over.

This counts as hero work, doesn’t it? Silently following after him?

You drop down onto a fire escape– leap off to latch onto a lower window sill, until you’re dropping silently on to the ground a distance away from him.

You are careful to keep away from him, to use everything Shouta taught you about stealth to remain hidden. And you know Shigaraki is observant, you know he’s always looking over his shoulder so you have to stick to hidden places– behind dumpsters, ducking into alcoves of buildings.

He heads back to the part of the city you grew up in, where everything is falling apart, where there are plenty of abandoned buildings for hiding, plenty of places for runaway teens and homeless to sleep. The cheapest apartments, the streets that are the least patrolled by heroes and police alike, where parts of the Yakuza groups are bolder.

These streets are familiar to you. It’s a strange trip down memory lane.

You think of the last time you saw Shigaraki and flush darkly– it was around here, too, what happened that night.

Still, you follow him because you think you still have some upper hand. Maybe he’ll lead you to the rest of the League of Villains. For a heartbeat, you wonder if you’ll tell Shouta, if you’ll tell the Hero Commissions– you’d have to, right? That isn’t some little squirmish. That’s important information.

But he doesn’t lead you to the rest of the League.

He leads you to an apartment building, small and falling apart on the outside. A window is boarded up poorly. There are stray cats that linger around the side, where the trash is. You’re sure there are rats and bugs, too. You’re sure the building is one bad day away from falling apart.

Shigaraki pauses by the door that is nearly falling off its hinges.

He glances over his shoulder, “Are you following me in, too?”

Your heart kicks up, hammering against the inside of your chest. You swallow hard, internally cursing.

For all your effort of stealth, he still noticed you?

Well, there’s no use lying about it now.

You step around the corner you’d been hiding behind, moving towards the glow of a street light that flickers in and out of power to reveal yourself fully to him.

“When did you notice me?” you ask, peering at him, at the shape of him in the dark.

You catch the lifting of his scar when he smiles, just a baring of teeth, “I saw you on the roof.”

Damn, you curse again, you’ll have to work on that, “That bad, huh?”

He shrugs gracelessly, lifting of his shoulders only for them to fall unevenly, “If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have known. You were silent otherwise.”

It feels like a compliment– a generous one, coming from him. You don’t know why you have to hold off a smile.

He turns back to the door, shouldering it open. He walks through the archway without another word. He leaves it open and it seems there is no light on the inside, just a blackness that swallows up your vision. He disappears inside.

You stand there, beneath the light that flickers in and out, eyeing the doorway. You could go now, run back home to Shouta, to the Hero Commission and tell them you think you know where he stays, you have a lead on him. You look behind you, glance at the alleyway you came from with it’s’ dull, fluorescent lights that splash against the concrete, that barely fight against the shadows.

You look back towards where Shigaraki had been, the entrance to the building.

You’d probably even get extra little hero points for it from the Commission.

Shouta would be proud of you.

For bringing them to this dilapidated, shabby little apartment complex that rests on the streets of the place you used to call home.

You swallow hard, flex your freezing fingers.

Then you step towards the doorway, peer inside carefully. You hold your breath and the door creaks quietly when you cross it’s threshold, into the darkness.

Tomura is mildly surprised when he hears the door creak behind him. He can feel you, even in the dark of this hallway, the tentative steps you take after him. They’re almost shy.

But you followed him, didn’t you?

You followed and followed and followed him– and of course you did, he thinks, you had kissed him back, hadn’t you?

He supposes you could be playing a part, trying to get close to him but his intuition tells him differently, not with the genuine reaction you’d had. Your sudden guilt for giving in to him. Still, he’ll be careful around you.

He’ll probably have to move again, which would be a shame, since he has already killed the tenant of this apartment– he’d been sure they wouldn’t be missed by anyone, made sure he’d have time. He did the work to get it, thought he’d have it for just long enough until the League made another move.

He almost wants to test you, see if you’re going to run and tattle on his location. He wonders how far you’re willing to follow him.

Tomura walks steadily down the hallway, to the apartment he has taken claim to. He unlocks the door, hands in his partial gloves, shoving it with his shoulder to then enter. He leaves it open for you.

The apartment is a studio, shabby and the heat isn’t amazing, but it has hot water and a lack of bugs in this particular room. It has furniture– a bed, specifically, was all he had cared about. There’s empty wrappers of food and cans of energy drinks on the counters because he doesn’t really bother to pick up after himself but otherwise, the space isn’t his. There’s nothing else of his, besides some spare clothes on the floor.

And still, you follow him here, too. But you stand at the doorway, peeking inside.

He glances at you and is reminded of a fox, something with clever eyes but wary, a little skittish– would bite if he got too close too soon.

So he gives you space, just like he let you leave.

If there’s one thing Tomura has learned, it’s patience. Any good plan takes patience. The reward is always sweeter. The longer and harder the level, the greater the wins.

He ignores you, puts even more distance between the two of you as he wanders further in. He flicks on lights. He takes off his shoes, shrugs off his jean jacket and throws it over the couch. He gives the appearance of carelessness, of letting his guard down. Non threatening.

And you take your fist shy step inside. The door behind you remains ajar, though, for escape.

Tomura has to fight a terrifying smile, fight the sudden twisting in his heart, the inhale of his breath.

“I don’t know how wise it was of you to bring a hero to your home.” you finally speak, cutting through the silence. You’re trying to be witty, but he can tell you’re nervous.

“This isn’t my home,” he answers.

Home, with it’s round and warm syllabus, is not what he thinks of this place.

You eye him some more, but before you can respond, he says, “I don’t know how wise it was of you to follow a villain into his home.”

“I thought it wasn’t your home,” you quip and he only gives you a dry look.

Your bravado is wavering, especially when the door clicks shut behind you, your hand finally falling to your side.

And the two of you are sealed away from the outside world.

“Why did you bring me here?” you ask him and your voice is deceptively quiet. Small.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks in return.

You inhale like you’re trying to steady yourself, “Because I’m supposed to.”

Tomura smiles now, something lazy, almost amused. He knows it’s a lie, can feel it slide along his skin, can see the floundering, desperate look in your eyes.

“Why did you follow me?” he asks again, forcing himself not to move, not to step towards you in his budding excitement. Patience, he tells himself, be patient.

“Why did you kiss me?” you ask instead and the question is raw, as if it’s plagued you, haunted you like an insistent ghost. Crept around in the back of your mind, growing teeth and fangs and spindly, lampshade bat wings large enough to terrify you.

The idea that he’s taken root in your mind in the same way you have infested his is near dizzying.

Tomura weighs his answers carefully. He’s silent for a long moment and it’s heavy, charged with something that he can’t name– has never felt before.

When he speaks, his voice is just a rasp of breath, a little more honest than he’d like, a touch annoyed with the truth, “Because I wanted to.”

Another long stretch of silence where you watch him carefully, where he can see your chest rising and falling too quickly. He can see that frightened look in the rounding of your eyes, the high flush in your cheeks.

And when you speak again, it’s hardly louder than a whisper, like it’s all you can manage,“Do you want to kiss me again?”

It is far too gentle of a question for what he wants– it almost feels innocent, juvenile. Out of place between the two of you. But he’ll take it, he’ll take whatever you give him and then some.

He takes a step towards you. You don’t flinch away so he takes another, then another, until he is standing in front of you. You’re close now– so close that he has to force air into his lungs. He reminds himself of patience, of waiting–

He could take whatever he wanted from you now, he supposes, but he doesn’t want to have to wrestle you for it. He wants it given freely, he wants you to kiss back, like you had before. He wants you to willingly submit and it’s taken longer but it’ll be sweeter, so much sweeter.

“Are you going to run away again?” he asks and he can feel his heart quicken, the squeezing of it awful and tight.

You look up at him in a way that reminds him of his dreams, the ones he pretends to hate, where you make those small, soft noises. Where you let him touch you and taste you and have you.

And you shake your head no, just fractionally, the barest hint of movement but it’s enough for him.

The force of his kiss slams you back against the door. You make a surprised noise against him as he crushes himself to you. It’s just as violent as the first, but this time you take back what he gives. You get your bearings quicker, like you’ve learned a lesson already. He grins into the kiss, opening it, when he feels your little hands clawing at his shoulders, at his back.

He groans when you part your lips for him, when you lick tentatively into his mouth. He possesses you, bears onto you, pinning you to the door as his hands, still gloved, curl around your sides, your hips.

Your hero costume is tight, fits the curves of you snugly and in a way that’s making him nearly insane. He isn’t careful, doesn’t care if he’s moving too fast now as his hands roam and grab and squeeze. There’s layers between you, he naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

One of your hands tightens in his hair, pulling when he bites your bottom lip.

But you don’t seem to mind, either, with the way your breath is hitching, with the way you’re trying to pull him closer, desperately fuse him to you.

Your lips are so soft, he notices, even with the forcefulness with which you’re kissing him back.

It feels surreal for a moment, like one of his dreams, when he parts from your mouth only to slot his lips against your jaw, your neck. A whine is loosened from you, which breaks when he sets teeth to the vulnerable line of your throat.

Your hands are in his hair still, body arching into him eagerly. Youthful in your earnestness.

You’re better than anything he could’ve ever imagined, so alive and rosy and warm beneath his hands, beneath his mouth, which is making a mess of your neck. A particular hard suck over the sensitive line of your pulse makes you pull at his hair.

“Don’t leave a mark,” you hush and he thinks you meant to sound more threatening, but it’s softened by the desperation in your voice.

He scoffs into your throat, dragging teeth roughly along your skin.

“Shigaraki–”

“Tomura.” he corrects without thinking, finally pulling away to look at you, which is almost a mistake because you–

You’re flushed, lips kiss stung and pink, all swollen. Your head is tipped back, exposing the column of your throat, hair mussed with being pressed to the door so roughly. Your eyes are hazy and fever pink with your Quirk activated, like spring flowers, glowing in the low light.

He thinks of paintings and colors and dreams, something like beauty, if he knew anything about that.

And he’s so hard it hurts, teeth grinding together as he looks at you because he can’t even fucking stomach this feeling.

Then you repeat his name for him, “Tomura.”

He’s never heard his name like that, bedroom soft, more of a lullaby and less of a tragedy. He feels like he’s going to shake apart, his body to become just old ruins– he feels as if it’ll collapse inwards, topple over to crush his heart.

Where he’s usually seething and livid and clawing ruthlessly, the festering feeling in his chest is replaced with a new energy; something bursting and squirming and warm. His Quirk lies dormant and docile inside of him with your hand in his hair, your other now at his neck, fingers pressing lightly at his jaw.

It’s terrifying, he realizes, to not feel his Quirk at the edges of his fingers.

(It’s freeing, too, he’ll come to find, to not feel it’s weight, it’s demand that had been encouraged and shaped in him.)

You’re both trying to catch your breaths, looking at each other now. His fingers, still gloved, flex and squeeze at your waist, like he’s scared you’ll run off again.

You inch forward instead, rock onto the tips of your toes to press your lips to his again– softer this time, but no less heated, no less desperate.

He thinks you must be starving, too, with the way you pull him close. His mouth slants over yours, demanding more, a little rougher.

You squirm against the door, the slightest rocking of your hips– he can feel it against his thigh, against his waist. It makes him hiss out a breath against your lips, makes him grab harder at your waist, force you to do it again, harder this time.

You whine and it’s the snapping of his patience.

He reaches for the zipper at the back of your hero uniform, gives it a rough tug, pulling it down some. And then you’re pushing at him, nudging him away from the door and it’s a flurry of movement as you yank at his hoodie while he pulls at your clothes. You’re both stumbling further into the room, towards the bed pushed back into the corner.

Tomura feels young suddenly– feels his age. He feels like a twenty something year old with a girl in his apartment who wants his hoodie off. Who's kissing him hard in between every article of clothing that manages to come off.

He sits back on the edge of the bed to ease the rest of your cat-suit down. He watches with interest as you wiggle your hips to help him get the fabric down over you– and it’s nothing romantic, he doesn’t kiss the newly revealed skin, he doesn’t gently run his fingertips over you, but you grow shy under his gaze.

You’re still in undergarments, athletic slips of fabric, but his eyes fly over your face. You’re nervous, he can nearly feel it, with the way you shift, with the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth and worry it.

A thought strikes him.

“Have you done this before?” he rasps, hooking his hand in the crux of your knee to drag your forward so you nearly fall into his lap.

“Yes,” you grit out, arms coming up to his shoulders to steady yourself. “Once.” you then shakily exhale.

He doesn’t particularly care– your answer wouldn’t have changed how he’d treat you. He’s not going to be gentler nor slower because you’re less experienced.

“Have you?” you ask, eyeing him, fingers nervously toying with the ends of his hair.

“Yes,” he says, perhaps too sharply, but he gives no other information and you don’t press him, which he’s thankful for. He doesn’t have the patience for useless questions.

Rather, he pulls you down harder, so your bare thighs finally settle into his lap. He slides his gloved hands up the notches of your ribs to hitch beneath your bra. That comes off, too, and then he’s got his hands on you more. You gasp, arching into his touch when his fingers curl around a breast, fingers roughly brushing over the peak.

He doesn’t think anymore, just acts, just moves and does as he pleases. All the things he’s done in dreams or in his mind– he sets lips and teeth to your breast, tongue laving over your nipple. He forces your squirming still with an arm banded around your torso, keeping you flush to his eager mouth.

You yelp in pain when he uses his teeth too roughly, trying to jerk away from him but you can’t with his hold on you. He grins, mouth opening, spit slick and wet against your breast again. He groans against you when you pull on his hair.

But then he twists you, throws you down onto the bed only to crawl over you. He yanks at your panties just as you pull him down for another kiss– maybe to distract yourself, to settle your nerves. When you pull away, you’re on your back and he’s over you, your legs hitching over his narrow waist. His hands are on your thighs and you–

You suddenly grab for his hands.

“Take off your gloves,” you get out, breathless, and before he can respond, your fingers are sliding against his wrist, up to his hand, beneath the glove and against his palm.

It makes him shiver, makes him grit his teeth. You pull off one, then the other.

For a moment, he just looks at you all spread out and bare for him, his hands now open and uncovered, too.

You squirm under his scrutinizing gaze.

“C’mon,” you coax and he thinks you’re trying to find your bravado, “Touch me.”

There’s nothing between his hands and your skin now and he settles his palm on your stomach, beneath your breast.

He naturally keeps a finger lifted away.

“Tomura,” your voice is pitched, almost pleading, “You’re not going to hurt me– c’mon.”

He tenses for a moment, eyes flashing over your face. For a moment, his heart stumbles, he grows wary. He thinks of you slipping away beneath his touch, falling away into nothing and all he’d have is a bed of ashes.

But your eyes are bright with your Quirk.

His final finger comes down. Nothing happens, except you smile a little, except you arch up into his touch– alive and vivid and furiously warm.

He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t even function.

He catches a groan behind his teeth, falls forward as his hands become feverish and possessive, suddenly confident, suddenly brash– touching and squeezing and grabbing at you.

His teeth clank with yours as he tumbles into another kiss. You’re needier now, making those higher pitched noises that used to haunt him.

It drives him insane, makes him feel half feral, overeager and desperate. His fingers wander lower, seeking and searching, just as the kiss grows in intensity again. It’s messier, all open mouth and tongue.

When he pulls away, a string of spit connects the two of you and he lets more of the saliva pooling in his mouth drip down with it, letting it fall between your open lips, some on your bottom lip, too. It’s depraved and dirty and his eyes simmer as he gazes down at you.

Your face scrunches up as you go to wipe at your mouth, and he hates it because all he can think of is how cute that face is.

“Gross,” you mewl, but his fingers finally move between your legs and–

And all he finds is that you’re hot and slick for him.

He has to grit his teeth to keep from moaning.

But you nearly cry at the touch, a pathetic little noise, hips jolting like you’re not sure if you want to go towards his touch or away.

“Gross, huh?” Tomura asks, voice low, the pad of his finger sliding easily, teasing you slowly before he goads, “Why are you so wet then?”

He sinks a finger in suddenly– just because he can. Just because he wants to watch your face screw up again, which it does, your mouth falling open, eyes squeezing shut.

“Hm?” he hums, amused with the way you’re gasping beneath him. He starts a slow but deep rhythm and–

And he’s had sex before, a handful of times, but it’d always been for him. He hadn’t cared how the other person felt, hadn’t cared to try and get them off. But now he suddenly wishes he had learned, if only for you, now. He wants you as obsessed as he is, wants you to feel as maddened as he feels.

Thankfully, you’re so expressive. And he doesn’t have to worry about his fingers. He can find the spot inside you that makes you toss your head back into the sheets and moan for him, he can focus on the way you keen when he finds your clit with his thumb.

You’re a sensitive little thing, clawing at his bare shoulders, whining into his neck. He forces in another finger and you start rocking your hips, growing more desperate until–

“Fuck,” you gasp, “Fuck, I’m going to–”

He curls his fingers harder, watching your face as you fall apart, as you try and twist and squirm beneath him. He forces you through it, isn’t gentle, but selfish, wringing everything he can from you.

And when he’s finished watching you whimper and feeling you flutter and gush around his fingers, he takes them out only to force them between your lips.

Once more your face screws up, but you close your mouth around them and he groans low and raw. You look hazy, drooling all over his fingers, lashes fluttering prettily.

He uses his other hand to fumble with his belt, to work his pants down low enough for his cock, aching so bad that he swears he’s going to go insane–

He pulls his fingers from your mouth, watching the mess that comes with it, so wet and slick and shiny. He can’t help the growl he gives, before covering his mouth with yours again.

As you kiss, sloppy and desperate, Tomura slides the head of his cock against you and you’re so slippery and soft and molten for him that his next moan tapers off into a whine.

You pull away fractionally, “Shouldn’t we–”

He thinks maybe you were about to ask about protection of some kind, but he shoves inside you hard, breaches your body and watches as your eyes roll back, just about to cross as your nails turn sharp against his back.

You moan, low and drawn out.

He can’t help the absurd laugh that is wretched from him, his head dropping onto your neck as he snaps his hips forward. He can’t believe he’s actually gotten you here, in his bed, beneath him– let him inside where you’re so warm and soft.

“Fuck,” you gasp, maybe laced with pain, clawing at him, raking your nails down his back.

“Does it hurt?” he hisses, excited, his teeth coming down to close over your exposed neck.

“Yes,” you get out, almost a whimper, “Feels good, too.”

He snaps his hip forwards roughly, grinding deep as he laughs again when you just about sob into his shoulder.

You latch your teeth onto the vulnerable juncture between his neck and his shoulder, where you’d already laid claim to him once before.

He wrestles for your wrist, the one he broke, and forces it down onto the bed.

“Look at you,” he almost snarls, voice low and gravely, “Little hero letting me fuck her.”

You gasp when he angles his hips, when his other hand reaches beneath you, to fist a hand in your hair and pull so your neck is arched and exposed to him.

“I used to dream of this,” he admits roughly, the confession like a curse being spit out of his mouth, “Wanted to stalk you or possess you or–” he groans because he can feel how you’re throbbing around him, how slick you are for him, “Wanted to fucking ruin you–”

He pulls at your hair more, tries to get you to look at him through your wet lashes. The flash of pink meets red and his smile is more a cruel bearing of teeth.

“And you feel so much better than I dreamt– fuck, so much tighter–” he babbles as he ruts into you hard and quick. You keen, high and broken, just as he feels you flutter around him again and he almost loses his mind because–

“Are you going to fucking come again?” he growls, pulling harder on your hair.

“Yes,” you groan, “Please, fuck, please, c’mon–” your voice is high and wrecked and all he has to do is angle his hips a few more times before you’re shattering, nearly breaking apart, squeezing down on his cock so tightly that he shudders, that he let’s go of your hair just to focus on his own pleasure.

He doesn’t even realize he’s drooling into your neck, not as he loses his rhythm, as he shoves himself as deep into you as he can and comes hard. Pleasure races up his spine, turns him white-hot and sensitive, making his eyes roll back into his head, too.

You’re both breathing hard when he collapses on top of you. Your fingers, which were once scratching down his back to cause sharp shooting pain, are now surprisingly gentle, slipping back into his hair.

You squirm, fussing slightly– no doubt sore, no doubt aching with him still inside you but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t want to.

He mouths at your neck, feels you sigh, before he moves to cover his mouth with yours again. He kisses you languidly now, slow and deep.

You’re making breathy little noises against him, content and surprisingly soft, your other hand tracing over his side.

(He doesn’t like how much he enjoys this part, the afterglow, all that violence slipping away, expelled from you both–)

Tomura feels his cock twitch inside of you again, feels your hips arch up a little, and before he knows it, he’s moving his hips again. It’s a slow rocking, your lips still attached to his, heated and gentle.

“Gross,” you say again, just a breath against him as he fucks his cum further into you, feels himself harden, feels the mess he made of you. But you still hitch your leg over his hip, pull him deeper into you.

He grins lazily against your lips, “You like it,” he says and it’s not a question, rolling his hips until he gets you to shut your eyes and moan against him.

“Yeah,” you reply, nudging your cheek against his, rubbing like a cat until he returns the gesture. Until he’s humming because he’s sensitive and you feel so good, better than anything he’s ever felt in this miserable fucking life–

You whine a little, ‘Touch me again?”

