Being a villain can be fun and sexy!

v-hawks:

Everything is blue, it’s what Hell looks like.

He pays no mind to the monsters around him. They don’t matter, he knows that for a fact, the only monster that’s truly a threat to him, and a very, very, very big threat he is, is the one standing above him, slamming his boot into his mouth, making Hawks groan as he feels a tooth crack, bits of it falling onto his tongue with blood that gushes from his lip.

His head turns to spit before the second kick lands, pushing him further into the rough ground, forcing another gruff sound from him as he feels the pressure on his jaw ready to snap.

He spits more blood and bone, wide eyes dart to the flames rushing to his face, hand reaching up to take his ankle, but not before the flame reaches him, first devouring his hand and then searing into his face before he can pull it away, the damage already done. He doesn’t even have a piece of his mind to scream before the fire reaches a wing as well, holding it, ripping it, he feels feathers being eaten and finally wails, eyes rolling as it passes the flesh, the muscle, and his back bows, struggling to cope with the pressure being put on it. He yowls, reaching a hand out to pull himself away, undamaged eye staring wide at the gravel, and he’s going to die, he’s going to die, and all he can do is put up a fight and he’s going to die and they said they wouldn’t let this happen this shouldn’t be happening.

The left side of his face screams in agony with him, and he stares ahead, waiting. Needing. Begging.

Dabi’s grin only grows. It only grows, splitting across his face, staples threatening to rip from their places and making the gouge that grows from his smile stretch and stretch, grotesque flash of teeth peeking through the seams. Blood streams down his cheeks, along his jaw and dripping from his chin, but he hardly notices. All that exists to him is the screams that leave the man under him, and the way his wing crumples in his grip, breaking and tearing pathetically as he twists and pulls.

He’ll rip it off. He’ll rip it all off. Tear it - him - to fucking shreds. Everything in his chest soars at the thought, and another savage pulse of flame pours over his feathers, charring everything it touched to ash.

Laughing, he grabs at Hawks’ hair and yanks him up, staring straight into that pleading, desperate face. He caresses it for a brief second like a lover would, wondering if, in that moment, a montage of their nights was playing through his head like a melody, just like it was doing his. If he could taste every fucking memory soiled and rotting through, decaying into sopping, writhing waste, just like he could. None of it meant fucking anything anymore. Hawks was as good as dirt to him, now, it was as easy as that. He wouldn’t mourn him at all.

But he’ll enjoy every second of his death.

“Worth it?” he asks him simply, thumb brushing upwards, along the bone, then across his lashes. He could already see the damage to his eye but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t hurt him enough to satisfy himself. His teeth grit and he suddenly lets his thumb plunge forth, as forceful as he could manage, dirty nail piercing through, bursting through, spatter of fluid spraying onto his face, spark of flame rising from his knuckle and rocketing towards his skull as he digs and digs and digs into the socket. In seconds, he’ll be nothing left but a putrid corpse for his monsters to chew apart. And he couldn’t fucking wait.

@v-hawks @v-mystery

#// hooo that should be it maybe #// by all means he should be dead i got him into an impossible situation but </3 its fiction luv what can u do #dabi #// god.#what a talented boy .

It keeps him completely still, shock running through his shaking body, eyes wide as he’s pulled up and up and up, staring into Dabi’s. Both are manic, flooded with memories, waiting for death.

Hawks wants to lean into the too-soft touch, scarred flesh singing under it all, the rest shaking. He reaches up, holding onto Dabi, desperately, and when his thumb plunges into the socket he can’t do anything but drop his mouth open, mimicking a scream. Nothing comes out. Small squeaks, between his throat tightening up, and his body trying to fall apart beneath him. He sees the flame rushing towards him through his other eye, and finally an adrenaline grips him like nothing he’s ever felt before.

Every feather still in tact comes rushing forth, pushing into Dabi’s body, past it, into his beasts, forcing them back. Hawks stumbles, almost falls, finding purchase against a wall and holding a violently shaking hand up to his desecrated eye.

And he runs.

He forces himself to push forward, as fast as he can, wings pathetically trying to flap and force him further forward behind him. He can barely see, remaining eye full of his own blood and tears, but it’s enough for him to start to wind through the streets, blood trailing behind him incessantly. He can’t stop, too afraid to even think about it, feeling weightless. There’s no pain, there’s nothing at all, and if he couldn’t see the ground beneath his feet he’d probably argue that it wasn’t even there.

@v-mystery

Every crack he hears–

Dabi stares into the scene, eyes only widening, maddening. Every crack and cry he hears is fucking music.

His fire rushes around, painting the walls blue and breaking, surrounding Hawks and the monsters that writhed at his side as they bleed from their gashes and twitch in paralytic jerks from their fall. Before his eyes, they start to heal, skin sewing itself anew before they start to rise up again, maws drooling as they lower themselves on their haunches, preparing to pounce.

They don’t get the chance to. The second Dabi sees that grin he’s rushing forward, boot slamming right into his mouth. He brings it down again after the first kick, grinding his head into the ground. Along his hair, his back, his leg, flames spring up, traveling fast downwards towards the leather of his boot, every piece of him agonizing for the moment he got to see the man below him charred into an ashen corpse.

His lips peel back as he returns his smile, face gnarling into an awful twisting shadow in the flickering lights. Then, he reaches down with a flaming hand and grabs hold of the closest wing, gripping hard as he starts to pull.

