[gyomain]

𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 || 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒

REBLOGS AND INTERACTIONS ARE APPRECIATED;

— REVIEW LINKS BEFORE REQUESTING PLS — FEMALE AND GENDERNEUTRAL READER MOSTLY

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐲.

anime and monster lover respectively

𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓:

+ the hashira can't sleep, hcs

+. all the little things (dabi/college fic)

𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐒

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡:

-> none right now!!

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄𝐃

? roommate au w/porco

+ impressionable, sakusa kiyoomi

[gyomain]

All the Little Things. ii

dabi x reader

a big beautiful thank you to @0-225 for helping me with my recent mental blocks

not edited

Dabi picks at his nail, eyes flicking down to the beer in his hand. The music pounding from the living room grates, but when his gaze finds you again, it’s sharp - too blue, too arresting against the charcoal edge of ink climbing his arm.

Then his voice cuts through the music, low and careless.

“Pussy.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like naming a drink or the weather. His friends across the kitchen laugh into their cups, watching him. He shrugs, playing the part — the easy answer, the expected answer.

And then those eyes are back on you, steady, unblinking, like he already knows what you’ve been up to these past weeks.

“You leavin’ soon?”

You scoff. “I don’t hook up at parties.”

“I’ve got condoms.”

Your face twists. “That’s supposed to make it better?”

Another shrug. “You’re not into him. You’re bored. I want—”

“Stop. Saying that.” Your groan comes out sharper than you mean, mortified to be next to Keigo’s runner-up for campus manwhore.

Something shifts. The curl of his mouth isn't so smug, restlessness smoothing a fraction. He tosses his cup in the trash, turns toward you fully.

“You want me to leave?” he asks, voice quieter, offering you the first water bottle he pulls from the fridge.

You take it, watching him tip back his own and drain half in one go. A rivulet slides down over the ink on his neck, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand.

“Why are you asking?” you mutter.

“I was half joking about why I’m here.” He spins the cap across his knuckles, casual but not careless. Shrugs. “I don’t bounce around like chicken scratch.”

“Then answer my question.”

He leans his arm against the counter, those cornflower eyes pinning you again, uncomfortably perceptive.

“You never stay long when you drop him off at the shop,” he says simply. "Why?"

Your phone pings with a text from Keigo.

Gotur ke ys. Mak e t up 2 u.

He's got your car. Drunk. Out of his mind. You click your tongue against your teeth and shove your phone into your pocket.

"That's him, isn't it?"

You shoot Dabi a look. "It's none of your business." And leave.

Bravely facing the crowd outside the kitchen, you push through sticky bodies until you find Nemuri upstairs. Her current boy toy has his arms wrapped around her waist and stares at you when you tell her you're headed home. She makes a face.

"Already? It's spring break and-"

"And I'm not arguing about this. I'll text you when I'm home and if you see Keigo, take my keys from him."

Nemuri. Oh, the look she gives you. She wants to say more, but opts for 'you better' as the musclehead kisses her neck.

You find yourself around the back of the frat house, checking the parking lot for Keigo and your car, but neither are in sight. Dabi, however- has a cigarette between his lips and those eyes are trying to peel into your head.

He pulls the cigarette away.

"Still here?"

From back here, he looks decent enough with that puffy jacket on. He didn't smell bad when he helped you with your pizza game so he showered. And that face-

You squint at him. He just stares back, eyebrows raised.

“Walk me home.”

Dabi exhales smoke, takes one last drag, then snuffs it out against the doorframe. He drops the butt into his empty water bottle - the crunch of plastic sharp in the quiet - and shoves both hands into his pockets. His gaze flicks toward the front of the frat house, scanning the windows like he’s checking for witnesses.

“Someone mess with you?”

You shake your head. “It’s dark.”

He doesn’t argue. Just falls into step beside you, shoulders loose, pace unhurried. The silence is heavy but not uncomfortable.

“Why doesn’t chicken scratch walk you?” he asks finally.

“Because chicken shit has my car.”

His eyes linger on you a moment before flicking back to the street, scanning porches and shadowed corners. The lighter clicks under his thumb.

Tugging at a stray thread on your sleeve does little to help. Why would that take the car without asking? Your stomach tightens - not just frustration, but worry. Keigo isn’t exactly sober tonight, and now you’re here walking with a brooding shadow from a frat party kitchen.

“You’re not exactly relaxed,” he smirks.

You glance up, caught. “I’m fine.”

“Mm.” He snorts, letting it hang. “Looks like you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

You bite your lip and let out a short sigh. “You could say that.”

"Thinkin' about my offer?" he raises a brow and looks over as he walks with you.

"What offer?" He scoffs and shakes his head.

"Then you're thinking about chicken shit." Dabi nudges you. "The car will be fine. He's not a complete idiot."

He checks you over for a moment then smirks.

"... probably." he tacks on. Only grinning when you finally crack a smile and your shoulders fall.

"That's not funny." you huff despite your curling lips.

By the time you reach your street, the quiet feels heavier. Porch lights glow here and there, pools of yellow spilling across the cracked sidewalks.

“Turn here,” you say, slowing at the corner.

He glances down the side path you point at, then back at you. “Spare key?”

You nod. “Yeah. Don’t look.”

“Wasn’t gonna.” His smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth, but true to his word, he keeps his eyes on the street and turns his back, lighter rolling idly in his hand while you fish under the porch rail.

The key catches under your fingers, the metal is cold against your skin. Relief floods you.

Dabi only moves when he hears the deadbolt turn. He shifts his weight, looking at you to make sure you really are in your home. “You’re good?”

The words are easy. He stops at the end of the rusted gate and waits for your reply. Ready to walk back.