He doesn’t deny you for whatever reason, doesn’t even have something smart to say as he slides his hand down your torso, down to where you’re both slick and connected. He rubs unpracticed, messy circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re sighing.

He’s no expert but he doesn’t really care and you don’t seem to mind this time, either. It’s unhurried now, lazy.

This time your peak is a fluttery, soft thing, and he watches as you gasp, as you blink away tears. She’s pretty, he thinks, feeling stupidly young again, she’s pretty like this. Like his dreams.

Tomura spills inside you again soon after, groaning against your collarbones, and this time you force him to slip out of you. Force him to lay beside you as you both catch your breath again.

And he’s not expecting it, but he has the vicious need to be close to you, desperately wants to feel your skin against his. It’s a new feeling– usually after sex, he wants to be as far away from someone as possible. Usually he can’t leave or kick them out fast enough.

But there’s something about you now, hazy and pleasure-drunk, fucked out and dazed, that makes him want to stay close. Maybe it’s just that you’ve soothed all the festering that usually squirms in his chest. Maybe it’s just that you’ve made everything in him quiet for once.

He expects you to find some sort of your regret now, he’s sure that you’ll feel guilty, collect your clothes and go. But you don’t. You stay in bed with him. And it’s strange but he knows he wants to touch you, so he does. He doesn’t deny himself, why would he? He’s always taken what he wanted.

He curls around you, shivering a little with the skin to skin contact after the fog of sex has cleared from his mind. His hands slide over you, touch you fully and without restraint because he can, because you won’t disappear beneath his touch.

And for a moment, as he traces along the dips of your waist, he thinks maybe you were made for him– cut from his rib, isn’t that how the story goes?

He doesn’t know, only that there’s no one else in the world he can touch like this.

You’re surprised.

You’d figured after Tomura had his fill of you, he’d kick you out, send you away. You figured you’d feel guilty, that you would rush out of here and try to wish the whole thing away. But your hero suit stays on the floor and you’re still in his bed.

You didn’t think he’d be a cuddler, you assumed that he wouldn’t want nor care for any sort of contact after. But his arms are wrapped around you now, one of his hands sliding curiously over the curves of your body. All five fingers down, pressing into your skin.

But you suppose, for someone who has to be so careful with touch, that he would like this. That he might want this. You wonder if he ever gets to touch anyone like this, if he ever allows himself intimate touch like this– tender and for no other reason than to soothe or comfort.

You get the impression that he doesn’t, that touch is just a means to an end for him; sex is probably just an itch to scratch. You can’t imagine that he’s very relaxed or enjoying himself when he’s worried about decaying the person he’s with.

But all his crackling, restless energy now seems subdued, sated, as he walks his fingers over you. His hair tickles your bare skin as he nudges closer, nose running along your jaw.

Once more, you feel your age. You don’t feel like a hero, but just someone young, maybe on the cusp of being old. He looks young now, too, with his vivid eyes shut and relaxed, nothing to crease his brow. He doesn’t seem like a villain, either.

You brush a finger over his cheek, touch lightly at the scratches beneath his eyes, drag your thumb down to touch the scar at the corner of his lips.

His eyes flutter open to watch you, half lidded, squinted almost like a cat.

But he allows you to run your fingers over his face, doesn’t protest or jerk away from your touch.

No, his eyes fall shut again. He lets out a deep sigh that you think he has held inside him for years.

He doesn’t have a gentle face, but one that shows it’s angles and sharp edges, the scars and cuts that trail down onto his neck. You’d noticed some on his chest, too. Proof of an uneasy life lived, proof of violence and pain.

You imagine he’s seen horrors, kept them trapped inside for fear of letting them spill out, like maybe it’ll be as gruesome as the memories.

His body hasn’t been handled gently, you can tell, with it’s indents and scars and scratches. You don’t know who was the last person who touched him without wanting to hurt him. And you shouldn’t but you think of yourself when you were a child– desperate for love and affection, desperate for any scrap of attention like the scavenger you always were.

Maybe still are.

So desperate that you’d end up in the bed of your enemy– all because you couldn’t end up in the bed of your ally. So hungry that you’d eat out of a hand that has harmed and killed and destroyed.

Hands that haven’t known gentleness, a body that hasn’t known peace. But he’s being gentle with you now, isn’t he?

So you try to give gentleness to him now, too, with your careful touch. You keep your fingers kind and sympathetic.

Even your own eyes drift shut for a moment, still tracing idle patterns into his skin.

You only slip away from him for a moment, to use the bathroom, to clean up. Your reflection in the mirror looks strange; raw and flushed with color. Honest in a way that makes you turn away.

You slip back into bed with Tomura, let him latch onto you again. You drag your fingers gently over his ribs, over his sides.

You let your eyes fall shut, too.

There’s a sudden, loud buzzing from the floor that cuts through the quiet, which makes your eyes startle open. It’s insistent and you realize after a moment that it’s your phone, caught up in your hero suit on the floor.

You never came home after your shift. You curse softly, almost certain you know who's calling.

You squirm out of Tomura’s hold again, which he huffs at in irritation, but eventually allows you up.

“Where are you going now?” he asks, annoyed, when you climb out of bed to find your phone. Once found, you hold it up to him.

It��s still buzzing in your hand, lit up with Shouta’s contact.

You think the guilt should hit you now.

It doesn’t and that’s what you feel worse over. You swallow hard, frown down at your phone.

(Horribly, you even feel somewhat spiteful, as if you’re trying to prove something to Shouta. Maybe to yourself.)

You don’t answer.

And then you see the several texts from him, wondering where you are. They’re all bland, but you can tell he must be worried. It’s unlike you to not tell him where you are.

“Are you going to leave?” Tomura asks and there’s something strange in his voice, something you can’t place.

“Do you want me to?” you ask in return.

He doesn’t answer right away. But he does eventually give an annoyed drawl, “Do what you want.”

You take that as a no, don’t leave, since you’re certain if he wanted you gone, he would’ve told you.

You send a text to Shouta;

Sorry. Staying with an old friend for the night. Be back tomorrow.

It’s not unheard of, for you to spend time with an old friend from the foster care system.

You get a dry “okay” from him in response. You fight the urge to roll your eyes for some reason, tossing your phone away again.

You end up staying the night with Tomura Shigaraki, one of the most wanted villains in all of Japan.

Its not romantic— he isn’t sweet or funny or caring. But he holds you tight, leaves no room for distance. And it is the first time you’ve ever slept with someone like this, tucked away into a bed, bare, and wrapped up in each other.

Is this what it always feels like? You press yourself into the crooks of his body. You wonder if you’re supposed to fit this well together.

And it’s the first time since his Quirk developed that he hasn’t needed to wear his partial gloves to sleep in fear of decaying something.

He won’t admit it but it’s the best he’s slept in a long, long time.

You won’t admit it, either, but you think you could get used to this, too; this closeness, being held as if you’ll slip away, being held like he doesn’t want you to.

The morning brings rosy sunlight that slants through the windows. Neither of you talk much. You try to tell yourself this won’t happen again, can’t happen again.

But you had kissed him goodbye before you’d left, like he was a boyfriend and not a criminal, and you’d been in a surprisingly good mood for the rest of the day.

Like you had a crush, puppy love you never got as a teenager because you were too busy trying not to starve, only to realize you’d been starving in other ways, too.

But you’re sugar soft and excitable, dropping into bed that night alone, and allowing yourself to admit, in the quiet and privacy of your own thoughts, that you wish you were in his again.

***

One time turns into two which turns into three which turns into so many times you’ve lost count. That little, rundown apartment that isn’t really Tomura’s has turned into another world entirely, some harbor away from the rules of society. It’s almost too good to be true, a dream, a place for a secret as bad as this one.

When you’re here, you don’t talk of heroes and villains. You urge him not to; you think you’ll keep some part of your innocence in this affair if you don’t actually know anything about him or the League of Villains. You’ll feel too guilty, if you know any part of their plans and don’t tell Shouta. And telling Shouta anything about Tomura is beginning to feel like a betrayal, too.

You don’t know anything substantial about Tomura Shigaraki and that’s the way it needs to stay.

You know he likes sour candy, though, and drinks too many energy drinks– they’re sickly sweet and you think kissing him might make your teeth ache. You know he likes video games but no longer has a console. He has trouble sleeping at night. You’re familiar with the scars on his skin, the jagged ones across his neck, the one on his lip. The beauty mark on his chin. You know his moods; from the prickly ones to the downright vengeful ones. You even know the calmer ones, the quiet, contemplative ones.

(In this way, he seems like a normal twenty-something-year-old. In the quiet moments, when you’ve convinced him to watch a cheap horror movie on the tiny, staticky TV in the apartment, he could be anybody. When he’s got his bare hand up your shirt as someone onscreen screams and begs for their life, he’s not the heir to an underground empire. He’s just Tomura, with his face buried in the crook of your neck).

He pretends to get annoyed with you, huffs and scoffs against your lips when you’re being cheeky. You wear his worn down hoodies, slip your thumbs in the holes at the sleeves. He eyes you when you wear them, pulls you to him by the collar.

(He likes to fuck you in them– pushes the hoodie up your stomach to watch you ride him. But he likes things bare and raw, too. Skin to skin. So close it’s terrifying, so close you feel like he’s trying to tear you apart from the inside out. He likes it dirty, you think, because it makes it more intimate.)

You soothe him. You know you do because when he’s festering and angry, all it takes is your hand on his wrist, pulling it away from his neck. Sometimes, when he can’t think straight and there is too much on his mind, he forces you to lay on top of him until his breathing slows and his head is clear.

He can’t talk to you aloud about what’s plaguing him, but you must quiet some part of him. He likes to use you to think, runs his long fingers through your hair as you lay atop him. He pets you until his thoughts aren’t as jumbled, but smoothed out and sharp. Or until he doesn’t want to think anymore at all and he drags you into languid makeouts that always end with him surrounding you, inside you, possessing you.

You bicker sometimes, flash your teeth to make his eyes spark ruby and excited. Mostly, you act your age with him.

You don’t know when his birthday is or where he grew up. You don’t know what his childhood was like or what memories shaped him, don’t know where he’s been or where he’s going to be. You only know him now, in this moment, in this little world you’ve created for each other.

He’s what you imagined first boyfriends are supposed to be; excitable and often immature but fun and new. You never had the luxury of first loves, just odd first kisses with strangers and an uncomfortable loss of virginity with a friend of a friend of a friend who jammed his tongue too far down your throat. You hadn’t had anything stable until–

Until Shouta.

Shouta has grown suspicious of this old friend of yours and how much time you now spend with him.

He questions you about him and you wish you felt worse for lying. The rebellious part of this affair is thrilling, though. Feels like you’re sixteen and sneaking out from under your dad’s nose to be picked up by the boyfriend you’d know he’d hate. Feels like swiping liquor too young and getting sick off it, smashing the bottles and laughing with your friends because sometimes things just need to break.

“Will you at least tell me his name?” Shouta had asked one morning, when you’d let yourself into his apartment after another night at Tomura’s. You had your own hood pulled up around your face to hide the rose blossom hickeys against the skin of your neck.

He’d still poured you a cup of coffee. You’d watched his careful, large hands as they made it the way you liked it.

You’d given him a lie, fed it to him the way he feeds you breakfast, “Shinta. Are you happy?”

He’d slid the mug to you, let you catch in the cradle of your palm. He’d shrugged, but you think his eyes had flashed to you, “You know you can bring him around, right? You don’t always have to go to him.”

You’d had to bite back a painful laugh. It wasn’t funny. It had hurt strangely in the pit of your chest.

You had shaken your head, tried to brush him off, “It’s not like that.”

“Alright,” he’d said, but he hadn’t believed you. “You’re training alone with Shinsou again tonight, I’ll be busy with a job.” Then he’d given you a stern look, “And don’t cut it early to go see Shinta.”

“I’ve never done that!” you’d protested, perhaps a little too defensively. But it was true, you’d never do that to Shinsou, wouldn’t dream of it. The only time you’d cut training early was to share takeout with Shinsou, not ditch him for–

This comment had rubbed you wrong, scratched up against something abrasive and surprisingly fragile inside of you. Maybe because he was questioning your dedication which already felt so flimsy, even if he hadn’t been entirely serious, even if maybe he’d just been trying to take a dig at you. At this new boyfriend.

Shouta had grown cold then, shrugged impassively, took his mug of coffee and brushed past you to keep getting ready.

It had angered you enough to bring it up later to Tomura, when you’re falling into his lap and he’s squirming his cold, fluttery hands beneath your shirt to touch skin, to make you hiss through your teeth.

His lips tilt into a small smile as you fidget while he warms his frigid fingers on your body.

“Eraserhead asked about you yesterday,” you tell him, letting your nose brush against his, “Told me I could bring my friend around– don’t always have to go to him.”

Tomura snorts, eyes falling half-lidded when your lips skim over his. The night is plum dark, presses into this little apartment that’s tucked away from the world.

“How’d you get out of that one?” he asks, fingers walking over the dips of your spine. He likes tracing the bone beneath your skin, likes making you shiver.

“Told him it’s not like that.” you respond, your own hands wandering to his neck. You're careful over the ridges of flesh there, skim lightly to get to his jaw.

“No?” Tomura asks, pulling you closer, pressing his chest to yours, “Don’t want to bring me home to meet Eraserhead?” he sneers and there’s something underneath his voice, lurking, with its hackles raised.

You think maybe it’s jealousy, the same flash of his eyes like Shouta’s when he’d said Shinta.

But then he kisses you deep and drags your hips against his, forces a warbly, surprised little moan from you.

Most of your thoughts melt away then, most turn to something base and desperate, all desire and need. You can’t help but think about it, though, how you can’t ever take him home to Shouta. You can’t ever expect anything more than whatever stays in this room. He kisses you hard, your teeth clinking against his like clashing with the truth of it all.

There’s no happy ending here.

It’s like smashing bottles because sometimes things just need to break.

***

Tomura thinks you would be a good edition to the League of Villains.

You’re clever and capable. He comes to find you’re not just a good thief and pickpocket but an excellent one. You swipe everything from his pockets, right from under his nose, just to play with him. You’re stealthy and sharp; he could use someone like you at his side.

Your Quirk could be useful, though he doesn’t like the idea of you getting so close to people while in battles. You have a reckless streak, but he thinks he could temper that. All you need is a little guidance.

You were a thief once. You give him clues of your past; you didn’t grow up like the other heroes, didn’t come from a warm home with dreams of saving the world. Your head wasn’t filled with fantasies of rescuing the downtrodden. You were the downtrodden. And you learned that there was no one who was going to save you, except yourself. So you stole and fought and survived a world that was willing to forget you.

You’re like him, a very quiet part of him thinks, no one saved you. Not until you were too old, all grown up with sharpened teeth and claws, eyes that see in the dark. That could be now used and extorted by the heroes.

He thinks they’ve leashed you, taught you how to sit and stay and sic ‘em.

He wonders if he’d have gotten to you first, if you’d be with him and not your heroes.

Tomura doesn’t dwell on it, though. He refuses to imagine it. What would be the point? It didn’t happen.

Besides, he is certain he is capable of slowly swaying you to them still. You possess a startling amount of compassion for villains which, perhaps wouldn’t help you as a villain, but that’s fine.

(You’d have him. No one would touch you if you were at his side. You could be as stupidly compassionate as you wanted.)

You meet members of the League with him by accident, times when Toga and Twice’s meeting with him overlap with you arriving. Toga goes on endlessly about you, it seems. Dabi drops by once in the middle of the night, bloody and demanding a place to sleep because he’s tired of sleeping on the streets.

It’d been one of the more insufferable nights, perhaps one of the worst ways for Dabi to find out about you. You’d already been asleep, cocooned beneath blankets and Tomura’s body, just in one of his loose shirts.

Tomura had already been lying awake, listening to your even breathing when he’d heard the handle of the door shake roughly. He’d gotten up then, slipped into clothes, melted into the darkness by the door and waited for the intruder to try and step inside.

The lock had been picked.

He had nearly decayed Dabi by accident before realizing it was him.

A ridiculously quiet but terse argument had ensued then, before Dabi had asked, in a regular speaking voice, “Why the fuck are we whispering?”

Tomura had almost winced when he heard you stir from the bed before your small, sleepy voice had murmured into the darkness, “Tomura?”

You’d said it too soft, too sweet. It’d been for his ears only and something about Dabi hearing you, seeing you, being in this space that had been for you and for him had made Tomura suddenly livid.

He had watched Dabi’s mouth fall open in shock before you’d switched on the bedside lamp to flood the room with artificial, golden light.

Dabi’s face had been near horrific in the light, one side of it all bloody, the stitches mangled or falling out. Part of his face almost looked like it was melting, his eye squinted shut with the damage.

But he’d thrown his head back and laughed when he’d seen you, sitting up in the bed, blinking sleepily at them. Tomura hated a lot of things, but he’d hated nothing more than the sound of Dabi’s rasping laugh in that moment.

You’d narrowed your eyes when you had realized who it was.

“I had no idea you had it in you, Tomura.” Dabi had said.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Tomura had hissed instead, fighting the urge to tear into his neck, fingers twitching agitatedly.

Dabi had gestured to his face with a lazy flourish, “I need medical attention and I’m crashing on your couch.”

Tomura’s teeth had ground together, “Get. Out.”

“No, I’m sick of sleeping on the streets when you’re here playing house with your little hero bitch–”

Before Tomura could even react, though, you had found the small supply of first aid from beneath the sink in the tiny bathroom. You had come up beside them near silently and offered it up, asked, “Do you want help?”

And there it had been– that compassion of yours. Even for the likes of Dabi.

In that moment, he’d wondered how you had ever survived with it. He’d thought that you’d lose your hand if you kept extending it.

Dabi hadn’t let you touch him but you’d gotten a cool rag for him to clean up the blood, watched as he tried to patch up the wound. It was made worse by a mangled staple in his cheek, jutting out strangely.

“Does it hurt?” You’d asked but with the way you were looking at him, at his marred skin up close, Tomura could tell that you weren’t just referring to this one injury.

Does it hurt? You’d asked, like you were asking if it all hurt. You weren’t just seeing a singular part of Dabi, but a series of tragedies that was proudly presented in large, rippling scars against his skin.

“Of course it fucking hurts,” Dabi had spit out, all venom and bitterness. But you hadn’t even flinched.

Tomura had tried to kick him out again once his wound had been treated.

“It’s fine,” you’d said, resigned, tired and rubbing at your eyes.

(Later you’d shrug and tell him, I know what it’s like to not have somewhere to sleep).

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Dabi had drawled, already pulling off his heavy boots, prying the coat from his body to toss onto the floor. “Just don’t do any weird shit.”

And you’d gotten back into bed with Tomura, fit yourself against him, ducked your head down beneath his chin and pressed your hands against his sides, felt the notches of his ribs.

Sometimes he wonders if you can feel the missing one, the one you took from him, the one you’d been made out of.

It had occurred to Tomura that either you didn’t fear Dabi or you trusted him enough to know he’d never let Dabi harm you while sleeping.

Both were acceptable to him, both would aid him in converting you. And they were true, too. You shouldn’t fear Dabi, especially not with him around.

Tomura had brought his hand up then, suddenly covered your mouth with his large palm, letting all five of his fingers come down against your pretty face.

You’d furrowed your brows in confusion, not fear, which made something inside of him grow warm and hungry.

Then he’d slid his other hand down your body, between your legs, just to spite Dabi.

He’d watched as your eyes went wide in the dark, cheeks flushing beneath his hand. He could feel his smirk, smug and sharp, fitting across his teeth like a muzzle.

You’d tried to shake your head, tried to squirm away from his touch, but he’d been persistent and soon enough you were sighing against his hand, melting into the bed he pressed you into. Soon enough you were trying to hold back whimpers, all slippery and soft beneath his fingers, silently begging with your eyes.

He hadn’t denied you that night; no, you were being good, walking the steps he wanted for you. You were moldable and sweet beneath him so he’d give you what you wanted.

He watched in satisfaction as you came hard around his fingers, face scrunching up in that way he loved, fingers easing you through it. He was gentle with you then, taking his hand away from your mouth slowly, letting you nudge closer and cling to him.

(He loved when you clung to him).

You’d wanted so much affection that night and he had indulged you, letting your nose brush against his, or rubbing your cheek against his chest while his fingers wound through your hair.

You’d fallen asleep all tied up in him.

The next morning, you were gone before Dabi even woke up.

Dabi had asked, “What the fuck are you doing with her?”

“Mind your business,” Tomura had snapped, fingers already seeking out his neck again when they couldn't find you. He hated that he wanted your presence so badly now. (Hated that he missed you, but he would never say that, never even dream of it). Then he’d added,“And find someone else’s doorstep to show up on.”

Dabi had scoffed, “Whatever. Just don’t get distracted.” He’d pulled out a cigarette from his jacket still on the floor then, much to Tomura’s annoyance, and lit it with a spark of his fingers. Smoke curled into the air with his first drag. “I’m not about to watch all our efforts fall apart because you wanted to play Romeo and Juliet with some braindead little hero.”

He’d torn into the skin of his neck then. Wished he could tear into you instead.

“Violent delights and violent ends and all that shit,” Dabi had said then, his smile just a curled stitch, smoke pouring from his lips, evidently amused with himself.

But Tomura has never read that play and he doesn’t know anything about poetry in the same way he doesn’t know anything about art or beauty, just that you’re the only thing he’s bothered to compare to a painting.

