my paperfics

The Like Letter

So. I’m in Bakushima/Kiribaku/WHATEVER-YOU-WANT-TO-CALL-IT (Bakugo x Kirishima from Boku no Hero Academia) hell. And the moment I saw this beautiful picture @siij made (who was also sweet enough to provide the version of it in the fic below), I knew how to break into writing this ship. It is a good ship. I love them.

Cut is for length, not for content.

“What the fuck is this shit?”

Kirishima jumped as he woke up from where he had been dozing on his bed. Bakugo stood over him, waving pieces of paper in his general direction, his cheeks pink around glaring red eyes. At first, Kirishima’s still-sleepy brain thought he was shaking a poor grade at him - no, that wouldn’t make sense, Bakugo didn’t get marks like that. Maybe it was one of Kirishima’s tests?

Then, when he rubbed his eyes, it all started to come into focus. Terrifying, horrible, stomach-twisting clarity.

His handwriting.

A crude little doodle of Bakugo, complete with a huge, angry scowl, spiky hair and a heart.

No way. No way could it be the same… Kirishima’s hands darted in every direction around him, hoping that maybe his heart rate would slow back down once he got a hold of the letters he had been writing before he nodded off. Nothing. Gone. All gone.

No, not gone. They had somehow gotten from the mattress to Bakugo’s room and…ugh, Kaminari. Of course. Not that he would immediately accuse him, but it was hard not to when he tiptoed out of the room behind Bakugo’s back, giving Kirishima a huge smile and two thumbs up. ‘You got this, bro,’ he mouthed, closing the door. Got this?! Kirishima didn’t even have a shirt on! This was the furthest from ‘got this’ you could get!

“Don’t fucking ignore me!”

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Your Smile

When I saw this picture of Bakugou, I was hit with such feels and I was like, “There is no way Kirishima doesn’t have a copy of it.” And that’s how this fic came to be.

Cut is for length, not for content.

“Give me my wallet back!”

Kaminari dodged as Kirishima came leaping in, trying to get at the leather bifold in his one hand while Kaminari’s other was digging into his pocket. “Hang on, let me take just one picture…”

“No!” Kirishima’s teeth ground together so tight that he could feel his quirk activating along his jawline. “I swear, Kaminari, if you text that to anyone–”

All Kaminari wanted to do was borrow a dollar, and now Kirishima wished he had told him to starve. Not that he ever would have; Kirishima was notorious for helping his classmates out when they were short on lunch money. And instead of taking the money out and handing it to him, he let Kaminari rifle through it himself, and…well, here they were now.

Then, a tiny detail sparked in Kirishima’s memory. “Don’t send it to the group chat, Kaminari!”

“What? Why?” He paused to reply, his eyes a little wider, and Kirishima snatched the phone and wallet out of his hands. Of course the chat window was open on the screen. And in it, the slightly-blurred but still very distinguishable photograph of the contents of Kirishima’s wallet.

Kirishima’s wallet, which contained his UA identification card, hero license, one emergency credit card, his bank account card, a few dollars of cash, a trading card of Crimson Riot from when he was a kid, and, finally: one picture cut out of a local hero magazine from several years ago, with a crease along the top and a bit of white scuffing around the edge.

It was a photo of Bakugou. Bakugou, smiling in the most dazzling way that didn’t specifically look like he was about to kill someone, dressed in his school uniform (without the tie, of course, although a few more buttons open than Kirishima had thought would or should be allowed), and one hand raised to push back the hair at the side of his head. It looked like he had been glaring before some amazing genius had said something to make him laugh and had caught the moment before Bakugou could raise his defenses again.

Nobody typed anything.



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I Will Cover You

My first Dream Daddy fic. I am officially in Smallmarch (Robert Small/Damien Bloodmarch) hell. No regrets. And of course my first foray is angst and fluff. A killer combination. Robert tries his best to take care of Damien after surgery. 

Cut for length, not for content, though do be aware that this fic depicts post-top surgery.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“If I had a dollar for everytime someone answered a door and said that to my face…anyway, yes. It’s me. Where’s your dad?”

Robert wished for a second that his hands weren’t full, a loaded grocery bag in one and an unopened bottle in the other. Otherwise, he could have just pushed past Lucien and gotten into the house. Instead, he had to play this whole game of Purposeful Small Talk. Which he hated almost as much as Pointless Small Talk.

“Isn’t it Goth Night at Jim and Kim’s? Maybe you should try there.”

“The closest thing Jim and Kim’s has to ‘Goth Night’ is ‘Dark Sullen Drunk Night,’ and since I’m not there, that’s not happening. Move it.”

Lucien didn’t budge, instead raising a perfectly lined brow at the whiskey in Robert’s hand. “You do actually know that he can’t drink right now, right?”

He didn’t. “So? This is for me.”


“Look, Lucy. This can go one of two ways. You can move out of my way, or I can come back armed with a fully-loaded Betsy. Your call.”

“Did you just threaten my life so you can hang out with my dad?”

“Maybe.” Really, it was more a threat on his allergies, but…whatever it took.

Lucien smiled, and moved aside with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Impressive. You may enter.”

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Do You Know Me?

Oh man. I’m hooked (HAHAHA…sorry). I wrote some Sidon x Link. Because I am weak for that stupid sweet sharkboy. This one is for @cinensis, who is aboard this ship with me and as thanks for his awesome support. ENJOY.

All fluff - cut for length, not for content.

