Read it on Ao3 (It's too long to post here as usual)
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“Y’know, if you’re so desperate,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “There’s a vastaya sittin’ right in front of you-”
“No,” you say, and “I have no time for your human orgies,” and “What would your mother think?”
His mother, who wants him to find someone special. A single someone special, you can only assume, and just picturing her face if she ever sees the heathen’s den her son has built makes your head hurt. You can barely look her in the eyes as it is.
“I- what- I don’t do human orgies,” he says, and you swipe one of his more expensive bottles of alcohol for daring to lie to your face like that.
I dont know how you dont have more followers, I absolutely ADORE the way you write and, the fact that you draw lil scenes from the story???? Imamculate, iconic, I love it.
You're officially my favourite fic writer
omg???? OMFG?? THANK U SO MUCH HOLY CRAP
tbh i started this tumblr hoping to get drabble inspiration and/or to scream about league so if ur into either of those hmu -
The longer you spend with him, the more certain you are that he’s just perpetually insane.
“You just don’t understand my art,” he says, spinning his murder gun with a flourish.
Yes. You will never understand why he feels the need to rearrange other people’s faces. You’re not the crazy person here. Who’s to say the voices in his beautiful mind aren’t going to suddenly tell him to rearrange you?
“Your face is far too pedestrian for my theatre. Too uninspiring,” he says, looking you over pityingly. You put your pedestrian, uninspiring face in your hands and try not to scream.
Read on AO3 because why?? why do u have a word limit tumblr
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Not even moonlight can penetrate the gloom of the empty church. Empty. Not a face in sight, not a single person you can ask for directions, and you’re taking a second to mourn the loss of GPS when you hear the tapping.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
You spin around, but now there’s someone standing between you and the wooden doors.
“I wasn’t expecting visitors,” he says politely, even though his mouth doesn’t move, and you only have a second to realize that he’s wearing a mask before he’s pulling out what looks like a gargantuan rifle and yes. The priest was right. It looks like there are demons, and by demons you mean a serial killer, and it is time for you to leave.
Read on Ao3 because it's apparently too long to post here fhfdjhsdjg why??? why
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req:
Chaos, you say? Nothing more chaotic than a talkative idiot with a crush on Bakugo, lmao
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“Dynamite!”
Silence.
“Dynamite!”
Silence.
“Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite-”
“Shut up!” he says, punching a hole in the wall beside him, and this is why people keep ragging on pro heroes for reckless action and property damage and wasting tax money.
‘Shut up’ isn’t the perfect quote for a news blog, but you’ll take it. Besides, the hole in the wall makes for a great header photo.
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Is he rude? Yes. Is he obnoxious? Yes. Does he cause gross amounts of collateral damage, sometimes exceeding even whatever villain he’s trying to subdue? Yes.
Does it stop you from being a fan? No. Apparently not. There’s truly no accounting for taste.
In your spare time, you run one of the many hero news blogs focused on him. Ever since he graduated and went pro, he’s managed to stay in the news on an almost-daily basis, which is impressive, even if half of it is for getting in other heroes’ ways and “obstructing justice”.
“I am the justice!” he screams, and you snap a photo of the giant explosion in the sky.
Read on AO3 because the whole 3k chapter is too long to post here LMAO
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“You were great,” says the man, handing you “your cut”. “No one thought you were gonna make it. We made a killing!”
You weigh the bulging sack of what look like actual gold coins against his glee over the fact that literally no one thought you were going to win, and pick money over dignity.
“Ain’t seen you around before,” says someone else, leaning against the doorway.
“She did great, boss,” says the man, clapping you on the back, but you’re too busy staring, open-mouthed; because the other man, the boss, has cat ears.
---
If pressed, you wouldn’t say you had a particularly strong attraction to animal-eared characters. It is a trope. A cliche. But that was then, when that cliche only existed in shows and books, and this is now, when a living, breathing, cat-eared man is standing in front of you and waiting for you to say something.
“Are those real?” you say, reaching for the ears, and he literally picks you up and tosses you out the door.
"Hello! May I please request a drabble with Kurogiri? Anything goes!"
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The bar is deserted.
The bartender actually seems surprised to see you the first time you walk down the stairs and poke your head through the door.
“I’m sorry, we’re closed,” he says. You turn away, and find another bar that night.
It’s closed again the next evening, and the next, and the next. You don’t even want to drink there, really; but after so many days you feel like you have to see it open at least once before you can leave in peace.
The bartender is always there, even if the bar is closed.
“We’re closed,” he says, “But you can wait here for a while, if it helps.”
It does help. The rain is pouring, an absolute thunderstorm, and you have no umbrella and no way home.
It smells of oak and leather, and the seats are soft and comfortable; and so you sit in silence. You don’t ask him why the bar isn’t open, even this late at night.
---
You always visit on rainy days, and he always lets you wait inside. He doesn’t ask why you never bring an umbrella, and you don’t ask why he never opens the bar.
No one else is ever around.
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“We’re closed,” he says, “But I can make you a drink if you want.”
Is this bar actually closed, or are there just never any customers? It’s probably impolite to ask.
You sit at the counter and watch him make the Old Fashioned. It’s kind of nice, being the only person there; it makes you feel like the bar is just for you- even though it’s probably on the brink of shutting down, if the worn-out furniture is any indication.
