Myher0myher0 - Dabi’s Left Cheek Staples

too far too close.

pairing: shinsou hitoshi x gn!reader

word count: 2k or sum like that lmao

content warnings: 18+ (minors i will snitch on you to your parents im not kidding), established relationship, aged-up characters (like 19 or 20, old enough to live together on their own), heavy petting, male masturbation, handjob (m receiving), ejaculation, cum eating, voyeurism (kinda??? idfk atp i was just horny and letting my fingers type shit), kinda very super duper sweet soft dom shinsou???? not rlly, but if u squint (there aren’t actual power dynaimcs), afab reader but no pronouns used, one “good girl”, multiple “baby’s”, mentions of marriage, mentions of pregnancy, AFTERCARE, mentions of family, shinsou and reader are whipped for each other like down bad horrendously for each other, not proofread

authors note: hey 🧍🏾‍♀️long time no talk, i haven’t wanted to write in a long time and im not good at it LMAOAOAKSKJSS this is very self-indulgent idk how i wrote this ive never done this before but i want to so bad and shinsou would eat that shit up so. i wrote this for him. and me. we. yeah. i hope yall enjoy this utter fucking garbage and filth like this is actually disgusting. if something doesn't make sense it not my fucking fault LMAOOOOOOOOO. this is the song the fic was based off of. HAPPY READING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! constructive criticism welcomed, reblogs appreciated :333

“you wanna what?”

your boyfriend stares at you in confusion, cheeks rosy, lips red, and hair more wild than normal from smothering your face with his just a minute prior to your sudden question or rather, your strained statement.

“ugh,” you reply, hands flying up to your face to shield you from further embarrassment, “i knew i shouldn’t have said anything.”

hitoshi adjusts himself, sitting up a bit further on the couch and you jostle slightly in his lap as the result of his actions.

“no, no baby, i didn’t mean it like that,” he rebuts, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands from your face. he’s too met with rosy wet lips and flushed cheeks as well as a mild pout. he tries to make eye contact with you, but you focus on things around your apartment instead. hmm, the trash looks full. maybe you should take it out later, and oh! the dishes need to be washed as well. oh, look what’s on tv! you’ve been meaning to get around to watchin-

“baby,” histoshi breaks you from your wandering thoughts and brings both of your hands to his lips to kiss them, “it’s okay,” he says in between kisses, “i was just wondering why is all.”

your eyes snap back to his briefly, then back to fluttering around the apartment, trying to stall and think of an answer that would logically make the most sense.

“well i,” you say, biting your lip between words, “i like seeing you feel good. and you feel good when doing that, right?”

hitoshi hums, kissing about both of your hands, up and down both palms, across each finger, down to your wrists.

“the thought of watching me jerk off turns you on that much? seriously?” he asks, a teasing smirk spreading across his face and you drop your head to the crook of his neck, where his shoulder and collarbone meet.

“you are not making me feel better,” you groan, “i thought we were supposed to be open with each other about these things”

“we are and im glad you told me,” he says, letting go of your wrists and wrapping his arms around your back. “it’s just my job to tease you as your boyfriend.”

you sit up and gift him with a smack across his chest which elicits a chuckle from him. he closes the space between you two and locks his lips with yours, you sighing into the kiss and bringing your hands up to run your fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck.

the two of you kiss for a while, slowly grinding and whining in response to your growing need for each other. he was so hot and he made you hot and you could never be able to get enough of him.

hitoshi is the one to pull away softly, a soft smack sounding throughout the living room, a thick string of saliva connecting the two of you, “fuck, okay, okay. you wanna see me feel good, yeah?” he asks, eyes heavy and out of breath. “yeah,” you reply, nodding and biting your lip.

“okay,” he says again, giving you a quick peck on your lips before straightening his posture against the back of the couch once more. you move to lift off his lap, intending to take a seat on the soft rug atop the hard cherry wood floor of your living room, but histoshi grabs the meat of your sides before you can fully unmount him.

“i want you to stay here,” hitoshi says, positioning you against his hard length.

you drop your forehead to meet against his, sticky with sweat.

“okay,” you whisper, breath fanning across his face. he hums, agreeing with nothing in particular that you said, simply enjoying the presence of your voice.

he removes a hand from your waist, struggling to shimmy both his joggers and boxers down his legs devoid of his other arm, it having a mind of its own, working itself underneath his (yours) sweater.

you lift up a bit onto your knees to make the process a little easier for him, his head resting between the valley of your breasts. he takes his time working his bottoms down his legs, his other arm caressing the canvas of ur back underneath your (his) oversized sweater. u card ur fingers through his hair as he takes his time partially undressing.

normally, you’d be much more impatient and needy with him, but there was something different about this exchange between you two. this had been sitting heavy on your mind for a while. i mean you always loved jerking him off before giving him the suck of his life, but this was different. he’d never done it in front of you, there was never a need to. he was always hard and ready whenever the time called for it.

you knew he’d done it to the thought of you. he’d told you in passing once, before one of your shared classes.

“i don’t need porn anymore, i have you,” he’d stated blankly, like there was nothing wrong with what he said (there wasn’t, he was just more open than you sometimes).