Everything is blue, it’s what Hell looks like.

He pays no mind to the monsters around him. They don’t matter, he knows that for a fact, the only monster that’s truly a threat to him, and a very, very, very big threat he is, is the one standing above him, slamming his boot into his mouth, making Hawks groan as he feels a tooth crack, bits of it falling onto his tongue with blood that gushes from his lip.

His head turns to spit before the second kick lands, pushing him further into the rough ground, forcing another gruff sound from him as he feels the pressure on his jaw ready to snap.

He spits more blood and bone, wide eyes dart to the flames rushing to his face, hand reaching up to take his ankle, but not before the flame reaches him, first devouring his hand and then searing into his face before he can pull it away, the damage already done. He doesn’t even have a piece of his mind to scream before the fire reaches a wing as well, holding it, ripping it, he feels feathers being eaten and finally wails, eyes rolling as it passes the flesh, the muscle, and his back bows, struggling to cope with the pressure being put on it. He yowls, reaching a hand out to pull himself away, undamaged eye staring wide at the gravel, and he’s going to die, he’s going to die, and all he can do is put up a fight and he’s going to die and they said they wouldn’t let this happen this shouldn’t be happening.

The left side of his face screams in agony with him, and he stares ahead, waiting. Needing. Begging.

#dabi #mystewy p-pwease save me im dying #- vhawks

Dabi’s eyes nearly glow with malignance. He watches blood splash away from him, dark spatters that only force the hate and adrenaline inside him into a rabid heat. All he cares about is having his corpse in front of him. How he gets it doesn’t matter.

Another beast joins the first, barreling into its body as it hangs from Hawks’ leg and clutching with ripping claws to its ally as it fights to get a taste of the villain. A third joins within seconds, diving from above, a monster with wings almost as ferocious as his own smashing into him with suicidal speed, knocking them all out of the air.

The mass falls, dropping bodily onto a roof below them. The three noumu do their best to snap and scratch at him in the seconds they have before his retaliation, their howls and yips loud in the night air. From below, Dabi skulks to the building, smacking a hand to its walls and sending fire scrambling up its surface, fully intent to crumble the whole thing and bring Hawks down to his level, if he can.

There’s no time to think before he’s caught again and being pulled from his footing with an angry yowl and then pushed hard, screaming when his back doesn’t hit the ground when he thinks it should, being cut off when he does. cracking reaches his ears, above the howls from the creatures surrounding him. Any air in his lungs is forced out by the ground rushing to meet him. He suffocates on it, trying desperately to breathe and failing, coughing and groaning at a dull pulsing in his back, one that rips into a scream of agony when he tries to move.

Hawks doesn’t move himself, his retaliation coming in the form of another wave of feathers pushing everything back, one successfully slicing through the throat of a noumu it caught. Feeling the blood rush over the small soft weapon makes him giggle weakly, head drifting back to watch the animal fall and bleed.

That’s all the revenge he gets before the buildings falling out below him and his still-functioning wing flutters to blunt the next fall, instead forcing him to land on his side and keen as something else breaks, right in front of Dabi, pouting and broody, so betrayed and hurt and offended and wronged and destroyed inside, with his poor little heart being broken again, and again, and again. Hawks grins.

v-hawks‌:

As soon as he disappears behind the wave of flames he’s soaring up to evade them, landing on top of a building while the world is blinded in dancing blue light, perching on the ledge. He’s ready to leap again as soon as he needs to, bouncing on his toes while he waits.

“Not exactly convincing me that you wanted to talk by tryin’ to fuckin kill me, y'know.” He shouts, mussing up his own hair, like it’d make much of a difference in how it looks. “You know, why don’t we talk? Lets talk about how much you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone. That’s why you’re so mad, right? You made the mistake of trusting another villain and you got fucked, that’s all there is to it. It’s your own damn fault, really, but thank you for the opportunity– it was really fun watching you run around in circles about how you felt about me. I’m glad we can complete that circle now, back to square one!” .

Hawks cackles again, head thrown back, pure ecstasy (adrenaline, terror, agony) ripping him open and leaving him vulnerable, and empty, and whole.

Dabi ignores him.

Or tries to.

He’s always had a rather sensitive heart. Didn’t matter how much the world tried to crush and bury it. It still showed sometimes, gleaming and flowing full with any bit of warm it could reach for. It still accumulated wounds that stung and bled, filling his sore and aching chest.

It’s distracting. With every word, his flames try and fight for more control, feeding on the agony he holds inside. He sways where he stands, touching his head like he’s got a headache, fire spreading until the entire limb is just a writhing mass of flame.

“… You need to learn when to shut up–”

The flames erupt forward, chasing up towards Hawks’ perch.

And that’s the thing, Dabi knows he’ll try and evade it. Will probably succeed too.

But that’s why he didn’t go on this hunt alone.

From behind him, a few of his noumu finish scrabbling onto the rooftop, claws scratching loud against the panels. They dart forward, drool flying from their teeth, trying to leap onto his back, one after another and then a third on top of that, smaller than all the others, all trying their best to scrabble and tear at his wings while they’re close.