Originally posted by potionxshop

Link wakes up sweating and panting, the silken seaplant sheets a tangle around him. It’s hard to tell if he has made any sort of noise in his sleep, but his throat feels rough, like he’s been inhaling small pieces of rock. The private bedchamber Prince Sidon gave him is in one of the towers overlooking the square below, where he can see the profile of Mipha’s statue from the balcony, past the gossamer curtains.

“Once this whole thing is over maybe things can go back to how they used to be when we were young.”

That’s what she had said, in the memory he had had, and perhaps that should have given him some comfort, but…he had seen her again in his dream, and her image shattered into a thousand fragments. There was chaos and screaming, pain and darkness, and then…he had awoken before there was anything more.

Sleep is the worst time for Link. Sleep, when he can’t tell where pieces of memories end and the tricks of a broken mind take over.

Link rises and puts on his simple tunic - leaving the Zora Armor neatly on the chest where he had placed it after trying it on (even the perfect fit had frustrated him, though he did not show it) - and wanders out, down the stairs to the Domain sprawling below. He knows that on the morrow, he will be called to fight the monster plaguing them, once again take on the mantle of the Champion of Hyrule, and…

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McHanzo Week: Day 6 - Domestic Life

McCree-Shimada House Rules 

See if you can guess who wrote which ones…

  • Noodles should not be encouraged to sleep in the bed. They have their own bed. That bed can be, in certain circumstances, Jesse’s nightshirt.
  • The Great Shimada Dragons should not be referred to as ‘noodles’ as much as possible. Some exceptions will be allowed.
  • Hanzo may not go grocery shopping while hungry. Not only because he is prone to ‘impulse purchases,’ but also because he is very mean when he is ‘hangry.’
  • Jesse can enter the kitchen for cleaning purposes, but any elaborate cooking plan must be supervised.
  • Hanzo can enter the bathroom for cleaning purposes, but has to clean the sink because his ‘meticulous grooming process’ leaves so much hair everywhere, how is it even possible.
  • The mat directly at the front door is not the appropriate place to leave cowboy boots.
  • Sonic arrows are not a better alternative to finding where each other is. Get up and look and stop leaving holes in the walls.
  • It is rude for one to throw their prosthetic limb when asked if they can ‘lend a hand’ on a given chore.
  • It’s even more rude to refuse to give back one’s prosthetic limb after a well-executed hand joke.
  • Both parties will never end the evening angry, even if they both must remain awake for some time to handle a disagreement.
  • Make-up sex is extremely encouraged, please and thank you.
Slow Jobs

It’s McHanzo and it’s fluffy as hell, y’all. Co-starring Extra Hanzo, who is always extra for his boi.

Originally posted by sanshodelaine

Hanzo sat on the edge of the building, his bow at the ready, glowering down into the alley below. The radio in his ear had been silent for two hours without any update on the suspected gang that was supposed to be moving into the area. And given that he had been on on patrol for two hours on top of that before…well. He was starting to suspect that something had gone awry.

Then, a blur in his peripheral, and in one flowing motion like water rushing down a river, he rolled from his perch, pulled an arrow, cocked it back and just barely flicked his wrist so it landed solidly into the wall next to the figure’s head. Because in that last moment, he recognized that face, that grin, that hat.

“Whoa, darlin’! It’s just me!”

“Jesse,” the archer growled with a shaking breath, the burst of energy still thrumming beneath his surface and making his lip curl. “I have told you not to approach me that way when we are on a mission.”

“Seem to recall ya also didn’t want me doin’ it to ya when you were in the shower, too,” the cowboy joked, his cybernetic hand reaching out to yank the arrow from where it had imbedded itself.

“You should break that habit of foolishly gambling with your life.” Hanzo reached out to take the arrow, but Jesse McCree, King of Opportunity, held on, so when he pulled, his whole body came with it.

“I ain’t scared of you, sugar,” he crooned, his other hand going to Hanzo’s waist.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on the ground team?” Hanzo asked, quirking a disapproving eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, but I snuck away. Nothin’ happenin’ anyway. And I can be real quick, so…figured I’d come up here. Keep ya company ‘til somethin’ actually happens.” This close, Hanzo could feel the brim of Jesse’s hat settled on top of his head. “C’mon. Didn’t ya miss me a lil’?”

“It has only been a few hours, Jesse.”

“That’s months in dragon years, right?”

Hanzo finally had to smile at that, a short snort coming out of his nose before he could stop it. “Impossible man.”

“There it is,” Jesse said quietly, stroking the sharp angle of Hanzo’s jaw with his thumb, making it sound like he had won some kind of prize. “I like makin’ ya smile, Hanzo.”

“Hmph.” Hanzo took gentle hold of Jesse’s red scarf and pulled him down where he could kiss him properly, enjoying worn yet soft lips, his hair just slightly tickling his nose. When Jesse’s arms encircled his, he let himself relax into him. “You are a terrible influence on me, Jesse McCree.”

“Yeah. ‘Fraid I get that a lot.”

All That Glitters (BNHA, Fantasy AU, Kiribaku)

I’m sure you’ve noticed that shapeshifting is kind of in my wheelhouse, right? How could I resist?

Dragonboy!Kirishima was very much inspired by @xkumah‘s beautiful, adorable pic of Bakugou getting sweet hugs from scaly boi. Dragon form Kiri was heavily inspired by…well, this guy.

Originally posted by tana-the-dreamchaser

Enjoy! Cut is for length, not for content.

“Get back here, you piece of shit!”

Bakugou’s feet barely touched the ground as he sprinted through the woods after the red creature. Bits of grass and dirt stuck to his skin, only making him angrier. Angry at himself for stopping to wash off in the stream, angry at the elk that had bled so much that he had had to stop to wash off in the stream, but especially angry now at whatever the hell had decided to take off with his bone and stone necklace his mother had just given him.