“oh, okay,” you reply, not sure how to respond.

you were flattered to hear as much, but what really got you hot and bothered was the thought of him doing it. shirt clenched between his teeth, rapidly working his hand up and down his thick cock, needy for release. and ever since you’d been meaning to getting around to asking him to let you see it.

thank god he loves you so much. the bastard actually got turned of by the thought of you watching him as well. what a cawinky dink.

his joggers and underwear finally pool around his ankles and you slowly lower yourself back onto his lap, spreading your legs a little wider. he stares at you, eyes dripping with hunger as he undresses you with just a look.

you pull a little on his hair at the nape of his neck, eliciting a soft whimper from him. his dick, fully erect and raging red at the tip, jumps from the sensation as well, smearing pre cum against his bare stomach.

its weird to see him like this. you’d normally do things like this in the dark and enclosed in your shared bedroom but this was different; orange and pink light spilled from the sheer curtain-covered balcony windows in the living room, lighting everything up properly. there was no room for him to be shy (not that he would be any way).

his happy trail caught the light perfectly, leading down to his crotch, his pubic hair trimmed but not completely shaven. his dick spills more precum, sparkling in the light.

you drop your head back into the crook of hitoshis shoulder, unable to fight the embarrassment from ogling his dick so intensely.

“you asked me to do this and you’re more embarrassed than me?” he laughs, pulling you up to meet his gaze once more.

“it's not every day im having a staring contest with ur dick hitoshi,” you reply, eyeing him with slight annoyance, “it's just… out… looking at me… all intense like and shit.”

he shakes his head, huffs out a breathless laugh and smiles before pulling you into a quick chaste kiss. when you separate, he brings his left hand up to your face, “spit,” he commands, a tone of bass in his voice, and you comply, building up a nice amount in your mouth before letting it slowly pool into his hand.

“good girl,” he praises, caressing your cheek with his free hand before bringing his other down to his dick.

you're the first to break eye contact, following his hand go to smear your spit over his already wet dick.

the noise it makes is absurd and you can’t help but moan at his action, squeezing his hips with your knees in hopes of calming down your pussy. you can feel yourself growing hotter by the minute, pussy growing wetter by the second.

“did that make you feel good?” your boyfriend murmurs. that teasing bitch.

nonetheless, you nod, mouth slightly agape, your eyes not meeting his eyesight, but rather staring at his hand fist at his dick, a disgusting slick slick slick rhythm sounding about the living room.

in a way, it was beautiful, the way he fucked his glistening dick with his hand in the golden time of the day. every other stroke, he’d grip his dick firmly, foreskin slowly rolling over his tip, precum mixed with ur spit settling in the small concave space at the tip, making u cream more and more in your bottoms.

this fucker really knew how to please you. what a sweetheart.

“oh fuck,” he wheezes, free hand flying up to grip his hair. he’d found a nice rhythm, speeding up and slowing down, sometimes taking a break from working his shaft to rub his tip with one finger, staying right on the edge.

at this point, you’re squirming all about his lap, unable to contain your need for him. when he moans, you moan. when he gasps, you gasp. when he stops, you try to stop grinding on him, but you have a little less self-control than he does.

he starts and stops again, dick red from all the agitation. you whine from the lost contact, eager to see him continue fucking himself.

“can you do something for me?” he asks, bringing his face up to yours, rubbing his nose lightly across your cheek.

“anything you want,” you whisper against his lips, eyes heavy and breathing hard. you hope he can’t smell the onions from your late lunch. that’d be embarrassing.

“give me your hand,” he says, reaching out for your right hand. he grabs it and his hand feels kinda gross against yours, cold and wet from the lost contact of his dick.

instead of watching him guide your hand to his dick, this time your eyes stay glued to his, a new sudden confidence flowing through your body.

sometimes, he’d made you feel small with this type of look, eyes unwavering, never shifting from your form. he’d always made you feel shy, his presence suffocating in a way.

but other times, its made you feel so loved the look of want smothering you up to your chin. what does one crave if not wanting to be wanted?

he closes your fist around his dick, your hand encompassed in his larger one, guiding you on how to pleasure him.

“go slow, ill lead,” he says and you nod, still staring at him.

he squeezes his fist around yours, tightening your grip around his length before slowly bringing it down to the bottom of his shaft, his tufts of purple pubic hair tickling your hand before pulling your hands back up to the tip. his foreskin moves with the motion, stretching and tightening around his dick.

your mouth waters at the image displayed of what the sight could look like, but you’d be damned if you lost the game against your boyfriend so you hold his gaze despite your want to watch you pleasure him.

he builds up a rhythm again, this time a deeper slurk slurk slurk sounding about the space. your mouth waters more as he whimpers, louder and more frequent the more you jerk him off. his eyelids sit heavy but still on you, meeting your level of competitiveness.

he pants, almost like a dog, voice reverberating off the walls and breathing pattern matching the rhythm of your shared strokes on his cock.

awe shit, awe fuck. you want to put him in your mouth and swallow his load, you want him to fuck you softly into the couch, you want to feel him everywhere. you wanted him to give you his babies. raise a family. grow old with him. love him. awe fuck, awe shit.