“Ah–!” Hawks narrowly avoids a noumu’s claws digging into his flesh, jumping off of that roof to soar to another, eyes blown wide and keeping track of all of them as well as Dabi. They may have taken a couple of feathers with them, nothing that he couldn’t turn around a dig into their eyes, but otherwise he was unscathed.

“Gonna play dirty, Dabi…?” He yells, pouting from where he’s now standing. “Not nice..”

He sends 6 more feathers out, two for each noumu, to pierce their skin and slow them down. He’s fast enough himself, but the problem lies more in keeping track of all of them at once. As soon as he does he’s running to leap into the air again, finding a new place to perch, always on the move.

While he’s safe for a moment he looks around the area from his high view, frowning, looking for a moving black hole in one of the streets. It’s been too long. No matter how invincible he convinces himself that his partner is, he still knows that inside of their disguise they have to simply be human, hiding extraordinarily well, using that to their advantage to appear untouchable.

Dabi scoffs at the comment.

Of course he is.

He’s already at a disadvantage. Hardly five minutes into the fight and he’s already roasting, already in pain and fucking hurting over every inch of his skin. Why should it be fair?

After what he’d done. After he’d played with them, toyed with them, used them, worming himself in and doing whatever the fuck he wanted for all these months, for so fucking long. Was that fair?

Dabi stares him down, watching him fly and fight the noumu away from him. He doesn’t let him be safe. The second he spots him, he sends another wild torrent of flame soaring towards him, charring everything he touches.

“Where are you looking-?” he demands, just waiting, just daring him to take to the skies again so he could rip him right down again. Another pack of noumu scrabble to catch up to him and pounce as he continues to try and burn everything from the ground up, bystanders be damned. “Don’t tell me you’re looking for someone to save you-”

#mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm writing :)#dabi

Hawks gasps, feeling the loss of parts of his feathers as the flames catch the tips, recollecting any he’d lost inside the monsters pursuing him. A hand flits back to feel the burnt edges and he grimaces.

“Fuck off!” He shouts, playfulness failing, making way for a spitting rage. This is what he’d wanted, of course, one last little spar on his way out, one last kiss goodbye- sort of. Not like reality ever lived up to his ideals, but he’d try and try and try again until it did. Eventually it would have to.

Something catches his ankle and he growls, trying to kick it away and ending up with a deep gash, narrowly avoiding it being on his Achilles tendon.

“Control your damn dogs, Dabi!” Hawks snaps, “wouldn’t want them to kill me before you got the fucking chance!”

v-hawks‌:

As soon as he disappears behind the wave of flames he’s soaring up to evade them, landing on top of a building while the world is blinded in dancing blue light, perching on the ledge. He’s ready to leap again as soon as he needs to, bouncing on his toes while he waits.

“Not exactly convincing me that you wanted to talk by tryin’ to fuckin kill me, y'know.” He shouts, mussing up his own hair, like it’d make much of a difference in how it looks. “You know, why don’t we talk? Lets talk about how much you’re gonna miss me when I’m gone. That’s why you’re so mad, right? You made the mistake of trusting another villain and you got fucked, that’s all there is to it. It’s your own damn fault, really, but thank you for the opportunity– it was really fun watching you run around in circles about how you felt about me. I’m glad we can complete that circle now, back to square one!” .

Hawks cackles again, head thrown back, pure ecstasy (adrenaline, terror, agony) ripping him open and leaving him vulnerable, and empty, and whole.

Dabi ignores him.

Or tries to.

He’s always had a rather sensitive heart. Didn’t matter how much the world tried to crush and bury it. It still showed sometimes, gleaming and flowing full with any bit of warm it could reach for. It still accumulated wounds that stung and bled, filling his sore and aching chest.

It’s distracting. With every word, his flames try and fight for more control, feeding on the agony he holds inside. He sways where he stands, touching his head like he’s got a headache, fire spreading until the entire limb is just a writhing mass of flame.

“… You need to learn when to shut up–”

The flames erupt forward, chasing up towards Hawks’ perch.

And that’s the thing, Dabi knows he’ll try and evade it. Will probably succeed too.

But that’s why he didn’t go on this hunt alone.

From behind him, a few of his noumu finish scrabbling onto the rooftop, claws scratching loud against the panels. They dart forward, drool flying from their teeth, trying to leap onto his back, one after another and then a third on top of that, smaller than all the others, all trying their best to scrabble and tear at his wings while they’re close.

“Ah--!” Hawks narrowly avoids a noumu’s claws digging into his flesh, jumping off of that roof to soar to another, eyes blown wide and keeping track of all of them as well as Dabi. They may have taken a couple of feathers with them, nothing that he couldn’t turn around a dig into their eyes, but otherwise he was unscathed.

“Gonna play dirty, Dabi...?” He yells, pouting from where he’s now standing. “Not nice..”

He sends 6 more feathers out, two for each noumu, to pierce their skin and slow them down. He’s fast enough himself, but the problem lies more in keeping track of all of them at once. As soon as he does he’s running to leap into the air again, finding a new place to perch, always on the move.

While he’s safe for a moment he looks around the area from his high view, frowning, looking for a moving black hole in one of the streets. It’s been too long. No matter how invincible he convinces himself that his partner is, he still knows that inside of their disguise they have to simply be human, hiding extraordinarily well, using that to their advantage to appear untouchable.

villian-hawks

-Climbs into inbox with a sign that says "Are you my mother?"-

If anyone is your mother its Dabi. He would be the one that gave birth to you

What the fuck

#art #// THATS my boy... thats my fucking B O Y baby!

can’t believe the great dabi gave birth to this lil fuckin worm.