Not that he cared that much about the thing, but she would murder him if he came home without it.

“It’s stupid and gaudy,” he remarked when she put it around his neck. There were several layers to it, with red rocks from the mountains, shiny ocean glass, and what seemed to be bear claws. Okay, that was something he liked. “And heavy.”

She smacked him upside the head. “Don’t be a jerk. You’re old enough to know that you need to start carrying it. What are you going to give your mate when you find them, huh? That raggedy wolf pelt?”

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Or maybe one of those boots that smell like horse shit?”

“I get it, woman! Gods, your endless screeching is annoying.”

That had led to a night spent with the hounds. Wouldn’t be the first or the last, though. But if he had gone through all that trouble to now have it stolen by a mangy animal of some sort…

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Valentine Drabbles: OPM

I’m gonna post some of my fav pairs tonight as a Happy Valentine’s Day to all you wonderful folks. First up is One Punch Man. 


Saitama x Genos

When Genos returned home, the apartment was fragrant with herbs, spices and the scent of cooking meat. There had been a little bit of concern that his S-class hero duties would keep him from spending Valentine’s Day with his Sensei, but evidently the monster was eliminated before he had had to handle it.

“Oi, Genos!” Saitama called from the kitchen. “That was quick.”

“Yes, it took more time for me to check in and out at the Hero Association HQ than to address the threat.” Genos glanced around the kitchen, which appeared to be in a bit of…disorder. When he saw Saitama’s uniform hanging up in the bathroom, he asked, “Sensei, did you confront a creature today?”

“Oh, yeah, on the way to the grocery store. Big one, too.”

“…And…what are you cooking for dinner, Sensei?”

Saitama looked up from stirring the large pot of diced vegetables and meat. “Well, it’s Valentine’s Day, so I thought…heart?”

Genos didn’t really have a stomach as such that could turn, but he did make a face. “…was it…a discount, Sensei?”

Saitama didn’t answer.


“Come on! It would have just gone to waste!”

Resolutely, Genos walked over and turned off the burner. “I will be taking us out to eat.”


Metal Bat x Garou

“Here we go, and…hold hands. On. A chair. Dammit.”

“Oh yeah, that’s the stuff. Give it to me, Badd. Give me that big manly hand.”

“A’right, a’right, maybe this wasn’t a great idea.”

Badd tossed the sex dice into the drawer and fell backwards on the bed. Nothing was working. Remnants of the feather tickler were strewn all over the bedroom floor (lesson learned: Garou’s sensitivity made him decidedly against being touched too softly). A wooden sex chair was broken in the corner (thank gods that Badd didn’t get more than two or three splinters, and nowhere sensitive). And the trashy magazine that had given Badd these ideas was thrown across the room.

“I give up,” Badd huffed. “There’s just…nothin’ new for us. Sorry, babe.”

“I’m so disappointed,” the Human Monster said, deadpan, even as he slid behind Badd, pulling him back so he was sitting between his legs. “Guess I should just pack my bags and go find the next hero on my list to get off on.”

“Liar.” Badd gave him a chuck under the chin. “You know yer shit would only fit in one bag.”

“Point.” Garou nosed at the top of his hair. “Let’s watch a movie.”

“Somethin’ funny.”

“Deadpool, then.”

As Garou turned it on, Badd grabbed his pillow and one of the blankets and curled up on his side. Garou pressed himself against his back, hand rubbing his belly as he spooned him. Badd sighed, contentedly, and they had barely gotten a few minutes into the film before he had rolled over and Garou was leaning over him into a long, leisurely kiss.

“I don’t care what we’re doing,” Garou finally said when he had only pulled back long enough to catch his breath. “I’m not getting tired of you.”

Badd gave his neck an affectionate rub. “Okay.”

“Besides, I’m the one who’s really boring. You’re a hero the rest of the time. I just hang out and eat your food.”

Badd laughed. “Ya also get shit off the top shelves so I don’t gotta use the step ladder.”


“I’m playin.’ You’re…the best.” His thumbs moved to stroke Garou’s eyebrows, his other fingers lingering at his temples and cheeks. “I like watchin’ ya do stuff around the house. You’re like…an animal or somethin.’ Always graceful and lean and…I don’t know. Can’t take my eyes off of ya.”

That must have satisfied him, because Garou rumbled and went back to kissing him, hands and hips beginning to move, and Badd smiled, immediately and thoroughly enthralled by his touch. Maybe they didn’t have to worry about changing things up after all.   


Mumen x Sonic

When Sonic woke up, Mumen was holding his hand.

He blinked at the bespectacled hero, who appeared to be very awake. Perhaps for some time. He was giving him that dewy-eyed expression of love that seemed to be on his face at least 90% of the time.

“Morning,” Sonic grunted.

“Good morning. Sleep well?”

“Hm,” he answered, stretching and then moving to curl up again under the covers…if not for Mumen’s hand. Sonic narrowed his eyes at him. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Mumen’s touch, but he usually allowed him a certain amount of space in which to wake up.

“Do you know what today is?” Mumen chirped.

“Perhaps. I don’t, however, know why you are refusing to let go of my hand.”

Mumen held on even tighter at that. “Sometimes, on days like today, I’ll ask and you will run off and disappear. Sometimes you’ll come back later. Or not. So. Now if you’re going to Speed-of-Sound away, I’m coming too.”

