He’s Never Going To Let Him Go.

Writing requests are open!

From now through March you can send me an ask with a (sfw) prompt you'd like me to write! As long as I'm comfortable with it, I'll start working on my responses in April.

Prompts can be for fic or your own original idea and while I mostly write for MHA, if you have smth else in mind there's no harm in asking if I'm familiar with the fandom :)

also, if you're interested in any of the fic wips i've talked about on here (or my in-progress ao3 fics) you can send me an ask with the title and i'll be sure to set aside time to work on them and share snippets of my progress! (fic wips listed below the cut)

I'm excited to see your prompts!!

tumblr fic wips

short for grenade: talked about here, here, and here a la three wise men and a baby (i seriously need a better title for this series lmao): part 1 & part 2 probably not, dabihawks version: here (and the official, slightly more polished version of the platonic-ish bkdk 'probably not' piece is on ao3 here) let it sink in: here spelling bee monster: mentioned at the bottom of the fake tweet post, here trophy husband, who?: here cat-suki: here (legitimately forgot i'd posted about this one lol)

ao3 wips

summer daze: here little troubles: here

So summer daze (my MHA Coraline au) is literally kicking my ass rn and I cannot comprehend why but I had a fic idea yesterday and managed to crank out 8k words in nearly one sitting. And I know it’s me doing these things but somehow it feels like someone else is pulling the levers -_-

Lever 1: really developed idea but no writing

Lever 2: silly little whim and lots of writing

God/the voices: pull them both! muahahaha!

Thanks for the prompts! I chose #4 and it felt so good to get into the flow of writing without worrying about how what I write would fit into a full piece. (im experiencing mega writers block with sfg atm)

So seriously, thank you OP

Anyways, here's what I came up with:

“Stargazing,” Kal observed, leaning heavily on her new spear.  Jonathan had done good work with it, and the small inscription near its base was, surprisingly, left intact.  Loren took a moment to admire the sleek, plated metal Jon had chosen to resuscitate that damn spear from its rightful place in the refuse pile, then turned his attention back toward the mottled patchwork of stars above them. “Is that what you do when you’re not killing people?” she pressed mirthfully.    Loren frowned. The battle had been long and laborious and not really worth the sore wrist he’d been massaging for the past half hour, Ilium’s abrasive voice still rattling around in his skull.  Kal sighed, lowering herself into a crouch beside Loren’s head.  “Fight’s over, Twig. No need to be so serious.”

Loren tilted his head the slightest bit towards his companion, eyes flashing in the dark. “Me? Serious?” he asked.  Kal’s attention flitted over Loren’s face, a smile slowly stretching over her face when he offered her the slightest scrunch of his nose. The expression looked somehow sweeter on her, with dried blood crusted over her teeth, than it had in the palace where they’d first met.  “The Stone-Faced Twig, telling a joke,” she laughed. “No one’ll believe me.” “You’d share our special moment?” Loren continued mildly. “I’m gutted, Kal. Now what’ll I do with the ring I bought you?” Kal lightly shoved his arm, earning a soft huff that was drowned beneath her own delighted cackling.  Loren wasn’t sure, exactly, when the grief had worked its way up her throat alongside the joy. Just that one moment he had told a joke- a good one, it seemed- and the next, Kal was shuddering with her spear gripped too tightly in one hand, its tip digging mercilessly into the grassy hilltop. Not a drop of blood on either one of them in any place that Kal could see.  Loren supposed she didn’t really need to see, though, for the blood to linger. With a quiet curse, Loren raised his abandoned staff from the grass beside him and waved it loosely in her direction, easing her grip from the spear, knuckle by white-clenched knuckle, until he was certain she wouldn’t damage the new plating.  Loren swallowed the sour taste in his mouth as he poked through Kal’s memories, searching for something gentle. Back and back and back he weaved, as he always did with soldiers, until the Kal in his mind’s eye was so small as to be hardly recognizable. But this Kal was warm, covered head-to-toe in a half-finished, puke green blanket while another, smaller version of someone Loren might have known in another life cheered and clapped and pretended to be struck low by the Kal-monster.  “You don’t need to do that, you know,” Kal whispered at half her normal volume. Soothed by Loren’s efforts.  Loren flinched.  Kal’s hand quickly sought out his in the semi-dark, squeezing tightly when he attempted to shuffle away from her.  Her grip bordered on painful.  “I won’t tell the others,” she promised. Earnestly, by the sound of it. But sound was a liar that Loren knew well.  “I know some of the others appreciate…it,” she continued haltingly. “What you...do for them.” Loren grit his teeth. “Only because they don’t know,” he reminded her stiffly. Kal sniffed and tilted her head, studying Loren in exactly the way he’d been trying to avoid ever since he’d been conscripted. Ever since he set foot in that damn palace. Ever since he lost- “Loren-”