“does that feel good baby?” you mew, panting in desire. he nods rapidly, eyebrows drawn to a point, mind too clouded with lust to muster up a verbal answer.

you tighten your pointer finger and thumb just slightly as he brings your hands back up to the tip. he jerks forward slightly, but keeps your gaze, groans falling from his mouth. you take you free hand and cup it under his balls, pulling up against them slightly, adding just that much more pressure.

that seems to be what sets him off.

hitoshis eyes squeeze shut and his jaw slacks agape as he moans out “oh fuck, oh baby, oh fuck fuck fuck fuck, im gonna cum. thank you, thank you-“

he keeps the pace going before his stomach hollows and his thighs tense, slowly jerking his foreskin around his tip with your hand, and letting his head fall back against the couch.

he spurts hot cum from his angry red dick, it splatting across his chest and stomach, across your (his) sweater, and onto your thighs. he still works your hand and his up and down his softening dick, cum oozing down your hands and across your fingers, a squelch squelch squelch gracing your ears.

soon he brings your joined hands to a stop, and sighs, head lolling to the side on the back of the brown couch, eyes still closed, a small smile on his face.

he lets go of your hand, his dick, now shrunken and soft, flopping on his messy stomach. you move to wipe his spend mixed with your spit on your (HIS!!) already soiled sweater but he brings his own hand up to his mouth before licking it, bottom of his palm up the side to the tip of his finger. he pries his eyes open, immediately finding yours before removing his finger from his mouth with a pop.

“tastes good. wanna taste?” he asks and like always, you nod.

he slowly rises from the back of the couch, grabbing your face with his hands, pulling you into a deep, sweet kiss. it was an odd taste, almost like the sour cream water before you mix it up, but if it was from hitoshi, then you’d always ask for more.

you separate with a smack and you smile. he smiles back.

“you like it?” he asks, and you nod.

“toshi’ juice tastes good.”

“good. don’t ever say that stupid shit again.”

you laugh and he sticks his forehead to yours, both slick and sweat.

“where did you learn how to do that?” he questions softly. you giggle, shrugging and pulling him into another kiss, his lips soft and fitting like a puzzle piece against yours, “i told you, i’ve had a lotta time to think about it.”

“i cant wait to marry you,” he whispers, eyes crossing slightly in a post-coital haze of love and lust. you smile harder and let your head fall into the crook of his neck yet again.

“when did that turn into a competition?” you mutter, voice vibrating against his neck and sending shivers down his spine. he lets out a small groan and you smile so hard, your cheeks start to burn.

“you started it,” he accuses and you simply shake your head, “and i ended it too,”

he laughs, airy and wonderful before pressing the tip of his nose to your neck, breathing in your scent.

you let your brain fog over for a bit after such an intense emotional and physical exchange. what were you gonna make for dinner? you still had to wash the dishes from lunch. and take out the trash. and now you both are all dirty and sweaty and smelly. maybe you could shower together after some rest? thank god the couch is pleather. it would be a bitch to clean the cum off of if otherwise.

“i didn’t get you to come yet,” he reminds you, your mind hazed over with sleepiness. you hum, nuzzling further into his neck, “that’s okay. i know you’ll make it up to me.”

he kisses your neck and hums in agreement, suckling at different parts of it, leaving red marks in his lips. “i'll wake you up in a little while so we can get dinner ready. sleep well stinky.”

your mind clouds over until you feel yourself drifting off to sleep. a light snore graces hitoshis ears which only makes him smile.

he rests his back onto the couch, you nuzzling more into his chest. he interlocks his fingers together across your back, his arms resting where your waist meets your ass. the sun sets a nice shade of amber red, smothering the both of you in a calming evening heat and glow. its time to rest now.

“i love you, dork.”

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myher0myher0

1 month ago

hellos and goodbyes

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myher0myher0

4 months ago

pov: ur getting haunted by ur psycho ex boyfriend that u still have unresolved feelings for 🖐😔

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myher0myher0

4 months ago

PARIAH - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you.

Nosferatu AU, Spinner POV, 5k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you.

Not far now, Midoriya said the last time they stopped to catch their breath, but the woods seem to go on endlessly, and Spinner feels as though he’s been running for even longer. He’s no stranger to fleeing for his life. In one way and another he’s been doing it since he was born. But he’s never run for someone else’s life before. Never before has someone else’s survival hung in the balance of his heavy footsteps through the snow and the breaths of air so cold it sears his lungs. Spinner is the weakest of them, with the least to offer, closer to dead weight than a valuable ally. But in this moment, he’s the only one who can save Shigaraki’s life.

They came to this village six months ago, and for six months, life was quiet. The villagers were wary of strangers, of course, particularly strangers like Spinner and his friends, but for once, they all managed to keep their heads down. Toga made friends among the maidens in the village, while Twice made himself useful., and Dabi did them the favor of putting out fires rather than starting them. Spinner helped where he could, but mostly he watched Shigaraki. The evil that haunted Shigaraki had done so all his life, but it had only attempted a fatal strike when their backs were turned, and when they fled with the city in flames behind them, Spinner swore he would never allow such a thing to happen again.