Sonic stared at him silently, and then smiled. One of his…less than wholesome expressions. “Bet you think you’ve thought of everything, hero.”

Mumen’s confidence seemed to falter, but before he could let go, Sonic was up like a shot, dragging Mumen…exactly ten feet into the dining room. He had set out an assortment of flowers and gifts with plates for a breakfast that now just needed to be cooked. There were chocolates as well, and assorted tea. Mumen opened his eyes, which he had had screwed shut after making an extremely amusing sound at the sudden change from zero to a hundred miles per hour, and breathed a huge happy sigh.

“Looks like you didn’t take into account that I would remember,” Sonic said softly, kissing his cheek.

The Shadows of Things That Have Been

After being struck by inspiration after the Dark Shadow battle was animated, I really wanted to write a fic that’s been on my mind that touches on Tokoyami’s childhood and how he meets Shouji. 

Cut is for length, not for content.

Mama says they have to go to the doctor now.

Tokoyami knows how to read his mother’s expression, even if nobody else can except for him and Daddy. It took their neighbors months to warm up to her, because they said that it’s hard to tell if she’s happy or sad or angry, because the expression on her hawk face always seems the same. And that sameness can be scary.

“Fumi,” she says, golden eyes darting up to catch his in the rearview mirror. “Seatbelt.”

“Where are we going?” Dark Shadow asks as Tokoyami does what his mother says, and he sees Daddy’s shoulders jump a little. Then, Daddy glances over his shoulder and smiles, but Tokoyami can tell he’s not really happy, and that makes him nervous.

It’s only when Tokoyami repeats Dark Shadow’s question that his Daddy answers. “We’re going to see a doctor, Fumi. Someone who can help you with your quirk.” He won’t talk to Dark Shadow, and when he talks about him, he always says that it’s Tokoyami’s quirk. He says that it’s because the less he lets him think that he’s real, the easier it will be to control him.

Daddy doesn’t have a hawk face or any other bird features. Daddy just looks tired. And Daddy is smart, but Tokoyami doesn’t like ignoring Dark Shadow. So when he turns his head back around, rubbing his eyes with his one good hand, Tokoyami pats Dark Shadow where he’s curled up beside him on the seat.

Daddy’s other hand is bandaged. Not even the fingers are showing.

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Recovery: Part 2

Click here to read Part 1!

Warning: contains (light) spoilers for BNHA Chapter 146. Cut for length, not for content.

It’s a familiar brand of yelling.

“Get the fuck out of my way! I’ll fucking kill you!”

The kind of yelling that belongs to only one person.

“Listen, kid, I know you’re raw about all this, but –”

“You don’t fucking know me! I’ll blow your shitty face off if you don’t fucking move!”

And it’s those tell-tale crackles of sparks that make Kirishima sit up even in spite of his injuries, trying to swallow down how the small exertion turns his stomach. The room is spinning around blond-haired blobs of two different sizes. “Bakugou…”

“Ey!” Fatgum is the other figure, it seems, left behind as Bakugou bodily shoves past. The pro hero looks different, but Kirishima recognizes his voice. Hands are on his shoulders, firmly but gently pushing him back into the pillow under his head. Where is he? Back at school? What happened to…?

Kirishima squeezes his eyes shut under another uneasy roll of his innards. Please, whatever gods are listening, don’t let him get sick. Not in front of Bakugou.

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The Scent of You

So I wrote this drabble to warm up my creative juices, and it is heavily inspired by @pointandpounce‘s absolutely amazing picture of dragon!Inasa and fantasy AU Todoroki. I have so many feelings about these two and the fact that we are two days away from Inasa being animated?? I must spread the Inatodo love.

Cut is for length, not for content.

Originally posted by marv666

“Oi, Prince Shouto…”


“Why’re ya putting dirt on that meat?”

Todoroki glances up from where he is preparing their meal to see Inasa crouched on the ground with his chin in one hand, the long, sharp claw of his index finger tapping against his cheek. His wings open and close to feed air to the fire that’s growing just behind him, and his tail is currently relaxed, lying on the ground like a massive snake. Why can’t it be like that when they are in the castle, in the study, where he gets so excited he knocks everything down and makes a mess?

“It’s not dirt, Inasa. I have black peppercorns in a grinder, and when I turn it, pieces of it are deposited on the meat. It’s a spice.” Inasa still has a questioning expression, and he turns the mill into his palm and holds out the black flecks to him. “Now, don’t put your face in it –”

It’s too late. The dragon-man has shoved his entire nose and mouth into Todoroki’s hand, and when he rears back with a holler to sneeze, small flames shoot out and disappear into the twilight. One, two, three, four times. And of course Todoroki laughs, and even though he feels guilty, how could he not? There is so much Inasa still wants to know, and some things are going to require lessons he’ll have to teach himself.

This wasn’t at all where he was expecting his life to be at this point. Frankly, when his father sent him to slay the dragon tormenting one of their territories, he thought the bastard was finally trying to kill him. He had never fought a monster before. But, be that as it may, the Crown Prince Todoroki Shouto came straight away on his stead, and sure enough, there was the dragon. A massive black beast with wings that were creating tornado-like winds, knocking down houses, sending cattle flying.

Todoroki watched him for a few seconds, because there was something odd about his behavior. Despite how his wings would flap and his tail would take out great stone walls in the fortress, he would get down on his front feet and nudge at the houses in front of him with his nose, or push the roof up and peer inside. Sometimes he would roar, sometimes not, but there would be a moment when the people inside would flee, and the creature paid them no mind, turning instead to the next house, repeating the same.