Wet with tears, her eyes reflected the moonlight.  “My mother’s name was Moon,” Loren suddenly confessed.  Kal’s smile wobbled, eyes travelling uncertainly to the sky.  “And my uncle’s name was Butter.” Loren sighed.  “Are we naming the donkey, too?” Kal asked lightly. “Because we can do it if it’ll make you feel better, Twig, but one day Truth will catch you by the throat and it won't be pretty.” Loren pulled his hand away again and Kal let him. Still, Loren didn’t rise to his feet like he’d intended to. He dug his fingers into the grass at his sides, digging up the scent of dirt and mulch. The wind changed and Loren thought he could smell the stew, too. He took a deep breath and let it wash over him, blocking out the muted murmurs of their company in the distance.         “What happened to 'Loren'?” he asked her without opening his eyes.  Kal’s hand fell companionably to his shoulder. Her temple against his own was quick to follow.  “Moment of weakness, Twig.” Loren chuckled sharply, slowly peeling his eyes open to peer up at the moon that watched over him, thinking of the Moon that did not.  “You’ve known the whole time?” he ventured carefully. Loren felt Kal shrug against him.  “Kind of easy to spot, you know? Your type never need much muscle to do the heavy-lifting, do they?” “Twig,” Loren realized.  Kal hummed, gently shoving him over as she climbed to her feet and reclaimed her spear, idly testing out the balance as she dithered.   “Everyone’s wondering where you went to,” she said with forced casualness, poking at imaginary enemies. “So. Unless you want me spilling your dirty, stargazing secret…” Kal’s attention drifted to Loren, then, and her restless hands slowly lowered to her hips. A wide, conspiring smile crept over her features. “You better beat me back to that damn campsite.” Loren frowned.  “Beat you-?” “Go!” Kal shouted, tearing down the hill with her spear and her smile and the blood in her teeth.  For a moment, all Loren could do was watch her go.  The he cursed and grabbed his staff, rushing down after her with a grumbled complaint, something heavy still caught in his chest.  But, somehow, lighter than it was before.

WRITING PROMPTS - Stars

One day, the stars disappeared from the sky, like a blanket over the earth.

"I think the stars are getting bigger."

The stars shift in the sky, and whisper messages into the ears of every child.

"Stargazing... is this what you do when you're not killing people?"

Stars have ears.

"I love the stars, because they love me."

What if the stars were gods?

"Watch the stars as you die, and they'll take you with them."

Sigh why is plot so hard 😔

MHA tweets pt.20- Halloween special pt.1 🎃

merry yaoimas 2: electric boogaloo (they finally kissed)

hey so let’s just go wild!!! you can write what you want!! and even share it with others!!!

Sogo held his breath, eyes shut tight as the scissors approached his head.

There was a quiet snip. Then another. Gentle fingers. Falling hair.

Not a single ounce of pain

-from cut away the rot (on ao3)

When you want to write Katsuki as his own complex, multifaceted, deeply fascinating individual who's a force of nature shaped by a militaristic system, with independent motives free of romantic dynamics, but somehow, his every waking breath is devoted to the freckled boy he left in the river

Since Re:vale was very poor during the start of their career, can you do an ff where Momo and Yuki can't afford heating so they cuddle to sleep (or even if the heat is on, it's still very cold.) I attempted it myself and let's just say it turned out very sad (and they did not cuddle. I can't seem to write happy things.) The themes are fluff with sad feelings.