Spinner kept a careful watch, but it didn’t matter. The affliction came again, weakening Shigaraki to the point where he could barely rise from his bed, and worse, it began to spread through the village. The villagers blamed Shigaraki and came to punish him, but they were too late. Spinner’s best friend died before his eyes three nights past, and the villagers buried him in an iron coffin before the sun could rise.

Or at least, Spinner had thought Shigaraki was dead. On the first day, he believed the muffled screams issuing from the graveyard were the manifestation of his own guilty conscience. But on the second day, the others heard them, too, and although the villagers believed they had locked away the source of the affliction, it continued to spread. The priest came to the graveyard, heard the screams, and ordered Shigaraki exhumed. Fool that he is, Spinner thought they meant to help him.

Then he and everyone else saw the ash stake in the priest’s hand, sharpened to a deadly point. It was an error to bury him whole, the priest said. This will quiet him forevermore.

They could not reason with him. No logic could overcome the priest’s certainty, nor the absolute faith the villagers had in him. It did not matter that Shigaraki had not left the house since falling ill. It did not matter that the coffin had been locked shut, nor that the surface above the grave was undisturbed. The priest and his followers buried Spinner’s best friend alive, and now they mean to dig him up and stake him through the heart.

Spinner hung back as Dabi and Toga and Twice argued. He’s worthless at arguing, just as he is at everything else, but as he stood at the edges of the conversation, someone caught his hand and drew him away. When Spinner looked down, he found Midoriya Izuku looking up at him. The strangest child in the village, known for daydreaming so vividly and so often that he falls into potholes at least twice a week, wore a determined look that shocked Spinner in its ferocity. You cannot stop the priest, he said. Only the witch can do that.

Every rural village has its superstitions, and this village has the witch – never seen, never spoken to, always blamed for blighted crops, missing livestock, and bouts of ill fortune. It is said that the witch is monstrous, raised by wolves and lies with them, too, an enemy of all that is holy. But when the affliction struck, not a single villager placed the blame on the witch. And when Midoriya Izuku spoke of her, he did so without fear.

He bade Spinner follow him, running across the bridge over the stream and down the sole path into the northern woods, and although Spinner questions the wisdom of challenging a mundane evil with a supernatural one, he has no other choice. He swore to protect Shigaraki, just as the others did, but he’s the one who failed. The witch will drive a hard bargain for her help, and Spinner will take it. What happens to Spinner doesn’t matter. Better by far that Shigaraki survives.

Not far now, Midoriya said, but each twist and turn in the path reveals only further twist and turns ahead. When Midoriya stops again to catch his breath, Spinner’s patience snaps. “There is no time. We must hurry.”

“The ground froze hard these past nights,” Midoriya gasps, “and they buried him deep. We have time. After this I will not need to stop again.”

“You had better not, or I will leave you here and find the witch myself.” Spinner says that, only to feel his nerves turn to water at the thought. “How do you know she will help?”

“I don’t know what she can do,” Midoriya says, and Spinner’s heart sinks further. “But I know that when the priest ordered me to kill a wolf-dog pup from my dog’s last litter, she came down from the woods to take it away.”

He straightens and picks up the pace, and Spinner chases after him, questions upon questions queued up on the tip of his tongue. “You’ve seen her?”

“Not – not really,” Midoriya admits as they careen around a corner. “She wore a veil over her face, and dressed all in white. But her voice sounded ordinary. Not as a monster’s voice should, or I think not. If she is not one, I have never heard a monster speak.”

Spinner has. It’s unmistakable – not just a hearing or a feeling, but a knowing, a terror beyond thought and reason. “I had to cross the bridge to bring her the pup,” Midoriya continues. “She would not cross to me, but when I gave it to her, she promised to raise it well.”

Spinner knew Midoriya was naïve, but this is ridiculous. “Did it not occur to you that she would lie? Monsters know only how to deceive.”

“She didn’t lie,” Midoriya says sharply. “I know when someone lies to me. She wouldn’t have hurt my pup. She –”

He stops talking, and stops running, too. Spinner fails to stop in time and bowls him over from the back, and as he picks himself up, he sees what caused Midoriya to balk. The path continues still further into the woods. But a wolf sits sentinel in the middle of it, blocking the way.

No, not a wolf. Spinner has seen wolves, more than his share of them, far more than he would have wished to. This is – “A wolf-dog?”

“Yes,” Midoriya says, his voice trembling with something like awe. “Mine.”

The wolf-dog’s ears prick upwards, and its tufted tail wags, scattering long-dead leaves away from the path. All at once it rises to its feet, turns, and lopes away, but only as far as the next bend in the path. There it turns and looks at them. Waits for them. “She wants us to follow,” Midoriya says, and he does so. Spinner follows, too, wondering who exactly Midoriya meant by she.