#lol.

dear-hunters

POV: you’re the last chicken nugget in the box

v-hawks‌:

Watching the blue flames flicker from afar is terrifying. His heart races. His grin grows. He laughs manically at it, as Dabi approaches, looks up at him, fire still eating at him. Hawks can’t even see him through the flames, the centers burning their silhouettes into his eyes, reminding him of the light every time they twitch, blinding him with blue flame-shaped spots in his vision. He laughs. He can’t do anything but laugh.

Dabi talks to him, and he cackles, nails digging at the rusting metal, clawing at them hopelessly.

“What, so you can kill me?” He spits venom a harsh contrast to his amusement. “Fat fucking chance. When have you ever wanted to have a conversation in your fucking life.”

His wings spread to their full width, large and threatening. It isn’t a human reaction, it’s animalistic, the need to become larger than his enemy so they run away from the threat of being trampled upon.

Dabi isn’t a mouse though. He won’t be running away from the hawk anytime soon.

“All you wanna do is fuck and kill, don’t bullshit me.”

“Like you’re not trying to fuck yourself into an early grave…”

Dabi grits his teeth. Every word comes out tasting like smog and blood, a coppery, charcoal sludge building in the back of his throat. The fire on his skin burns hotter, spreads faster, twists into a sharper flame that bites and gnaws through already broken flesh. He takes another step and it spreads, skittering across concrete like it was alive and reaching forward.

Slowly, he raises his eyes to Hawks’ wings. His fingers itch to tear them apart and incinerate every feather until there was nothing left but bloody, aching bone. Something wretched and twisted, a little closer to how he feels inside after what he’s done.

He outstretches his hand without another word about it all, suddenly sending a torrent of flame hurtling in Hawks’ direction.

As soon as he disappears behind the wave of flames he's soaring up to evade them, landing on top of a building while the world is blinded in dancing blue light, perching on the ledge. He's ready to leap again as soon as he needs to, bouncing on his toes while he waits.

"Not exactly convincing me that you wanted to talk by tryin' to fuckin kill me, y'know." He shouts, mussing up his own hair, like it'd make much of a difference in how it looks. "You know, why don't we talk? Lets talk about how much you're gonna miss me when I'm gone. That's why you're so mad, right? You made the mistake of trusting another villain and you got fucked, that's all there is to it. It's your own damn fault, really, but thank you for the opportunity-- it was really fun watching you run around in circles about how you felt about me. I'm glad we can complete that circle now, back to square one!" .

Hawks cackles again, head thrown back, pure ecstasy (adrenaline, terror, agony) ripping him open and leaving him vulnerable, and empty, and whole.

His monsters bound forward again, panting louder, moaning and keening and gnashing their teeth in excitement. When they race back to him, they mindlessly try and urge him forward faster, trying to tug forth his usual sadism. He only sends a sudden torrent of fire at them in response, chasing them off towards their prey again, grimacing as the street suddenly lights up with a bright, violent blue.

“…”

He places his hand against a wall, watches another bolt of sapphire suddenly race from his fingers up across the side of the building, leaving a roaring scar of flames.

“…”

He’s always been shit at holding it all in. Dabi continues on, more and more fire slowly eating its way free from his skin. By the time he lands on his street and sees his pets frantically dart forth towards the winged silhouette above them, the flames have climbed down the length of his arms and up the back of his neck, sneaking up through the black tufts of his hair.

Dabi stops a few feet away from the lamppost, staring up at Hawks, unimpressed. “Come down,” he replies, his voice its usual dead monotone. “Let’s talk a while.”

Watching the blue flames flicker from afar is terrifying. His heart races. His grin grows. He laughs manically at it, as Dabi approaches, looks up at him, fire still eating at him. Hawks can’t even see him through the flames, the centers burning their silhouettes into his eyes, reminding him of the light every time they twitch, blinding him with blue flame-shaped spots in his vision. He laughs. He can’t do anything but laugh.

Dabi talks to him, and he cackles, nails digging at the rusting metal, clawing at them hopelessly.

“What, so you can kill me?” He spits venom a harsh contrast to his amusement. “Fat fucking chance. When have you ever wanted to have a conversation in your fucking life.”

His wings spread to their full width, large and threatening. It isn’t a human reaction, it’s animalistic, the need to become larger than his enemy so they run away from the threat of being trampled upon.

Dabi isn’t a mouse though. He won’t be running away from the hawk anytime soon.

“All you wanna do is fuck and kill, don’t bullshit me.”

#wow i wasnt gonna write this 3 days ago or anything haha whaaaat...#dabi

v-dabi

He’s sick of this.

Hunting like this. It makes him feel sick. Feeling like this. It makes him want to fucking puke. He feels he can hardly stand without bursting to flames. He can hardly breathe without a raging inferno threatening to swallow him up.

It reminds him too much of that. And he hates it. Having this sort of thing living and festering inside of him. Any of this.

He hates all of this.

Fuck.

He can’t think past the anger. It feels like a plague, with the only possible cure being the sight of Hawks’ ashes smeared into a shitty stain across the concrete. It’s all he can think about. It’s the only thing that keeps him from falling apart right there and then into nothing but a wild and endless scream.