The drink tastes just how you wanted it to. He has no discernable expression, but when you tell him, it feels like he smiles.
---
He makes a drink for you every time you visit. A margarita. A martini. A whiskey sour. Does he have no one else to practise on?
He smiles again when you ask him (how can you even tell he’s smiling? You’ve maybe had one too many drinks).
“Just you is enough,” he says, and slides another glass across the table.
---
You have a one-sided conversation with the bartender every time you sit down for a drink.
It’s not that he doesn’t listen- he does, nodding and hmm-ing at the right moments, and shaking his head in sympathy when you complain about something particularly aggravating- but he doesn’t reply, or give advice, or tell you anything about himself in return.
In short, the perfect bartender. He won’t even charge you for the drinks. Sometimes you wonder if this is all just some particularly enjoyable fever dream.
He lets you talk on for as long as you like, never telling you to go home, it’s past midnight, you’ve already missed the last train.
One night, you have a few too many, and suddenly the table seems like the perfect place to lay your head and take a nap. You expect him to kick you out, but he just leans over and drapes - what is that? A blanket? - drapes something over you, and you fall asleep to the sound of clinking glass and soft footsteps.
When you wake up, you’re seated at the nearest train station’s rest area, neat and tidy, like someone carried you there himself.
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You knew there would be a day when the bar finally closed, but you can’t stop the jolt of dismay that hits you when you see the entranceway boarded off. He didn’t even give you a heads-up.
You look around for a contact number, or a notice, or something that will tell you where he went- but there’s nothing but empty boxes, and, hanging pristine and new on the door handle, an umbrella.
"imagine endeavor as cranky cat man whose been returned too many times bc of his aggression"
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You see him all the time in the shop, pacing and growling and generally terrorizing whoever walks by. It’s one of the few stores left that still sells hybrids, but even they can’t seem to find him a permanent home. He’ll disappear for a few days, a week, and then you’ll walk past again and he’ll be back, and in an even worse mood than before.
The shopkeeper tells you that even with hybrids being as rare as they are, he still gets returned. A family will buy him as a guard for their child, and the child will spend the next few days in tears. Someone will buy him to show off his pedigree, and they’ll end up filling out twenty different insurance forms for property damage. Buyers have even tried sending him to underground fighting rings, but he just destroyed the entire arena.
He’s going to spend the rest of his life in this shop, they say. You look at him, pacing the width of his small room. You’ve made many bad decisions in your life. What’s one more?
It’s a struggle even getting him through the door.
He flies into a rage at the smallest thing. Your apartment is too small. The food is terrible. You have neighbors. Do you really expect a hybrid with a lineage like his to live in this kind of place?
You can understand what the previous people went through. But you think of the dozens of times you’ve seen him back in his room, pacing, grit your teeth, and soldier on.
---
You spend a straight month in a fugue, because all you do is go to work, rush home, and try to convince him not to do anything that’ll get him arrested.
He picks fights with the neighbors. He starts brawls with anyone on the street if they even look at him the wrong way. You’re kind of surprised he hasn’t thrown you out a window yet.
When you get back, as usual, he snatches the dinner you’ve bought back out of your hands, growling. Normally you’d be able to dodge, but you haven’t had any sleep for the past thirty-two hours, and his clawed hand slices cleanly across your palm.
You blink. He freezes.
The blood drips onto the floor in a slow trickle.
---
You bandage your hand as best you can. He towers over you from behind, watching. He’s so close you can feel him breathing. You try to ignore how unnerving that is.
“Give me that,” he says, swiping the bandages out of your good hand and doing a far better job of wrapping your hand up than you ever could.
He cuts the free edge of the bandage off. The two of you stand in awkward silence what feels like forever.
“What do you want?” he says, finally. “A bodyguard? You want to show off a hybrid to your friends? What is it?”
Uh. You don’t really want anything. You just don’t want him to get sent back to the shop.
He looks like he doesn’t believe you when you tell him that, but he also doesn’t go out looking for a fight that night, so you don’t push your luck.
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The next day you come home to an apartment that’s still in one piece and an apartment building that hasn’t had the police called to it for the first time in two weeks.
“What?” he growls, stomping over and snatching the food off your hands. You notice he’s sheathed his claws.
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Before you realize it, a week has gone by and he still hasn’t fucked anything (or anyone) up. Then two weeks. Then a month.
“Move over,” he says, picking you up so he can take over your spot, even though you gave him the sofa and this chair can barely hold his weight.
You try to get up, but he plops you back down on his leg, holding you in place so he can wrap himself around you as though you’re the warm cat-person hybrid and not him.
It still feels a little unnerving, but he’s warm and large and you don’t think he’s going to toss you out a window anytime soon, so you lean back against him, enjoy the warmth, and try not to fall asleep.
Suggestions are open for drabbles, matchups and stuff! Maybe!
I’d Rather Not (Explicit)
(isekai’d reader oneshot collection)
Sylas | Master Yi
Drabbles/Matchups on tumblr:
NONE YET HELP LOL
Suggestions are open for drabbles and matchups! Maybe!
Demon Summoning for Idiots (Explicit)
(Demon!AU oneshot collection)
All Might | Aizawa | Hawks | Mic | Shigaraki
O, Hero
(Isekai Beastman!AU oneshot collection)
Aizawa
Drabbles/matchups on tumblr:
NONE YET HELP LOL
gummygunk
2087
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
dededos