***

You put Tomura into your phone as Shinta and when you’re too busy to visit him between missions and training, you text him. Though short, he is surprisingly witty over text, something that has you biting back grins and distracted, feeling like a schoolgirl as you try to hide the screen of your phone from the rest of the world.

You grow distracted with hero work, with Shouta. You pay less attention to your life at U.A. You don’t visit Shouta for lunch as often. You haven’t spent a quiet night with Shouta in weeks. You tell yourself you don’t care.

It’s better than fighting with him. It’s better than trying to beg for his love and affection.

Early tomorrow morning you’re supposed to shadow Shouta on a brief mission.

The Hero Commission is trying to train you into espionage and underground work, trying to mold you in the shape of Shouta.

But at night, when you’re alone in your bedroom, tucked away into your own apartment and not with Tomura, he calls you.

You let yourself say his name into the receiver of your phone, hushed and excited.

He doesn’t say I miss you or when will I see you again?

He says, “Touch yourself.”

And you don’t say I miss you, too, or hopefully soon.

You do as he says, let your fingers fan out over your stomach like they might be his. You listen to his breathing turn ragged over the phone. You moan softly for him.

You do what he says in the navy dark of night, bite back frustrated whines because you’ve gotten too used to his touch.

“–Wish it was you, fuck, it’s not fair,” you gasp, tilting your hips up into your fingers desperately.

You can hear the hiss of breath he takes, “Did I ruin you?” he croons into the phone lowly, his voice slithering through to you, making your thighs clench. “Can’t even touch yourself without needing me?”

You groan, high and defeated, fingers slipping against yourself. You’re aching and empty and bereft without him, “Yes, yes–”

He rambles about what he’s done to you, almost seething by the end, when he demands you tell him that you’re his, that he’s the one who made you this way. He’s the only one who can soothe you now. You need him.

He isn’t wrong, you realize, when you still aren’t satisfied after your climax. When it doesn’t feel as good as when you’re with him. You realize you hate sleeping alone now. You miss the press of his body to yours. You coo into the phone about it, lay on your stomach, arms curled around your pillow with your ear still to your phone.

It never gets overly sentimental. You don’t want to scare him, especially as you grow terrified of your own feelings. It doesn’t feel as fun anymore, you realize, only because your attraction to him has now grown serious.

Your crush has grown teeth and claws, ready to tear apart the vulnerable, fleshy parts of you.

But he talks with you until you fall asleep, phone still in hand, heart still on the line.

***

There’s a stray kitten that hangs out around Tomura’s apartment– he thinks there must be a colony of strays in the area, since it’s not the only one. But this one is scrawny, just a messy tuft of grey fur. It’d be sleek and pretty, if it wasn’t so malnourished, if it wasn’t missing clumps of fur or full of scars and scratches.

The kitten likes Tomura a great deal for some reason. It rubs itself against his legs, follows him around outside of the apartment, much to your utter delight.

You coo and fawn over it, scoop the little thing up into your arms and hold it up to Tomura’s face.

He hates it, the face you give him. The face the kitten gives him. He hates that the corner of his lips twitch upwards.

“He’s so cute,” you gush and he can hear now that the little thing is purring furiously in your hands. You wiggle the cat a little bit in front of his face and Tomura finally reaches up to stroke the back of his knuckles against the kitten’s head, if only to appease you.

Your smile is crooked– an excited curve of your lips, your eyes alight.

You’re always so expressive and he used to be livid about it, wanted to teach you a lesson in the worst way possible, but now he just wants to keep you from learning them.

He has to turn away from you at the thought, heads towards the door of the apartment building. You follow after him dutifully, coming up to nudge against his side. He’s become too comfortable with you there, knocking into his elbow.

You’re still smiling down at the kitten in your arms and he wants to look away because some part of this is starting to sting.

The kitten is excitedly looking around, green eyes all round and bright. It’s purring happily.

“Put it down, it’s not coming in with us.” Tomura tells you, his voice rough and soft.

You stop in front of the door with him. Your bottom lip pulls out into a pout. Your eyes get round like the kitten’s.

He gives you a cold stare.

You hug the kitten tighter to your body, “C’mon,” you whine, “It’s just a baby.”

“I’m not taking care of a cat.”

“I’ll take care of it!”

“No,” he responds, harsher, voice a little sharper.

Maybe, in the beginning of this little affair, you would’ve headed the warning in his tone, but now you don’t even bat an eye at him.

“Yes,” you respond indignantly.

You both glare at each other. The kitten’s purr still rumbles on.

Tomura can tell you’re not giving this one up, he can tell by the set of your jaw, the way you’re clinging to that little creature. There’s a determined flush to your face. Your eyes are bright and fiery.

All over this little stray.

“You’re a brat,” is all Tomura says and you take that as a win, because your face immediately morphs, brightens up completely. You duck past him, into the apartment building with the kitten cradled in your arms.

He heaves a deep sigh, following in after you. “I’m kicking it out when you leave.”

“Don’t be mean,” you reply, waiting at the door, and the irony is not lost on him. He comes up behind you, his chest to your back, crowding you against the door.

“I think you need to remember who you’re speaking to,” he says, his voice just a rasp against your ear and maybe at some point, it would’ve sounded threatening, but now you just lean back into his chest. His heart beats against the curve of your back.

Something soft is growing between the two of you, he can feel it. It has no place here, though, in this world. In the two of you. His ugly infatuation with you, all that anger and vitriol he had for you has melted, turned spring soft inside of him after an unforgiving winter.

He unlocks the door, he lets you in.

The kitten ends up coming and going. He opens the window to let it in and out, let’s you feed it. You call it Ryuji. It lives partially in this new little world the two of you have built.

He thinks of it like the pause screen in a video game, somewhere to return to when he’s frustrated or tired or done. Idle, soft music and the freezing of his screen. A moment away from the turmoil or struggle of the game.

But he’ll have to unpause eventually.

He can’t stay here forever, he knows it, but he just has to be sure he plays it right– he doesn’t think he’ll be able to start over this time, with you.

And he wants you there at the ending, at his side like in his dreams.

The ones where it’s all in ruins, the world nothing but his, destroyed, but he gives you his hand to have, and you take it in yours to hold.

***

The distance between you and Shouta stretches and grows until it snaps in the form of a blowout argument. Which, is mostly just you, shouting, crying furiously, and Shouta stone-faced and cool.

It had started with an offhand comment from him about how you’re not focused anymore. You’re getting sloppy. You’re distracted. And usually, you take his criticism with a stiff upper lip and a determined glare.

But you and Shouta haven’t been the same since you tried to kiss him.

You blame yourself, maybe, but part of you feels angry with him, too. Bitter. You thought, in some way, he reciprocated your feelings. He’d acted like it. And when he’d rejected you, he’d pulled away, been more careful with you.

(You wonder if this proves your point, that he was toeing a line with you then.)

And maybe your lies are starting to eat at you, too, starting to rot away on the inside of you. If you focused on them too hard and all that Shouta’s done for you, you think you’d start crying every time you looked at him.

But Tomura has also thrown all you know into question. And you’d already been critical of the life you were afforded by becoming a hero.

You look at all of Shouta’s students and you just get angry. You look at Shinsou, so determined to prove he can be a hero, that he’s good and you are livid. You look at Toga, with her villainous Quirk. She’s near Shinsou’s age and something about it just makes you ache, it makes you sick.

You look at her and see who she could’ve been as a hero– you wonder if they would’ve stuck her in espionage, with the likes of you and Shouta. You wonder if she would’ve gone to U.A. You wonder what it would’ve taken to change her fate.

Even Tomura, you look at him and in the safety and privacy of your own heart, you dare to wonder what he would’ve been like if he hadn’t been a villain.

(He could’ve been a rescue hero, you think, and he could’ve decayed debris to save people. This version of him lives in the quiet, tentative parts of you. It grows soft and underground, a seedling that has sprouted on the inside of your chest, and one day you think this little dream of yours will grow so large inside of you that it’ll breach skin and show the world it’s horror.)

It feels like a coin toss, almost, like the difference between a hero and a villain sometimes is one flip away from changing.

You don’t bother to wonder what would’ve happened if it hadn’t been Shouta that found you, but someone like Tomura. Or All For One. You know if you’d been given somewhere to sleep and a warm meal, you would’ve done what they wanted.

You wish you could say you were a noble, starving person, that there was something shining and golden inside of you. But all you were was starving.

Shouta says you’ve been underperforming lately. He says he’s considering limiting the nights you patrol until you can get it together.

The Hero Commission was supposed to come observe you to see if you’d progressed enough to begin accepting your own missions. He tells you he doesn’t think they should come any longer. It feels like a dig, too, like he’s reprimanding you somehow.

And you snap, “Well maybe I didn’t want them to observe me!”

He looks taken aback for a moment, before he asks, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know! Maybe I’m tired of being observed and used and watching all of these kids be observed and sought after and–”

“Alright,” Shouta sighs, and it makes your teeth grit because he sounds like he’s trying to parent you, “It’s one thing to be upset yourself, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with these kids.”

Your nails dig into your palms as you try to find the words to get him to understand you.

But he speaks before you can, almost patronizingly, “Clearly, you’re struggling through something, so it’s probably a good thing we’ve put this off.”

Tears well up hard and fast. It hurts to be dismissed like this. It hurts to look at him, to think that he’s a part of the ever growing issue that has been itching beneath your skin. You’re a part of it, too, but you have the sudden urge to run. To get out.

Still, you swallow down all of that turmoil and say, “I hardly know what I want now, so how do you expect children to know that they want to be a hero?”

“What is this about?” Shouta asks.

“It’s about the Hero Commission and U.A. and the entire fucking system. That’s what it’s about.” you seethe, looking up into his eyes, trying to find something there.

“It’s not just about you?” he asks, unperturbed.

“Why can’t it be both?” you respond, trying to keep your voice from going high, from going hysterical. There’s so much you want to say, so much that it’s making you sick, that it’s turning your stomach. “I’m– I’m barely older than them!” you say, because all you keep thinking about is how they’re just kids. And you were just a kid. And at one point, Tomura was just a kid.

He’s barely older than you. Closer in age to Shouta’s students than to him.

“I didn’t invent the system,” Shouta says and he sounds weary, “I just try to give my students the best opportunity at surviving being a hero. I try to teach them everything to keep them alive.”

They’re just kids! You want to shriek, kids that were chosen or forgotten or accepted or shunned.

Looking in the face of the system now feels so massive that it’s hopeless; a system that produces shiny heroes from children with their perfect and acceptable Quirks and discards the rest. Even you and Shouta, with your Quirks that aren’t as flashy, are pushed into the shadows to do the Hero Commissions business. And what business is that? You have to wonder their intentions, too, with all the money that’s pumped into it. Into all of these heroes. A system that forgets anyone who doesn’t fit into it’s perfect mold.

“But you see how it’s wrong, right? And just because you didn’t invent the system doesn’t mean you get to throw your hands up!” You say, voice raising.

Shouta levels you with a cool look. He lets loose a sigh. “What would you like me to do?”

You don’t have an answer, it’s too big of a question.

(You see the appeal suddenly, in wanting to get rid of it all, in destroying it since it’s such a mess.)

But you hate his aloofness, you hate that he doesn’t care. You hate that you feel crazy.

“I don’t know!” you shout, tears finally falling down your angry and flushed face. “I don’t know!”

“Are you done?” Shouta asks and it makes you want to scream more. You just want a reaction from him, you realize, you want something more than his impassiveness. You think of trying to shout more, to try and say something cutting or powerful or enough to make him wince.

But nothing comes to mind and you’re just stubbornly trying to keep back a sob.

So you shoulder past him, rush out of his apartment, rubbing at your cheeks and trying to keep back your hiccuping cries.

You have every intention of going to Tomura’s.

But you realize when you’ve nearly made it to his door that it might be foolish to go to someone like Tomura with tears in your eyes. What is the leader of the League of Villains going to do? You have a feeling you might just get your feelings hurt more.

So you pause, rub at your eyes again, try to dispel all the turmoil inside you. It doesn’t work, so you turn away from him, too, and you start moving.

Your feet carry you to the train station, carry you across town, to a warehouse you used to vandalize and hide in when you were young and alone.

You haven’t been here in years.

It feels strange, loping around the side of the building. The alleyways are cast in garnet light with the fading sun. It makes it look prettier than it is. You enter through the same hole in the wall that you used to when you were young; you’re bigger now, though, need to duck lower, curl yourself up to get through it.

You think of yourself scurrying around, knowing the ins and outs of this dilapidated building the way most children know their childhood home.

It’s strange, stepping back into a place you haven’t been to in years. You know, in some way, it has to have changed. It’s falling apart more, there’s larger holes in the ceiling, letting in auburn light, setting everything ablaze. There’s a lot of debris; from torn tents to discarded sleeping bags to spare junk, it’s all spread out throughout the place. Graffiti covers every corner of the walls. You used to look for a face painted in pink, it’s eyes dripping down it’s face in the back corner of a wall. When your eyes slide along all the artwork, it’s nowhere to be found now. No doubt covered up by the years, but you know it’s there, somewhere beneath all that color and paint.

There are a lot of empty bottles, glass laying around that crunches beneath your shoe.

You pick up a glass by the spout, watch as it catches in the light, murky gold and sunkissed.

You feel small again, fragile like the bottle in your hand. You stopped crying at least, but all that’s left is the aftertaste. Just the lingering frustration, the bitter aloneness that settles over you as cold as Shouta’s stare.

Your fingers squeeze around the glass, curling tight, before you suddenly hurl it at the wall.

It bursts on impact, explodes into thousands of shining, glittering pieces that spark in the sun.

It feels good, so you pick up another glass– this one’s mint green, pretty like the sea, reminds you of spring and the stems of flowers.

It breaks prettily, too, the sound ringing and sharp in your ears, your eyes trying to catch all the splinters of it. It explodes in the light. It’s cathartic, letting all your aching frustration and hurt rush out with each breaking, with each smashing.

You don’t get through many more, not before you hear footsteps behind you.

You can’t say you’re surprised to find Tomura, but you can’t say you were expecting it either. Quickly, you turn away, try to school your features. You try to rub at your eyes again, as if this will somehow dispel damp lashes and splotchy cheeks.

“Are you stalking me?” you ask, but there’s no bite to it as he comes to stand beside you.

He doesn’t answer.

You think he might be, but you can’t find it in you to care.

The sound of the distant city is just a hum between you two. Glass sparkles on the floor like stars in the fading, ruby light.

You turn to face him, don’t bother trying to look up into his face, just shove yourself into his chest. You bury your face into his hoodie, rubbing your cheek against his chest. “Creep,” you mumble, “What are you doing here?”

His hands come up, one at the back of your head, the other along your back. He has his gloves on. Not that it matters.

“I followed you from the apartment,” he admits and his voice is quiet, but it seems to echo in this open space. Then he says, “You should be more watchful.”

“Don’t start,” you grumble, letting your fingers curl in his jacket, “Been scolded enough today.”

The hand at the back of your head tugs at your hair lightly, lifting your head from its hiding place against his chest so that he can look you over carefully.

The light casts him in maroon and russet, saturating him, making the dark of him stand out sharply. It makes the silver of his hair seem peach, brands him in all the sun’s honey and whiskey glory.

His eyes are vivid, maybe the most true shade of red you’ve ever seen in your life.

He takes in your face, perhaps your bloodshot eyes, your damp lashes. You aren’t a fool; you’re certain he can tell you’ve been crying. You have the urge to squirm away, to try and hide from his gaze.

But all he asks, in a surprisingly gentle tone, is “What happened?”

You shake your head fractionally, “Nothing. Got into an argument, that’s all.”

He hums lightly, tracking your expression. You want to glance away from him, but he holds you still for a moment longer.

When you can’t take his scrutinization any longer, you ask, “Wanna break some shit with me?”

He lets you go finally, let’s you step out of his arms despite not responding. You pick up another glass, this once an icy blue that reflects light that reminds you of the color of morning skies.

You watch as it explodes against the wall, flashing like a little firework. Glass rains down onto the ground, some of it flinging up into the air or back towards you. Tomura pulls you away from it by the back of your jacket, yanks you back into his chest as glass shards fly past you.

He glares at you somewhat and you can tell he wants to scold you, but he doesn’t. You squirm out of his grasp to do it again.

Glass showers down as you break another bottle. It rains in shards of tangerine and pale yellow, bright pops of cherry in the light. It feels good, to watch it all burst apart in the sunlight, like watching little stars burst and explode at your hands. It’s so pretty, for such a violent act.

You hand a bottle to Tomura, offering him the chance to also act out. Instead, he pulls off one of his gloves– tugs it off with his teeth, the glint of sharp white against flesh pink. You watch fascinated for a moment, catch his eyes, blazing and barbed.

When he takes it with all five fingers, you watch as it first cracks in your palm, before fluttering away into dust. Into nothing.

You make a face, “That’s not as exciting as breaking them.”

He rolls his eyes, but you catch the way the corner of his lips hike up. He takes another glass, this one icy silver, caught peach in the honey light, though. He keeps a finger lifted away delicately as he lifts it up to the beams of scarlet sun that flare through the rafters.

And in that fiery patch of dusk, with the glass reflecting iridescence onto the angular plains of his face, your heart gives a violent lurch, like it’s trying to burst free from your chest.

I think I love you, you think, unbridled, and so suddenly that it feels as if the thought has slammed into you the way a body might fall from the ledge of a roof.

I think I love you, you think again, because you can’t quite believe it, as he lobs the bottle at the wall. It fractures into a thousand little beams of glass and light, like an exploding comet. You feel as fragile as that, like he’ll do the same to you. Maybe you’ll be nothing but shards by the end of this, nothing but dust slipping through his fingers.

He turns to you, no doubt to say something snarky, but you’re already taking quick steps to him. He doesn’t get the chance to speak, not when you collide with him, hard and reckless, throwing yourself up onto your toes to kiss him with a new violence.

He makes a surprised noise, soft, but catches you otherwise. His hand is already up, worming beneath your clothes to press chilled fingers into the bare skin of your upper waist. He likes the way you hiss into his mouth, and you like the way they dig roughly into you. He forces you closer, melds his mouth to yours, rough at the edges, slick and warm at the center as the kiss blossoms into slow simmering heat.

And by the end of it all, when the light has given way to violet darkness, the press of indigo shadows that stretch tall in this abandoned warehouse, there is too much glass on the floor. Everything is shattered or decayed. Your lips are stinging from sharp-toothed kisses and the desperate press of his mouth to yours. You’ve turned molten, fallen apart the way glass does.

You walk home together, hand in seeking hand.

Your eyes flush pink with your Quirk, brightening up in the dark.

You knock into his side like you’re a kid, eagerly trailing beside him. He has the hood of his sweatshirt up, hidden, as you rush into the next train back to the part of town that holds the little, distant world of his apartment.

You sit beside each other on the train, knees pressing into each other. He leans over to crowd you against the cool glass as the world streaks past you in a wash of darkness. He ducks his face to yours, his hood hiding the both of you from any onlookers as he seers his mouth to yours again.

You feel like a teenager, kissing in front of strangers, beneath the flickering light of the train car. You feel young and reckless, letting him have you like this, while the city burns like a blurry halo behind you. But you feel older, too, older and in love, like you finally know the secret of the universe, the one that every adult knows and has only learned in the burn of a kiss, in the messy squeezing of your heart.

He licks into your mouth slow, you curl your small hand into his worn hoodie. If people stare, you don’t know, don’t care.

He pulls away from you, forcing you up when your stop is announced, leaving you a little dazed and dizzy, but you eagerly follow after him. Your hands bunch into the back of his jean jacket. You stumble behind him a little, feet tangling with his as you duck beneath his arm to come to his side.

Ryuji finds the two of you on your walk home the closer you get, follows you both inside, happily chirping at your coos. But he paws at the window to be let out again a short time later, after you’ve fed him something. Tomura opens the window for the cat, but not before you catch him rubbing a knuckle against the kitten’s fuzzy cheek, brief but gentle.

You think he likes Ryuji more than he lets on. You think he loves all this more than he lets on.

Tomura takes his time with you that night, surprisingly languid for once, like you’re not on borrowed time. Like this is an entirely new planet, a version of the two of you that is not bound by pasts and future expectations. No strings puppeteering you both, no invisible hands holding you both back.

He pulls you down into his lap, to sink onto him, fill yourself with him as you please. You twine your arms around his slender neck to pull him close, eyes half lidded and pyretic pink, fiery and soft with the way your Quirk reacts to his. It always hums somewhere inside of you, brushes against his until it quiets, until he’s soothed and relaxed.

“Do you feel powerful?” he murmurs against your lips, eyes flickering up to find yours.

The question takes you by surprise for a moment, pulling away fractionally from his parted lips. And with the way your heart squirms in your chest, looking down at him like this, you want to say no, I feel terrified and new and desperate.

But he drags nails down your back, makes you gasp and roll your hips down onto him, which startles a groan out of him. The sound of it turning your stomach in the best and worst ways, making you flush, making you squirm to try and sink lower onto him. Greedy and desperate, you wiggle your hips to make his breathing come out ragged.

It makes you realize you have one of the most dangerous villains beneath you, as desperate as you are.

You roll your hips again, slow, take what you want of him. You fist your hand in his hair, tilt his head back and watch as his eyes flutter. His cheeks are flushed.