You nod, but hesitate in the doorway, hand on the frame. “You want to come in?”

His head snaps up. Staring for a moment. "What?"

“Do you want to come in?” you ask dryly, hand lingering on the doorframe.

He steps over the threshold, moving deliberately, letting the door click shut behind him. The sound echoes slightly, as if the apartment itself is acknowledging the shift - the space between you now more charged, more intimate. His jacket brushes lightly against the doorframe, the scent of smoke faint but lingering.

“You sure?” His voice is low, casual, almost teasing, but the way he tilts his head, eyes tracing your movements. Only coming closer when you nod. “I won't assume anything.”

Your fingers tighten around your sleeve, the softness grounding you. “Okay.”

He nods, satisfied, letting his hands rest in his pockets, sleeves pushed back, tattoos catching the dim light as he moves toward the living room. His gaze flicks to the couch, to you, then back down the hallway, taking stock of the space like he’s both cautious and confident at once.

His eyes flick to your outstretched hand and he takes it. They're warm in yours.

Your heels click softly against the worn floorboards as you guide him by his sleeve. Each click of your shoes seems louder than it should, the tiny noise amplified in your heightened awareness. The lamp spills a pool of light over the couch cushions.

You gesture toward it. “Sit.”

You perch at the edge, knees pulled slightly together. And he sits opposite, all the way back, leaving a careful space between you. The air hums with something unspoken - a tension that presses lightly against your skin. You tug at a loose thread on your sleeve, twisting it between your fingers, a nervous tick.

“You do that a lot,” he says softly, nodding toward your hands.

You glance up, startled. “Do what?”

“That.” His eyes linger a beat longer than necessary. “Little habits.”

You smile, brushing it off, but your pulse hammers in your ears. He leans in slightly, shoulders relaxed, but there’s a precision in the way he watches you, attentive without being intrusive.

“You feeling okay?” he asks. “Like, really?”

“I’ve had a little to drink,” you admit, curling your fingers tighter around the thread.

He nods once, slow, almost imperceptible, eyes softening. No judgment, just awareness. He leans forward slightly, fingertips resting lightly on his knees, posture open, letting you feel his presence without pressure.

“You want it slow?”

You swallow, chest tightening. "Yeah.”

He smirks faintly. Not the full, confident smirk he wears in public - this one is softer, curious, teasing. He leans closer, just enough that the warmth from his shoulder brushes your arm. You feel it instantly, a small jolt tightens the coil in your stomach.

He tilts his head slightly, a tuft of his dark hair fall over his forehead, and you catch the subtle scent of him, smoky and slightly sweet. The same sweet that lingers on him when he takes his jacket off.

His knee presses yours just enough to be felt, a warmth that’s confident and deliberate. His hand rests near yours on the cushion, just shy of contact, teasing the space.

You tug at a loose thread on your sleeve. “Always this cautious?”

“Just with pretty things,” his voice low. Cobalt eyes track yours, flicking to the thread, then back, a smirk tugging his lips faintly.

You shift slightly, leaning toward him, shoulder brushing his. “You’re bold."

“Bold enough,” he says, the sharp curve of his smirk softening, “... enough to make sure you’re okay.”

You let your hand drift closer, thumb grazing his wrist. And his fingers slide between yours so your palm presses against his. His eyes find yours with quiet approval. “Good,” he asks. “No regrets, right?”

"No regrets,” you parrot back.

He tilts his head, lips brushing along the side of your jaw in a soft, deliberate touch. The faint scent of him mixes with the air between you, warmth spilling from him and into you. His hand touches lightly along the curve of your wrist, brushing up your arm, confident yet careful.

A small laugh escapes you, breath catching. “You don’t waste time.”

“Not when it matters,” he shrugs with lips grazing your temple lightly, his shoulder pressing against yours. A careful hand goes further up your arm again, playful and teasing, watching your reactions carefully.

You shift closer, letting the heat of his side press into you. His gaze flicks to your lips for a heartbeat longer than necessary, then back to your eyes. “I like knowing you’re sure,” he mutters. “All the way.”

“I’m sure,” you feel your pulse quicken.

He stops and sighs like he's torn, drops his head agaimst your shoulder and you're almost afraid he'll say he needs to leave. “I… love your perfume,” he admits quietly.

You blink, caught off guard, pulse fluttering, your stomach twisting in a mix of nerves and warmth.

He hums. The sound is soft, almost a purr, before he tilts back, eyes locking on yours as he leans in slow.

His lips brush over yours, giving you time to change your mind.

You don't.

You lean with him, curling your fingers into the hem of his shirt, letting your body adjust toward his. His shoulder nudges your couch, chest pressing just enough into your skin to feel warmth. His fingers drift from wrist to the small of your back, brushing along fabric, exploring with deliberate, measured touches before pulling you until your thighs are pulled over his and you're nearly sitting on him.

A soft, playful smile tugs at your lips. “You’re attentive,” you whisper.

“Someone has to be,” he murmurs back, brushing your hair from your temple. “Besides, I like knowing what you like, noticing what you need, pretty thing.”

Dabi presses lightly over ribs, over fabric as he goes down. His lips fall against your cheek, then jaw to mouth at the skin, teasing, deliberate. The couch feels smaller with him against your, his warmth, the scent of him filling your lungs. Filling your head with every subtle shift closer.

“Good?” he asks again, just above a whisper, lips brushing your neck.

“Good,” you murmur.

You lean in, fingers curling along his arm. A low groan escapes him when you lean in, soft and approving, before he tilts his head up and presses another kiss to your lips.

