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Read it on Ao3 (It's too long to post here as usual)
---
âYâknow, if youâre so desperate,â he says, leaning back in his chair, âThereâs a vastaya sittinâ right in front of you-â
âNo,â you say, and âI have no time for your human orgies,â and âWhat would your mother think?â
His mother, who wants him to find someone special. A single someone special, you can only assume, and just picturing her face if she ever sees the heathenâs den her son has built makes your head hurt. You can barely look her in the eyes as it is.
âI- what- I donât do human orgies,â he says, and you swipe one of his more expensive bottles of alcohol for daring to lie to your face like that.
I dont know how you dont have more followers, I absolutely ADORE the way you write and, the fact that you draw lil scenes from the story???? Imamculate, iconic, I love it.
You're officially my favourite fic writer
omg???? OMFG?? THANK U SO MUCH HOLY CRAP
tbh i started this tumblr hoping to get drabble inspiration and/or to scream about league so if ur into either of those hmu -
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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The longer you spend with him, the more certain you are that heâs just perpetually insane.
âYou just donât understand my art,â he says, spinning his murder gun with a flourish.
Yes. You will never understand why he feels the need to rearrange other peopleâs faces. Youâre not the crazy person here. Whoâs to say the voices in his beautiful mind arenât going to suddenly tell him to rearrange you?
âYour face is far too pedestrian for my theatre. Too uninspiring,â he says, looking you over pityingly. You put your pedestrian, uninspiring face in your hands and try not to scream.
Read on AO3 because why?? why do u have a word limit tumblr
---
Not even moonlight can penetrate the gloom of the empty church. Empty. Not a face in sight, not a single person you can ask for directions, and youâre taking a second to mourn the loss of GPS when you hear the tapping.
One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.
You spin around, but now thereâs someone standing between you and the wooden doors.
âI wasnât expecting visitors,â he says politely, even though his mouth doesnât move, and you only have a second to realize that heâs wearing a mask before heâs pulling out what looks like a gargantuan rifle and yes. The priest was right. It looks like there are demons, and by demons you mean a serial killer, and it is time for you to leave.
Read on Ao3 because it's apparently too long to post here fhfdjhsdjg why??? why
---
req:
Chaos, you say? Nothing more chaotic than a talkative idiot with a crush on Bakugo, lmao
---
âDynamite!â
Silence.
âDynamite!â
Silence.
âGreat Explosion Murder God Dynamite-â
âShut up!â he says, punching a hole in the wall beside him, and this is why people keep ragging on pro heroes for reckless action and property damage and wasting tax money.
âShut upâ isnât the perfect quote for a news blog, but youâll take it. Besides, the hole in the wall makes for a great header photo.
---
Is he rude? Yes. Is he obnoxious? Yes. Does he cause gross amounts of collateral damage, sometimes exceeding even whatever villain heâs trying to subdue? Yes.
Does it stop you from being a fan? No. Apparently not. Thereâs truly no accounting for taste.
In your spare time, you run one of the many hero news blogs focused on him. Ever since he graduated and went pro, heâs managed to stay in the news on an almost-daily basis, which is impressive, even if half of it is for getting in other heroesâ ways and âobstructing justiceâ.
âI am the justice!â he screams, and you snap a photo of the giant explosion in the sky.
Read on AO3 because the whole 3k chapter is too long to post here LMAO
---
âYou were great,â says the man, handing you âyour cutâ. âNo one thought you were gonna make it. We made a killing!â
You weigh the bulging sack of what look like actual gold coins against his glee over the fact that literally no one thought you were going to win, and pick money over dignity.
âAinât seen you around before,â says someone else, leaning against the doorway.
âShe did great, boss,â says the man, clapping you on the back, but youâre too busy staring, open-mouthed; because the other man, the boss, has cat ears.
---
If pressed, you wouldnât say you had a particularly strong attraction to animal-eared characters. It is a trope. A cliche. But that was then, when that cliche only existed in shows and books, and this is now, when a living, breathing, cat-eared man is standing in front of you and waiting for you to say something.
âAre those real?â you say, reaching for the ears, and he literally picks you up and tosses you out the door.
"Hello! May I please request a drabble with Kurogiri? Anything goes!"
---
The bar is deserted.
The bartender actually seems surprised to see you the first time you walk down the stairs and poke your head through the door.
âIâm sorry, weâre closed,â he says. You turn away, and find another bar that night.
Itâs closed again the next evening, and the next, and the next. You donât even want to drink there, really; but after so many days you feel like you have to see it open at least  once before you can leave in peace.
The bartender is always there, even if the bar is closed.
 âWeâre closed,â he says, âBut you can wait here for a while, if it helps.â
It does help. The rain is pouring, an absolute thunderstorm, and you have no umbrella and no way home.Â
It smells of oak and leather, and the seats are soft and comfortable; and so you sit in silence. You donât ask him why the bar isnât open, even this late at night.
 ---
 You always visit on rainy days, and he always lets you wait inside. He doesnât ask why you never bring an umbrella, and you donât ask why he never opens the bar.
No one else is ever around.
 ---
 âWeâre closed,â he says, âBut I can make you a drink if you want.âÂ
Is this bar actually closed, or are there just never any customers? Itâs probably impolite to ask.Â
You sit at the counter and watch him make the Old Fashioned. Itâs kind of nice, being the only person there; it makes you feel like the bar is just for you- even though itâs probably on the brink of shutting down, if the worn-out furniture is any indication.Â
The drink tastes just how you wanted it to. He has no discernable expression, but when you tell him, it feels like he smiles.