Pretty, you think faintly.

“Yeah,” you breathe, gliding your lips along his, heart a storm in your chest to have him looking up at you like this, “I do.”

His lips tilt into a knife-sharp smile, enough to gut you.

And he lets you take what you please of him that night, and the thief that you are, you take and take and take. You steal from him with deft hands and a smile that he thinks he’d destroy the world for. You take all the love that you want from him, gorge yourself on it until you feel sick.

Until you feel as if you could rot with it, carrying your love for him in the pits of you, coveting in the safe, secret parts of you, for no one else to find.

Just you and him, like this, hand in seeking hand.

***

PART III

[stuckwith-harry]

Hide-and-seek

A/N: Oh, to be a chicken in times like these. (CW for discussion of death, nothing graphic.)

In the chicken shed it might as well still be the eighties, as though time had only gone on for the humans living in the house on the other side of the fence, but not in here, where the hens are quietly clucking and cooing and enjoying their naps, until Ginny shakes a handful of lettuce in the air like an invitation, a beckoning – then they come hurrying towards her, beaks tearing greedily at the green leaves.

When the hens have had their fill, Ginny looks over the gaggle of bickering ladies and finds her favourite amongst them, Genoveva with her warm brown feathers and clever eyes, who yells and shrieks when Ginny lifts her up by her impossibly soft belly, crouching down in the chicken shed, and pulls the disgruntled hen to her chest.

“Look, I’ll make it up to you”, Ginny tells her quietly. She fishes sweetcorn out of the front pocket of her dungarees and holds her open palm out to Genoveva, not flinching or grimacing when the sharp beak leaves little red marks on her skin as the hen gulps down her treat.

Ginny smiles.

The summer after her first year, she climbed into the chicken shed every day. She was soothed, then, by the arrhythmic clucking and the smell of fresh hay and the fact that the hens allowed her to share their company, that they did not recoil in horror at her sight.

It was her that named them, while she sat here for hours and hours with a chicken in her lap, more often than not Genoveva, who, for all her complaining, was easily the most patient of the bunch, and who nestles into her lap now, blinking slowly in the twilight while Ginny strokes her feathers, the burning inside her ribcage dull and pulsating like that of an infected wound.

Like it was her that took the damn Killing Curse to the chest.

“You’ve no idea how lucky you are”, she mutters, meeting Genoveva’s sharp eyes. “Nothing in those little heads of yours except earthworms and soft hay.”

She sits there for ages and ages like she did that summer, willing the comfort of the soft animal to sink into her like warmth. When she finally gets up to leave the chickens be, she tosses the rest of the sweetcorn into the hay (Genoveva looks utterly betrayed), fills up the grains in the feeder, and climbs out of the shed with the smell of warm feathers and wheat straw still in her nose.

“Chicken-feeding duty?”, calls a voice from near the house as she swings her bare legs over the wooden fence and strolls back towards the Burrow. When she looks for the voice’s owner, she discovers Ron, sitting on the weathered bench below the kitchen window.

“What’re you doing out here?”, she calls out as she comes closer.

“Hiding”, he says dully. “Mum’s crying again.”

Ginny feels something inside her chest take a tumble. “Is anyone with her?”

“Yeah, I’m not that much of a dickhead. Dad and Percy and Bill are all in there.”

“You’re not a dickhead”, Ginny says automatically, surprising them both. Then: “Mind if I stay?”

He shrugs. “Be my guest.”

So she sinks on the bench beside him, joining him in his grim silence. They gaze aimlessly over the soft green hills all around, the shape of the lake like a blue thumbprint in the landscape, where they whiled away so many happier, warmer days than this, and Ottery St. Catchpole’s mismatched roofs in the distance, smoke rising from the chimneys.

Ron finally looks over at her. “Were you with the chickens this whole time? I thought you’d grown out of your obsession with them.”

Ginny musters up a grin. “Never. I love those stupid hens. That was just an elaborate ruse so I could hide in the chicken coop when we used to play hide-and-seek. It never occurred to any of you to look.”

“Well, you stopped growing at about five feet, I figure you fit right in.”

Ginny whacks him in the knee. In a true testament to the severity of the situation, Ron does not retaliate.

She tells herself it’s that, not how much they aged him, the few short months that he was gone.

It’s less blatant now that Mum has shorn back the unkempt mop of hair that was falling into his eyes and growing down the back of his neck like wild weeds when he walked through the secret entrance of the Room of Requirements with Harry and Hermione; now that he’s shaved the patchy stubble on his cheeks and his face has regained a little fullness. But sometimes she still looks at him and wonders how ten years have not passed since she watched him slip away into thin air at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

“Did anything happen?”, she asks. “With Mum?”

Ron shrugs, expression blank. “Some fool said his name again. I never noticed how rarely we actually said the twins’ individual names until we had to break the habit of saying Fred-and-George all in one go. It’s like he’s Voldemort.”

Ginny doesn’t laugh.

“I know”, she mutters. “Don’t think it’ll ever come naturally.”

He nods mechanically. “Anyway – I made a run for it. I just couldn’t do it right then, having to comfort her and everything.”

Ginny looks over at him. “Funny, you’re so good at it.”

“You just say that because I make the best tea.”

“Well, you do.”

The same way that children can recognise each of their family members by the sound of their footsteps as heard through a wall, or the rhythmic pattern with which they knocked on the door, the Weasley siblings have learned to read each other’s silences since they’ve come home. Often now, they appear at each other’s bedroom doors at all hours of the night, shaken from nightmares or too restless to sleep or, rarely, weeping.

Most nights, two or three or four of them eventually find themselves in the kitchen, where Ginny turns on the lights, and Ron puts on the kettle, and they sit there and while away the small hours in each other’s company, in silence, in quiet understanding, in murmured chatter about nothing at all.  It’s good comfort, the idea that even after everything, there’s nothing in this world that a hot cup of tea can’t fix.

Ginny shifts on the bench next to him, pulling her knees to her chest. “Remember when that fox got one of the hens? I was inconsolable, and you were so nice to me when we put her in a shoebox and buried her behind the house, you didn’t even make fun of me.”

“You lot are different, that’s easy. I just can’t take it when it’s our parents.”

Ginny hums in understanding. “I think seeing Dad cry was worse for me. At the memorial.”

“Cheers, thanks for bringing it up again.”

She snorts.

“You’re good with Harry”, she says softly. “D’you miss him at all?”

He rolls his eyes. “He just sleeps two floors below me, it’s not like he died.”

Ginny winces.

Ron does not miss the look on her face or the heaviness of her silence, as they have all learned to do, and asks in an unnaturally light tone: “How’re you coping with him waking up three times a night?”

He seems relieved, for a moment there, when she smirks.

“It’s not too bad, actually. At least he makes for a great pillow.”

Ron looks appalled. “What the hell happened to the camp bed?”

“Oh, we just keep that around for decoration now.” She grins, comforted by the opportunity to tease him. “And he doesn’t wake up as much anymore.”

His face lights up. “That’s good news, at least. Lead with that next time.”

“Oh, he’s just … stopped going to sleep altogether.”

“That really solves that problem”, he says darkly. “The idiot.”

“I don’t think it’s purposeful”, she says. “He’s always pretending to be asleep when I look at him, but I can always tell. And when he does doze off, I’ll just stir next to him, and that’s enough to wake him up again.”

“He’s a really light sleeper these days”, Ron says apologetically. “The worst camping trip in the world will do that to a person.”

Ginny grins faintly. “Yeah, he’s mentioned it.”

“He’s talking, then?”

“Hm-hm.” She wraps her arms a little tighter around her legs. “Which is good, I guess.”

He watches her for a minute, as though unsure what to make of her tone. “Anything on your mind?”

She laughs. “Anyone ever told you you’re turning into Mum?”

“Well, we’re here anyway!”, Ron says, ears flushing. “Spit it out, will you?”

“He, uhm –”

It has not occurred to her, until right now, how difficult it would be to pass the story on, even to someone who has heard it before. Harry handed it to her because she asked him to, and still it knocked into her like a wild animal, pouncing, the weight of it like a Hippogriff standing on her chest, pinning her to the earth.

“He told me about walking into the Forbidden Forest.”

“Ah”, Ron says hollowly. “No wonder you’re hiding in a chicken coop.”

She looks around at him. “It’s not Harry I’m hiding from.”

“But you are hiding”, Ron says wisely.

Ginny shrugs. “I dunno what I expected. Somehow I’d convinced myself I already knew the worst of it. Which, as it turns out, was a bit stupid of me.”

She draws in a shaky breath.

“I thought he was in on it. Ever since I watched him come back to life at Hagrid’s feet … I thought there was some sort of plan. But there wasn’t, or Dumbledore didn’t tell him, anyway. I thought he knew he was going to survive, and it turns out that, uhm – he didn’t know shit. He went there to die, for real.”

Ginny looks back at him, words coming faster now. “And I’m – I’m so angry, and I don’t know why. Or who I’m angry with. It can hardly be Harry.”

“In all fairness, I kind of felt like punching him when he told us”, Ron says quietly, and her mouth briefly twists into something like a smile. “If anything we should be angry with Voldemort, or Dumbledore, even – but they’re not within punching distance, so what are you gonna do?”

“If Dumbledore wasn’t already dead, I would kill him”, Ginny says. “I swear, I would kill him.”

“Yeah, that sounds reasonable”, Ron says good-naturedly, patting her arm.

“And Harry – Harry keeps apologising, and I don’t know what for.”

Ron’s expression is pained. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

He sighs. She handed this to him, and now he is steeling himself to hand something back to her. She can tell.

“My best guess is … for not saying goodbye.”

Ginny does not look at him. Suddenly she is blinking rapidly in the fading light, sitting there as the blow rolls over her, something blunt and violent that should have broken her ribs like the impact of a Bludger; but there is no injury, only an ache that does not abate, that sits all around her, inside her. She doesn’t think it’s ever going to go away, all that hurting, writhing and straining inside her like a second skeleton.

“How could he have? We would’ve dragged him back to the castle by the damn hair.”

“Of course we would have”, Ron says robustly.

For a moment he looks like he’s going to reach out to her, hold her, maybe. He seems to think better of it in the end, and she’s almost relieved, dreading what she’d do if someone hugged her.

It’s another thing that won’t ever come easily: showing up on someone’s doorstep, weeping.

“If it’s any consolation”, he says after a while, “I think that’s the worst of it.”

“I’ve been wondering”, she mutters. “Can’t think of very much that beats walking to your own death. No fucking wonder he doesn’t sleep.”

“It’s funny”, Ron says, “I talked to him less than an hour ago, and he seems alright, almost.”

Ginny shrugs. “Isn’t he always? Remarkably functional, considering.”

Ron makes an attempt at a smile. “It’s such a Harry thing to do, though, isn’t it? Always dying for other people. Or trying to, anyway.”

“Hardly just a Harry thing, it turns out.”

It’s all shit, she thinks when he looks at her. Being the person knocking at the door, and the one listening on the other side, opening it.

“He told me about Malfoy Manor”, she says softly.

“Ah.” Ron kicks at the dirt to his feet. “Well, then you know what keeps me up at night.”

“He said – he said you offered to swap places with Hermione. Let Bellatrix have you instead.”

“And? You would’ve done the exact same thing for him.”

Ginny almost smiles. He might as well still be the boy who stuck stubbornly by her side next to the chicken fence all night, when she couldn’t bear to head back to the house, in case the fox ever came back.

“Yeah. I would have.”

It settles on her shoulders as quickly and unnoticeably as night, rapidly falling all around them: everything she would’ve done, in a heartbeat, in an instant.

“I would’ve taken the forest, too”, she says, more to herself than to Ron. “I would’ve done it all for him.”

It seems significant, somehow, that Ron does not resist this. That maybe he knows what it felt like, to Ginny, when they walked out into the courtyard and saw Harry.

That, too, felt like a Bludger to the chest: the sight of him, a kid in Hagrid’s arms, his glasses askew. How she wished it was her lying there, dead in his place.

“Those two”, Ron says abruptly. “Some day they’re really gonna be the death of us.”

Ginny almost laughs.

“So you won’t strangle him for abandoning the camp bed?”

Ron eyes her for a moment, a sort of benevolent sternness in his expression – and Ginny was right, that’s all Mum. “Yeah, I’ll consider it.”

“I’m sorry, anyway”, she says, half-smiling. “For costing you your roommate.”

Ron sighs. “They grow up so fast.”

“And for all this, too. You were trying to hide, I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s all right. You had to find me eventually.”

[etherealeeknow]

we have each other

• rated m for mature (along with a pinch of angst? and fluff)

• pairing: soft dom!minho x fem!reader

• wc: 1.420

• tw: arguing with minho, dirty talk, grinding, slight nipple play, explicit language, unprotected vaginal sex (remember to always stay safe!), bathtub sex, soft sex, creampie,- i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: lmao i was aiming for a drabble but def got carried away while writing this- plus, this is my first smut after a decade 😂 so fingers crossed you’ll enjoy it! feedbacks are much appreciated <3 also, please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes.

—

“holysh- this better not be- fuck!” you grunt on the unpleasant sight and smell coming from your favorite sneaker as you mentally do a karate chop to whoever let their dog poo in the middle of the crosswalk. jumping on one leg, you almost make it to the sidewalk when all of a sudden, it starts raining cats and dogs. gripping onto your handbag as tightly as you can, you run with all your might while spitting out endless curses, the situation on your left shoes long forgotten as the only thing you want right now is to get under your roof.

yet, the cycle of your bad luck doesn’t stop when you get to your destination as the one and only functioning elevator in the old apartment building is out of service. “it was totally fine this morning!” you say out loud, earning nothing in return from the ignorant security who’s half asleep by his desk. sighing, you stomp your way to the stairs. the day’s gonna be longer.

once you reach the seventh floor and spot your apartment door, you feel like crying out of happiness, but it doesn’t last long as the realization hits you that you lost your key last week and haven’t gotten the chance to get a copy. “dear heavens, why are you doing this-” your sentence is cut off when the door clicks open right when you get in front of it, barely having the chance to knock; revealing the sight of minho with his poker face, shooting you a look. “don’t,” you warn without sparing a glance as you make your way inside to hurriedly grab your needs so not much damage will be done from your drenching self.

“why didn’t you pick up my calls?” silence. “i asked you a question, y/n,” you can hear the sound of his gritting teeth even when you’re back facing him. turning around, you only glare at him before heading to the bathroom, only to spin around when he calls your name again. “really, minho? you honestly expect me to return your calls after last night? did you hit your head and forget that you literally told me to fuck off?” silence. “exactly. now please, go mind your own business and let me mind my own.” swinging the bathroom door open, you’re welcomed with the view of your cramped bathroom, now all squeaky clean and filled with tealight candles- even your bathtub has been filled with bubbles. 

“min-” a tiny gasp escapes your lips when minho wraps his hands around your shoulder and his lips come in contact with your neck, kissing it softly. “h- hey, i’m all wet and sweaty,” you say, yet having no intention to stop him. “mmm, don’t care. all i want is to make you even wetter.” one by one, he unbuttons your shirt and lets it hit the floor. he draws circles around your tummy before sliding a finger in your bra, playing with your hardened nipple and making you shiver under him. “i see you’re finally cold now, huh, my hot headed baby? you want me to warm you up?” you instantly nod, sparing no time, and minho does the same—unclasping your bra while you shimmy out of your culottes and undies.

patience has always been in your virtue, but today is an exception. you miss minho so badly, his touch, his kiss, him. you want him. sure, the episode last night between the two of you leaves a certain scar somewhere on your heart, but it can’t compete with the love you have for him. you hurriedly help him undress and he chuckles, making you reddened along the process. once you look up to him, though, he’s already looking at you ever so fondly, the light in his eyes shines so bright and you just can’t take it anymore. you pull him into a kiss and feel his hand on your neck, his thumb stroking the lobule of your ear for quite some time before he bites your lower lip and you let him in to take control.

“up,” he mutters in between the kiss, tapping your foot as a signal, and you oblige; jumping slightly to wrap your legs around his waist, and you can feel the tip of his cock lightly hitting your bum. your kiss comes to a halt for quite some time when minho goes into the tub and slowly sinks down. both of you groans in satisfaction upon feeling the warm water. “i’m sorry,” minho says as his hand reaches out to caress your cheek while the other remains around your waist, pulling you even closer till there’s no more room separating you. “i didn’t mean anything i said to you last night, but that doesn’t mean i’m not at fault. i’ll fix myself for you, y/n. i know you want it as much as i do, but you’re right, things aren’t going as planned so we should take it slow for it to work out. please let me work on it with you?”

his last words come out almost in a whisper and it brings you to tears as you struggle to tell him that he doesn’t need to ask for your permission. minho has been your number one support for half of the decade. through the seemingly never ending hardships, he’s always there, so if arguing over big and small matters is what it’s gonna take for you to marry him, then so be it—because you know that at the end of the day, it’ll only strengthen your feelings for each other. feeling his eyes getting teary, minho nuzzles against your neck, out of words to say, and it softens you even more.

you take the chance to start grinding on his dick and whimper shyly, “please make love to me, minho. i need you.” that definitely brings his attention back to you and all the emotional thoughts vanish to the back of his head. unlike the usual minho who lives to tease you and could go on for hours with only sliding his cock up and down on your slit, the minho he is today only wants to give you everything you want. your moans mixing with one another when he lifts you up and guides you down by your hips, piercing through you—your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel him stretching you while he’s in the same state, already feeling on cloud nine when he feels you clenching around him. right when you’re about to ask him to move, minho pulls out of you slams back in, making you cry in pure pleasure as you begin to buck your hips against his, craving for more.

though short of breath, minho manages to chuckle at your eagerness. “baby, let me take care of you,” he says, cheeks all flushed from the heat. he proceeds to take care of the situation, going in and out of you steadily before fastening his pace. “oh my god, min- minho, ah!” you moan, partly for the ecstasy of feeling so full, but mostly because he has hit your sweet spot and the familiar knot’s finally starting to build up on your stomach. “f- faster, please, please, please-” you beg, voice now a pitch higher, yet unbothered by the possibility that the neighbors might be able to hear how minho is making you cry over his cock. 

“cum with me- ah, fuck! cum around my dick, baby-” with his desperate plea and the way he twitches in you, it only takes a few more thrusts before a wave of pleasure washes over you and you cum around him while letting out a choked moan—minho follows only a second after, both his body and voice shaking over his own climax. the room’s now only filled with your heavy breathings, but they, especially minho’s, sound like music to your ears. right when your head leaves his shoulder and you lock eyes with him, everything turns black.

“you have got to be kidding me-” you groan, this time in disbelief and annoyance, but it quickly changes into a chortle when you lay your eyes on the tealight candles surrounding you. “good thing my boyfriend has set these romantic candles for me,” you joke, making minho laugh along as he, again, pulls you towards him, wanting to be as close as possible with you. “i know, right? and at least we have each other.”

“at least we have each other.”

[rainbowtransform]

@ethereal-deadly-clover @melancholycatastrophe

:) (def would consider checking out this post before for a little more context!!)

Here’s the thing: Dream loves his server. He enjoys playing with it, growing flowers and managing to coax dogs and cats out from the undergrowth of trees. He looks at the stars above him, big and bright and beautiful. When he decided to settle, Dream puts away his shoes.

He walks barefoot through the grass, feels the wind, and feels the earth beneath him. The word he has inhabited, the world that holds him close and murmurs words of love is huge. It’s awaiting his exploration, and hums a song that he doesn’t quite understand.

His feet are bruised by the time he finishes his walk. Bad scolds him for it, but he sees the faraway look in Dream’s eye, and remembers the first time he’d gotten his own server. “Be more careful,” he says quietly while wrapping them. “Shoes are important, and you’re not going to help yourself without them.”

Dream shrugs. He wriggles his toes, and smiles.

“I like going barefoot.” He says. “It makes me feel closer to the World.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Pandora’s Vault burns his feet almost instantly. Dream spends the first week hopping from foot to foot, settling them into his respawn hole, and wondering why it never hurt this much before.

Sam looks at him with no expression, and only raises an eyebrow at his hopping. There were shoes in Dream’s changing bag, but he’s hasn’t worn shoes in forever. The only time was when he’d enter the Nether, but he’d take them right off afterwards.

“They’re uncomfortable.” Dream tells Sam. “I’m wearing them.”

A sigh.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

He’s in the trees, feet dangling. Sam’s underneath him, shoes in one hand and a half-smile flitting across his face. “It’s almost winter,” he says. “You’ll get cold. You’ve got to wear shoes.”

Dream shrugs. “I’ll wear socks.” He counters.

“They’ll get wet,” Sam says back. Dream crosses his arms. No one likes wet socks, but Dream doesn’t want to wear shoes anymore. He hasn’t been for a while.

“What if I only walk on the Path? Or I only leave when it’s warm enough or I just go outside the community house.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going to do that.” He says bluntly. “You can barely sit there for this world, you’re always exploring. Now you’re going to dust inside for a whole season?”

Dream sighs. He climbs down the tree, and Sam smiles at him. He gives Dream the shoes, and then tightens his own laces when Dream’s tying his. “I’ll be back before this season’s over.” Sam tells him, brushes aside Dream’s hair.

Dream feels uncomfortable. Sam says his goodbyes, and once he’s out, Dream takes off the shoes.