This one firmer. The hand on your rips splays out to steady you and pull you closer while the other snakes around your lower back, urging your movement so he can guide you into his lap.

A soft laugh escapes you and into Dabi's mouth making him break the kiss. “You’re not subtle anymore,” you murmur, voice low.

“Don’t need to be,” he licks his lips before they're brushing along your jaw, a finger digs beneath the shir, rubbing your skin as if the digit itself was shy. “I just need to be careful about what you want.”

Dabi moves closer, his body leaning slightly toward you. His fingers leaving trails of warmth along your side, back, over curves, deliberate and exploratory. Your pulse thrums in rhythm with each small touch, each breath, each brush.

“You like this,” he murmurs softly. “Need me close, pretty thing?"

“I do,” you whine back, heart catching slightly.

His smile is faint, tracing lightly along your sides, over your back, teasing. His soft laughter in your ears when you arch into him.

You shift slightly, curling closer into him wanting to hear more of it. Your hand drifts underneath his shirt. His hand finds yours and suddenly you're looking up at the prettiest thing you've ever seen.

Soft dark lashes, wild dark hair, puffy lips from mouthing your skin and stealing your lips for himself. He licks them and your finger traces over his lip. You sigh and wonder how anyone could stay away from a face like this. Inky tendrils on his neck or not.

“You're pretty.”

“So are you,” you push at his wild hair to see more of his face, pulse jumping.

Dabi tilts, lips pressing against your neck, teeth grazing the skin. His chest warms yours as his fingers explore up your shirt, making it ride up but never touching the skin. Your whine in the back of your throat, his smiles is subtle, and the glances exchanged before every lift of clothing makes you melt.

His hands are warm when they're beneath your shirt. Rubbing the skin like he knows how cold he's made you from teasing it to the cooler air.

"You're so warm." he says against your neck, kissing and nipping whatever he can.

A soft inhale and a pause - then he shifts slightly, pulling your closer again. Moving with deliberate confidence, attentive to reactions. He traces along the sides of your torso, his hand going down your spine and urging you to arch against his front. His lips brush yours again, lingering just enough.

“You want your room, pretty?” he asks quietly against your ear.

“Please,” your fingers bury in his hair.

[ross-hollander]

I assure you: somebody, somewhere, is on the exact same wavelength as you are.

[gyomain]

masterlist

unimpressionable masterlist

self-inflicted hearts, takami keigo

homegoing, erwin smith

turning point, oikawa toru

messed up hearts, zeke yeager

west end, porco galliaed

strangers, ushijima wakatoshi

[gyomain]

self-inflicted hearts, t. keigo

i made him a dork, im not sorry. something i've had for a bit of time where he and reader live in the same building. there's mostly swearing and a friendly pervy old woman who runs a bar, but she means well i swear. some suggestive innuendos? made by her towards hawks, prev relationship talk, fluffsies and suggestiveness in general.

“Excuse me.”

Behind you is a man with unruly hair and the most striking eyes you’ve ever seen - your heart lurches when you recognize him. The jerky wave he gives suggests he’s not used to speaking out like this, but you single that out almost as quickly as you had recognized him. It is Hawks, afterall.

“Could I have a minute with you?” he asks. The way his wings flap once out of habit and another time so a breeze hits your face when your eyes flicker up to them suggests he's not a stranger to the type of wonder that's stuck to him as a long time pro hero.

You have to catch yourself before you completely fall into this daze thinking about the hero beside you. If this is about some suspect you might’ve seen, you’re all ready to help, but some part of your brain knows there’s nothing you could possibly offer to the hero.

He's perking in the slightest and his wings tuck tight behind him as he ushers you underneath a restaurant’s canopy.

“So..” he clears his throat. “- you live in my building.”

The thought occurs to you and it’s amazing how easily you forgot and part of you actually considered he might have moved given the lack of fans outside the building. But you must look surprised because he laughs and digs his hand into the collar of his coat to rub his nape. The light airy tone makes your heart leap and you have to remind yourself that this is… well heck, you don’t know what this is and you don’t want to jump to any conclusions, but damn you’re getting caught up in this smile he’s giving you.

“I recognize you. Sometimes I grab my mail and you’re leaving the building.” he supplies the answer to a question you didn’t know you were looking for.

“Right.” is all you can manage. Mostly because you’re surprised he noticed you lived in his building among all the people in the mid-rise you live in.

You’re not sure whether it was your answer or something you did, but he’s fiddling with his gloves and smiling at the concrete like some daisies popped out of the cracks. His eyes lift to you and your breath catches. It’s the way he’s looking at you that makes your nerves buzz.

The gold of his eyes aren’t as lazed as they are in magazines or on newspaper headlines; they’re sincere. Here in front of you they’re alight with wonder and… anticipation, it seems.

“I didn’t want to drop a note in your mailbox because I’m a little afraid of someone trying to break into it. And I don’t want to seem too full of myself since I’m trying to make a good impression.”

You raise your brows in amusement and the smile that spreads across your face makes the apex of his cheeks twinge with color.

“Would you be interested in having drinks with me?” he asks.

Your mouth runs dry and you let out a puff of air. “At a bar or…?”

“You pick somewhere you’re comfortable. My hangouts gather too much attention and I would rather spend time getting to hear more than a few syllables out of you.”

You crack a smile, unable to help it from his flirting. “That sounds nice.” And before Hawks can say more, you’re continuing with a somber beat. “But I’m fresh out of a long-term relationship. I’d rather not rebound.”

The shaggy haired man smiles something warm, something sympathetic that doesn't make you feel needlessly guilty. “I get that.” Hawks makes a point to extend a hand and you take it, “I would like to get together. Two people having drinks because guess what? We get our mail from the same spot.”