It's only a request so please do it if you feel comfortable.

ofc! thanks so much for the request :) fic under the cut

author's note: this ended up being a lot longer than i planned but i really enjoyed the challenge of balancing fluff and angst. apologies if it's not quite sad enough. there's some handwavy canon stuff about yuki's past that i invented to suit the story but otherwise i tried to keep it universe-accurate and toyed with how the married couple routine they use might create some mental/emotional distance between re:vale despite their physical closeness (overall its still pretty mushy though lol). i sincerely hope you enjoy it @iamokay13 !

Yuki stirred when he heard the front door click open, awkwardly dragging the heavy blankets he’d cocooned himself in away from his face. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. 

“Who’s there?”

Momo responded with a breathy laugh, struggling audibly with the door. 

“Who do you think?”  

Groggily, Yuki heaved himself onto his elbows to peek over the back of the couch, chin pillowed on the scratchy cushion. He spied at least three plastic bags hanging from Momo’s arms, their contents swinging wildly as he attempted to pull the door shut with his foot, hands busy balancing a tower of mismatched tupperware that promised them warm dinners throughout the week. The only thing indicating it was Momo at all was the hint of blue hair poking out over the top. 

“Hello sentient tupperware,” Yuki murmured, slumping back down onto the couch. 

The door clicked shut. 

“Yes!”

Yuki blinked despondently up at the popcorn ceiling. 

“The heater’s still broken. Landlord won’t fix it until next week.”

“No!” Momo cried, followed by the sound of what must be twenty plastic containers tumbling out of his arms and onto their kitchen counter. “Can’t you, I don’t know, seduce him or something to get it fixed faster?”

Yuki raised a pale eyebrow, aware that Momo wouldn’t be able to see it from this angle and confident that he’d sense it all the same. 

“The only person that would work on is you.”

“But you’re so handsome!”

Yuki pulled the blankets back over his face. Muffled, he asked, “Any luck with your savings? He might call maintenance sooner if we can pay half.”

Momo laughed awkwardly, their fridge humming open and shut. 

“If by savings you mean my old piggy bank, then we’re 2700 yen richer.”

Yuki sighed. 

“I think my mom’s decided that we’re starving artists-”

“We are starving artists,” Yuki interrupted bluntly. 

“-so she sent me home with like, the whole kitchen. You weren’t even there and she was all Yuki darling is too skinny these days, practically skin and very handsome bones, he really ought to be eating more, and then I was all-”

“She calls me darling, too?”

“No, I’m exaggerating for effect, darling. Now shh.” 

With a soft gasp, Yuki suddenly bolted up from the couch. “Did you hear that?”

Momo froze with wide eyes, one hand on the handle of their most-intact cabinet. “Hear wha-”

“Shh!” Yuki insisted, draping himself partly over the back of the couch to ensure Momo remained still and quiet while his eyes darted suspiciously over the apartment. 

“Do you think it’s a ghost?” Momo whispered fearfully. 

“Maybe,” Yuki whispered back, holding a finger over his lips. “Listen.”

Without the hum of the heating unit permeating the small space, the apartment was chillingly silent. In fact, if Yuki focused, he could almost make out the fearful thud of Momo’s heart as he stood frozen, poised in anticipation and ready to-

“Ah,” Yuki sighed, smiling slightly and dragging his blankets further up his shoulders. “The sound of peace and quiet.”

Momo practically sagged in relief, even as he grabbed their kitchen towel and hurled it towards Yuki where they both watched it flutter harmlessly to the ground. 

“You handsome jerk!” 

Momo’s sister’s initials were still sewn into the corner, right next to the burn mark Yuki had caused attempting to soften butter in their microwave. The mark she didn’t know about, and wouldn’t ever I’d Yuki had anything to say about it. 

Slowly, Yuki asked, “Is this what the tabloids would call a lover’s quarrel?” 

“Hmph!” Momo complained, turning his head away with a performative frown. 

Blankets dragging behind himself, Yuki moved to sit across from Momo at the kitchen island, falling easily into the back and forth they were developing for their stage personas. 