“Please, your Highness, can’t you do something?”

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In Plain Sight

This is a drabble going out to @cinensis as a thank you for his continued support. Sorry it took so long, and hope it is much enjoyed!

It starts with a kiss.

It’s still early on. Serizawa has become bolder, his fingers cupping Reigen’s cheeks without him even having to put them there. He had been keeping count of their kisses, but he’s lost track now. Because Reigen likes kissing, and he tends to pull Serizawa in when they pass each other in the halls of the office, when Serizawa gets ready to leave for the day, even when he’s just too close for too long.

This time, he’s walked him home after dinner. Serizawa has no idea how to ask Reigen if he can come in. Part of him wants more, or even the possibility of more, but even after a few weeks of dating, the end of the night is just that: the end.

Reigen opens his mouth a little, and Serizawa can feel his tongue. It’s touching his, and, encouraged, Serizawa moves his palms down to Reigen’s shoulders, to his chest.

He squeezes.

When Reigen pulls back with a gasp, his eyes are wide, but not in a particularly pleased way. He looks the way Serizawa does when he is on the verge of panic, and Serizawa is going to say something, but then…the moment ends. Reigen flicks his hair back, yanks Serizawa back in and kisses his forehead. “See ya at work, Seri,” he says, and Serizawa doesn’t even get the chance to say goodnight before the door is opened and closed, leaving him alone with the pinching, terrible awful that is thinking he has done something wrong.

Then, it’s a photo.

Reigen has tasked him with the work of going through boxes of old papers to be filed or thrown away, and at the bottom of one of the oldest and dustiest is a paperclip with several old photos. Most of them are people that Serizawa doesn’t recognize, but then he comes to one that stands out. A blonde girl with shoulder-length hair is smiling at the camera, holding a small chocolate heart, and she looks…so familiar.


Reigen doesn’t glance up from the magazine he is flipping through. “Hmm?”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Nope. Only child. Why?”

Serizawa holds up the photos. “I found these while going through one of these boxes. She looked like she might be related to you. Are these family photos?”

That gets Reigen’s attention. He puts the magazine down and gets up, narrowing his eyes at the photo. He’s silent, pensive, glaring at the photo for a moment until he drops it into the discard pile. “Don’t know how that got in there. Nothing important.”

Serizawa swallows and doesn’t say anything until it’s time for lunch.

Finally, it’s an accident.

Serizawa makes Reigen tea. It’s hot, of course, and he warns him of such, but Reigen doesn’t listen. This time, though, a stack of papers on his desk serves to not only keep him from putting the cup down as he burns his mouth but also causes it to slip, spilling onto his shirt. His face contorts with pain as he staggers to standing, quickly removing his jacket to start unbuttoning the shirt.

“Arataka!” Serizawa cries out, his psychic power suddenly flaring in a bright rush. It clears off the desk entirely, papers flying, small items scattering to the floor. The cup and any remaining drops of tea that hadn’t already soaked into the dress shirt are flung into the wall, shattering.

They stare at one another.

“I’m so sorry,” Serizawa blurts, running to the bathroom. He soaks a rag in cold water before returning, and he is at Reigen’s side, pressing the compact against the red, swelling flesh.

Reigen seems to blink as the shock wears off, and his gaze wavers slightly. He puts his hands to Serizawa’s wrists. “It’s…it’s fine, Seri. It’s not your fault.”

Maybe it’s the movement of his arms, or maybe it’s because Serizawa is so close to him, but that’s the moment he sees the scarring on his chest. Twin marks on each pect. And it’s like a swarm of dust has been cleared between Serizawa’s ears.

“I’m the one who should be sorry,” Reigen whispers.

He looks up, and Serizawa knows that Reigen has seen him staring. Everything in his face is tight, compact, pained. Worried.

For maybe the first time since their relationship began, Serizawa takes a step and presses his lips to Reigen’s. They have shared other kisses, but Serizawa has never initiated one in the office. He makes it count, soft and still and tender.

“You never have to apologize to me,” he said finally, resting his forehead against Reigen’s. His mouth is dry, but he pushes on. “I love all of you. Even your impatience when it comes to tea, and your…fastidiousness about the office files…”

Reigen laughs softly at that.

“And I love everything about you that I don’t know yet. Nothing changes that. Nothing will change that.”

Reigen is silent until he pushes his head into Serizawa’s shoulder and lets out a long, deep breath.

Two nights later, when Serizawa walks him home, he invites him inside.


Holy crap, what’s this? Some Saigenos? Hell yeah! In the FUTURE!

Originally posted by kanneki

Saitama used to joke that thanks to being bald, he wouldn’t have to worry about looking old until he was dead. But the first time Genos teared up when he said it in front of him, Saitama never mentioned it again.

Thirty years had passed in an instant, no matter how long they stretched the individual moments. And, man, Saitama had loved every second: every morning waking up next to Genos in their futon, every trip to get groceries, every evening watching whatever was on television while Genos cleaned up from dinner.

One day, as he stood in front of the mirror after going to the bathroom, he noticed some things that he hadn’t seen before. Wrinkles around his eyes and his mouth. Sharper lines stretching near his cheek bones. And he walked out and saw Genos rolling up the futon, looking…the exact same as he did the day he met him.

“Oi, Genos, I’m going to go for a walk, okay?”

“Do you want me to accompany you, Sensei?”

He smirked at that, because even after all this time, he still insisted on calling him that. He had given up telling him to stop a long time ago. “Nah. You don’t have to.” But as he was heading out the door, Saitama paused. “Do you think I’m…hmm.” How did he ask this without sounding vain? “Does it bother you that I’m starting to look older?”