“…”

The noumu rush ahead of him before returning to his side as he’s lead down the streets, closer and closer to his target for the night. They bound forward like dogs, drooling and panting into the night, hungry for the kill. Dabi himself feels like he’s starving for it. It’s a miserable feeling.

He just can’t wait for this to be finally fucking over.

Oh.

He wants to laugh. He feels them. They’re getting close. It’s like he can hear him, taste him, the smoke and ash, the death he carries on his hands. He’s next, Hawks knows. He’s next.

There’s more with him, too. Dabi’s pets. They’ll be easier to avoid, hell, if he’s lucky he’ll discard them entirely. They’re stupid, but brutal.

Regardless, he stretches his wings to fly, soaring up and around the lamp before he lands, perched comfortably, flickering light illuminating him for milliseconds at a time and then covering him in the dark again, repeating endlessly.

#dabi #rip...

Hawks wanders to the only place that feels right

Sometimes it feels like he never leaves.

The light will never be replaced. This place is too cursed. He’s watched it, over the year, the months, go out more and more, for longer and longer. It’s on its last leg, he can tell. Threatening to curtain this street in darkness, let the red on the streets fade to black, let passerby’s have the illusion of paranoia. Let them think the danger lurking isn’t real.

It’s also an obvious place. He’ll be found. It’s only a matter of how quickly.

His wings twitch and arch behind him, waiting to feel something that isn’t the breeze.

@v-dabi

ahahhh...

#everyone hates me noooow...#hahahahaa... wish i could've gotten.#..#....#something better #hawks.txt

av-shinsou

v-mystery‌:

Very greedy.

So very greedy.

Under the mask, Mystery almost starts to beam.

“Then they’re all yours.”

The lid is returned to the box. The box is tucked into a pocket, careful hands nudging at his clothes until they find a place for it. Then, they start to stroke his hair, much like one would a kitten.

“I’ve called an ambulance for you. It should be arriving soon. To save you.”

They pluck a lock of his hair free and put it inside a small plastic bag.

“If you aren’t stabilized by the time you’re brought to the hospital, please feel free to stay the night. Don’t let them identify you, though it’s not the end of the world if they do.”

They pluck another lock of his hair free and put it inside a small plastic bag.

“Are you able to control multiple people at once yet? If not, that is fine.”

They pluck another lock of his hair free.

“Please order anyone you’re seen by tonight to kill themselves an hour after coming in contact with you. If you can only do it one at a time, make them do it promptly after. Oh-”

They pluck another lock of his hair free.

“I almost forgot.”

They pluck another lock of his hair free.

“I have an insignia.

Have each victim carve it into themselves beforehand.”

They put the remaining samples in their bag and start to seal it, tucking it away.

“For every vial you’ve taken, I’d like to meet with you in person. I think this is all very fair, no?”

Hitoshi tries to keep from flinching away from their hand, features scrunching up at the action and giving a little twitch each time they pluck out a strand of his hair. He tries to focus on the orders they give him, the information that they feed to him.

“What… does it look like?” He asks, starts with something simple as he tries to fidget, his binds just adding to the current mess of sensations he’s being forced to experience.

He needs to figure out how to make them carve into themselves without breaking out from the control of his quirk.

How the hell can he do that? How does he… pain killers? Would that dull the senses enough? But how would he force them to…

He tries to focus back in on the figure, the flurry of his thoughts almost distracting him enough for him to miss on the last thing they told him.

For every vial…

He does not dare disagree with this offer, so painfully aware that at any moment, he could say or do something and it would not end well for him. He is not in a position to refuse anything and he reminds himself that he must be mindful of this.

“Of course…” He breathes, heart pounding a mile a minute in his chest, the sound of it echoing in his ears. “Of course.”

They pause.

A brief, violent annoyance curdles their mood.

Without answering aloud, they dip a finger into the drying blood around them. Where it lays the thinnest on the ground, already drying into a dark paste. They draw a four-pointed star, then another, then another; the largest of the three, the leader of a pack of followers.

They consider their wants, for a moment. The time. Their threat. A promise, perhaps, to return to it later. Yes.

Later.

For now, they only pet through their hair once more before they readjust his blindfold for him, allowing it to cover his eyes once again.

“Good.”

They readjust his gag, pressing it back into place within his mouth.

“Good boy.”

One last pet. The image of a needle and thread nags at them.

“Play the victim. If it weren’t for how convenient it is for you to be found like this, I’d let you go myself. It’s a shame you were damaged so. I like to avoid hurting the ones I like more than absolutely necessary.”

With that, they rise, gaze still boring down with satisfaction.

“Do be careful with yourself, Shinsou Hitoshi-kun. I don’t want to have to fix you every time we see each other.”

But they will. And they will delight in it, as they always do.

A siren starts to sound out from far away, the wail of an ambulance rushing to approach.

Mystery takes it as their cue, turning on their heel without another glance. At the end of the ramp, they pause again, suddenly almost curious.

“… Goodnight.”

They disappear into the dark.

Always so generous.

Hawks listens. Waits. He’s calmer than he thought he’d be.

When he hears the siren ringing he disappears. He wants to be out of sight. Needs to wait until the ambulance won’t see them.