The wolf-dog keeps a brisk pace as the path, lined on either side with thick brambles, narrows such that Spinner and Midoriya must walk single-file. There are strange lights tucked away within them, emitting a pink glow that Spinner can classify neither as unholy nor divine. The wolf-dog rounds one turn in the path after another, and only when Spinner has thoroughly lost his sense of direction does it come to a stop. They’ve stopped at the edge of a large clearing, ringed in yet more of the odd pink lights. Within the clearing, there is a fence, its posts laden with wildflowers — the same flowers that climb the walls of the small cottage in the center.

It looks like something out of a children’s story. Not at all somewhere that a witch with the power to challenge the priest should live. Midoriya starts forward eagerly, and Spinner seizes his arm. “No. Even sweet things can be a trap.”

The wolf-dog noses the iron gate, and it swings open. “You want to save your friend, don’t you?” Midoriya asks. “She’s the only one who can help you. And you were wrong. She didn’t hurt my dog.”

Spinner is not at all convinced that it’s the same dog. It seems more likely the product of Midoriya’s wishful thinking. “I don’t like your friend,” Midoriya continues. “He frightens me, and everyone else. But he shouldn’t die for our fear. If you won’t go in, I will.”

Spinner is a coward. He knows he is. But even in his cowardice, he cannot allow this — a child taking the risk that belongs to him. He lets go of Midoriya’s arm and shoulders past him, past the wolf-dog, through the iron gate and along the path through the witch’s garden to the cottage’s front door. He knocks hard enough to bruise his knuckles. “Witch! I am here on a matter most urgent. Come out, or –”

“There’s no need to shout,” a perfectly ordinary voice says from behind him, and Spinner’s heart nearly stops in his chest. “I’m right here.”

Spinner wheels around, and there you are. There you have been sitting the entire time, concealed from view of the path behind your flower-entangled fence, dressed all in white just as Midoriya described and blending in with the snow. Just as Midoriya described, your face is veiled. All around you in the snow, wolf-dogs sit and sprawl, some ancient and grey-muzzled, others with the gangly clumsiness of pups. White roses are scattered around you, and even as you harken to Spinner, your fingers continue to weave them deftly into a crown.

“I thought I might have visitors today,” you say. “What are your names?”

“I don’t share my name with strangers,” Spinner growls, in the same moment as Midoriya blurts his out. “Shut up, you idiot!”

“The point of sharing names is to remove the designation of strangers,” you say mildly. Your veil is not quite opaque; Spinner sees your lips move beneath it. “I cannot blame you for your caution, but you mentioned an urgent matter. What brings you to my door?”

“The village,” Spinner says, biting down on the desire to curse its name. “It has been struck by –”

He runs out of words. He and the others have been careful in their description of it, for fear of being called insane. Even a village with such superstitions as witches is too skeptical to believe in – “Vampires,” Midoriya announces. He’s apparently abandoned caution; he’s crouched in the snow at the edge of the path, petting the wolf-dog he believes was his. “Each night more wake with bites, and not long after they fall desperately ill.”

“Are they drained of blood?” you ask. “Or is their skin simply rotting?”

“They haven’t been drained,” Midoriya says, frowning. “But the bites –”

“My friend was drained,” Spinner says, and you look to him. “He grew weak. He could not eat or drink, and visions tormented him at the end — or what we thought was the end –”

“They buried him,” you say, and Spinner nods. “But people continue to fall sick, and they believe your friend is the cause, so they intend to exhume him and put an end to him properly this time. Am I incorrect?”

Spinner can barely believe his ears. “How do you know?”

“Fear strips away reason. It comforts them to think that killing your friend will end their misery, and their desire for comfort only serves the greater threat.” Your hands work more quickly, plaiting the crown together. “You’ve come to me for help. What is it you wish me to do?”

“Stop the priest,” Spinner says. You tilt your head, studying him. “Prove my friend’s innocence.”

“That is within my power,” you say. You add a few more flowers to the crown, set it upon your head, and rise to your feet. “Is there time?”

“When we left they had already started digging,” Spinner says uselessly. “What price do you ask for your help?”

“None,” you say. You brush past Spinner, slipping into the house and emerging seconds later with a small satchel slung across your body. White deerskin with silver fastenings — not at all what Spinner would expect a forest-dwelling witch to possess. “We must travel with haste.”

“Yes. Have you horses?”

You shake your head, then raise one hand to your mouth and whistle, high and wavering. Within moments, Spinner hears the sound of heavy footfalls, and the shape that moves within the trees is so monstrously large that even Midoriya is scared up from the ground and closer to Spinner. “What is that thing?”

A wolf. Not a wolf-dog, but a true wolf, hulking and enormous, standing taller than Spinner at the shoulder. It dwarfs you as you approach it, but you approach without fear, and it lowers itself to the ground so you can speak quietly in its ear. You use no language Spinner can understand, but it is not the language of the demon, and in your ordinary voice it does little more than raise the hairs on the back of his neck. “This is a friend of mine, who has agreed to aid us,” you say, straightening up. You throw one leg over the wolf’s back and climb up, seating yourself just behind its head. “If time is as short as you say, it is not wise to hesitate.”