(The others look away. They’ve gotten used to not trying; Sam’s the only one who still does. Callahan even took his shoes off for a week or two, trying to connect to the world like Dream.)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The thing about Techno joining him is that he’s calm and collected. He’s bored, but he hasn’t been through the things that Dream has been.

“So,” Techno says, looking at the shoes Dream has on. “Why are you wearing Velcro shoes? Can’t tie your laces?”

Dream shrugs. “The Warden put them on me.” He said. “He usually does before Quackity comes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s like a punishment inside another punishment. He knows I don’t like shoes.”

“You can take them off right?”

“With permission.”

Techno shrugs. “Well… I’m giving you permission.”

Dream shrugs. “The Warden’s supposed to.”.

Techno hums. He drops his cape around Dream’s shoulders, and leans against a wall. “Well,” he says. “I’m going to sleep.”

(And if Dream leans next to him, far away enough to not touch him but close enough to grab Techno just in case, that’s enough. And if Dream wakes up tomorrow with no shoes, Techno looking like he hasn’t moved, there’s no one’s business except his own.)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Dream writes and writes. His hand shakes, cramps, but he taps bare feet against chests and dips them into the respawn pool. Techno takes the books, and flips through them, and sometimes he’ll make Dream laugh. He also just watched Dream and the difference between shoeless and having them.

It’s done, Dream thinks. He signs his name off, writes it in a flourish. It’s like signing his death warrant. Dream finished the last sentence, and hands off the book to Techno. He doesn’t read this one, but he does give a hard look in the camera’s direction.

“Listen, Dream,” he says softly. “I’m going to go away for a while. I promise, I promise, I’ll come back. But you’ve got to stay strong okay?”

Dream stares at him. “You’re leaving?” He says.

Techno takes the cape from the floor and drapes it over Dream’s shoulders. “I am. I’ll come back for you. Team Chaos, remember?”

“Team Chaos,” Dream echoes.

And then he’s alone.

(Quackity hates that Techno got away. Sam hates that Techno got away, and burned the shoes. Dream cowers in the corner, begging forgiveness even though he did nothing.)

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Drowsy, Dream opens his eyes to see the Warden putting Velcro shoes on him. Dream hates them. It means that Quackity’s going to do something and Dream doesn’t know what. Sam doesn’t look at him, but he does make sure the straps are tight on him before leaving.

Quackity comes in minutes later. Dream curls in a corner, trying to get away, trying to get them off, ect are they on him what is he planning sometime sometime sometime—

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

He’s lead outside, with a bunch of people on the entrance. He tries to reconnect with the earth again, tries to feel the world underneath his feet, but there’s—it’s nothing.

He can’t feel anything except the socks and the shoes that feel dead, dead, dead. He would have fallen, trying to grab something in his hands—grass, dirt, the shoes—if the Warden’s hand didn’t tighten on his arm.

The warning is clear: stop.

“See?” Quackity says. “He’s fine. Sam hasn’t done anything to him.”

Dream looks up at the sky, and tilts his head. It’s dark, almost like it’s about to rain. Dream hasn’t seen rain in a long time. He wonders what season it is, before his attention is snapped toward Antfrost, who looks him up and down.

“Why is he wearing shoes?” Antfrost asks. “Dream never does.”

“Pandora’s Vault is hot,” the Warden says. “His feet will burn otherwise.”

They ask the Warden a bunch of questions. They don’t ask Dream, but Ant kept giving him weird looks when he reached for the grass beneath his feet. He just wants to connect again.

Dream feels wind against his face, and he looks to where it’s coming from. There’s a shadow, flying low with the wind. Dream almost looks up, but doesn’t. It’s probably a bird.

The Warden’s hand tightens again, and Dream could feel tears building. Dream looks up and then suddenly everyone is staring at him.

“Dream,” Puffy says. There’s something in her expression that he can’t quite place. “Are you okay?”

Dream turns away and tries to grab some grass again.

“Prisoner,” the Warden says. “Answer the question.”

Dream catches Quackity’s eye, and watches how his expression changes from one of pleased to angry. The Warden’s hand is getting tighter, almost digging into him. Dream nods once, and the Warden lets go.

“Well, that’s a lie.” Technoblade says from above, and then all hell breaks lose.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Dream loves the night sky and the stars that come with it. When Dream first settled, they could see millions of stars above them and Dream made his own constellations. The stars glowed bright.

(Later on, it became too light to see some of them. But Dream remembered where they used to be. He’d sit on the roof of the Community House for hours, tracing where they were.)

But in the Arctic, they are unfamiliar. “Make new ones,” Techno told him. But Dream misses the old stars, he misses his fri—

He misses when there was no wars.

When it was just Dream in the world, he managed to bring a star down from above. He held it in his hands, hot and cold at the same time; and he watched it. It fizzled and spit and didn’t burn out for a long time.

Dream thinks he was a star, intimidating and untouchable. But he’s also at the end, his fizzle had sparked out. He’s not who he used to be.

He doesn’t know who he is.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

He tries to be barefoot in the snow, tries to feel the earth underneath his feet. There’s nothing except the stinging bite of cold and the dogs’ breathing.

Techno finds him, shoeless, sitting on his porch edge. He’s holding onto two pairs shoes, one Velcro and the other with laces. “It’s pretty cold,” he says.

Dream doesn’t reply. Techno sits down next to him, “Listen,” he says. “You lose the most heat out of feet and your head. I’m okay with you being shoeless in the houses, or the porch. But once you step off, you’ve got to wear shoes. Choose one.”

Dream looks at them. “Laces,” he says. “I can wear laces.”

“Sure, nerd,” he says. Techno leaves the shoes on the porch, and then gets up to go inside. “Phil’s making hot chocolate,” he says. “If you want.”

Dream nods. He lays down on the porch, and looks at the stars above him. A million, waiting for constellations.

So, Dream begins drawing.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Dream used to coax flowers into blooming early before the Wars began. Iris and Ivy, lilacs, and Lilies, asters and carnations. Roses and willows, and everything underneath the sun.

In the Arctic, they don’t grow. They shrivel because the Arctic is cold, and flowers are used to warm weathers. And Dream almost cries, when he manages to have a flower grow.

It’s a daffodil.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

The Syndicate come back from a mission, gunpowder staining hands and wither residue left on Techno’s cape. They’ve also got Redstone dust on them, but Dream doesn’t ask.

Dream watched them walk up, and Techno glanced down at his bare feet. “We can go on a training mission,” Techno tells him. “Somewhere warmer.”

There’s a break, and Dream looks down at his feet, and the flower that he’s grown. Niki and Phil are already inside, discussing what they should bake for dessert tonight and Boo’s already gone and writing something in his Book.

Dream looks up at Techno, and smiles. “Sure,” he says quietly. “I’d like that.”

(There’s something almost beautiful when he reconnects to the server. When his feet dig into soft soil, and he can feel everything.

Dream lays down, and watches the sky. Techno lays next to him. They’ve got weeks to spend here.)

[jinkicake]

You Call Him Daddy?!

Their daddy kink gets exposed in front of the team.

Iwaizumi Hajime x Reader

Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

This is much like my other ‘daddy prompt’ for Asahi and Bokuto. Anon who requested these mfs, I love you. I live for Iwaizumi Hajime.