You run your middle and ring fingers over the card he subtly slipped in your sleeve. “That’s reason enough to get drinks together.”

He flicks his shades so they fall over his eyes. “You could sneeze in my general direction.”

You give him a smile, “Then we’d have to get drinks.”

“Those are the rules.” That tint returns to the height of his cheeks when he laughs. His wings fluff up a little as he gives you the smallest of salutes. “Think about it.”

He throws you a smile over his shoulder before he’s flying off to who knows where.

— — — — —

This bar that you choose is cozy on a night like this in its neat fold in the city, bound to be overlooked by paparazzi. You wonder if he’ll have trouble finding it, but when a cat comes running down the alley you see he’s found it just fine..

“Have any trouble?” you ask.

He shakes his head with a smile like he didn’t spend two hours after patrol looking for this place. He nudges you with his elbow. “Don’t you look nice.”

You’re not wearing anything spectacular. A comfy baseball jersey and a pair of cropped jeans. He’s wearing something similar - a band tee underneath a denim jacket, but he’s sliding it off and down the length of his wings in a gesture that makes you stare a bit longer than you should. You guess the jacket is mostly for appeal.

“I am getting drinks with a pro hero.” you say breathlessly, it's something you said without thinking and it’s partially true. You can’t help the slight panic you feel when you see Hawks sheepishly rubbing his neck. “I didn’t mean-”

“No. You meant it,” he pockets his hands. You hate that he looks a little more closed off now and you have to keep from kicking yourself.

You groan, dragging your hands down your face as you both dip your heads underneath the smaller than average door. He knuckles your back playfully and you glance behind you to see him offering the smallest of smiles.

“I’m not salty about it.” he says. “I’m not a fan of fronts. A lot of people put them up because heroes are who we are and everyone wants to be liked.”

You stare at him openly. The fact he’s easily breathed that sentiment makes you feel somewhat at ease because he’s given you a small part of him to see and as insignificant as the information might seem- it’s a glimpse at the depth of his personality.

He visibly puffs. Wings puffing twice their size from where they’re consciously tucked against their back and he turns to you, hands thrown up, waving slightly. “N-Not that I’m assuming.”

He begins to ramble. A tint falls on the apex of his cheeks and it darkens, spreading the more he rambles on.

“I- I’m not saying that you want me to like you. O-Or.. or maybe you do. But! But not like that. You just got out of a relationship and we’re- you’re having drinks with me. I’m not seeing this as an opportunity t-to… to creep. This is- shit. I'm- I'm, uh...”

“Hawks.”

His mouth goes clop when he shuts it abruptly and by that time his entire face is a dark shade of pink. His hands close into fists from where they’re out in front of him and he swallows thickly, his adam's apple bobbing and his lips are pressed thin, shaking slightly.

You set a hand over one of his clenched fists and you’re trying not to laugh for his sake. He looks like he might explode into a pile of feathers.

“It’s okay.” you crack a grin and he visibly relaxes, slapping a hand over his eyes and exhales.

“I’m an idiot.” he mutters.

His hand slips down his face and covers his mouth, muffling his voice, and a mortified gaze searches your face.

“You think I’ve lost my mind, right?”

You laugh this time, shaking your head and bracing a hand on his arm to keep yourself from falling over. His face flushes more, whether it’s embarrassment or that he’s overwhelmed, he can’t tell.

The older woman at the bar knows what it is.

By the time your eyes are on him, he’s got this smile on his face that is soft and warm. It makes you feel like he’s saved you. From what? You don’t know. But hell, you’re safe now and damn it all, you love this feeling and this evening hasn’t even begun.

“I think you need a drink.”

He lets out a choppy exhale and the woman behind the bar is smirking at Hawks in a way that makes him want to crawl into a hole and hide for the rest of his life. He’s so glad there’s no one else in this bar. The hero leans on the bar and has to keep himself from trying to push his face into the grain of the bar.

“Need a drink?”

Hawks breathes out like he just came up for air and nods. His eyes unconsciously fall to the woman’s shaking hands and for a moment he thinks he should order something easy, but to his surprise, the woman throws a bottle in the air and catches it with ease, sliding it on the counter.

The winged hero meets his elder’s eyes.

“I can’t pour from a bottle, but I've still got a few tricks up my sleeve.” The woman leans on the counter, leaning towards the hero and winks at him. “It doesn’t mean a thing if you doesn't have a few tricks. Right, sweetheart?”

You think you’ve broken him efficiently. His face pops into a vibrant red and he drops his nose into the collar of his denim jacket with wide eyes.

“Yep.” Is all he manages to choke out and you offer the woman a smile.

Maybe you should’ve warned him. In any case, you pull him to sit in one of the few booths in the bar and he knocks back the shot you order him. His arm rests along the back of the booth, fingers trailing the paneling behind him. Staring up at the ceiling in a daze mostly.

You want to nudge him, but you’re afraid that you might’ve pushed him a bit far.

“Tanji likes messing with her patrons.” Is all you offer him and he lets out this breathless laugh.

“She… she’s exciting.”

Both your eyes go to the counter where Tanji wiggles her eyes at the hero and you both laugh before looking at your drinks.

“Earlier… I didn’t mean to drop that on you.” He shrugs, his thumb plays with the fuzz on his jaw and you’re immediately jealous of it. “I meant to say I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have to pretend to be someone you’re not around me.”

You stop to wonder, glancing at him. He's staring at his drink, wings tucked over the booth with feathers spilling into the one behind him, and he’s got the audacity to smile so softly at his drink. You push down the thought about wishing you were the glass.

“No,” you run your fingers over the rim of your glass.