“The next time Mr. Shimooka-san invites us for an interview, I’m gonna tell the whole world you keep trying to give me heart attacks,” Momo declared, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. 

Yuki braced his elbow on the countertop, prepared to pillow his chin on his palm with a suggestive smile and a heart-pounding innuendo, when he jerked away from the cold sensation instead, flailing his blanket cape to keep from falling off the stool entirely. 

“No you won’t,” Yuki said instead once he’d regained his balance, pulling a corner of the fabric over his heat-stained cheeks. 

Momo continued to move around the kitchen, pulling things down from various cabinets and drawers and fiddling with the microwave with his back turned, humming a popular song about karma. 

Yuki could hear the smile in his voice. 

“No I won’t,” Momo agreed softly, spinning on his heel a few moments later and placing a warm plate of curry in front of Yuki. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Ye-”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Momo interrupted, waving his finger in front of Yuki’s face. “Don’t forget I know what your lying face looks like, darling! Your eyes get all sneaky.”

Yuki frowned, readjusting the blanket around himself while he poked at his food, only belatedly realizing that he had been hungry. 

“I thought my eyes were handsome?”

Where Yuki expected a wide smile to bloom over Momo’s face and gushing compliments to follow, he found only guilt when he glanced upward. 

Yuki tensed. “Why are you-”

“Yuki I forgot to tell you I wiretapped the apartment for a TV show,” Momo admitted in a rush. 

“You what?” Yuki exclaimed, jumping off of the stool, face burning as he looked frantically around the room. “When did you-?”

Momo laughed, rounding the counter to place an obnoxious kiss to Yuki’s still-burning cheek. “Got you back, Yu-ki.”

“You..” Yuki made an incoherent sound of relief, coated with surprise and displeasure both as he melted to the ground, thumb subtly brushing warmth over the skin Momo’s lips had pressed against. It was just an act, Yuki reminded himself. In spite of the closed doors, it was still just an act. 

“I’m so embarrassed,” Yuki whispered, burying his face in his hands. 

“Cheer up, darling!” Momo cooed, flopping onto the couch and gathering Yuki’s other, abandoned blankets around himself. “Finish your meal so we can be warm together.”

“I think I’ll die.”

“But how could I go on living without your handsome eyes to look at?” Momo complained. 

Yuki sighed, deciding to remain crouched on the ground for a few moments longer while he looked around the sorry state of their apartment- shared, for the sake of rent, and still their fridge was only full of borrowed tupperware and little else. A few of their cabinets wouldn’t shut properly, the hot water never lasted for more than ten minutes at a time, and the only reason they had furniture in the first place, threadbare as it was, is because the previous renter had left it all behind. 

And now the heater was broken in the middle of winter. 

“At this rate, neither of us is gonna last too long.” 

Momo’s voice was quieter when he asked how their ticket pre-sale was going. 

“We’ve filled maybe a tenth of the seats,” Yuki replied, rising slowly to return to his plate of curry, determined to fill his gut with warmth instead of dread. 

“But we go on this Saturday,” Momo pointed out, his head popping up over the back of the couch with concern. “And that’s…how much would that pay us?”

Yuki shrugged, moving around his food with the spoon as he ran sums in his head. “About enough to pay for the venue, I think. Maybe pocket change for us.”

Momo collapsed back onto the couch with a soft, wheezing thud, and Yuki thought he probably had his hands cupped over his face. Momo always did that when he was stressed. 

“Was it…was it this hard when you and Ban-san started out?” Momo asked in a small voice and Yuki took a moment to consider the question. 

“Yes and no,” he finally answered, poking at his plate. “For some of that first year, I was still connected to my parents bank account and I lived at home so there was no food or rent to pay for. However, drawing a crowd is always difficult in the beginning.” Yuki shrugged, tightening the blanket around his shoulders. “The music speaks for itself, but it takes time for people to listen. There’s a lot of noise in the world.”

“Right,” Momo murmured quietly. “Right,” he repeated, seemingly more to himself than to Yuki. “It’s just time.”