“Not at all, Sensei,” Genos immediately replied. “I think age is very becoming on you.”

Saitama didn’t know how to feel about that. “Thanks, I think. But you still…you’re still so young. Well, you’ve got all the earmarks, anyway. And here I am. Just…decaying.”

He regretted using the word, waiting for Genos to get upset, emotional over it, wishing he could take it back. But instead, Genos straightened and walked over to face him. Saitama’s small growth spurt in his late twenties had given him an extra inch or two, but the cyborg was still taller. He was surprised when instead of oily tears, Genos’s face broke into a kind smile as he took Saitama’s hands in his.

“Not decaying, Sensei. Thriving. I look at you and I see so many years of happiness and joy and all the life you’ve given for others. Myself included.” He pressed his forehead against Saitama’s, eyes open and staring into his. “I say that age is becoming on you because…I’ve gotten to see you change into this amazing man who now stands before me. And I get to love you still and keep seeing you, and I am so lucky.”

Saitama let out a huff and tipped his head to kiss Genos softly. That was still the same. Blissfully so. Something he never tired of. “Yeah, well. I’m pretty damn lucky too.”

“So if you’ll have me, I would like to join you on your walk.”

Saitama kept holding onto Genos’s hand as he stepped into his shoes. “I’d love that.”

“I shall endeavor to keep a pace to match yours. I would not wish to cause your elderly body any strain.”

“Watch it, brat.”

Shades of Red and Blue

I’m ruined by McHanzo, y’all. Sorry-not-sorry. Please enjoy these drabbles about a certain surly warrior and his lovestruck cowboy boyfriend (or future boyfriend, in some of these cases). Cut is for length, not for content.

Originally posted by mariejacquelyn


“Full house!” Jesse crowed, delighted with himself as he slapped his cards on the table between them. “Pay up, sugarplum.”

Hanzo let out a deep, concentrated breath, dark brows knit over stormy eyes as he stood up to untie his obi, adding it to the growing pile between them that consisted of his bow, his quiver, both of his re-enforced boots, and his hair scarf. Jesse’s cheshire cat grin widened as he wiggled his socked toes, the only item of his between them being his boots, which now Hanzo was certain was because he let him win the first round.

“I do not appreciate being taken for a fool, Jesse McCree.”

“Aw, c’mon!” Jesse laughed, taking a sip from his glass of whiskey. “We ain’t gotta play much longer.”

Hanzo was unconvinced. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. Just…” He glanced around the table at the remaining pants and tunic that Hanzo wore. “Like two more hands. Maybe three. Never can tell with ya, darlin.’ I have been surprised bef– hey now!”

He just barely caught the empty teacup as it was hurled at his head.

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The View From the Edge

Another delightful story for @caped-ace, this time for some Reaper76 from Overwatch! Enjoy these old men, proving that being edgelords doesn’t go out with age.

Cut is for length, not for content. 

Originally posted by etlabetes

It had taken nearly thirty minutes after the battle with Los Muertos for Soldier: 76 to finally collapse in the Dorado alleyway.

Clearly, he had known it was only a matter of time before he would succumb to the injuries he had sustained. That’s why he had concentrated on taking an aimless, twisting path through the Mexican city, avoiding major thoroughfares. Generally he kept moving south - which must have been where he had left whatever mode of transportation he had used to get there - but then, near an industrial scrapyard, his knees buckled. One arm against a building wall, the other clutching the heavy pulse rifle. Of course that would be important to him, but soon it fell with a clatter as he gripped his side, where he had taken the brunt of the grenade blast.

Idiot, Reaper thought. The child had foolishly put herself in danger, had lingered too long, and then the rogue had hesitated in deciding what to do about it, waiting for the last possible moment, losing the gang and just barely rescuing the girl. Sloppy. Careless.

After a moment, it had become too much, and Soldier: 76 sagged to the ground in an unconscious pile.

“Old habits die hard.”

And now that old habit was going to kill him. Ironic.

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Coffee Drabble: Like-Like

Here it is, y’all. My first Ishimondo (Ishimaru Kiyotaka/Oowada Mondo from Dangan Ropa). I’m so happy to have learned about this fine, fine ship (thank you, @unhealthydoctors for the explanation and introduction!), even if the tragedy involved kind of killed my heart a bit. This is a Non-Despair AU, so basically the boys are in regular, good ol’ high school. Thank you so much for the coffee, @derpyflowergarden!

Cut for length, not for content

It’s not too late to drop a donation and request your own coffee-related drabble. Full details are over on this post. I’ll be doing this all through the month of June!

Mondo’s bike roared up the street before pulling up to the curb in front of the coffeeshop, prompting heads to turn in his direction as he stepped off. Despite the stoic expression on his face, he felt like he wanted to bend over and stick his head between his legs. His stomach had been hurting all morning, and he started to wonder if this was the best place to ask Ishimaru to meet him.

Ya already set this in motion, man. Don’t puss out now.

He walked inside, glancing around as the smell of coffee and baked goods slapped him in the face. Part of him hoped maybe that he had gotten here too early, that maybe Ishimaru wouldn’t show, that he could just run out of here and –

“Good morning, kyoudai!”

Mondo jumped and spun around to find Ishimaru, dressed in his school uniform (clean and pressed and pristine, practically blinding in how white it was) hailing him down from a table in the corner. His fastidious appearance made him suddenly very aware of the more casual outfit he had picked out: jeans, white shirt, leather jacket. A classic look but not classy.