His wings twitch and he makes it a point to look at you and he observes your smiling face before your eyes meet his. The fondness in your eyes pins him and he hopes you’re not seeing through him suddenly. He repeats a mantra in his head to remind himself that there’s no reason for him to put one up. He’s not putting up a front.

“You meant it.”

That teasing tone of yours makes a smile spread from ear to ear on his face and he can’t help laughing, tossing his head back from how easily you have him in the palm of your hand.

He smiles, pulling his wings over the booth so he can sit sideways and face his body towards you.

“I meant it?” he asks.

You’re confident when you nod and he traces a thumb over his chin and you have to force yourself to return your gaze to your glass and not the thumb that’s running over his chin.

Before he opens his mouth, you’re pinning him beneath your gaze and all of his attention falls upon you. You simply looked in his direction and his entire being yielded like you demanded it. He fixes you a smile, mostly because he’s amazed at how easily you make his cognitive function go haywire just by looking in his general direction.

“Can I ask you something?”

Without missing a beat, “Anything.”

He feels stupid. You could ask him for the passwords to his socials and he’d probably tell you without batting an eyelash because he can’t think about anything else except your eyes on him.

“Really?” you smirk and he’s so enthralled by you that he’s got to press his heel into his foot. “I could ask you anything about yourself and you’d just answer?”

“Obviously not,” he laughs. He would type you a resume of all his past life experiences if you keep smirking at him, but it takes everything in him not to make that snide comment.

His eyes gleam with the sweetest lacing of sienna and honey in those irises and you realize that it’s not only the alcohol making you warm. He licks his lips and you’re forced to remember your question.

“What’s with the coat on your hero costume? I mean-”

He bursts into laughter, abandoning his drink to grab his stomach and you’re unable to take your eyes off of the way his brows knit together and his head tilts back to laugh. The sight of him carefree like this makes your cheeks warm a bit.

He leans back against leather, shaking his head, “I thought you were going to ask something more personal.”

Your brows quirk at that. “What do people usually ask?”

Hawks shrugs, “I get a lot of questions about how I spend nights since I’m ‘eligible’, but mostly on how ‘dates with Hawks’ end. But it’s rare that people ask about my hero costume.”

You nudge his knee with yours. “And?”

He meets your eye, raising a brow, “And…?”

“What’s it like?”

He smiles, leaning forward to rest his head on his arms, “Refreshing, I think. Although, I wasn’t expecting that question.”

You’re not sure what he means until he continues.

“I wear my jacket because I’ve been too lazy to go see someone about getting the plumage on my back covered up. It’s sensitive.” He juts a thumb over his shoulder. “If I catch a breeze, I’ll get cold and, unfortunately, hard.”

You fluster and your gaze darts away from him. “Oh.”

He laughs, nudging you. “It’s not easy to work with when I’m saving lives. It gives off a bad impression, y’know?”

“Sorry if that was too personal.” you mutter, sparing him a glance.

He gets this mischievous look on his face, scooting closer to you, “Can I ask a personal question then?”

You have to keep yourself from groaning. Your thoughts immediately shoot to the merch in your room and you have to bite your tongue to keep from panicking at the how much merch you have that points out your favorite heroes.

“Don't ask me about hero favorites?” you wince as you motion to the All Might poster.

Hawks shakes his head. “I was curious as to who was stupid enough to willingly fall out of a relationship with you.”

Your smile is weak. Arguments replay in your head and each one seems so petty, but the conclusion to your relationship makes them reverberate that much more in your mind.

You finish your drink, shrugging. “... Deku.”

Hawks blinks at you. Thinking for a moment, the guy is definitely built and has the goody-two shoes thing going, and it’s not the reason his nose crinkles.

You find yourself smiling when you see him do just that.

“He’s… nice, I guess.” Hawks notices the smile you have on your face and he waves off the look you’re giving him. “It’s not that I don't like him, but he makes all of us look like lapdogs sometimes, I mean… I don’t know. He just tries too hard for the wrong things.”

“You think so?” you ask mindlessly, finishing your drink.

“You’re sitting here talking to me, aren’t you?”

You sigh, tapping the rim of your glass with the faintest trace of a smile. It catches the attention of your company and you respond with a wave of your hand.

“It’s funny how someone I’ve known since I’ve graduated said the opposite. I was half expecting you to say the same thing.”

“He must’ve been some workaholic,” Hawks grins, getting up to take your glasses back to the bar. His phone rings and he stops short, staring at his phone screen for a split second. “It can wait.”

He leaves his phone at the table and it stops ringing, but it rings before he can get another word out when he returns. He groans low and looks at the screen again, looking at you.

“I promise I’m not a workaholic, but could you give me a few minutes?”

“Go for it. It’s getting late anyway.”

The hero shakes his head. “If you think you’re walking home alone, then you’d better think again. Give me a second, I’ll walk you back to the building.”

You’re smiling and it’s all from this hero who is willing to let an important call go to voicemail so he can get permission to walk you back to your building. A small part of you dubs this as his hero instincts or his assumption that you have a little too much alcohol in your system. “I can walk myself home.”

He shrugs, “I know you can, but I’m walking you home.”

Your laugh comes breathily because he cannot be serious. “Hawks-”

"Keigo." he corrects.

His phone rings a last time before it goes silent and you're staring at him with wide eyes. He leans on the booth and his shoulders fall as his eyes flick over your face. A warmth raises pink in his cheeks and he sighs,

"You showed me to this bar so the least I can do is show you to your apartment, alright?" he takes his drink and opens a palm for yours that you give over easily. You don't answer immediately and he stops, tilting his head to make sure your attention is still on him. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah," you try and fail to keep the disbelief out of your tone, but he grins all the same. He slips a few notes to Tanji despite your protest on halving the bill.