Yuki frowned. “Why do you sound so-?”

“Maybe I should get a job!” Momo interrupted, the sudden cheer in his voice throwing Yuki off kilter. 

“What?” Yuki asked. “But you have a job. It’s…us. We’re the job.”

“No, Yuki darling. A part-time one. I’ve…I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately but the place I was working at during college isn’t hiring at the moment so I circled a few of the listings in the paper to check out.”

“You what?”

Yuki set his spoon down in favor of spinning yesterday’s newspaper towards himself and flipping towards the section for job listings, finding Momo’s signature scrawl all over the place- dotted with frowny face notes for places that had already managed to fill the positions they were advertising for. Question marks and clumsy stars were littered near the others. 

“You’ve already started calling,” Yuki realized. 

“Mm,” Momo said. “It makes the most sense, doesn’t it?”

Yuki swatted the newspaper to the counter, shifting on the barstool to glare accusingly at the couch blocking Momo from view. 

“I could've talked to-”

“I know,” Momo interrupted, voice soothing and sure of himself. “But you’re the one who writes all the music, Yuki. I don’t know a lot about it like Ban-san, so the best I can do is make you tea while you work and…” Momo cut himself off with a light chuckle, something self-deprecating in the sticky sweetness of it. “Well, it just makes more sense for me to be the one to work, y’know?”

“I-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Momo scolded again, but without the polished finger waved in Yuki’s face and the usual pleased amusement behind the sound, it grated against Yuki’s ears. “Don’t lie, darling. You’re too handsome for that.”

Yuki huffed unhappily and reached for the sharpie Momo had left out on the counter, quickly scanning through the circled listings and crossing out all of the ones that would have Momo working late hours or doing a lot of manual labor. If Momo was going to twist Yuki’s arm about this, there was no way he’d allow Momo to work a job he’d hate. 

When Yuki finished, he found the listings Momo had been okay with slashed in nearly an even half. 

“Stupid,” Yuki muttered beneath his breath.

“Cold,” Momo corrected from the couch. 

Sighing like he’d been asked to take a thirty minute drive for Momo’s favorite gingerbread muffins, Yuki rose from his seat with his blanket billowing behind him and wandered toward Momo, whose lips were ticking up at the corners. 

Yuki frowned in retaliation, well aware that he probably looked ridiculous, before collapsing face-first into his outstretched, waiting arms. 

Momo sighed in contentment as he rearranged the blankets around the both of them to seal in what little body heat they produced, squeezing Yuki close to his chest once he was satisfied. 

Yuki allowed it, content to pretend that he hadn’t intended for them to end up like this in the first place by strategically waiting for Momo on the couch. 

“So cozy,” Momo cooed, running his hand up and down Yuki’s back- smoothing and rucking up the fabric in slow, even strokes. “We even have a fireplace.”

Yuki raised his head skeptically. 

“Is the cold getting to your head? Because-”  

Grinning wide, Momo’s eyes flicked to the wobbly coffee table beside them. 

Yuki followed his gaze and let out an amused scoff, eyes rolling, because Momo’s phone was propped against Yuki’s stack of songwriting folders, showing a bright, burning fireplace. 

“You’re stupid,” Yuki murmured lightly, tucking his face against Momo’s neck where his growing smile wouldn’t be found, pressing the cold tip of his nose to his partner’s racing pulsepoint.  

“I’m your stupid,” Momo whispered back, tightening the clasp of his arms around Yuki’s back. 

Momo’s body was soft and warm underneath him, the lingering unease in Yuki’s stomach lulled into peacefulness where it was pressed against his partner’s like the first, cautious snow against the ground. 

Yuki closed his eyes. 

He could be happy like this, Yuki thought. Even with the heater broken. Even with the apartment slowly falling to ribbons around them while they sang to empty venues. Even with the act reminding Yuki what they were not to each other, as long as Momo was here.

With him.

“Sleep, darling.”

As long as Momo would- 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Momo promised quietly, twining a tentative hand into Yuki’s hair like he could scoop the errant thought from his head and, despite himself, Yuki felt himself relax.