Spinner climbs up first, followed by Midoriya. “Keep low until we leave the trees behind,” you order, “and hang on.”

Midoriya promptly grabs hold of Spinner, but Spinner has no easy recourse. “To you? It’s not proper.”

“Would you rather be proper or survive the journey back to the village?” you ask impatiently, and Spinner secures his arms around your waist, his face miserably red. “Hold on.”

You whisper something else to the wolf, and it lurches into motion with such violence that Spinner tightens his grip in terror. He learns instantly why you ordered them to lower their heads — at the speed at which the wolf moves, a collision of their heads with a branch would result in decapitation. Spinner can’t watch the trees speeding past without feeling ill, so he shuts his eyes only to feel sicker. Opening them, keeping them fixed between your shoulder blades, is the only solution. That, and occupying his mind with something other than how inappropriate it is to hold you this closely.

You feel human. Spinner’s taken women in his arms before, human women of his own will and vampire women against it, and while the unholy attraction of the undead is absent from you, there is something undefinably strange about your presence. Perhaps all witches are thus. You have yet to do anything more witchlike than speak to wolves and live deep in the woods, and once again, Spinner begins to doubt. Who are you to challenge the priest, to counter the village’s faith in him? How could you save Shigaraki, when Dabi and Twice and Toga could not?

The wolf breaks through the tree line, and you sit up quickly. Spinner does the same, although it makes the ride significantly bumpier. Out of the woods, it’s easier to gauge the wolf’s true speed. It barrels down the hillside, as fast as any horse, and ignores the bridge in favor of leaping across the stream in a single bound. At the apex of its flight, Spinner feels you startle, then flinch, a sharp gasp exiting your lips. It’s as if you’ve been shot or stabbed, and for a moment, you go completely limp, your grip on the wolf’s mane relaxing. Only Spinner’s arms around you keep you from slipping sideways into the water – but then the wolf’s paws touch land, and you straighten up again. Spinner would think it his imagination if not for the audible catch in your breathing.

When the wolf reaches the graveyard, Spinner’s own breath catches in horror: Shigaraki’s coffin has been raised up from the earth, its lock shattered and its lid shoved aside. Between the coffin and the priest stand Toga and Dabi and Twice, and before Spinner can call out to tell them help has arrived, villagers seize his friends and drag them out of the way. The priest approaches, stake held high, and a shaking hand rises from the coffin in a weak attempt to forestall him. Shigaraki is alive, and awake – awake just in time for Spinner to watch him die.

“Wait,” he tries to call, but his voice shakes so badly that he can barely raise it above a whisper. “He isn’t –”

“Father Torino!” you call out, your voice strident and strong, and the priest stops in his tracks. He turns towards the sound of your voice and flinches as he beholds the wolf, and you and Spinner and Midoriya on its back. The villagers cower, and Dabi and the others seize the opportunity to get free and return to guard the casket — but they, too look wary. “Is it now the custom of the Church to murder innocent men by hand after burying them alive has failed to do the job?”

“This is no man, but an abomination,” the priest growls. He is a small man, and old, but neither matters when righteous fury animates him. “It is the custom of the Church to carry out God’s will and remove such things from the face of His earth.”

“If this man’s death is God’s will and not your own, then it can wait a few moments more.” You slide down easily from the wolf’s back and start forward across the graveyard, the villagers scattering from your path. “I will examine him, and prove his innocence or his guilt.”

The priest does not challenge your ability to do so, and a small measure of hope is turned loose in Spinner’s mind. He slides down from the wolf’s back as well, much less gracefully than you did, and seizes the back of Midoriya’s coat to prevent him from going face-first into the snow when he does the same. Ahead of him, you confront Dabi. “Stand aside. Let me see him.”

“What, so you can kill him?”

“Do you see a stake in my hands?” You spread them out, revealing them empty. Spinner notices for the first time the silver rings on your middle fingers, and the web of silver chains extending from them to connect to a matching bracelet around your wrist. “I only wish to examine him.”

“She can help,” Midoriya says, and Dabi’s eyes flicker to him. “Let her help.”

Dabi looks to Spinner. Spinner nods, and Dabi stands aside, allowing you to approach the coffin.

Spinner does the same, and what he sees fills him with a guilt so powerful that it nearly strikes him dead on the spot. As terrible as Shigaraki looked when they believed him dead, he looks worse now. Paler, sicker, more haunted than before. Blood stains his fingernails — what’s left of them, at least. Spinner imagines his best friend clawing at the lid of the iron coffin, desperate to get free, and nearly vomits at the thought.

Shigaraki is barely conscious, barely breathing, as you come close. Spinner was unsure of what to expect from you, but your first act strikes him as completely incongruous — you lift the crown of white roses from your head and settle it on Shigaraki’s. Shigaraki doesn’t stir, and on the other side of the coffin, the priest’s shoulders stiffen. “That proves nothing.”

“White roses are anathema to vampires. They teach you that in your book of demons,” you say. You unclasp one bracelet from around your wrist, slide one ring from your finger. “They speak of silver, too.”