The twenty or so minutes spent walking along lamplit streets doesn't seem like enough when you're walking with Hawks. Today doesn't feel real nor does the day you met him on the street, everything feels like a blur of a dream even as you watch him talk beside you about a typical gruelling hero day. It still doesn't when you're both standing outside your building's glass lobby doors.

"Let's do this again," he says and there's a spark in your chest and a sense of dread in your stomach. He notices in how your gaze falters. "Unless you don't want to?"

"I do want to." he lets you have a moment to yourself and your eyes flit up to the mid-rise you've stopped in front of. "I'm surprised, I think. That we hit it off."

He hums and kicks at the pavement, "Is it my image or...?"

"No." you laugh and the mirth in your eyes relieves him some, "It's not every day you hear about Hawks have a drink with someone after work."

"It's not every day I find good drinking company."

"That can't be true." you huff, knowing for certain that there are plenty of interesting people with different Quirks and personalities alike that would do anything to entertain Hawks for an evening.

"Okay," he smiles as if he's been caught and pretty brown eyes glint from the street lamps when he gazes at you. "It's not often I have fun and I had plenty of that when I got to drink with you."

You find yourself smiling and choose to look inside the lobby's glass doors to see the doorman not so subtly watching the interaction. "I had fun, too."

There's a silence between you two and distantly there's a car passing and you chance a look over to Keigo to find him doing the same before you're both abruptly looking away, both your faces burning in embarassment, but he laughs.

"Let's do this again." he pats himself down, blinking distantly until he finds his phone and smiles. "Can I have your number?"

As you add your number into his contacts you shake your head with a smile and hand it back to him when his phone lights up again. He's grinning down at his brightly lit screen and all too casually pressing the red button when Sir Nighteye pops up on his phone. He laughs when you gape at him and tell him to answer his calls.

"I'm offduty." he says, "But uh... can I call you tomorrow? Or something. I-" he pauses and he wringing his hands together for a moment. "I know you're not looking for anything, but I really enjoy this."

"Sure." he's smiling, but groans when his phone buzzes incessantly. "Go ahead, that seems important."

"Okay," is his breathy response before he answers Sir Nighteye then proceeds to put him on hold. "Stay safe?"

You nod as you watch his cheeks flush and he puts on his denim jacket with a wobbly smile, ir's awkward and earns a giggle from you before he bids one last goodbye and flies off.

He wasn't what you were expecting, but you figure a guy who's excited enough to ask for your number twice is worth seeing again.

[snuquin]

MY MAAAN

[gyomain]

All the Little Things

dabi x reader

just a college fic i wanted but don't have, i like it a lot, it's unifinished for now but whatever

warnings: swearing, tattoos, hawks is a frat boy, and for some reason I wrote this in that small ass text way back when??? so forgive me

. . .

Inviting Hawks to be your roommate had repercussions. First and foremost, Hawks is the golden boy around campus that earned his name from ruthlessly going from relationship to relationship from week to week to get his dick wet. You knew his presence would have people forming their own assumptions. “No.” That had been your answer to him when he arrived on your doorstep with a smile and an attitude too chipper for anything before noon. He was undeterred by the door slamming in his face. His promise of being a nice roommate, a notecard of references (his friends he used to live with before he was kicked from his fraternity), and to never ever throw a party at your house. In the end, you’d let him stay.

And how might Hawks be as a roommate? Insufferable.

If he sees food in the fridge then consider it gone. He's the type to eat the leftovers you made without asking, who calls you when he's too wasted to get home by himself, and the kind of roommate that has music blasting when you're coming home from work exhausted. And he whines.

A lot.

But Keigo’s not all bad and surprisingly not the awful, arrogant, whiny uninhibited jock some people talk about. He does eat your leftovers (and shamelessly call you to tell you), but he buys takeout to have lunch with you on your break or dinner with you after work, whether he's tired or not. He might come home wasted at odd hours, but he makes up for it by doing his chores and buy the snacks you like. He does blast music when you're exhausted and kicking your shoes off by the door, but you do share the same taste in music and he does make a kick ass playlist. And is usually dancing in his pigeon pajama pants in the kitchen when you hear that music shaking the walls.

He's a decent roommate with his ups and downs, a better friend than roommate you'd say, one you have no intention of spending time around without discretion.

His little psycho fan club was already torn up about him moving off campus and you've undoubtedly garnered unwanted attention for how well you get along. He's thoughtful, but this particular scenario is a poor example to restitute the cordial goof that is your roommate.

Whoops and hollers sounded from the living room where Hawks is currently entertaining teammates and those associated with them. After he'd sidled up with them, you'd stuck it out for a while, but eventually chosen to retreat back into the kitchen when someone hunched over and spilled their guts into the plant nearest to you.

This isn't the first time you'd been left alone at a party. Last time had been an accident because Keigo had to take someone to the hospital and he'd forgotten to drop you off first. Next time you won't depend on an athlete the weekend before spring break ends. You're swiping through your contacts, hopelessly waiting Nemuri to finish a lecture to drop you off at home or get you out of here. It would be three hours before her lecture ended and you consider getting a cab, but you really want to spend the money on new brushes rather than a needless ride home. You decide against spending money.

You've abandoned one of the best drinks you've ever had at a party, balanced the way you like and not bubbling with four or five different types of booze, and had to abandon it for water. To say you're miffed is an understatement, but the kitchen's atmosphere almost makes up for it.

Thanks to the swinging door a lot of the music is muffled and gives relief from the humid collective of people on the other side of it.