SMUT 0.o </3

WC- 1,660

~~~

Iwaizumi Hajime

Iwaizumi… he is so difficult, my precious little hedgehog

It would be his best friends to expose him….

He’d be so embarrassed like his face would get all red and his mouth would go dry

This would make it even funnier for members like Makki

It’s a random afternoon you’re eating lunch with your boyfriend, Oikawa, Makki and, Mattsun

You and Oikawa are talking about the homework you have to finish and the project you two are working on

You’re leaning on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, curled up into his side

Makki and Mattsun are talking about some porn video from the night before

“and then she called him daddy, like what the fuck” Mattsun rolls his eyes as he continues to shovel rice into his face

You subtly stiffen against Iwaizumi

“shut the fuck up that’s hot, you know that's hot” Makki narrows his eyes and pulls his phone out “you didn’t send me the link shithead? Seriously?”

“no, it was bad anyways”

“damn” Makki’s face falls

You have to stifle your laughter at the hurt written on Makki’s face, the stench of dejection radiating off of him

“You know who’d have a daddy kink? Kyoutani” Makki comments and you nearly spit out the drink in your mouth

“You agree (Y/N)?” The dumbass turns to you and Oikawa agree for you

“Literally.” The captain nods his head as he occupies himself with the bento in front of him before choosing his next words not so subtly “I bet Iwa-chan does too, look at him, he’s such a brute”

“Good luck (Y/N)” Makki puts his hand on your shoulder sympathetically and Oikawa sends you a sad smile

“How are you just gonna out him like that dude?” Mattsun flicks the setter’s head and Oikawa lets out a dramatic cry, you continue to carefully watch the scene in front of you

“Oh come on like (Y/N) didn’t know already, you saw her neck that one time!” Oikawa defends himself while Makki nods his head in agreement

“That’s true, but doesn’t that mean (Y/N) would have a daddy kink too?”

Slowly, three heads turn towards you and you flinch under their stares

“I-I don’t have a daddy kink” You stutter and feel your cheeks heat up under their stares, Oikawa simply looks at Makki who nods back at him before he turns to Iwaizumi

“Iwa-chan does (Y/N) call you daddy?” Oikawa’s brown eyes narrow intimidatingly and Iwaizumi stares back at him, silent except for one dead giveaway that only Oikawa knows “OHMYGO-“

Then all chaos breaks out on the roof, the three boys rolling on the floor

There are literal tears welling up in Makki’s eyes and Mattsun simply shakes his head disapprovingly while trying to hide his laughter

“Honestly Iwa-chan, I know when you’re lying and you know it too so I don’t know why you insist on doing it” Oikawa comments while clutching his sides, the public humiliation making his insides weak

You can only watch, heart beating in your ears as you turn to look at your boyfriend

Iwaizumi is quiet, red in the face, and utterly embarrassed but the shyness that overtook him is so endearing

You can only squeeze his hand in support and patiently wait for Makki to stop laughing

Even a week later, he is still laughing

“You like when daddy is touching you?” Iwaizumi slowly drags his large palm up your thigh, opening your legs to run his fingers through your folds. You can only bite your lip as you try to hold in any noises and Iwaizumi gently slaps your clit when he notices. “Don’t hold back for daddy, you know better.” He warns before bringing his attention back to your clit, his fingers draw soothing circles against the little nub and your legs twitch when he just out his tongue to wet his bottom lip. “Keep still baby,” You let out a whine in protest. “I know you can.”

Iwaizumi is so soft, he makes sure each of his movements wrecks the pleasure out of you. He brings up his other hand to pull your folds apart before leaning his head down and catching all the essence that spilled out of you onto his tongue. Iwaizumi lets out a loud moan when his tongue caresses your sweet walls and he makes it a show to loudly slurp it all up. He knows damn well what the lewd noises do to you. Your chest is falling and rising so quickly as you watch him and your back arches when he looks up at you, showing you how he swallows it all. Your eyes close shut for a quick moment before he sends another sharp slap to your clit.

“Always watch me, pretty baby.” Iwaizumi stares up at you hard and you nod your head, the whimpers spewing from your lips as he continues to deliver harsh little smacks. “I know you love it, fuck, I’ll just have to reward my good little girl.”

Kuroo Testurou

Kuroo would be so smug about it, even though deep down he is such a big dork, he’d live for it

He would not care that he just revealed one of his biggest kinks to the entire team

I feel like he would like it, all their eyes staring at him with disgust

He’d look so proud and walk around like the hot shit he is

It was at the tournament to decide who goes to nationals

You were walking around the hallways trying to find where the team was, judging by the text from Kenma they were in some random corner

It felt like you were walking around in circles until you bumped into a young girl

“Oh, I’m so sorry are you okay?” You bent down a little bit so you could speak closely with her

She looked terrified, with her hair pulled out of her face in little pigtails

“I’m lost” She whimpered and you reached your hand out to her “I was just with my daddy a second ago”

“I’m sure we can find who you came here with.” You told her when she gently placed her small hand in her own, at the same time failing to notice the lingering figure behind you “Where’s daddy?”

You try to ask her, jog her memory for anything

Kuroo’s grin widens as he wraps his arms around your waist, bending over you to burry his face into your neck

“Daddy’s here” He kissed your neck and you let out a loud screech before slapping the side of his head

“Kuroo what the-“ You nearly curse but look down at the little girl beside you “What are you doing here?”

“You were looking for me weren’t you?” His eyes shine playfully and you have to refrain from tugging his hair out

You glare at him because you can’t deny it, you were looking for him even before the ‘where’s daddy incident’

The little girl lets go of your hand and blink owlishly up at Kuroo, her face petrified

“I-I’ll just go to the help center” She stammered before turning and running away, nearly tripping on her own two feet

“No, wait!” You tried to call and go after her but she dashed from your sight “Kuroo, what the fuck”

“Don’t you mean daddy?” Yaku asked before gagging as he walked past the two of you and you closed your eyes to not make eye contact with the blonde as he walked past

“(Y/N) you’re pregnant? Congrats!” Lev slaps Kuroo on the back and you open your eyes to watch Kenma drag the first year away by the collar of his jersey

“Wow, we’re going to be godparents!” Inuoka exclaims while running to tell Shibayama

“You’re not in the least bit embarrassed that you exposed us you gross troll-“ You insult as you pinch your boyfriend's bicep

“You weren’t calling me that the other night?” Kuroo teases as he leans his face close to yours, laughing when he notices your eyes following his lips “Don’t be shy baby, daddy will take good care of you tonight”

His voice was so low, so quiet, but in the distance you know you could hear Kenma scream

“Yo, I heard you’re pregnant! Congrats man!” Bokuto calls out loudly as he turns the corner, a wide smile on his face as he sets up a high five for Kuroo

“Bokuto, Kuroo would not be able to get pregnant, (Y/N) would be pregnant.” Akaashi reminds him, trailing behind the captain with the same look of disgust that was on Kenma’s face

If only the ground could swallow you whole

Your head falls back against Kuroo’s shoulder as he thrusts roughly up into you. One of his hands is wrapped around your throat while the other is between your legs, toying with your clit. Each of his movements causes your walls to clench around him, pulsate as if you’ll never recover.

“Daddy loves his little cum slut, yes he does.” Kuroo coos into your ear, nipping at your ear lobe before sucking it into his mouth harshly. “Ah you’re so fucked out, you can’t even say anything. Earlier you had so much to say.” He continues to taunt, purposely thrusting harshly into your core as your head goes light at the pressure on your neck. “Everyone knows now, don’t they? They know who your daddy is.”

Kuroo simply laughs against your ear, the low sound rumbling from his chest and you reach up to grab a fistful of his hair. The hand around your throat grabs your wrist quickly before bringing it back down to your side. His hand then trails up your side and roughly grabs at one of your breasts, tweaking your nipple as you cry out loudly.

“Fuck, daddy please, I’m sorry.” You whimper pathetically and Kuroo tilts his head at this, amusement written all over his features.

“No need to be sorry baby, daddy will make sure to take good care of you.”

[aotimagines]

Can you also do a scenario for Levi with Hanahaki disease?

I haven’t written a scenario for Levi since 2018 and this is what I come back with. Um...I’m so sorry. Angst is my forte and it’s easy for me to write, so...yikes. I also listened to drivers’ license on repeat to set the ambiance for this piece and now I’m sad, lol. Sorry! Maybe I’ll write something happier for Levi to make up for this one, lmao. Enjoy! 

It was happening again.

The tightness in your chest constricted your lungs like a snake had coiled around the base of your throat and squeezed, cutting off the air to your lungs. Your head spun, black dotting across your vision, and the uncontrollable urge to cough itched in the back of your throat. You had to hold it down. ‘Please, not here,’ you mentally begged to any entity listening above the skyline to not expose your dirtiest, darkest secret to your colleagues. Your nails dug into the wooden table, leaving behind crescent-shaped marks in the cherry-colored lacquer and the color drained from your cheeks.

No one would notice your struggle if you kept it together, you reasoned. Hange was going over something about Marley and you had, admittedly, tuned out about thirty minutes ago. Whatever it was had to be important because they had everyone’s attention, to your knowledge. Out of the corner of your eye, you were vaguely aware of Levi’s sharp, piercing gaze lingering on your face, but you squeezed your eyes shut and internally begged him to just look away.

Inside of your chest, the flower that bloomed burned like a kindling ember, the stems brushing against your lungs and taking up space you needed to breathe. Experiencing this was painful, but it was nothing like the white-hot agony you felt whenever you realized that the person you loved would never return your feelings.

You had tried to let go—had tried to release your feelings and live with your fragmented heart—but nothing had worked. How could it when the person whose affections you desperately wanted worked alongside you every day, helping and caring about you in his own awkward, weird way? It wasn’t fucking fair that you had to live like this.

Except you didn’t. You knew about the removal process and, as a soldier, you knew that it was what you needed to do for yourself, for the future and for humanity. Every time you thought about getting the surgery performed, the aching of your fragile heart—the singular bloom of hope still lingering in the pit of your stomach—protested against the idea. You had never felt this way for anyone before in your life; how could you just ignore that and have the flower removed? How could you forget about happiness that the feelings gave you, or how it felt to just be by his side in silence of the night?

Living with this flower growing inside of you was painful, but the thought of having to give up Levi Ackerman was excruciating.

“That’s all I wanted to talk about today! If everyone could follow me, I want to discuss some improvements to the thunder spears I’ve been working on…” Hange’s voice flooded through your reverie, snapping you back to reality. Your knuckles were stark-white from the tight grip you had about the wooden table, your fingers easing from the leg once the feeling of having to cough seemingly passed.

As the group shuffled out of the room, there was one person who waited—one person whose unreadable facial expression made you tense up where you sat. “Four-eyes was that boring?” his flat voice drawled and, even without looking up, you knew his slate-colored irises were glued to where you sat. It had you anxious, the sensation of having to cough flaring up in the back of your throat once more. Instead of answering verbally, you shook your head and prayed that Levi would take the hint that you wanted to be alone. The sound of his shoes reverberating off the flooring allowed the tension you had been holding between your shoulders to dissipate, a wave of relief washing across your body. You were finally alone to cough in peace.

The instant you opened your lips to try and draw in a shaky breath, it began. A powerful cough strangled your breathing, the sensation of something lodged deep inside the back of your throat causing your body to lurch forward. Tears pricked your eyes as your coughing turned into violent dry heaving, the wheeze from your lungs desperately trying to push out the planet inside of your body echoing throughout the room. Hange and rest of the Survey Corps’ higher ups were probably in the weapons room by now, leaving you alone to your own suffering. Your fingertips dug into the stone flooring, your sputtering finally expelling the first fist-full of bright-blue, blood-slicked flowers from deep within your chest. Once it began, it didn’t stop. Over and over again, you threw up the bright flowers, their beauty tainted with the crimson blood dribbling from each and every petal.

At some point, you became aware of a hand resting against your back, dread serving as an anchor tethering you to where you knelt on the floor. When your gagging calmed down, you sharply sucked air in through your teeth, desperate to catch your breath and stop the feeling of your head swimming. You knew you were covered in spit, blood, and forget-me-not petals, but you didn’t care about your physical appearance. The person at your side didn’t have to speak—you already knew who was at your side.

“Please,” you croaked, voice husky and hoarse from having just coughed up over a dozen flowers in one go, “don’t say anything. Please, Levi.”

“You want me to sit back and watch you kill yourself?” came his blunt remark, much to your dismay. He wasn’t going to let it go; of course he wasn’t. The two of you had been together for a decade at this point and the worry that he felt for you buzzed through the air like electricity.

Your wild eyes met his taciturn expression, tears streaking down your face. “I don’t want to talk about this. Why did you even come back in here?”

“If you were hiding this, you did a shit job. You acted weird throughout the meeting. How long?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Levi clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Is that something you could be saying?” He was quiet, gaze flickering to the pool of flowers on the ground before tentatively bringing up in a quiet tone that was almost uncharacteristic of him, “You’re dying, and you didn’t say anything. Were you just going to lie down and not fight this?”

A laugh bubbled from the back of your throat, disbelief written across your face. Pushing off the floor, you sat back on your knees. “I don’t want to have the surgery.”

“…That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.” Levi brought himself to his feet, hands brushing off the imaginary dust that clung to his clothing. Without much warning, his hand hooked around your arm and hoisted you up, his strength guiding you towards the door. “You want to die? Then do it under someone else’s watch.”

“Let go,” you demanded, yanking your arm away from his grip. Frustration simmered inside of your veins, your hurt and anguish for this man finally spilling out in one fell swoop. Hot, fresh tears gushed from your eyes, yet you made no move to conceal them. Your heart was, for the first time in over ten years, on display for Levi to see and the fear of his rejection wasn’t enough for you to keep your silence any longer. “You don’t get to dictate what I can and can’t do! So what if I don’t want the surgery? So what if I’m being stupid? Even though I’m like this, I can’t let go! So, what am I supposed to do, Levi?”

The raven-haired male was silent for a moment, drinking in your broken features with a glint of concern etched into his body language. It was faint and difficult to see, but you knew him like the back of your hand; it was easy to tell and see what he was thinking, at this point. His lack of response prompted you to shake your head, your voice small and as fragile as splintered glass as you asked, “Is there really no way you’d love me back? Am I putting myself through hell for nothing?”

Levi was tight-lipped, body tense and unmoving as he continued to study you. Desperate, you latched onto the sleeves of his jacket, voice thick with tears. “I fucking love you, Levi. If there’s even a chance for you to feel the same, please tell me.”

A long, drawn out pause filled the air until Levi’s fingertips—calloused from years of training and fighting—uncurled your hands from his frame, features pressed into the same, apathetic expression you were so used to him wearing. “Get the surgery,” he said firmly, his singular sentence tearing you asunder from the inside out. Your face crumpled, the flower inside of your chest throbbing painfully at the notion that he would never love you back.

No matter how much you wanted him, Levi Ackerman wasn’t in love with you.

“I’m telling Hange when I walk out this door. Once it’s over, things can…go back to the way they were.” Helplessly, you watched Levi exit the room, missing the way his features twisted in misery as he listened to you collapse into yourself, your sobbing playing again and again inside of his head.

How could he promise you something when everyone he ever loved withered and died underneath his touch? You were too precious to lose, even if it killed him in the end.

Inside of his chest, a familiar burn pulsated, the urge to cough becoming more and more difficult to ignore even as his legs carried him down the hall.

[what-the--curtains]

There Are No Wolves in the Desert

Part 2 - The Tell Tale Knife

(Oberyn Martell x f!reader)

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Summary: After the death of his paramour Oberyn seeks out a local mercenary known as the Shadow Hunter, but who he finds is more valuable than he could have imagined.

Authors notes: Thank you for all the comments, likes and reblogs! I’ve loved Robb and Oberyn since I read the books like 10 years ago now (yes my parent gave me that book when I was like 13 😂) I’m so happy to finally write down whats been in my head for years! Thank you for letting me share it with you💕💕 as per usual let me know if youd like a tag (or untag)!

Tw: Alcohol, violence, threats of sexual assault, swearing, nudity (implied), mentions of sex.

Word count: 4.5 k

Tagged: @evyiione @ayamenimthiriel @xsadderdazeforeverx @agingerindenial (if i missed anyone please let me know im the worst for tagging!!)

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3 years later

The days passed slowly while you remained tucked away, out of sight from those seeking to do you harm. A generous payment kept you safe in the attic of a local blacksmith, the promise of more ensuring you wouldn't be sold out. Once the imminent threat of assasination was over you focused on staying alive, finding the dragon queen becoming a distant memory, one that would have to wait until a more opportune moment presented itself. You used the last of your funds to purchase a horse and sought out work where you could. For a while you served as a healer to those returning from the fighting pits and other skirmishes occurring between nearby cities, until a Lannister soldier showed up searching for you. After that you moved further out of town finding work at a tavern miles from the city walls catering to a variety of characters travelling from near and far.

The owners were good folk, a retired sculptor, her wife and two young children. You’d stopped in for a drink with plans on heading further south, but an incident changed your course. A man came in threatening the owners demanding a payout when you’d stepped in, the man thought it would be easy, and it was at least for you. You helped them bury the body and they’d asked you to stay and so you did; tending to bar, training the horses and offering protection when needed. In return they offered you a bed, hot meals and a small salary despite your insistence that room and board was more than enough. It was a quiet life, a simple life, but one you enjoyed greatly. The noise of war and murder a ditant cry. Only in your sleep were you reminded of the cruelty of the world. The restful days quickly turned to weeks and it wasn't long until a year had passed, as had the memories of who you were.

The rumour of your murder had spread slowly from king landing, uttered from between the poisonous lips of Cersei Lannister, a lie you prayed one day would come back to haunt her. The day the news reached the ears of your employers you knew it was time to leave, and you rode back through the golden gates of the city. You’d resold the horse to a palace guard whose wife worked with the royal stables, training them, breeding them, caring for them, a good place for a faithful friend to live out its days. Noticing the weapons on your back the guard offered you a fee to find and kill a man who had snuck into the palace and murdered three of his wife's favourite horses after their daughter had refused his hand in marriage. He was dead within the hour, and from there the word of your skill in both tracking and murder got around amougst the nobility, and you fell haphhazourdly into mercenary work. If there was one skill you could rely on, it was your ability to unabashedly kill and you quickly became one of Dornes finest assassins. You fell into the work, the ease at which you became accustomed to it frightened you at first, but you had been hardened by loss, and it wasn't as if you hadn’t killed before.

Any semblance of emotional morality long forgotten, unable, or not wanting to have it all come seeping back, fearful of what may surface as a result. Most of your money went to keeping you fed, well rested and off any enemy radars. After the first month, money became more lucrative and you had splashed out on new armoury and weapons, nothing flashy like some of the more ornate dornish assassins who made a show of their profession. They were harmless, though admittedly annoying and from what you heard, not nearly as impressive as they boasted. Your armour was simple, lightweight leather over loose, breathable cloth, and a dark cloak, Its hood heavy and kept drawn well up over your eyes obscuring your face from prying eyes at all times. A shadow on the wall. Your weapons were similar to your clothes, your short swords and longbow were well crafted and durable, no decoration but for a few carved vines wrapped around their ends. Your only remaining identifiers were your eyes, and the dagger belonging to your late husband which stayed with you at all times, always within reach. Any remaining money was hidden away about the city, a retirement fund if you will, assuming you lived that long.

There were bonuses beside finances in your line of work, your ability to disappear into a crowd kept you in touch with the rumour mill. Words and secrets would fall from drunken mouths carelessly. Most of it stank worse than the horse's field after rain, but there were some that rang true, and a few that even brought a rare smile to your face. A young woman had spoken loudly about Tywin Lannister's death and how he’d supposedly died on the privy, causing you to snort into your soup, a fitting end for a coward of a man.

A month later you heard that the prince of Dorne had gone to King's Landing to fight for Tyrion, where he supposedly defeated a man standing well over 12 feet tall. A tall tale of a tall man you think, knowing how royal always sought to increase the truth of their abilities. You had also heard the unfortunate news of Ellaria Sands poisoning , the venom not reaching her veins until the ship had sailed out, no remedy to be found on the vaste seascape. It was a shame, she and the Sand Snakes were skilled adversaries here and they had since scattered in search of answers and allies around the seven kingdoms, to help avenge their mother. The prince apparently had to be restrained to stop him from turning the ship around, that was a story you found more believable. From what you’d heard the prince may have many lovers but he would go to war for any of them. You’d never seen his face, except for on the back of coins or from a distance. If you had you may have noticed him enter into the tavern where you sat awaiting your payment from your most recent client.

Your eyes stay on the table, your hood pulled up well over your forehead giving you a frightening silhouette beneath the candlelight that was beginning to glow more prominently as the sun set. The young man who commissioned you entered, he stank of wine and privilege, but he was rich and the payment promised was well worth putting up with his unsavoury personality. His true odor protrudes through the thin veil of perfume attempting to mask his stench, alerting you to his presence well before he’d sat down. Your time alone had heightened your tracking skills, a side effect of living under the constant threat of being hunted. The wiry man sits down next to you, his thin fingers snapping under your eyes in an attempt to get your attention, you inhale deeply, drawing yourself back to your displeasing reality and forced social interactions.

“Where's the money?” you ask, knife whittling a notch out of the table's leg with Robbs dagger.

“Where the head?” he retorts, and you pull out a small sack, shoving it into his hand watching as he pulls at the drawstring, opening the velvet bag. He raises his eyebrows and pulls out the index finger you'd removed from the corpse.

“Head was…. indisposed. I hope this satisfies,” you murmur, this job had been messier than you intended. You typically weren't so reckless especially with a noble.

“ Very much so, ” he says taking it and turning it in his hands

“The money then,” you restate, tone flat.

“Well there's one more... proposition I had.” He states, hand resting down on your thigh.

“I'll take the money for this job then you can hand me the next target,” you respond, sighing heavily, used to people getting handsy with you.

“You can make extra on this job if you play your cards right,” he whispers, hand running up your thigh. The other reaches up to pull back on your hood within seconds your dagger had impaled his hand, pining it to the table. His wail of anguish causes the heads in the tavern to turn briefly towards the scene before returning to their lively chatter.

“You stupid bitch,” he spits making a grab for the knife but you reach forward pushing it further into the table leaning in towards him.

“The money, or I cut off your head and mount it on the wall of this tavern,” you say, louder than intended.

Oberyn watches from the bar in amusement , the last time he’d seen fire like that had come from Ellaria. He needed someone to help get his revenge, someone willing to murder a man in front of witnesses, his birds had been right, this mercenary was the one for the job.

You rip the knife from the man's hand as he throws you the coinpurse you were owed you reach for it as he stands.

“Bitch,” he spits, liquid hitting the side of your face as he pulls down your hood “you better watch you back mercenary, I'll be taking you from behind in no time.” He snarls, as you hurry to pull your cover back up.

“Clever,” you retort, wiping your face, shaking out the purse and counting your pay out. Empty threats. Or threats you didn’t care about, you could kill scum like that in your sleep, and you had. You mutter another curse under your breath at being exposed, the latest delay in dye shipments had allowed the roots of your white hair to protrude through, lucky everyone inside was too drunk to notice. The money from the job was enough to keep a roof over your head for the foreseeable future, maybe even enough for a bath, it was getting to be that time. You go to stand, you had an ‘appointment’ in town, one with a handsome payout. Before you can stand you see a pair of hands adorned in jewellery slip into your view a scent of sweet fruit and honey indicating a cleanliness and a high status, a very high status, your appointment could wait.

Obery was observant, his eyes had been glued to you even while conversing with the beautiful patrons of the bar, not wanting to lose you in the crowd. “The shadow tracker”. That’s what you had been dubbed by those residing in the city according to his sources, clients of yours pleased with your services, services he was in need of. It seems you may bear more than one secret identity, it may have been for the briefest second, but the colour of your hair stood out against the dark fabric you wore. It intrigued him, white hair was uncommon in those of your age, very rare. In fact he only knew of one person still alive with such a trait. The other, one whom he’d sent a wedding gift to years prior, was long dead, or so the Lannister would have him believe, and when has he ever trusted the word of child murderers. He may have come here in seek of a mercenary, but what he found may prove to be even more valuable to his cause.

“Payments 50 for a nobody, rate goes up with each class, royals are above my paygrade, and nobles will cost you at least 6 of those fancy rings on your fingers,” you list, taking note of the martell sigil embellished on one of the larger rings.

“How much would it be to convince a wolf to take down a Lion,” he queries, hunching his head down to try and catch a glimpse of the eyes under the hood. Your heart drops.

“Above the pay grade, couple down at the docks have a death wish, you might try your luck there,” you explain, deepening your voice slightly in an attempt to disguise yourself.

“And what would be your wish, if you could have it?” he queries, leaning back kicking his feet up onto the stool beside you. As he does the yellow of his robes come into your peripheral the suns intricately stitched on, shining against the murk of the tavern's tile floor.

“To be left alone,” you chide, this was someone well acquainted with the royals here, you didn't deal with royalty, more trouble than they're worth.

“What's that old saying? The lone wolf dies, or am I mistaken? ” he returns, chuckling slightly.

“I don’t know who you think I am but I assure you…” you say, eyes finally raising, only then realizing the prince of Dorne sat before you, at least based on his impression on one of the coins in your hand.

“Lady Stark, I was hoping we’d meet face to face,” he remarks, the long forgotten address catching you off guard causing your eyes to shoot back down.

“Lady Stark died, the Lannisters ground up her body and fed it to the king's direwolf before killing it, haven’t you heard?” you say sarcastically, pulling your knife out of the table, unsure if he’d recognized it.

“Propaganda, set to diminish the power of the north,” he says, watching the blade intently as it's pulled from the table.

“I do not know if Lady Stark is alive, but for a price I could find out, granted you tell me what you need her for,” you mutter.

“I did not come here in search of Lady Stark. I came seeking a mercenary, the so-called “shadow tracker” however, this is a most welcome surprise, as for why I need you, or her, the answer is revenge plain and simple.”

“Is that what they call me?” you remark “ So you seek out a mercenary only to find something better, something you can trade?” you pose shaking your head.