He’s sure Mystery would appreciate that as well. As much as they can. Anxiety, and need, claws at his chest, keep him in the area. He trails along the edge of buildings until he can’t anymore, taking off and flying low.

Eventually, he falls from the sky. Lands gracefully next to his companion.

His wings bat, and stretch, and lower, adjusting to the sudden change as they had a million times.

“Sorry I went overboard.” He murmurs, though it isn’t shameful in the least. “I get caught up in these things.”

“Did you go overboard?”

It’s a different smile that they wear on their face now. Not that it matters.

“I thought it went perfectly.”

They raise a hand and bring it to a single strand of his hair, cradling it against his finger. They brush it back. The motion transitions into a sort of caress, gentle as it grazes along his skin.

They touch his cheek.

“… It has been a while, hasn’t it.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, smiling gently.

“It has…” He agrees, nodding and leaning into the touch on his cheek. His eyes close. “It’s been too long.”

This is bliss, he thinks.

His hand moves to take theirs, although it’s painful to pull it away from where it rests on his face. He draws it forward to press a kiss to their knuckles.

“… You told me to talk to you after you were done,” a smirk plays on his face, “did you have something to say, or did you just miss me?”

After allowing the kiss to their knuckles, they begin to trace the shape of his lips with a finger.

“Which answer would make you happier?”

Their hand travels next to just under his chin, lifting it up and turning his face slightly from side to side. It’s an inspection, albeit a casually performed one.

“What would you have me say?”

Their hand returns to his hair, petting him, the motion slowing and slowing before their fingers curl into a careful grip around the strands. Using that grip, they crane his head back an inch, staring down into his eyes from the other side of their mask.

“What do you want out of this…?”

His smile never leaves, even as they inspect him, and move him, and make themselves so much bigger than he is.

“You.” He answers. “And whatever you wanna give me. I don’t care.”

Their stare pierces through the mask. It makes his chest fill and hollow and fill. All at once, a daze hits him, and he laughs. Searching for their eyes, he leans in slightly, reaches out to put a hand to their chest.

“I’m just happy to see you. Really. If you wanna, like, stab me and leave I’d still be happy. I just like it when you tell the truth.”

Their covered body buzzes under his touch.

“Careful, sweet. You’ll tempt me.”

The hand not in their hair returns to Hawks’ lips, tapping against them in a slower caress. Then, they travel slow, down his throat, following the line of his body until they were thoughtfully meeting the base of Hawks’ wings. They touch the small feathers there as delicately as they can manage, like they were using them to read through a strange, foreign language.

“If you’d like,” they murmur, voice lowering with curiosity. “Hand me one of your feathers.”

His wings twitch and flair under the delicate touch, and a sigh comes with it, light and content. The hand on them presses closer, holding the fabric and playing with it affectionately.

“Love it when you touch my wings,” he mutters, free hand held out for a feather to fly into so he can hand it over. “Always so sweet… eager to please…”

After examining it, he rests the feather in their hand without taking away his own. He holds them there together. An easy smile turns into pressed lips.

“I am coming back soon,” he holds tighter. “I want to help you.”

Their movements slow to a stop as Hawks speaks.

Easy to please.

There’s a pause, tinged with bitterness. It’s another poisoning of their mood that they brush off with more difficulty than the first poisoning of the night.

Their next thought is about flaying.

The man in front of them. Themselves.

They ponder the thought as Hawks moves to gift them with a feather. Hawks doesn’t seem to want to let them go as Mystery waits, thinking about how first to test the blade and where to cut. The relief of searing away black fabric and gauze and slicing skin away from the bloody pulp of the flesh, again and again until there’s nothing left but raw and juicy meat. Removing every blemish, affixing a new skin.

Hawks is speaking, tightening his grip around their hand.

They hum faintly, considering the words.

“You’ve mentioned,” they reply. “And you do help me.”

As they speak, they turn the feather in their hand despite his grip, moving enough to press their thumb into the edge of it, feeling it through the leather. Waiting to cut.

“Does it matter where…?”

Hawks lets them go.

He makes sure the blades as sharp as he can make it. Able to cut through anything. Is heart jumps at the thought of it going through him.

“Not really,” he breathes, watching their hands, anticipation rising to a peak. “Make it last.”

They take a moment to reveal in the perfection of this moment.

One hand moves to cradle the back of Hawks’ head, holding him in place. The fingers curl into the strands, holding tight and secure.

The other hand rolls the blade in their grip once, then places it at his throat.

They pause, waiting and watching him.

“You were so scared the first time.”

They move the blade to his stomach.

“But you’re not scared now, are you?”

They toy with the point, positioning it delicately, pressing it in. Not enough to puncture, just barely enough to feel.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

They move the blade. To his wing. They hold it at the base like they mean to saw it clean off.

“You know… you might just be one of my proudest achievements.”

The blade moves. It lowers and settles into a spot on his back, below his ribs. Under the mask, they start to smile, holding to his hair tight, pulling him to their body in a possessive embrace.

“I love you so much.”

They stab the blade into him, deep and slow, savoring every bloody second.

Every touch of the blade has him suppressing a shudder. He feels every vein, every artery, every organ in his body working, and he knows he’s working against it. Begging for it to stop.

He chokes.

And grins.

And leans into them.

His arms wrap around them, and he laughs. It’s painful, moving at all, pushing the blade further in with the jerks and the breaths and then feeling it pull out, tearing at his insides. His eyes roll, erotic and agonized.