You lift Shigaraki’s hand and slide the ring onto his finger. His hands are larger than yours, yet so skeletal that the ring fits easily. As does the bracelet, when you snap it shut. Once again, Shigaraki does not stir. The priest scoffs. “You expect me to believe that’s real silver?”

“I expect you to ask yourself what reason I among all others would have to collude with this affliction,” you say. You of all others? Spinner sees his confusion writ large on Toga’s face, on Dabi’s and on Twice’s. “But if it will satisfy you, I will ask someone else. Who here has something silver?”

It’s silent. Midoriya disappears into the crowd, then comes back pulling his mother. “Mother. Mother, show her — you have some –”

The woman clutches at her necklace, as though she expects you to rip it from her throat. “You will have it back unharmed,” you promise in that ordinary voice. Spinner no longer doubts that you are no monster; rather, you seem so human that he doubts your ability to help at all. “Either you will help to protect your village from a grave threat, or you will save an innocent man’s life. To save one life is to save the world entire.”

“Cease such pagan nonsense in my presence,” the priest snaps. “Even if he is no vampire, he has forfeited his right to life by bringing the affliction upon our village.”

You ignore him, and after a moment, so does Midoriya’s mother. She unclasps her necklace, and Midoriya places it in your hand. You hold it for a moment, then set it down in the hollow of Shigaraki’s throat. He does not move beyond the rise and fall of his chest. “Odd,” you remark. “A vampire should flinch from such things.”

The priest doesn’t answer. You gesture for Spinner to come closer, to stand alongside Dabi and the others. “Bite marks,” you say, and Spinner startles along with the rest of them. “Where were they?”

“He had many,” Toga says. She tended to Shigaraki most closely, and took his apparent death nearly as hard as Spinner did. “On his throat. His chest. Both wrists and ankles.”

“Were there others?” you ask. Toga shakes her head, and you raise your voice, addressing the crowd in the graveyard. “In the legends, a true vampire’s body bears no bite marks. The transformation erases them. Is it not so?”

The crowd mumbles assent, and Spinner wonders if this is why Midoriya insisted on summoning you. The priest’s frothing rage looks particularly mad when contrasted to your calmness. You look to the priest next. “Is it not so, Father Torino?”

“In tales and in history.” The priest speaks through gritted teeth. “Let us examine him. I — what are you doing?”

“My eyes must be clear,” you say, and you lift your veil.

Half the village recoils, but when you fold it back, Spinner sees nothing out of the ordinary about your face. There is no mad light in your eyes, no distorted sneer on your mouth, no dark magic writhing visibly beneath your skin. There is an odd pallor to you, but nothing more. You turn back to face the priest — the priest, who did not flinch. “Let us examine him.”

Shigaraki does not react to your touch, but when the priest reaches in to grasp his arm and haul his wrist into the light, he shrinks back. “You see?” the priest demands. “He recoils from a man of God –”

“A man who was about to drive a stake through his heart. I’d recoil, too.” You have Shigaraki’s other hand, holding it carefully, and you turn it to expose his wrist to the light. “Look, Father. Those resemble bite marks to me. And here –”

You lift the wrist that Shigaraki pulled away from the priest. “More bite marks. Just as the maiden said.”

Shigaraki’s mouth opens, and the voice that issues from it is hoarse from three days of screaming. “Spinner –”

Spinner hurries forward, and without a word, you shift your examinations to Shigaraki’s ankles. “I’m here,” Spinner tells Shigaraki. “I’m sorry.”

Shigaraki shakes his head. “What’s — happening?”

“Midoriya took me to see the witch. She came back with us to help.”

“Witch?” Shigaraki rasps. “Doesn’t sound like a witch.”

“Her voice is wrong,” Toga agrees quietly. “I don’t know what she is.”

“You do not need to know. She is unclean, and those who fear God should stay far from her and her accursed woods,” the priest says. “And you, Shigaraki — you fear death a great deal for a man who does not fear God.”

Shigaraki’s red eyes flutter shut. He seems to have exhausted his strength, and Spinner finds himself watching the rise and fall of Shigaraki’s chest, fixated on the smallest motions. He kept this same vigil before, three nights ago, dreading every new second until the motion stuttered and stopped — or rather continued, so imperceptibly that everyone believed him dead. Whether you’re a witch or not, you are an effective counter to the priest, but what happens after you spare Shigaraki’s life? His affliction will not fade, and the evil that stalks him will not relent. Has Spinner saved Shigaraki’s life only to consign him to a slow, agonizing death?

Spinner’s thoughts are interrupted when your hand appears in his field of vision, parting the buttons on Shigaraki’s shirt to expose the bite marks directly over his heart. The priest grasps Shigaraki’s jaw and turns his head roughly to one side, revealing the bite marks on his throat as well.

Spinner remembers the first time he beheld the evidence of Shigaraki’s affliction. Shigaraki had kept it from them as long as possible, but one by one, they saw things that could not be explained, heard things in the night that could not be dismissed. They knew too much to find safety in ignorance, but they could not protect themselves if they did not know the truth, and so Shigaraki shared what he knew of the evil that had clung to him since childhood. They doubted him at first, but he must have expected it. Spinner will never forget the shiver of disgust that tore through him at the sight of the marks on Shigaraki’s throat – and how it grew ever worse with each set of marks he revealed.