“No, I needed an assassin, but found something better. Something more lethal.” He pauses.

“Which is?” you prompt, hoping to end this conversation sooner rather than later.

“One they think is dead. Besides I figured Lady Stark would want the opportunity to take down the Lannisters.”

“I assume she would, though she may think the offer stands too good to be true,” you state, gathering up your payment and making your exit he follows suit, stopping briefly to gently nudge his hand under the chin of an attractive man standing near the door, no doubt planning on returning later.

“The desert is no place for a wolf,” he calls after you, a significant distance between the two of you now.

“I shall let you know if I see such a sight, my prince,” you shout, dramatically curtsying before turning on your heel and walking off. He smiles before re-entering the tavern.

A week later

You stroll through the dark alleys of the city, a few years ago you wouldn’t have dared ventured out so late. The woods were known to you, their dangers and sights predictable, but the city was uncharted territory. While a bear could be trusted to do as bears do, the movements of man were less predictable. Your work kept you attune to the veins of the city and the people that coursed through them. You knew where to go and where to avoid depending on the day. You knew the sounds, able to pick out when something was amiss and tonight something was. The usual scurry of the rats below or the call of the parrots from above were absent, someone had been through here and not long ago. Your hand dips into the folds of your cape and you throw your dagger catching a man in the neck. You lean over and remove it from his jugular, the blood flowing out from the wound. Before you can turn him over, something hits you knocking you forward onto your stomach. You’re lifted from the ground by the nape of your neck. Your hoods pulled down and your head pulled up to see the foul smelling client and two other assassins standing before you.

“Dirron, Brant, always a pleasure” you snarl

“No hard feelings Shadow, you’re taking out all the business” Brant responds.

“How much is he paying you? Not enough I bet he didn't pay me enough. I'll double it if you let me walk.” you plead, but they shake their heads.

“I paid you more than your worth,” he spits, gesturing to the man behind you and he lifts you up slamming you into a nearby wall pressing your face against the rough brick. You can taste the blood beginning to gather in your mouth. He releases you, handing you over to the unpleasant smelling man who brings the dagger you’d dropped into your view, pressing the steel against your cheek as he begins to speak.

“This dagger belonged to Robb Stark.”

“Did it? I stole it from a client months ago,” you say, elbowing him in the stomach causing him to drop the blade. You catch it, and drive it deep into his knee. He falls, and you unsheathe his sword and throw it catching Dirron in the chest. The large brute gets to you before your next move knocking you in the stomach and pinning you back up against the wall.

“Told you I'd have you from behind,” the client says, limping over to you and spitting on the side of your face. As the moisture hits your flesh a spear pierces through his chest , pinning him to a nearby crate as the remaining two men scatter. You push yourself up spinning to see the prince standing in the alley picking up your dagger.

“Of all the souvenirs to keep, this…” he starts, examining the blade before continuing “ is the most telling. Even with your distinct traits, the Young Wolf's knife is well known, especially by those who saw it made. Dornish steel,” he explains tossing it in the air catching it by the blade and handing it back to you by its handle.

“As I just finished explaining to your dear friend there, I stole that,” you lie, taking it from him.

“No you didn’t,” he says, eyes bright even in the dark, a familiar smirk on his lips, clearly bemused by your attempts at lying.

“Yes I did,” you retort, refusing to let up on your façade.

“Shall we debate it over a drink?” he asks, retrieving his spear from the client's body which falls to the ground with an unpleasant thunk.

“A prince slumming it with the poor?” you ask watching as he uses the dead man's silks to wipe his weapon before turning back to you.

“My enjoyment of life precludes class,” he says offering you his arm

“As you speak from your riches,” you point out, watching him run his tongue along his upper lip.

“We are not as antiquated in our ideologies here, class here is less pronounced” he assures you.

“Is it?” you argue, pushing down on his extended arm and he shrugs his shoulder in defeat, pride faltering only for a fragment of a second at the notion of being rejected. The streets are busy tonight, the warm weather bringing the people out en masse to enjoy the city's nightlife. He brings his hand up to usher you into a nearby tavern by the small of your back, but thinks twice and drops it, not wanting to lose it. As you enter he raises his hand and winks at the barkeep before following you towards the back near the window sill.

“What will it cost you?” you inquire as he sits down, watching over his shoulder as the person behind the bar pours out a decanter of wine.

“What?” he asks, the downturn of his mouth and creased forehead painting a picture of confusion.

“To let me leave here, to keep this a secret, the two men who escaped know who I am now. My time here is up.” you confess as the decanter is placed on the table the bartenders hands trailing across his shoulders causing him to smile fondly up at them.

“I do not wish you to be found. It would ruin the plans I have,” he says, slowly turning his attention back to you, offering you wine. You stare at the decanter, then to him before shaking your head causing him to chuckle

“What? Have I said something amusing? “ you question, almost annoyed.

“Untrusting,” he remarks, taking a sip of the liquid before offering it to you once again. You reach over the table grabbing the cup from his hand.

“I am untrusting because in my experience people cannot be trusted,” you explain taking a sip.

“You husband certainly lied about marrying the Frey girl,” he remarks, leaning back into his seat, arms spreading out across the chairs back.

“I’ve never been married,” you state, wanting nothing more than to punch the smug look off his face.”

“You're good,” he says, eyes giving you the once over.

“At what?”

“Lying, well perhaps not good per say but committed, i'll give you that, you fight in a similar manner.” he presses, hoping to get a rise out of you.

“So, you think I can’t fight,” you say, shaking your head with a laugh

“Your words,” he states.

“I did not come here to be insulted by the likes of you, prince or not,” you scold, sitting up.

“I didn't mean to offend,” he remarks, eyes watching your movements, evidently he’d touched a nerve.

“Didn’t you?” you query, tilting your head.

“No, truly it was not my intention, I merely believe upon improvement,” he explains.

“Hard to improve without practice, hard to practice on your own,” you state, moving to leave, the prince drawing too much attention than you wanted on you. You down the rest of your wine and utter a ‘thank you for the drink’ before bidding him a farewell and exiting the bar. You don't make it far, seemingly unable to shake him.

“Why are you here?” he asks.

“That’s privileged information,” you say, turning to face him walking backwards along the cobbled streets. His eyes fall to you before looking up to the heavens, the stars were bright tonight illuminating his features. The rumours of him held true in one area undoubtedly, he was handsome.

“Come back to the palace with me.” He says, eyes still gazing up at the sky.

“I have no intention of divulging in your pleasure my prince, my heart belongs to another, I swore I wouldn’t stray from him even in death,” you reply, turning back to walk forward spitting blood out onto the street, sure one of your teeth must have been knocked out in the earlier fight.

“While I disagree with more than one of those statements I did not mean to imply, though I would be remiss to say it wouldn’t be of great honour. I heard the Young Wolf betrayed an entire kingdom for you.” he says eyes once again on you, trying to catch a glimpse of your features obscured by the hood.

“Are you suggesting I got my husband killed?” you muse, hearing him tut in disagreement

“You’re dirty, you’re tired, you’re injured and at risk of murder, the palace offers you a safe place to recuperate.”

“And what do you expect in return?” you ask.

“I simply wish to offer you a proposition once you are rested, if you decline, you are free to leave. I will ensure you are transported to a safe location where no one knows you.”

Perhaps it was the itching of your skin, or the way the dye was clinging your out of control hair or maybe it was being allowed to be who you once were, but you agree.

“This is Shana she will help you, unless you prefer a male companion, though I would gladly offer my services” he says, gesturing to an older woman of great beauty.

“I can bath myself, thank you though,” you say, turning and nodding to the woman who bows her head and exits the bathhouse.

“Whatever you wish, I'll have her bring you clothes while we clean yours... if we can clean yours” he muses, the remark cracking a smile in your icy demeanour. He leaves and you undress placing your clothes outside the door as requested. Your bare feet feel refreshed against the cool orange tiles of the bath house, the area evidently meant for the use of many people. Multicoloured tulip petals float atop the water filling your nostril with an aroma unlike one you’d ever known. The steam from the water rises in the cool air of the night and you dip your toe in water proceeding to the steps.

You stride into the water allowing your lower half to adjust to the heat before fully sinking in to cover your shoulder. Immediately the dye in your hair begins to leak into the water blending together with the built up mud and blood that has been stuck to you since your last clean. You scrub your skin until the scars scattered across your body are once again visible in the moonlight. Your hand pauses over the wound above your shoulder, memories of Robb flooding back in, as you assume your true identity for the first time in years.

You dunk your head under the water, scrubbing to remove grime from your face and to work out the last of the dye until it's all gone, your hair returned to its original state. You stay in the water for a while enjoying the heat, but sitting in your own filth is no longer a luxury and you stand up and dry yourself off. Pulling on a robe hung up for you as if they knew you’d be there that night. The cool air hits you as you exit, a welcome relief compared to the heavy heat carried around while wearing your armour. One of the palace guards leads you to your bed chamber, the bed is large and the room even larger. Tiles from floor to ceiling apart from the windows which opened up to the balcony allowing the breeze in at night. You step out onto it, hand trailing through the flowers growing along the bannisters. You thank the guard and he closes the large wooden doors leaving you to change into an orange gown true to the style in Dorne. The thin material leaves little to the imagination, but it would prove good for sleeping though not much else. You turn your head to the room's table where clothes better suited for your line of work sit. Your weapons had been cleaned and lined up across the corner of the room, your dagger shined and stabbed into the wood, holding a note in place.

“Dramatic,” you chuckle, pulling out the knife retrieving the note and opening it ‘winter is coming’ you recognize the handwriting immediately, it had been years but you'd never forgotten the letter you'd received the day at the docks. Perhaps the prince could be trusted after all. You hesitate before folding the note up and placing it back down on the table, walking over to the large bed and falling asleep with the knife tucked securely under your pillow, just in case.

[renjuseyo]

Can I request a Lucas x male reader where Lucas is trying to ask reader to prom but reader always gets distracted by friends or is too busy with school activities. Then when Lucas gets the chance to reader says no. But reader surprised Lucas with a date at the place Lucas asked him to be his boyfriend. P.S. They are already together for 2 years. P.P.S. I love your writings stay healthy and make sure to take care of yourself

-🧍🏽‍♂️

prom ; lucas

group: nct / wayv / superm

pairing: wong yukhei / reader (male)

synopsis: yukhei only has one goal in mind: to ask you out to prom in the most perfect way possible.

genre: fluff

i had a bit of writer’s block with this one, but i hope this is what you wanted anon! ^^ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated~~

“my plan is absolutely foolproof. there’s no possible way it could fail.”

“that’s what fools say.”

yukhei climbs to a seated position on his bed, folding his arms in a huff. “why would you say that, dude? way to encourage a guy.”

yangyang doesn’t even bat an eye, adding details to a sheep he’s doodling on his economics assignment. “well, when you put it like that, it’s going to spite the universe and make your plan fall apart on its head.”

dejun nods in agreement, tapping on his phone. he’s probably texting that guy he’s been eyeing from his history class, or playing solitaire like the old man he is at heart. “the universe loves playing tricks on happy, unsuspecting people.” he sets his phone down to look straight at yukhei. “happy, unsuspecting people like you. i love your confidence, but i’m just saying. don’t get all mopey if something does happen.”

he crosses his legs, pouting. “i get what you’re saying, but come on, how can a simple promposal go wrong?” dejun and yangyang give him a knowing look, one that screams there are several things that could go wrong, actually. “if it were a big, extravagant one, maybe, but come on. i’m taking (name) out to sushi and bringing him a bouquet of flowers. what’s the worst that could happen?”

“well, he could get food poisoning from the sushi.”

“or he pricks himself from the flowers.”

“or he-”

“i didn’t literally ask you guys!” yukhei interrupts, exasperated. dejun and yangyang give him a mischievous smirk. “you two are horrible.”

yangyang blows him an air kiss. “just here to give you a reality check, my love.”

the two had originally gone over to yukhei’s house for a study party, but seeing how dejun was on his bedroom floor playing solitaire, and yangyang was doodling sheep all over his assignment, they were doing anything but. somewhere along their “study session”, someone had brought up the topic of prom, which was to happen in four weeks. while the two of them had no big plans for promposals (because dejun is waiting for the guy from his history class to make the first move, and yangyang is perfectly content being single), yukhei had constructed a plan to ask his boyfriend of two years to prom.

yangyang sets his pencil down and spins around from his seat. “what happened to your love for big, extravagant promposals? i remember you gushing about that kind of stuff all the time,” he comments.

“(name) doesn’t like being in the spotlight. i think i’ll just make him uncomfortable if i pull one of those stunts with people nearby,” yukhei explains. he would be lying if he said he’s never thought of creating the most memorable promposal for him. hey, it’s not his fault he just wants to flaunt his cute boyfriend for the world to see.

dejun and yangyang nod in understanding, except they don’t, because they relish in the spotlight. “well, prom is in four weeks. will you even have the time to ask him?” dejun asks. “your boyfriend practically drowns himself in homework. plus, he’s on the student council.”

“we both may be busy with school and clubs, but mark my words when i say i’ll get to him!”

“well, as taken as you and your boyfriend are, i hope you realize that there are still people who’ll be lining up to ask you two,” yangyang points out.

yukhei pats his chest, a confident smile making it way back to his lips. “i’m not worried that someone else will woo him. he has me, after all!”

yangyang gags. “gross. i feel sorry for him.”

dejun nods in agreement, cringing. “me too... yangyang, come on, let’s actually be studious and do our homework, unlike that one there,” he sneers, pulling out a pen from his pencil pouch.

yukhei looks at them, exasperated. “oh now you two choose to do your homework?! where was this attitude when i told you two to work on it earlier?!” he exclaims.

dejun shrugs. “i have no idea what you’re talking about. as far as i’m concerned, yangyang and i are students who actually focus on our work.” he gestures at himself and said boy, but the way he’s hunched over his economics assignment doodling more sheep completely contradicts his words. “seriously yangyang? work with me here!” he shrieks, smacking his back.

the younger hisses in pain, glaring at him. “leave me alone! let me draw in peace!”

the older snorts, swiping his pencil away from him. yangyang makes a noise of protest, lunging at dejun to retrieve his pencil, and soon the two are engaged in a fight, limbs tangled together. yukhei can only watch in disappointment. sure, he’s chaotic, but his energy is no match for them. their energy seems to multiply when the two of them are together.

yukhei turns his attention back to the calculus textbook on his lap, ignoring the fight ensuing before him. though his mind is mainly focused on the problems on the pages, a part of him recalls dejun’s words. there isn’t many reasons for him to be worried about his plans backfiring, but then again, the universe has always loved to meddle with people’s affairs. he just hopes it will treat him kindly this time around.

though it’s your final year of high school, you and yukhei only share one class together, to his dismay. even in the hour he gets to spend with you, you’re too busy focusing on the lesson at hand. there’s always lunchtime, too, but both of you have your own respective friend groups, so even if you two are dating, you two spend more time eating with your friends than with each other. he doesn’t really mind, but now that he plans on enacting his plan, not seeing you often will make things harder.

after the bell rings, signalling the beginning of lunch, he makes a beeline out of the door and dashes towards the cafeteria. thanks to a secret source (which is really just shotaro and really isn’t a secret), he learns that you usually eat lunch on the roof of the school.

when he pushes open the door to the roof, he’s relieved to see you with your friends. at the sound of a newcomer, you all turn to look at the door. “yukhei?” you ask, surprised.

his smile widens upon seeing you. “hey (name)!” he chirps.

your friend sungchan raises a brow. “not often we see you here, lucas. do you need something?” he asks.

“yeah, i actually need to talk to you, (name).”

you stand up, slinging your backpack over his shoulder. “sorry, can it wait? we kind of have plans,” you tell him. 

yukhei gives them a quizzical look, which doesn’t go unnoticed by you or your friends. “it’s jisung’s birthday today,” jaemin explains. “we’re treating him to food later.”

he recognizes the name; jisung is a first year student who has become increasingly popular thanks to his position on the dance team. he’s also one of your friends and someone you tutor. now that he thinks about it, he recalls yangyang mentioning something about his birthday this morning, but he didn’t pay much attention. maybe he should have. “oh, okay. well, are you free later today?” he asks, sending you a hopeful look.

judging from your apologetic smile, he already can guess the answer is no. “sorry, we’re holding a surprise party for him later. i think i’m probably going to stay over at his house, too.”

renjun, who’s standing beside you, gags. “you two are so sweet, it’s kind of sickening.”

you turn to glare at him, who snickers at your look. “how? and you’re one to talk, mr. i-miss-jeno-even-though-i-saw-him-twenty-minutes-ago,” you spit. his expression is quick to contort to one of embarrassment, spluttering at the name of his boyfriend. yukhei feels like you don’t even realize his presence anymore.

to regain your attention, he clears his throat. “can you spare just a minute? i promise it’ll be quick.”

you turn to face him, but not before sticking your tongue out at a glowering renjun. “oh, s-” you’re cut off when your phone dings, and you glance at the screen to read the notification. a few seconds later, you look back up at him. “on second thought, i don’t think i can, sorry. chenle just texted me saying he and jisung just left mr. jung’s classroom. we should get going now.”

your friends nod and begin packing their belongings. once they’re all set, they walk towards the doorway leading back into the building, where he’s standing. they all pour into the small doorway, leaving you and yukhei alone. “sorry, how about next time?”

yukhei nods. it’s not like he can stop you from celebrating your friend’s birthday, unless he wants to be perceived as a jerk. “no worries, go celebrate jisung’s birthday. make his day a memorable one,” he reassures, smiling.

making sure your friends are far enough, you lean forward and peck him on the lips, catching him off guard. once you lean back, you smirk upon seeing his flustered expression. “catch you another time~”

and with that, you jog back inside to catch up to your friends, leaving a blushing yukhei behind. sure, his first attempt didn’t quite go the way he expected, but he’s not particularly disappointed, considering how he got a kiss from you. plus, there are plenty of other times to ask you again.

perhaps asking you to prom might be harder than yukhei had anticipated.

after jisung’s birthday, he had waited to catch you again when you were free, but you were occupied with homework, as well as duties of being on the student council. apparently jisung’s birthday was the only day you were free. as much as he sympathizes with you, he would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. he hasn’t even been able to talk to you, let alone treat you to a proper meal.

after several weeks of not talking to you, he decides it’s time to take matters into his own hands. if he can’t take you out on a proper date, then he’ll just bring it to you! after inquiring his friends yerim and mark for your schedule, he learns that fridays are normally your free days. he recalls the previous fridays where you were too busy to hang out with him, catching up on projects and avoiding deadlines, so he hopes that this friday you’ll be free.

after school one afternoon, yukhei catches you by your locker, talking to two people he recognizes from the student council. as soon as you see him, you wave the two farewell, and they go their separate ways. he leans against your locker door, smiling down at you. “hello my sweet~” he greets.

though you smile back at him, he can tell you’re drained, judging from the way your eyes flutter close and the yawn that rips out of your throat. “hi,” you greet. “sorry, it’s been a long week.”

he watches as you sluggishly shut the door. “tired?” he asks, draping an arm over your shoulder.

he hums in delight as you lean into his arm, warm and snug. “that’s an understatement,” you tiredly sigh. “i thought being the secretary was easier than the president, but i’m exhausted. all this filing and meetings can really kick a guy’s ass. i finally finished my biology report, but i still have to study for the history test that’s on tuesday. i don’t know how mark does it, being the president and captain of the basketball team. he doesn’t even have bad grades, either.”

yukhei laughs upon hearing you rant, leaning down to press a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. “i’m sure it must be hard. do you think your tired self is up for sushi, though?”

at the mention of food, you instantly perk up. “you know i can never say no to food.”

once you two walk out of the building, pushing through the swarms of students gathered by the entrance, you both head towards the bus stop. five minutes later, you both board the bus and are lucky enough to snag seats. in the ten minutes it takes to get to the sushi restaurant you two often frequent, he’s surprised to see you fast asleep on his shoulder. you really must be tired, because you don’t normally fall asleep so quickly.

ten minutes later, he nudges you awake (he has to refrain from pinching your cheeks at your dazed state), and you both step off the vehicle. five minutes of walking later, you approach the restaurant. for a friday evening, he supposes he’s lucky to have gotten there without it being packed.

you both greet the waitress by the entrance, who leads you both to a booth near the back. after serving you both your beverages and menus, she slinks away, presumably to attend to other patrons. as you browse through the menu, wondering what to order, yukhei glances at you, who seems too concentrated on the menu before you to notice him. he mentally reviews his plan for what seems to be the twentieth time today: order food, eat, pretend to go to the restroom and head to the flower shop next door, and woo you into going to prom with him. what could possibly go wrong?

(upon saying this statement, he learns that’s the worst possible thing you could say. at least, if you want the universe to mess with your plans.)

after discussing what you two will order, he waves down the waitress from earlier, who gets both of your orders. you two spend around five minutes catching up on your lives, talking about upcoming events and games at school. soon your food arrives, and you both dig in. he doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you until he sees the way your eyes twinkle as you happily recall the time the vending machine malfunctioned and gave you two bags of skittles instead of one. it’s endearing, seeing you get excited over the little things.

as you pluck some calamari out of a small bowl, he realizes it’s time to put his plan in action. “hey (name), i’m going to the bathroom. feel free to order some more food if you want, it’s all on me~”

“when you put it that way, it’s like you’re begging to go broke,” you joke, though you nod nonetheless. yukhei gets up and makes a beeline to the restroom. he stands in front of the entrance, peeking behind the wall to make sure you don’t see him. a few seconds later, he quietly sneaks back towards the entrance. luckily, you’re too occupied with the food to notice him.

he steps out of the store and heads straight for the flower shop next door. when he steps inside, the bell above the door jingles, signalling a newcomer. “welcome to yong’s flowers~!” a florist chirps.

“hey hyung,” he greets. the florist turns away from a pot of tulips, revealing a bright smile and even brighter hair. “i came here for the flowers i was telling you about.”

the florist nods, heading towards the back. when he returns, he brandishes a bouquet of red roses to him. “here you go!”

when yukhei moves his hand to his pocket, the florist waves a dismissive hand. “don’t worry about it, it’s on the house. i hope things go well with you and (name)~” he hums, giving him a cheeky smirk.

normally he would decline the kind offer, but he needs to get back to the restaurant soon, otherwise you’ll get suspicious. “thanks, taeyong-hyung. i’ll pay you back next time! wish me luck!” with that, he waves him farewell and exits the store.

he runs straight back to the restaurant, bouquet in hand. the waitress from earlier seems to notice the new addition, sending him a knowing smile. he pays no mind to it though, simply heading straight to you. he notices three new plates on the table, but hey, he isn’t complaining. you haven’t had the chance to properly eat the past week, if you count salads as a proper meal. when you look up from your salmon belly, your eyes widen at the roses in his hands.

it’s now or never, he supposes. he sits on his seat, bashfully sliding the bouquet to you. “i’ve been wanting to do this for the past week, but you’ve been pretty busy, so i haven’t been able to catch you alone. but (name) (last name), would you do me the honor of being my prom date?” he asks, sending you a hopeful look and a bright smile to top off the look.

silence envelops the room, save for chefs yelling and the stove roaring back in the kitchen. from the corner of his eyes, yukhei realizes that the lack of patrons means extravagant movements like his are bound to be noticed by everyone. plus, he wasn’t exactly quiet when he popped the question. he usually doesn’t care, anyways, thriving in the attention. even now, he has nothing to be worried about. besides, he knows what your answer will be.

apparently not.

eyes still wide, you slowly remove the wooden chopsticks from your lips, placing it on your empty plate. he assumes your eyes are still wide out of shock, but when the silence gets too loud for his liking, his smile falters. “(name)...?”

you rapidly blink back to reality. “oh, right, sorry. um...” you take in your surroundings, and he suddenly wonders if this was too flashy for your liking. he watches you with bated breath; you look like you’re doing some mental calculations, eyebrows furrowed like they are when you encounter a particularly difficult question on a test. after you ponder the several options laid out in your head, you take a deep breath, giving him your most sincere look. “i’m sorry, i don’t think i can accept this.”

those nine words and thirty-one letters are enough to crush yukhei’s spirit, evident by the way he visibly deflates. he quickly regains his composure, hoping the smile he has is enough to assure you he’s fine. but from the way you grimace, he can tell he’s doing a poor job at it. “it’s not your fault yukhei, i promise! it’s just...” your voice falters, and the same, contemplative look from earlier returns. “i have something important i have to do that day. i’m sorry.”

no one seems to have seen this rejection coming, and he mentally reprimands himself for thinking of every scenario except the one where you reject him. apparently he looks so devastated that the curious eyes from earlier immediately turn their attention elsewhere, probably not wanting to put him in the spotlight any further. sure, he feels embarrassed, but most importantly, he’s curious. what could you possibly have to do on prom? it’s a friday night, meaning you should be free... maybe you’re occupied with student council duties? but if that’s the case, you would just tell him that. there’s no reason to hide it.

maybe you just don’t want to go with him.

the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but he tries to shake it off. “oh, okay. don’t worry about it,” he says, tone flat. you try to change the topic and compliment the roses and thank him for the food, but no matter what you say, the ugly feeling of disappointment still settles itself in his stomach.

the rest of your dinner is relatively uneventful. yukhei doesn’t want to make you feel more guilty than you already feel, so he tries his best to engage himself in your conversations. after you two eat your fill, he pays for you both (and is surprised to see that the waitress from earlier docks off the price of a few plates. does he really look that pitiful?) and leaves the restaurant. the sun has set, and it won’t be long before the sky darkens.

he approaches the bus stop, waiting for your bus to take you home. “well, i guess we part ways now. see you next week?” he asks.

you nod, clutching the bouquet of roses in your hands. though you had rejected his promposal, he still pushed you to take the roses, claiming he wouldn’t have anywhere to place them at home when in reality, he just didn’t want to be reminded of his failure. “yeah.” you send him another apologetic smile. “again, i’m really sorry. i promise you it isn’t because of you, it’s just...” your voice trails off again. “i have plans.”