“I love you…” He breathes, “I’ve gotten better.. I’m better now…” Between breaths, words, syllables, he’s hissing, clinging tighter. “You made me better…”

With a whimper, he presses kisses wherever he can reach. “Thank you…”

“No…”

They’ve wanted to do this very thing for so long. “Thank you.”

Slowly, they exhale. Every muscle in their body holds taunt, forcing away shudders and writhes of delight. They keep themselves calm. Impassive. Dutiful. Clinical.

Everything they aren’t inside.

They tug the blade free. Then, immediately, they jut it back inside his body again.

They exhale, again. They pull the blade out. They thrust it back in. They withdraw it, again.

An intimate rhythm. One that makes their heart race in their chest.

They pause, holding Hawks more securely. Words fail at first, too choked, too roused to be allowed to escape them now. Gestures fail as well, all capacity blocked away by layers and layers of black.

It’s all so dangerous.

Their skin itches.

“I’m stopping now,” they finally announce, more for themselves than for him. “Let’s not get too ‘caught up’ in this, too.”

They keep holding on to him, though, feeling his blood trickle and leak down their pressed together bodies.

There’s undeniable beauty in having your own body used against you, over and over, Hawks cries with each pass of the blade into his skin, through his muscle. It’s better than he could have imagined, (somewhere, in his mind, he wonders: is this right? Is this what he wants? Is this love?) another shout rips his throat.

It’s safe, where he is. In their arms. It’s home, and haven.

It always has been.

...

Bleary eyes struggle to keep open. An ache sets in, and then unimaginable pain, and the only thing keeping him up is his grip on them.

He could die right now and be happy.

Relieved.

Is that right?

“.. S-sorry..” He gasps the words out between labored breaths, “I can’t get home like this..”

#mystery

av-shinsou

v-mystery‌:

Very greedy.

So very greedy.

Under the mask, Mystery almost starts to beam.

“Then they’re all yours.”

The lid is returned to the box. The box is tucked into a pocket, careful hands nudging at his clothes until they find a place for it. Then, they start to stroke his hair, much like one would a kitten.

“I’ve called an ambulance for you. It should be arriving soon. To save you.”

They pluck a lock of his hair free and put it inside a small plastic bag.

“If you aren’t stabilized by the time you’re brought to the hospital, please feel free to stay the night. Don’t let them identify you, though it’s not the end of the world if they do.”

They pluck another lock of his hair free and put it inside a small plastic bag.

“Are you able to control multiple people at once yet? If not, that is fine.”

They pluck another lock of his hair free.

“Please order anyone you’re seen by tonight to kill themselves an hour after coming in contact with you. If you can only do it one at a time, make them do it promptly after. Oh-”

They pluck another lock of his hair free.

“I almost forgot.”

They pluck another lock of his hair free.

“I have an insignia.

Have each victim carve it into themselves beforehand.”

They put the remaining samples in their bag and start to seal it, tucking it away.

“For every vial you’ve taken, I’d like to meet with you in person. I think this is all very fair, no?”

Hitoshi tries to keep from flinching away from their hand, features scrunching up at the action and giving a little twitch each time they pluck out a strand of his hair. He tries to focus on the orders they give him, the information that they feed to him.

“What… does it look like?” He asks, starts with something simple as he tries to fidget, his binds just adding to the current mess of sensations he’s being forced to experience.

He needs to figure out how to make them carve into themselves without breaking out from the control of his quirk.

How the hell can he do that? How does he… pain killers? Would that dull the senses enough? But how would he force them to…

He tries to focus back in on the figure, the flurry of his thoughts almost distracting him enough for him to miss on the last thing they told him.

For every vial…

He does not dare disagree with this offer, so painfully aware that at any moment, he could say or do something and it would not end well for him. He is not in a position to refuse anything and he reminds himself that he must be mindful of this.

“Of course…” He breathes, heart pounding a mile a minute in his chest, the sound of it echoing in his ears. “Of course.”

They pause.

A brief, violent annoyance curdles their mood.

Without answering aloud, they dip a finger into the drying blood around them. Where it lays the thinnest on the ground, already drying into a dark paste. They draw a four-pointed star, then another, then another; the largest of the three, the leader of a pack of followers.

They consider their wants, for a moment. The time. Their threat. A promise, perhaps, to return to it later. Yes.

Later.

For now, they only pet through their hair once more before they readjust his blindfold for him, allowing it to cover his eyes once again.

“Good.”

They readjust his gag, pressing it back into place within his mouth.

“Good boy.”

One last pet. The image of a needle and thread nags at them.

“Play the victim. If it weren’t for how convenient it is for you to be found like this, I’d let you go myself. It’s a shame you were damaged so. I like to avoid hurting the ones I like more than absolutely necessary.”

With that, they rise, gaze still boring down with satisfaction.

“Do be careful with yourself, Shinsou Hitoshi-kun. I don’t want to have to fix you every time we see each other.”

But they will. And they will delight in it, as they always do.

A siren starts to sound out from far away, the wail of an ambulance rushing to approach.

Mystery takes it as their cue, turning on their heel without another glance. At the end of the ramp, they pause again, suddenly almost curious.

“… Goodnight.”

They disappear into the dark.

Always so generous.