 ---
 He makes a drink for you every time you visit. A margarita. A martini. A whiskey sour. Does he have no one else to practise on?Â
He smiles again when you ask him (how can you even tell heâs smiling? Youâve maybe had one too many drinks).Â
âJust you is enough,â he says, and slides another glass across the table.
 ---
 You have a one-sided conversation with the bartender every time you sit down for a drink.Â
Itâs not that he doesnât listen- he does, nodding and hmm-ing at the right moments, and shaking his head in sympathy when you complain about something particularly aggravating- but he doesnât reply, or give advice, or tell you anything about himself in return.Â
In short, the perfect bartender. He wonât even charge you for the drinks. Sometimes you wonder if this is all just some particularly enjoyable fever dream.Â
He lets you talk on for as long as you like, never telling you to  go home, itâs past midnight, youâve already missed the last train.
One night, you have a few too many, and suddenly the table seems like the perfect place to lay your head and take a nap. You expect him to kick you out, but he just leans over and drapes - what is that? A blanket? - drapes something over you, and you fall asleep to the sound of clinking glass and soft footsteps.Â
When you wake up, youâre seated at the nearest train stationâs rest area, neat and tidy, like someone carried you there himself.Â
 ---
 You knew there would be a day when the bar finally closed, but you canât stop the jolt of dismay that hits you when you see the entranceway boarded off. He didnât even give you a heads-up.Â
You look around for a contact number, or a notice, or something that will tell you where he went- but thereâs nothing but empty boxes, and, hanging pristine and new on the door handle, an umbrella.Â
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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 "imagine endeavor as cranky cat man whose been returned too many times bc of his aggression"Â
---
You see him all the time in the shop, pacing and growling and generally terrorizing whoever walks by. Itâs one of the few stores left that still sells hybrids, but even they canât seem to find him a permanent home. Heâll disappear for a few days, a week, and then youâll walk past again and heâll be back, and in an even worse mood than before.Â
The shopkeeper tells you that even with hybrids being as rare as they are, he still gets returned. A family will buy him as a guard for their child, and the child will spend the next few days in tears. Someone will buy him to show off his pedigree, and theyâll end up filling out twenty different insurance forms for property damage. Buyers have even tried sending him to underground fighting rings, but he just destroyed the entire arena.Â
Heâs going to spend the rest of his life in this shop, they say. You look at him, pacing the width of his small room. Youâve made many bad decisions in your life. Whatâs one more?
Itâs a struggle even getting him through the door.Â
He flies into a rage at the smallest thing. Your apartment is too small. The food is terrible. You have neighbors. Do you really expect a hybrid with a lineage like his to live in this kind of place?
You can understand what the previous people went through. But you think of the dozens of times youâve seen him back in his room, pacing, grit your teeth, and soldier on.
---
You spend a straight month in a fugue, because all you do is go to work, rush home, and try to convince him not to do anything thatâll get him arrested.Â
He picks fights with the neighbors. He starts brawls with anyone on the street if they even look at him the wrong way. Youâre kind of surprised he hasnât thrown you out a window yet.Â
When you get back, as usual, he snatches the dinner youâve bought back out of your hands, growling. Normally youâd be able to dodge, but you havenât had any sleep for the past thirty-two hours, and his clawed hand slices cleanly across your palm.Â
You blink. He freezes.Â
The blood drips onto the floor in a slow trickle.Â
---
You bandage your hand as best you can. He towers over you from behind, watching. Heâs so close you can feel him breathing. You try to ignore how unnerving that is.Â
âGive me that,â he says, swiping the bandages out of your good hand and doing a far better job of wrapping your hand up than you ever could.Â
He cuts the free edge of the bandage off. The two of you stand in awkward silence what feels like forever.
âWhat do you want?â he says, finally. âA bodyguard? You want to show off a hybrid to your friends? What is it?â
Uh. You donât really want anything. You just donât want him to get sent back to the shop.Â
He looks like he doesnât believe you when you tell him that, but he also doesnât go out looking for a fight that night, so you donât push your luck.Â
---
The next day you come home to an apartment thatâs still in one piece and an apartment building that hasnât had the police called to it for the first time in two weeks.Â
âWhat?â he growls, stomping over and snatching the food off your hands. You notice heâs sheathed his claws.Â
---
Before you realize it, a week has gone by and he still hasnât fucked anything (or anyone) up. Then two weeks. Then a month.Â
âMove over,â he says, picking you up so he can take over your spot, even though you gave him the sofa and this chair can barely hold his weight.
You try to get up, but he plops you back down on his leg, holding you in place so he can wrap himself around you as though youâre the warm cat-person hybrid and not him.
It still feels a little unnerving, but heâs warm and large and you donât think heâs going to toss you out a window anytime soon, so you lean back against him, enjoy the warmth, and try not to fall asleep.
Suggestions are open for drabbles, matchups and stuff! Maybe!
Iâd Rather Not (Explicit)
(isekaiâd reader oneshot collection)
Sylas | Master YiÂ
Drabbles/Matchups on tumblr:
NONE YET HELP LOL
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Suggestions are open for drabbles and matchups! Maybe!
Demon Summoning for Idiots (Explicit)
(Demon!AU oneshot collection)
All Might | Aizawa | Hawks | Mic | Shigaraki
O, Hero
(Isekai Beastman!AU oneshot collection)
Aizawa
Drabbles/matchups on tumblr:
NONE YET HELP LOL
theartofmadeline
dededos
vaporwave
origamiaround
romaincrisis
blakekathryn
izzy806
titsay
prguitarman