he makes the mistake of wondering if these plans mean you’ve accepted someone else’s offer. no, that can’t be it... we’ve been dating for two years. he wouldn’t just accept someone else’s offer. (name) isn’t like that, he attempts to reason. pushing these thoughts away before he says something he’ll regret, he nods. “don’t worry about it, it’s okay.” as if on cue, the bus begins to roll up in front of you two before coming to a halt. “well, your bus is here. get home safe.”

you smile, letting a few people off before boarding the bus. “you too. thanks for the meal and the flowers,” you thank.

he waves, making sure you’re safely aboard before beginning his journey back home. as he does, his phone goes off a few times, and when he checks them, he sees messages from taeyong, dejun, and yangyang. he assumes they’re texting to see how things turned out with you and him.

yukhei pockets his phone and continues walking.

after that failed promposal, yukhei distances himself from you for a few days. seeing you will only bring unwarranted frustration, and the last thing he wants is to blame you for something that isn’t your fault. he decides to distract himself by hanging out with his friends. while his friends prove to be a useful distraction, he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss you.

no one knows why you’ve turned down his promposal. everyone who knew about his not-so-secret plan had fully expected you to accept with open arms. even your friends were genuinely shocked. as they chattered among themselves, wondering what could have prompted the rejection (because what secretive plans could you possibly have during prom?), he noticed that only renjun and sungchan remained silent. looking back, perhaps they knew more than they let on, but at the moment, he was too focused on getting answers from your friends to notice.

it’s been two weeks since that incident, and there are only two more weeks until prom. dejun and yangyang had came over for a sleepover, and right now he’s lying upside-down on his bed, listening to dejun rant about how history boy (who he later learns goes by hendery) finally asked him out to prom. yangyang’s sitting beneath him, scrolling through tiktok, unamused.

“it wasn’t anything extravagant. he asked me for a pencil like usual, and who am i to say no?” dejun begins.

yangyang shoots him an incredulous look. “anyone who asks you for a pencil everyday without making an effort to bring their own are just pathetic. didn’t you say he forgot to give you back your nice mechanical pencils for a week?”

he rolls his eyes. “yeah, but he paid me back by buying me a pack of twelve. and they were the nice papermate ones, too! anyways, as i was saying,” he continues, “i gave it to him like normal, and class went by as usual. but when he was returning it to me after class, there was a note attached to it asking me to prom-”

“and you’re swooning over that? i took you for someone who cried over love confessions in the rain, not promposals written on lined paper during history,” yangyang interrupts again. now that yukhei thinks about it, it does sound a little funny. like him, dejun has always liked romantic gestures. he never would’ve thought a written note would be the thing to sweep him off his feet.

he huffs in embarrassment, glaring at the younger. “be quiet. when you have someone to actually swoon over, you’ll understand what i mean.”

yangyang rolls his eyes. “good thing i’ll be single forever.”

now that they’re on the subject of promposals, he makes the mistake of thinking back to two weeks ago. “i’m glad to hear that you’re happy. i hope you’ll have fun with hendery,” he comments.

at this, dejun and yangyang quickly turn to face him. they seem to have remembered the incident, too, evident from the guilty look in their eyes. “i’m sorry, i forgot...” dejun’s voice trails off, and yukhei suddenly wants to erase the pitying look in his eyes.

instead, he waves a dismissive hand. “it’s all good. if it comes down to it, i’ll just take yangyang with me, right?”

yangyang shrugs. “or we can just stay at my place and binge video-games and order pizza.” he pauses to ponder his suggestion before shrugging. now that he doesn’t plan on taking you, there’s no reason to go and spend the night dancing in a stuffy suit.

just then, his phone buzzes. when he glances to read the new notification, he expects everything except a message from you. since that event, you both hadn’t talked to each other very often. while it was probably because you were swamped with school and student council duties, he can’t help but wonder if you were avoiding him like he was with you.

(name) <3: hey! are you busy right now? [06:59 PM]

“who is it?” yangyang asks, sitting up to peek over his shoulder. yukhei doesn’t move his phone away fast enough, because then the younger frowns. “(name) finally texted you after what, weeks of not talking to you?”

he frowns. “in his defense, i was doing the same, too.”

“yeah, but you had a reason to. because you were upset,” dejun corrected. “did he seriously not once question why you suddenly stopped talking to him?”

he rolls his eyes. “you two make it sound more serious than it actually is. plus, he’s been busy with school. it’s not like his world revolves around me.” he pointedly decides to not add the part where it’s the opposite for him.

you: what do you need? :) [07:00 PM]

yangyang snorts. “with a smiley? dude, you’re whipped.”

“shut up.”

(name) <3: i was wondering if you could meet me at the gym at school in an hour? i’m pretty sure i left something by the bleachers, and i don’t really want to go alone;;; [07:04 PM]

yukhei raises a questioning eyebrow. did you seriously not notice how he had been avoiding you? you’ve always been sharp, so this was surprising. dejun, who’s now seated on his opposite side, seems to notice this, too. “wow, he’s really acting like nothing happened. if he knew you were upset with him, he wouldn’t have contacted you in the first place.”

“if he left something in the gym, it’s not a surprise he’d ask me. i have a spare key to the gym, after all.”

“why do you have it? shouldn’t that be mark?”

he shrugs. “he always loses his things, so he told me to hold on to it.”

yangyang nudges his shoulder. “well? what are you going to tell him?”

of course yukhei’s going to go. it’s almost dark, so it’s not safe for anyone to be out by themselves. plus, as disappointed as he is with his botched attempt of a promposal, it’s you. he can never get mad at people for long, much less if it’s you.

you: sure~ do you need a ride there? [07:06 PM]

(name) <3: no, but thanks for the offer ^^ see you then! [07:08 PM]

he turns off his phone and looks up at his friends, who are looking at him with an expectant look. “don’t give me that look. it’ll be quick, i promise.”

yangyang rolls his eyes. “that’s what you said last time, and then you ended up sleeping over at (name)’s house. do you know how awkward it was, telling your mom that you practically ditched us?”

an hour later, yukhei waves farewell to dejun and yangyang, who decided to play video-games in his room to pass time. as he gets into his car and drives back to their school, he wonders what you could’ve possibly forgotten that was so important.

ten minutes later, he parks to a stop and gets out of his car. after locking it, he walks towards the gym, though he sees no signs of you.

you: hey, i just got here. are you here yet? :0 [08:20 PM]

not long after, you reply back.

(name) <3: hey!! sorry, i’ll be right there [08:20 PM]

unsure of what to do to pass time, yukhei leans against the gym doors. out of curiosity, he decides to rattle the handle to see if it’s actually locked. to his shock, the door swings open upon being pushed, leading him to a pitch black room. the alarms installed in his head, the ones from being tricked into a haunted house by his friends, go off in his head, but unsurprisingly, curiosity trumps his fear. thus, mustering all of the courage in him, he shakily turns on the flashlight on his phone and timidly steps into the gymnasium.

it’s dark and empty, like it should be. so why were the doors unlocked, he wonders? the janitor at school is quite meticulous, so he couldn’t have looked over unlocked doors. maybe...

no, this is not a horror movie, he stubbornly thinks to himself. don’t scare yourself like that! as if on cue, a loud thud echoes throughout the gym, and he stills, unable to move a single limb. this is it. oh my god, am i going to die?

from what yukhei can tell, there seems to be two - maybe three - guys, distinctly whispering among themselves by the corner. the alarms from earlier are urging him to bolt out of the gym and tell you he couldn’t make it, but fear takes over, and he’s frozen.

“...sungchan, you idiot! you’re going to give up our position!” a familiar voice hisses.

“it’s not my fault it’s too dark! you know long limbs and the dark don’t mix well together!” another whispers.

wait. now that he can hear them, the voices sound a lot like renjun’s and sungchan’s.

“renjun? sungchan?” yukhei nervously calls out. because as familiar as those voices are, they could very well be impostors that plan on killing him in the middle of the night. “is that you two?”

he can practically hear them freeze; if the lights were on, they’d probably be comically staring at each other with wide eyes. suddenly, a third voice can be heard. “i knew i should’ve asked jeno or jaemin instead,” he quietly grumbles.

he knows that voice all too well.

before he can say another word, the lights suddenly switch on, blinding him. a few seconds after he’s adjusted to the light, he blinks, and sees you standing underneath the basketball hoop, head buried behind a poster board and a bouquet of red tulips with rose petals scattered by your feet. renjun and sungchan are standing by the light switch, awkwardly waving at him. when he turns his attention back to you, his eyes widen at the poster. there are doodles of hearts and basketballs on its borders, but it’s the words in the middle that catches his attention.

will you go to prom with me?

“what... what is all of this?” yukhei asks, dumbfounded.

seeing how you’re flushed with embarrassment, refusing to remove your head from the poster, renjun steps up. “it’s a promposal. what else could this be?”

his eyes wander back to your shrunken frame, and he can see you timidly peeking behind the poster board. “um... surprise?”

still stunned, he slowly walks to you, shoes brushing against the rose petals. “i can tell... but, i thought...?”

knowing what’s to come, you sheepishly smile. “i spent a long time trying to come up with something that you’d like, since i know you like big, romantic gestures. i turned you down because i wanted to be the one who asked you,” you explain, fiddling with the bouquet.

“wait, wait. when you said you had plans that day...?”

“i was lying,” you laugh. “i didn’t expect you to ask me, so i just came up with a lame excuse on the whim. i’m really sorry for upsetting you, but i didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

now yukhei knows why renjun and sungchan were so quiet the day he asked your friends about your alleged plans on prom. there are still a few questions he has, but he’s relieved to see everything led to this surprise. at least now he doesn’t need to fret about his insecurities.

“how’d you get in here?” he asks, intertwining his fingers with yours.

you hum, relishing this newfound warmth. “i begged the janitor to leave the doors unlocked. i told him you had keys, and he knows that i’m more reliable compared to others,” you answer.

“so all of the times when you said you were busy...”

you laugh, throwing your head back. “that was the one thing i wasn’t lying about. school and the student council really was kicking my ass.” you point your chin towards renjun and sungchan, who wave. “they helped me with some of the preparations, like ordering the flowers and making the poster.”

yukhei nods. “everything makes so much more sense now... but i just have one more question.” you look at him with curious eyes. “why the gym of all places?”

you shoot him an incredulous look. “did you seriously forget?” judging by the confused look he gives you, you can tell he really did. “you remember the game against the jyp team two years ago, before basketball season ended?” he nods. “right before you guys played them, you pointed straight at me and asked me to be your boyfriend if you guys won.”

he flushes at the memory; in a stand jam-packed with spectators, he remembers only having eyes on you, the cute boy from algebra. prior to that game, you two were already acquainted, even going on a few dates here and there. there was an obvious attraction between you two, but no one had officially initiated anything until that day. he remembers you spluttering in embarrassment, having nearly everyone bore their eyes into you, as well as coming scarily close to losing against the opposing team. but alas, he and his team had triumphed, and while they celebrated, you bashfully accepted his offer and spent way too long making out in the back of his car.

he can’t believe he forgot that he had asked you to be his in this exact place two years ago.

he’s pulled out of his head when you clear your throat, brandishing the bouquet of tulips before him. “you never answered my question,” you whisper.

yukhei doesn’t even need to think about his answer. “of course it’s a yes,” he exclaims, leaning down to press a kiss against your lips. you giggle against them, wrapping your arms around his neck. there’s cheering from across the room, but he only sees you. right now, you’re standing before him, suddenly brighter than ever, and he wouldn’t trade this sight for the world, even if it meant having to go through two weeks of unnecessary frustration to get here.

it’s only prom, not a marriage proposal. there isn’t a reason why they should be acting like newlyweds, yet here they are. but even if they’re only third year students in high school, he knows, without a shred of doubt that he’s in love with you. even if they don’t truly grasp the idea of what love really is, the sheer fullness he feels when he’s with you couldn’t possibly be from anything else.

“you know,” he begins, “i asked you on a simple sushi date because i knew you didn’t like big, flashy things. but here you are, pulling this stunt because you know i like them. we’re just a perfect match, aren’t we?” you roll at your eyes at his cockiness, as well as his suggestive eyebrows, but the smile on your face tells him you agree.

yukhei’s peppering your face with kisses, and all you can do is giggle as you take them. “they act like they’re getting married,” he hears sungchan comment from afar.

“they might as well be. god, couples are so gross.”

“you’re one to talk. you and jeno-hyung act like that all of the time.”

“what! sungchan, come on, don’t joke around like that. we don’t.”

“yeah right.”

“but we don’t, right? ...RIGHT?”

[villainousshakespeare]

Putting It Back Together Chapter 1

Adam/OFC

Rated M (will probably change to E) - Grief, angst, eventual smut, mention of characters dead before the start of the story

Summary: Since the death of his beloved Eve, Adam had been barely living, only alive due to a promise he made to her. Then one night he meets his new neighbor, a woman dealing with grief of her own. Will they help each other heal or drive each other crazy?

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1​ @poetic-fiasco​ @shiningloki​ @dangertoozmanykids101​ @bookworm-christina​ @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy​ @amwolowicz​ @delightfulheartdream​ @frostbitten-written​ @what-a-flammable-heart​ @tom-hlover​ @nonsensicalobsessions​

So I decided to take a crack at Adam. The plan is to have this be around 10 chapters, but that is just a guess at the moment. It starts a little angsty, but will lighten up as it goes along. Hope you enjoy!

If you would like on or off the tag list, please let me know!

It was more of a mist than a drizzle adding chill to the late autumn air as he walk through the dark streets. Even this time of night there were noises of fellow wanders, zombies he was sure, but he managed to keep from the streets where they roamed. The last thing he needed was to be confronted with the mindlessness of what passed for humanity in these times.

That was the trade off of life in the city. The need to constantly dodge others was barely offset by the convenience of shops open late and services not bound by the constraints of daylight. Not that Adam needed many services of others. He was in most ways self sufficient. He had worked for centuries to make it so. With but two exceptions - sustenance and music - he had only ever needed one soul besides his own.  

She was gone now, his Eve. Eleven years had passed since she had taken a glass of tainted blood in Tangier. It seemed like yesterday, it seemed like a lifetime. He wished it were his lifetime. Only a promise dragged out of him at her death bead had kept him from following her into oblivion. She had used every trick she possessed, every weakness she knew in him, to get him to agree to her demand, and now he was trapped, bound by a promise to another century on this blighted earth. Eighty-nine more revolutions until he could use the wooden bullet that lay heavy in breast pocket and end his grief.

He had wandered after she left him. Angry and bitter, he had left Africa and roved across the globe. Everywhere he went, though, there were memories. He saw her everywhere in Europe. The Middle East was littered with memories. Even South America echoed a life spent together.

Finally he had come back to America. She had not spent as much time in the States. It was easier here. He had considered Seattle, New Orleans, Memphis, the various musical centers of the country, but in the end New York had drawn him in. Strange, he had never spent much time here. Too many zombies too close together. And yet, he could not deny it had definite advantages, and for the most part no one paid any attention to what anyone else did.

He arrived at last at the brownstone in the East Village where he lived his weary life. He was excited, or at least as excited as he was capable of these days, to test out the Rickenbacker bass guitar that he had stumbled upon in a pawn shop. The owner had no idea how rare the model was, and had not known how to react to the large roll of cash that Adam had thrust at him for the  instrument.

Quickly shucking his black leather jacket, Adam took out he new prize and lovingly stroked the light grained wood. He could feel the decades of music that it had produced still reverberating through the body. He flicked a series of toggles and buttons to power up his sound system and plugged the Rickenbacker in. Closing his eyes he placed his fingers firmly on the frets and plucked out a rapid series of low notes, loving the reverberation and full tones it produced. Just as he began to segue into an actual song, however, a loud bang sounded and the lights, sound, and all other electronic power went dead.

"Shit!" he spit out, mood collapsing back in on itself as quickly as it had risen.

Setting the bass gently back in its case despite his irritation, Adam fumbled through his belongings until he located his tool box. After attaching his head torch and grabbing a second flash light just in case, he made his way down the hall to the ladder that lead up through a hatch onto the roof where a small shed held the electric box for his home.

"Just what I fucking need," he muttered, pulling himself onto the tarred surface.

He was just picking his tools back up when a loud creaking noise drew his attention. Just a few feet away, a second hatch door had opened, and a shape was pulling itself up and onto the roof with some difficulty, judging by the swearing. Adam watched in dismay as the shape unfolded itself to reveal a woman silhouetted against the half moon. She had a large, over bright flashlight in her hands that waved back and forth as she made her way to the shed that was his own destination.

"Who are you?" he asked, intercepting her before she could reach the structure.

"Ohmyfuckinggod!" she cried out, jumping almost a foot as he appeared in front of her.

Adam crossed his arms and waited silently for her to calm down, mouth drawn down into a habitual scowl.

"You scared me half to death!" she told him needlessly when she had regained some of her composure.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"Oh, you know, just signaling Batman that evil is afoot," she said dryly, waving her oversized lamp back and forth.

Adam continued to stare at her, unamused, until she sighed and gave him a real answer.

"I'm checking out the fuse box. Are you from 89? You must be, I guess. So your lights are out too? It doesn't look like it's the whole block, just our two buildings. Hopefully flipping the switch will bring them back on."

"There's no need for you to trouble yourself," he told her when she finally stopped talking. "I have things well in hand. The power should be on shortly."

"Great," she said with a forced smile.

She didn't move. Why was she still standing there? Adam glowered at her, hoping to scare her off, but the brainless girl just stood there.

"Did you need something else?" he asked reluctantly.

"No, just the one thing," she replied, blinking at him. "Shall we get to it?"

"This will hardly take two," he ground out. "And I know how the system works."

He should! He had redone the entire wiring himself. The convoluted system of shorting wires and faulty circuits had been a travesty when he moved in. It had taken him almost a month to tear it out and build a more streamlined, efficient energy grid. The only problem now was when he forgot himself and pulled too much power for the subpar wiring in the wall to take. He had considered redoing that as well, but it would take time and draw attention, which he was keen on avoiding.

"Wonderful, then you can show me," she chirped at him. "After all, you may not be here the next time it goes off, and then I won't know how it works."

She was not going to let this go, he could tell from the deceptively stubborn set of her shoulders. With a roll of his eyes that he doubted her human eyes could catch in the darkness, he turned on his heel and walked over to the shed. Let her look at it, he decided. It was not like she would understand what he had done anyway.

"Woah," the nattering woman whistled as he opened the door. "That is not what I was expecting at all! It looks like some form of microhydraulics, but there's no way you could have a water source up here. What are you using?"

Adam turned and stared at her, really looking at her for the first time. She was short, even for a woman, not even coming up to his chin. Her hair was haphazardly tied into a bunch on the top of her head and looked like it would be bigger than she was if she were to let it down. The eyes she turned up towards him were inquisitive and sharp. She was pretty, he thought, for a zombie.

"How do you know about that?" he asked.

"I tinker," she said with a shrug. "When I'm anxious. Which is a lot of the time lately, to be honest. Too much energy. Sometimes it helps to take things apart an put them back together again."

Adam opened his mouth to respond, but realized he had no idea what he planned on saying. He closed it again and turned back to his contraption.

"Well, don't get any ideas about taking this apart," he grumbled, resetting the mechanism.

"No, I wouldn't," she assured him. "I only mess with my own things until I'm sure I can get them back the way they started. I learned that the hard way. This is really amazing. You are pulling in a boat load of energy. I just hope you don't burn the buildings down when it runs into the wiring. You're a musician, right? I've heard you practicing through the walls. I was so relieved you were good!"

Did this woman never stop talking? Despite his lack of response she seemed perfectly content to stand behind him, shining her flood light on the shed as he worked to get things running again.

"Oh! I see what you did there!" she commented brightly as the low hum of electricity started back up. "That should fix it. And I'm pretty sure I will be able to do that myself next time too!"

"Don't," he ordered, shutting the door with a loud clang. "If there is any problem with the power, I will fix it. I don't need someone else ruining my work."

"But if you're not here?" she repeated doggedly.

"Look, this has never been an issue before, why are you suddenly on my case about it now?"

"I didn't live here before," she answered. "I just moved in last week. This... this was my Grandmother's home. She died. Last week. I'm trying to sort it all now but..."

The light from his headtorch clearly lit up the tears that sprang to her eyes. As Adam stood there in horror, the girl's chin began to wobble and silent sobs hiccupped through her body. A moment later she had burst out crying. Adam, unable to think of anything else to do, slowly and gingerly put one arm around her shaking shoulders and patted her lamely on the back, wishing he could be anywhere else in the world.

***

Lilly woke up completely horrified. It had been a dream, she told herself. It had to have been a dream. That was the only way she was going to survive the events of the night before.

The soreness in her eyes and the streaks of mascara on the backs of her hands, unfortunately, told her the sad truth. It had been real. She had met her dark, handsome, mysterious neighbor, the one who played dark, mysterious music at all hours of the night, on a dark, mysterious rooftop. (Well, okay, maybe the rooftop hadn't been that mysterious, but still!) And what had she done? She had wept all over him like pathetic child.

This, she sighed to herself, was one of the many many reasons why she was single. Any normal girl would have played the damsel in distress, fluttered their eyes and let him be their hero. He certainly had the looks of a brooding hero, even if he seemed to lack the inclination. Of course, it might just be that he lacked the inclination because she had yammered on about anxiety and tinkering, and her grandmother's death and the cried all over him.

Groaning, she rolled over and looked at her clock, only to be greeted by blinking numbers. Of course. She had been too upset when he had finally managed to steer her back to her roof hatch and rid himself of her, lost in a combination of grief and humiliation, to reset it. Great. That meant that the alarm had never gone off. It could be any time now. A quick glance at her phone confirmed her fear. 4:00 in the afternoon. It had happened. She had become completely nocturnal.

Slowly dragging herself up, Lilly staggered to the bathroom and tried to let the hot water wash away her misery. She was tired of feeling miserable. By nature she was not a gloomy person. Anxious, yes, but not gloomy. It was just being here, in the house that once was her happy place but now held too many memories. All she could see where ever she looked was her beloved grandmother. Playing the piano, reading in the window nook, cooking in the large, renovated kitchen. Grandma Lillian was everywhere.

Growing up, Lilly had been an awkward child; small of body but big of personality Gran had said. She was always moving, either her hands or her mouth, having a hard time with stillness. It drove many people to distraction. Grandma Lillian, however, had stated quite matter of factly that she simply had a lot to do and more to say, and therefore needed to do it quickly.

Lilly had spent all of her summers and school vacations here, escaping into the city. Here, she could be herself. With all of the characters in New York City, she was far from the oddest. Grandma Lillian let her patter away happily, always taking her words seriously. She had also found all sorts of mechanical things for Lilly to tinker with, focusing her energy in a more productive direction. It was nonsense, she had opined, that girls were not encouraged more to go into the technical fields. Obviously that was the reason why nothing in this world ran properly.

She had hidden her illness from the family, from Lilly, until the very end. Lilly cursed herself that she had not seen through the excuses for the cancelled visits. A seniors cruise with her girlfriends! She could not imagine the opinionated woman stuck on a boat without someone going overboard. It wasn't until the very end, when she was had been taken to Hospice, that she had phoned Lillian to let her know that it was time to come and visit.

That was eight days ago. Lillian had held her hand at the end, singing in her tear choked voice the torch songs that her Grandmother had once made her living crooning in the night clubs of the city. It had not taken long. Less than a day and Lilly was alone, the owner of a house in the East Village and more money than she had ever imagined possessing, but much the poorer regardless.

The ensuing week was spent puttering around the brownstone, listlessly going through desks and dressers, boxes and cupboards. The memorabilia of a lifetime squirreled away into any available space. She had no need to work at the moment, which was good since she had no employment. Slowly but surely her own night owl tendencies had taken over and she was staying up until the sun streaked the horizon in the morning, only to bed down for the majority of the day. Her parents had always fretted and said it was a sign of depression. Gran had shrugged and agreed that the most exciting things happened at night.

The only excitement Lillian had experienced thus far had been the discovery that a new owner was in residence next door. For as long as she could remember there had been a constant stream of college and conservatory students renting out rooms in the building, turning over each year to the newest crop. Now though, there was one lodger only and he owned the building.

She had caught sight of him out the front window as he was leaving her second night there. Long, wild black hair that looked in want of brushing, black leather jacket, and black jeans that might have been painted on. He was tall, lean, and somehow dangerous looking. It was the way he walked, she decided. There was something almost feral in the swagger as he took off down the street. The next night she had heard him playing music.

At first she thought there were multiple musicians, but after hours spent guiltlessly eavesdropping she became convinced that it was only him. Interspersed with guitars, drums, bass, and other instruments that she couldn't name had come his voice, a distinctive low growl that cut through her sorrow to go straight to her core. She could feel the vibrations of his voice as surely as she heard the bass thumping through the walls.

She began haunting the window overlooking their stoops, hoping for sight of him. She caught glimpses a time or two, always late at night, well after dark. Rather he was coming in or going out, he seemed to eschew the daylight even more than she did. Lilly felt drawn to him, and by more than just his untamed beauty. She supposed she could write it off as one of her hyper-fixations, but intuitively she sensed it was more. She longed for an excuse to meet him.

And then she had. At night, on a roof, under a bright moon.

It would have been perfectly romantic, were she not dressed in a ratty sweatshirt and yoga pants, her hair flopped up any old way on her head. If her first words to him were not gasped out in a shriek, followed by thoughtless prattle. And the, the coup de gras, her sobbing breakdown. The look of unmixed horror on his face as he made his feeble attempt to calm her was burned into Lilly's brain.

She had to get rid of it. There might only be one chance to make a first impression, but maybe, just maybe, a second impression could in time supersede it. Never one to sit on a thought, Lilly squared her shoulders. It was six o'clock, he was bound to still be in. She would pay him a visit and apologize for her horrid behavior.

Yes, that was the plan. After all, what was the worst that could happen? It was bound to go better than last time.