Hawks listens. Waits. He’s calmer than he thought he’d be.

When he hears the siren ringing he disappears. He wants to be out of sight. Needs to wait until the ambulance won’t see them.

He’s sure Mystery would appreciate that as well. As much as they can. Anxiety, and need, claws at his chest, keep him in the area. He trails along the edge of buildings until he can’t anymore, taking off and flying low.

Eventually, he falls from the sky. Lands gracefully next to his companion.

His wings bat, and stretch, and lower, adjusting to the sudden change as they had a million times.

“Sorry I went overboard.” He murmurs, though it isn’t shameful in the least. “I get caught up in these things.”

“Did you go overboard?”

It’s a different smile that they wear on their face now. Not that it matters.

“I thought it went perfectly.”

They raise a hand and bring it to a single strand of his hair, cradling it against his finger. They brush it back. The motion transitions into a sort of caress, gentle as it grazes along his skin.

They touch his cheek.

“… It has been a while, hasn’t it.”

He breathes a sigh of relief, smiling gently.

“It has…” He agrees, nodding and leaning into the touch on his cheek. His eyes close. “It’s been too long.”

This is bliss, he thinks.

His hand moves to take theirs, although it’s painful to pull it away from where it rests on his face. He draws it forward to press a kiss to their knuckles.

“… You told me to talk to you after you were done,” a smirk plays on his face, “did you have something to say, or did you just miss me?”

After allowing the kiss to their knuckles, they begin to trace the shape of his lips with a finger.

“Which answer would make you happier?”

Their hand travels next to just under his chin, lifting it up and turning his face slightly from side to side. It’s an inspection, albeit a casually performed one.

“What would you have me say?”

Their hand returns to his hair, petting him, the motion slowing and slowing before their fingers curl into a careful grip around the strands. Using that grip, they crane his head back an inch, staring down into his eyes from the other side of their mask.

“What do you want out of this…?”

His smile never leaves, even as they inspect him, and move him, and make themselves so much bigger than he is.

“You.” He answers. “And whatever you wanna give me. I don’t care.”

Their stare pierces through the mask. It makes his chest fill and hollow and fill. All at once, a daze hits him, and he laughs. Searching for their eyes, he leans in slightly, reaches out to put a hand to their chest.

“I’m just happy to see you. Really. If you wanna, like, stab me and leave I’d still be happy. I just like it when you tell the truth.”

Their covered body buzzes under his touch.

“Careful, sweet. You’ll tempt me.”

The hand not in their hair returns to Hawks’ lips, tapping against them in a slower caress. Then, they travel slow, down his throat, following the line of his body until they were thoughtfully meeting the base of Hawks’ wings. They touch the small feathers there as delicately as they can manage, like they were using them to read through a strange, foreign language.

“If you’d like,” they murmur, voice lowering with curiosity. “Hand me one of your feathers.”

His wings twitch and flair under the delicate touch, and a sigh comes with it, light and content. The hand on them presses closer, holding the fabric and playing with it affectionately.

“Love it when you touch my wings,” he mutters, free hand held out for a feather to fly into so he can hand it over. “Always so sweet… eager to please…”

After examining it, he rests the feather in their hand without taking away his own. He holds them there together. An easy smile turns into pressed lips.

“I am coming back soon,” he holds tighter. “I want to help you.”

Their movements slow to a stop as Hawks speaks.

Easy to please.

There’s a pause, tinged with bitterness. It’s another poisoning of their mood that they brush off with more difficulty than the first poisoning of the night.

Their next thought is about flaying.

The man in front of them. Themselves.

They ponder the thought as Hawks moves to gift them with a feather. Hawks doesn’t seem to want to let them go as Mystery waits, thinking about how first to test the blade and where to cut. The relief of searing away black fabric and gauze and slicing skin away from the bloody pulp of the flesh, again and again until there’s nothing left but raw and juicy meat. Removing every blemish, affixing a new skin.

Hawks is speaking, tightening his grip around their hand.

They hum faintly, considering the words.

“You’ve mentioned,” they reply. “And you do help me.”

As they speak, they turn the feather in their hand despite his grip, moving enough to press their thumb into the edge of it, feeling it through the leather. Waiting to cut.

“Does it matter where…?”

Hawks lets them go.

He makes sure the blades as sharp as he can make it. Able to cut through anything. Is heart jumps at the thought of it going through him.

“Not really,” he breathes, watching their hands, anticipation rising to a peak. “Make it last.”

They take a moment to reveal in the perfection of this moment.

One hand moves to cradle the back of Hawks’ head, holding him in place. The fingers curl into the strands, holding tight and secure.

The other hand rolls the blade in their grip once, then places it at his throat.

They pause, waiting and watching him.

“You were so scared the first time.”

They move the blade to his stomach.

“But you’re not scared now, are you?”

They toy with the point, positioning it delicately, pressing it in. Not enough to puncture, just barely enough to feel.

“You’re so beautiful like this.”

They move the blade. To his wing. They hold it at the base like they mean to saw it clean off.

“You know… you might just be one of my proudest achievements.”

The blade moves. It lowers and settles into a spot on his back, below his ribs. Under the mask, they start to smile, holding to his hair tight, pulling him to their body in a possessive embrace.

“I love you so much.”

They stab the blade into him, deep and slow, savoring every bloody second.