“Hey!” Mondo practically yelled the greeting, his nerves finally getting the better of him as he walked over. “I figured ya might not get here for a bit longer…we said 10 and it’s only 9:45…”

“You’re one to talk! Imagine my surprise seeing you being early! Very commendable!”

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McHanzo Week: Day 1 - Night

Originally posted by ofallingstar

Jesse McCree is a man who has seen too much. And in the daylight, or by the blessing of distraction on missions, it doesn’t plague him. On quiet nights, though, Hanzo wakes up and feels him sitting up on the edge of the bed, staring into the dark. Perhaps with someone else, there might have been nightmares, but when memories flood Jesse’s brain, there’s no sleep. Hanzo knows his eyes have never closed, that if left to its own loop of rewinding and replaying horrible images, Jesse will remain like that until morning, will move half-dead through the next day’s tasks, and given the type of work they do, that is a danger Hanzo will not risk.

Without a word, Hanzo picks him up in his arms, takes Jesse to the shared living space and settles down on the couch with him. It’s already been a few hours, and Jesse barely moves, only blinking slowly at him as the archer rearranges their limbs, pulling him back against his chest, letting him lie between his legs.

They must be quite a sight, but Hanzo wouldn’t care if anyone saw them. All that matters is Jesse. So he turns on the small, soft lantern on the table behind his head, picks up a book and begins to read aloud.

Sometimes, it’s a collection of poetry, either classical or ones that Hanzo has kept from his childhood. Other times, it’s short stories, or chapters of a novel. It doesn’t matter. Frankly, most of the time, Hanzo forgets what he is reading even as the words leave him, but it’s fine. This isn’t about him. It’s about the way that his deep cadence makes Jesse’s breathing slow, get heavier. It’s about how the scenes of pastoral blandness and common people doing common things makes his eyes finally close. Hanzo could have been reading ingredients for a recipe, and the sound of it would soothe the cowboy just as much.

When Jesse is sound asleep, light snores escaping through his nostrils, Hanzo finally closes the book and turns off the light. He doesn’t move - he’s slept in much worse conditions, when he was in his vigilante days, moving constantly from place to place - so he’ll make due with a few numb limbs. Especially when the first thing he gets to see in the morning is Jesse, smiling, kissing him, rubbing his legs and urging blood and feeling back into them.

“Mornin,’ darlin.’”

“Good morning, love.”

Recovery: Part 1

The first part of a two-part fic. 

Warning: contains spoilers for BNHA Chapter 152.

Tamaki crawls out of unconsciousness like stumbling through a wet cave. Everything beneath him is soft. Everything inside him hurts. And then, voices. From far off getting closer, like he’s coming through to two people speaking in the light on the other side. The words aren’t directed at him, so he lingers, eyes closed, out of their reach.

“…will be harder, Mirio. The road to recovery is going to take time. We have no idea how your body will try to compensate the loss of your quirk.”

No. He didn’t hear that correctly. It’s not true. This isn’t real. What he thought was the edge of the tunnel is only a trick of the shadows. This isn’t happening.

“I thought you would say that. But that’s okay! I got this far making my quirk work, so…I can adapt! It’ll just be different.”

The other person says nothing then, and for a second, Tamaki hopes upon hope that this was just a dream, that he is still somewhere else, floating around in the steady hum of nonexistence. And then, “Get some rest, Mirio. We can talk about it more after you heal.”

“I will! Thank you!”

Even with his eyes closed, Tamaki can see Mirio’s smile. It’s so real it’s like he can touch it, even when they aren’t in the same room, which they are. Movement. Chair legs against a tile floor. A door opens and closes. For a second, Tamaki forgets how to breathe.

“Please don’t worry about me, Tamaki.”

Tamaki says nothing but he knows that his mouth is starting to shake, forming that quivering line it does when he wants to just put his head against the wall and lose sight of everything around him. His hands are shaking, trying to ball into fists but it hurts like everything is broken.

“I’m okay. And I’ll be way more okay if you get better too.”

If he opens his eyes now he’s sure the tears collecting will rush down his cheeks and into the shells of his pointed ears.

There’s a rustle of fabric, a few grunts - “Ow, ow, ow” - and then his bed dips at the edge. “You’re supposed to rest,” Tamaki manages to mumble, turning his head the other way. Even that simple movement sends little sparkling firelights behind his eyelids, nerves awake and crying. A wet track goes down his nose, and something wipes it away.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“It is.”

“It’s not. Not this time.”

“Tamaki…look at me.”

“No.” It comes from the defiant part of his brain that still wants this to not be real, to not be the truth, to be something else. A nightmare. He gets those frequently enough, although they are usually about eating something that turns him into a monster, or having to give a speech, or failing his classes, or failing to become a hero and having to get a job where he has to talk to people on the phone all day every day. He would even rather wake up still bleeding on the floor in that room, and it would be welcome compared to this. Please, not this. Please, not Mirio.

A sigh, but not a defeated one. “Guess I’m just going to have to stay here until you do.”

It should feel like the same old Mirio. They’ve gone through this before; Mirio going into his room the morning of some appointment that he doesn’t think he can face. Mirio lying on top of him, threatening to parse into his bed and stay there forever, until he’s finally cajoled into doing what he has to do.

But now there’s a step in that dance Mirio can’t do.

Tamaki opens his eyes and it’s not like the movies. It isn’t blindingly bright. In fact, it must be near the end of the day, maybe night, and the glow of the lamp between their beds in the clinic is soft, and there he is. There he is. Bruised, bandaged, eyes tired but still bright, and smiling with half of his mouth. He’s there. Right there. “It’s true,” Tamaki says, not a question.