The reminder alone of what Shigaraki suffers fills Spinner with disgust. He cannot imagine experiencing it and surviving with his mind intact, and yet Shigaraki has survived. And he will survive this, too. Faced with all the evidence you have revealed, the priest cannot kill Shigaraki now.

“Are you satisfied?” you ask, when the priest fails to respond. “This man is not the source of the affliction. He is its victim, as much as any of the others who have fallen ill.”

“Perhaps,” the priest says – and he raises his stake. “I’d rather be sure.”

Before he can bring it down, you seize it. Dabi does the same, and so does Spinner, while Toga and Twice throw themselves across the coffin to shield Shigaraki. “Careful,” you say to the priest. Your grip tightens, and Spinner feels the fire-hardened stake buckle slightly. “If you kill this man now, it will be murder, and your list of sins is not so short as to allow for the addition of one more.”

It’s a long moment before the priest releases the stake, and when he does, it splinters to pieces. Perhaps it was Dabi’s grip that shattered it; your hand is too small. “If you wish to save him, begone with him,” the priest says. “He is barred from the village until his affliction is cured. If it can be cured.”

Spinner’s heart sinks, but once again, you remain calm. “I will cure it,” you say. “I will take him with me, if he will go.”

“No,” Twice says at once. “He stays with us.”

“Let her take him,” Midoriya’s mother urges. Spinner thought she would have fled, but then again, her silver necklace still rests against Shigaraki’s throat. “The others will come for him tonight, and kill you to get to him, no matter what the priest says. It is safer to let him go.”

“We should come with him,” Toga says. You shake your head. “Why not?”

“The forest is unkind at night. I cannot shield your minds and heal his at the same time.” You look regretful, and ill at ease. “Stay here for the night, and visit in the morning. My friends will guide you to me.”

The wolves and wolf-dogs. Spinner remembers the rumor that you were raised by them, that you lay with them, and feels a surge of distaste — not for you, but for those who would start such rumors and spread them. “It’s Shigaraki’s choice,” he says. He looks down into the coffin at Shigaraki, at his pale face and bloody hands, swathed in silver with a crown of flowers on his head. “Do you wish to go with her?”

“Spinner.” Shigaraki’s voice is little more than a whisper. Spinner leans close. “Can she do as she promises?”

There seems to be nothing magical about you at all. Spinner doubts you can do anything — but he does not doubt that Shigaraki will be safer in the heart of the forest tonight than anywhere else. He nods. “I can’t face him tonight. Not like this,” Shigaraki says. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” the priest says. His disgust is etched deeply into his wrinkled face, and as he transfers his gaze from Shigaraki to you, it only grows. “As the filthy beast you rode in on has fled, I have no idea how you expect to remove him from my sight. Do you honestly think someone will lend you a horse?”

“I have no need of one.” You nudge Spinner to one side and lift the necklace up from Shigaraki’s throat, handing it back to Midoriya’s mother. Then you lift one of Shigaraki’s arms, looping it around your neck, and he expends what appears to be his last measure of strength to lift up the other. “I can walk.”

You can’t mean to carry him. Even half dead, half-starved, Shigaraki is bigger than you are. But as Spinner watches in horrified fascination, you slide one hand behind his best friend’s head and the other beneath his bent knees, and you lift Shigaraki from the coffin as though he weighs nothing at all.

Shigaraki slumps against your shoulder, barely conscious once more, and the crowd of villagers parts before you again. Your voice, still ordinary, carries not even a hint of strain when you speak to Spinner. “Come visit at first light,” you say. “No harm will come to him while he is with me.”

Dabi’s hand comes down on your shoulder, just as Toga grasps your elbow. “Swear it.”

You incline your head, and Spinner sees a web of faint scars across your brow. “I swear it by my blood.”

You set off walking at an easy pace, as though you aren’t carrying a grown man in your arms the way a lord might carry a maiden. Dabi’s voice is low in Spinner’s ear. “What did you do?”

“What?”

“Her kind don’t do favors,” Twice says. “What did you give her?”

“Nothing,” Spinner says. “She took nothing.”

“Except Tomura,” Toga says grimly. “In the morning we’ll take him back.”

“Damn right,” Twice says, ignoring the look the priest gives him. “We’ve tried everything but witches to heal him. Maybe she will fix him.”

“What’s wrong with him isn’t inside. It’s out there somewhere,” Dabi says. “Whatever she fixes, it won’t last.”

Dabi’s right, as much as it burns Spinner to admit it. All Spinner’s done in retrieving the witch is buy Shigaraki a little more time. One night where the villagers can’t come for him, howling for his blood the same way the evil that stalks him lusts for it. Spinner’s best friend has spent so many nights in misery and pain. If the best Spinner can do is secure for Shigaraki one night of relative peace, he’d have paid all you asked for and more.

But you asked for nothing. Spinner watches you approach the bridge, still walking smoothly with Shigaraki cradled in your arms, and wonders why.

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