There's a handful of people in the kitchen; a couple that's a little too close to each other, a few singlets that want nothing to do with the party, and a mob of body mod guys nearest to you. A few of the body mod guys you recognize from the time you took Keigo to go get his tattoos filled in but you don't relish in the familiarity. You move to grab another bottle of water, and for the few seconds you peeked out of the kitchen in search of a potential ride home, the kissy faced couple honed in on your corner of kitchen to make out there.

You roll your eyes, swipe out of the transportation app, and lean back on the counter, trying to ignore one of the body mod guys coming near you. It's the one you kind of met and never got his name when you sat with Keigo while he got his tattoos done. You hope he’ll go elsewhere so you won’t have to talk, but alas, your luck isn’t all that great.

“Didn’t think you’d be holed up in here.” the lilted tone of his sounds vaguely amused, but you can’t be sure. “Or here at all.”

Apparently your distinct choice to ignore his presence had gone over his head.

“Calm your tits, it’s a party.” you mumble absent-mindedly.

He’s undeterred, merely sipping on his drink, “You came with bird boy didn’t you?”

“This is a party.” is all you care to say.

“A frat party.” he corrects with an amused lilt, “Didn't think he was your type."

"If it was, I'd have your number." you glance up and his face is still stoic as shit.

“What about Chicken Scratch?”

"What?" You don’t look up from your phone. His straight face makes you nervous. “Hawks?”

“He have to drag you out?”

You tsk, “I don't spend all my time cooped up with him all day.”

“That so?”

You chance a look at him to see how the amusement on his face matches his tone. It doesn't. He's a lot like you remember him from the shop. The black unruly hair, bags underneath the curve of his eyes, the crawling tattoos limited only by the notch of his jaw. He doesn't look at all entertained, his words mismatch his tired eyes.

You favor staring at the deserted conversations of the friends who can't pick you up right now instead of him and hope the bags means he'll fall over so that you can avoid this conversation with him. But when he leans on the counter, you realize he won't be falling over or leaving and sigh.

"I don't know anyone who comes to a party to be in the kitchen." he says over the rim of his cup before he's drinking. "Or not attached to the pigeon."

"He's not my type," is your immediate answer. Then you retract your harsh words for something less insulting than your disgust, "I'd rather not get involved with someone who has his own fan club pursuing him daily."

That earns you a curt huff.

He moves around you, not leaving, but instead to the forgotten keg sitting in the sink to your right. You watch as he tips his head back, empties his cup, then refills it with the beer in the keg you know is warm before he's drinking it down like it's water. "That's disgusting" comes from you before you can think to withhold the words.

"Oh yeah," he agrees as he refills his cup and takes another drink as if it's nothing.

Instead of trying to figure out why he's still drinking from the keg, you pay more attention to trying to unclutter the pizzeria mini game on your phone. The piercer watches for a bit over your shoulder much to your surprise before he's talking again.

“Why'd you come if you're in the kitchen? This doesn't seem like your crowd.”

You look over at him, momentarily remembering how tall he is when you're faced with his chest and tilt your head back to look up at him.

"Free booze sounds great until the shitshow starts up."

Maybe it's your sincerity or the serious expression when you said those words, but he laughs. Short muted huffs turn to deep rumbles of rolling laughter that end a little too soon before he's muttering “a shitshow.” He's refilling his plastic cup before returning to the counter space he once claimed beside you.

"Why are you here?" you ask without looking up. He's not entirely out of place among the other goers, but the looks and avoidance he gets quickly makes you think otherwise.

[thestalwartheart]

I love it when people take fic writing seriously. I love when it's not 'Here's this dumb thing I wrote' and instead it's 'Here's this thing I put blood, sweat and tears into. Here's this thing I slaved away at, trying new writing techniques and editing over and over. Here's this dialogue that kept me awake at night. Here's this beautiful turn of phrase I thought up. Here's this thing that I wrote with vulnerability and heart, and I am proud to share it with you.'

[zoozvie]

Feeling overworked? Have soft Levi as a treat.

You, a tired student taking classes on top of working the night shift, are coming home to the apartment you share with Hange. Their friends are there again, which isn’t abnormal since they always make time to study together even though they have differing majors. One doesn’t even attend your school; he owns the cafe right outside campus.

The exception is Hange’s boyfriend, Moblit. He practically lives here with you two, so he’s always at the gatherings. And breakfast. And most dinners.

When you walk in, it’s well past sundown. You kick off your shoes and debate grabbing a protein bar for dinner before getting distracted by the rowdiness in the living room. The squad is discussing over a battle map laid out on the thrifted coffee table. Everyone but Miche sits on cushions on the floor to reach their pieces around the game board.

When you walk over behind your roommate(s), Hange greets you brightly as Moblit flips through the large book in front of him, muttering the name of the spell Hange has requested to cast. ‘ah, yes, they’ll need to make a DEX save for that—’

Erwin smiles at you, asking about your day, and you shrug it off good-naturedly. Nothing interesting to report back about. Hange shifts up to their knees and grabs the protractor from the end of the table. “Roomie! You should sit in for a bit, make sure we’re playing right.”

You debate with yourself only a little before agreeing. Earning a few chuckles from your reply, “Think you can’t do addition?”

In your usual routine, by now you’d be sprawled across your unmade bed, stripped of your day clothes but not ready to put on your work uniform. Maybe you’d be scrolling mindlessly on your phone or shutting your eyes for a quick hour that only feels like a few minutes.

But the company is good, and you get along with your roommate’s friends just fine, so you make your way around Erwin and Hange to perch on the open spot next to Miche on the opposite side of the table, above where Levi happened to be leaning against the couch.