Mirio nods.

The pain is a spike that tries to run him through to the floor but even in spite of it Tamaki sits up and grabs Mirio around the shoulders, and he isn’t stiff or surprised. No, Mirio meets him, holds him just as tight. There’s a whistling wheeze in his ear, air through gritted teeth. It’s hard for both of them, but acknowledging the real injury of the day means sacrificing the superficial scrapes they’ve both earned.

“I thought you were dead. I felt it. Something. I…”

“It’s okay.”

“Stop saying that.” Then, after a moment, “But Sir could…did he…?”

Mirio sighs, and the sound stutters. “Yeah. I didn’t ask him for all the details though. Just…”

Tamaki pulls back, and they are holding each other’s hands so tight that it’s like their bones are trying to fuse together through skin and gauze. There’s something different about the air around Mirio. He had always been solid, a single piece, like a block of stone. Now, he could float away at any second, like gravity has changed around him. “Just what?”

When Mirio grins, it’s a battle. A grimace that he refuses to lose to, and of course he wins. He always does. That’s who he is.

“I just asked him if the ‘me’ he saw was still smiling.”

“What did he say?”

“What do you think?”

Mirio never does end up going back to his own bed, because even when exhaustion drags him back in, Tamaki refuses to let go.


Batarou and dealing with nightmares. Only fluff may follow.

Originally posted by tarantula1998

Badd is usually the heavy sleeper, and he prefers it that way, because when Garou is too deep in his unconsciousness, it’s usually because he’s dreaming.

And Garou tends to not have good dreams.

He thrashes suddenly, waking Badd up with a punch to the side. It lacks Garou’s normal finesse, so it only hurts a little. Badd immediately rolls over and holds him tight, admittedly more of a grapple than an embrace. “Babe, wake up. C’mon, you’re having a nightmare. Garou. Garou. Snap out of it.”

It’s only when Garou’s muscle relax and he’s taking deep breaths that Badd can tell he’s awake. He never says anything in these moments; he always just presses his face into Badd’s neck and blinks his eyes rapidly, like he’s making sure that he’s not dreaming anymore, and his fingertips dig into Badd’s back.

“It’s alright…I’m here, Garou, you’re fine.”

One of Garou’s hands sweep up and down his side, finally landing on the place he punched. The caress is slow with regret.

“It’s okay. Don’t even hurt anymore.” Badd’s palm pushes Garou’s hair back, and he presses two kisses to his forehead. “Ain’t even gonna bruise.”

Garou doesn’t look at him, and Badd doesn’t make him, and when he drags his face against Badd’s nightshirt, he doesn’t mention the wet spots that form.

“Ya wanna get up? I can make ya some hot chocolate or get ya some water?”

A slight shake of his head as he curls up into a ball against Badd’s stomach. Badd can feel the point of his nose, and he strokes his back soothingly along its bony curve as he tucks into a tight bundle of Human Monster.

“I got ya, G. Ain’t nothin’ to worry about, yeah? Just get some rest.”

When Badd wakes up the next morning, he’s spooning Garou, who’s gripping his arm like it’s a weapon to wield. Maybe it is. And when Badd moves a little, he’s immediately awake, turning around to face him, his mouth and hands full of gratitude he’ll never voice. But Badd knows, and he lets Garou’s silence infect him. They don’t need to talk. Not for now.

The Monster in my Bed

Sorry, I think I blacked out there for a second. Is that art not GORGEOUS?! It’s by @brigadierbanana. To whom I dedicate this piece of fiction, The Monster in my Bed. Nana’s joy and energy has been infectious throughout this entire endeavor. THANK YOU SO MUCH, YOU DEAR SWEET THING.

Notes: so…what started as a fun little, ‘Hey, let’s play with this ship, huh?’ ended up pretty epic. It is with great joy and fierce excitement that I present to you my first multi-chapter One Punch Man fic.

A few notes here: this takes place after the Garou arc. It’s not really spoiler-heavy, but it does allude to events in the webcomic, so be aware. I am still mulling over if I want this to be a part of my series “Boys Who Like Boys,” because at this point Saitama and Genos have an established relationship, but meh.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy it. These guys are way too fun to write.

Here’s a teaser from the prologue!

“Come on, through here. If my brother finds out I brought you home, he is going to be really mad.” Zenko glances back at the creature that is shambling into their garage. “He really doesn’t like it when I bring home strays. So you’ve got to keep quiet and – no no, don’t lay down there!”

He’s on his side now, on the cool cement space, curling up, and it’s becoming harder to coax him towards the door.

Zenko slaps her knees, trying to urge him up. “Please. You cannot stay here. It’s gross out here. Up, come on, it’s just a little farther.” She finally resorts to walking behind him and pushing his back, but only a little, as he emits a low growl. Slowly, he returns to his feet and shuffles up the small set of stairs to the kitchen.

“Big Bro?” Zenko calls out, using her body to block the wounded animal from moving further into the house. “You home?”

There’s no response.

“Okay, good. He must be at a meeting or something. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She puts one small hand on him, guiding him down the hallway to the bathroom. The light turns on, and he slinks inside, once again letting gravity win and sliding in a lump to the floor. Zenko lets out a breath through her nose, hands on her hips. “What do I even call you?”

“Garou,” the creature says, disappearing into the shower and closing the sliding door. The faucet slips into the hottest setting, and he rests his head next to the drain, watching the swirls of pink and red run out of his hair. The heat runs through every wound, a clean pain, and he can finally slip out of the world.