“I think the energy is calmer over here.” Is your quiet explanation as you step toward Levi’s spot on the floor. He’s quick to lean up and, after you perch on the couch, he rests back where your leg would be if you hadn’t tucked it underneath yourself.

Miche huffs a laugh, leaning forward to check his paper. “You’re definitely right about that.” 

With everyone a little distracted by the phrasing of the rules, Levi carefully tips his head back to rest against the couch, peeking up at you upside-down.

“You have work tonight?”

“In a few hours.” Your voice is soft when you answer.

Today may not have been more challenging than any other day, but the accumulation of your entire work week on top of classes weighs you down enough to really feel it in your body. Thankfully, today is your last shift before your two-day break.

Then you’ll have time for the paper due on Monday.

Yay.

“You should eat.”

“I can get something when I’m there.”

His nose wrinkles, “Vending machine crap isn’t going to help you.”

It’s not the first time he’s mentioned this to you. You’ve argued before that your breakroom has a kiosk with little sandwiches and cups of fruit in the fridge. He claims it doesn’t help when you buy an energy drink alongside your ‘rodent food’.

Usually, Hange is the one drawing his ire, for good reason, but he’s been known to lash out at every one of his friends once in a while, for good intentions and purposes. You do notice that he speaks to you a little differently, a little more gently.

It’s probably because you two aren’t as close as they all are; you’re still somewhat of an outsider. Or maybe you looked as thoroughly wrecked as you feel, and someone other than customers or professors scolding you just seemed cruel.

Moblit drags Levi’s and your attention back as he finalizes the outcome of Hange’s character’s spell attack. And they Whoop! when three of their enemies are burnt to a crisp.

Their little party ends up going through a few more rooms of the castle they’re exploring before Levi stands up to grab a drink. When Moblit asks you a technical GM’s question, you see Hange smirk and sneakily show Erwin something they wrote on their paper. Only to have their face fall when Erwin smiles and points at something on his.

Levi comes back with drinks and your bag of trail mix, which he must have taken from the pantry. He gives one drink to Erwin and sits down in front of you again, offering the bag to you over his shoulder.

He’s closer than before. His side pressed against your leg. When you take the bag, your fingers brush, and he glances back at you with a soft look. That’s how Levi was. Caring and protective, even if you wouldn’t expect it from someone so irritable.

And damn. Sometimes it just felt good to be seen.

You picked through the mix of nuts as you sat silently for the next twenty minutes until their session came to an end. It was quite an entertaining group. Moblit was doing a great job of storytelling, in your opinion, even with Hange—and sometimes Erwin’s—unconventional ideas. Everyone had a good connection to their characters, roleplaying and fighting together as a team. You could feel their enjoyment as they packed up.

“Heading to work, roomie?” Hange asked offhandedly.

You looked at the time. “...Yeah, I’m going to get ready to go.”

Levi stayed seated against you while gathering his things. The atmosphere tonight urged you to be a little braver than usual, and you hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder. He was warm. Almost shockingly so compared to your cold fingers.

Soothed by just a touch, you imagined how nice his hugs must be.

When he looked at you, something different was in his eyes. But oddly enough, it didn’t feel different somewhere in your subconscious. Maybe he’d looked at you like this before.

With a smile, you mouthed ‘thank you’. For the trail mix, for his attunement to your needs, for him.

He nodded, and with the movement, you could catch the dark circles underneath his eyes. He was known to pull all-nighters himself, but it was difficult for people to notice if—or when—it got to him.

Slowly, you both move so you can get around the table. The chatter of your roommate’s friends fades as you enter your room. The only thing on your mind as you dress and leave for work is what you could do in return to show your appreciation for Levi.

>> This is way longer than I meant it to be, and I threw the ending together as I move into my new apartment.

+ I just realized this fits in with a little coffee shop story I was thinking of, so maybe you’ll see more of them in the future.

dividers by @/strangergraphics

[gyomain]

i like💛🍯

[z-ndjenja]

[z-ndjenja]

[wordx]

You doubt her, I believe in her.

You left her, I waited for her.

You broke her, I prayed she’d heal.

You forgot her, I remembered everything.

[dumblr]

You text her goodnight. I trace poems on her skin until she sleeps.

[expressions-of-nature]

by Road-1969

[creativepromptsforwriting]

good traits gone bad Masterpost

good traits gone bad (x)

good traits gone bad explained Part I

good traits gone bad explained Part II

good traits gone bad explained Part III

good traits gone bad explained Part IV

good traits gone bad explained Part V

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

[creativepromptsforwriting]

May Writing Challenge

This May I want to get back into writing. I’m not at all consistent. I’m at a point where I don’t feel like I can work on bigger things, because I can’t guarantee myself to keep working on it in a week from now. So I will take this month as a training month to get back into the habit of writing. I will do this by writing (or trying to write) 200 words every day. Topic is irrelevant. How great my writing is that day is irrelevant. Just 200 words written down. A habit taking 21 days to form was debunked, it does take a lot longer, but 31 days are a start I would say. These are already 140 words, so 200 words every day are hopefully manageable. You're more than welcome to join me if you like 😊

[creativepromptsforwriting]

Let's see how it works out this time! 🖊

[creativepromptsforwriting]

And something else I will be doing in May is: I'll try to take one of my prompts per day and just write a little something, whatever comes to my mind. Which can be just four lines of dialogue or something a bit longer. Something like this: #1090

I will post them on my personal account @agirlnamedjana

And if you have anything you write in May (or whenever) with my prompts, you can tag @creativepromptfills for me to reblog your work!

Have fun!

- Jana

[crehate]

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