A couple of requesters are asking to write about a specific colour/race and I’d just like to put out there that I don’t write about a specific colour. For example, I dont say specifically I will be writing about a white person, black person, Asian etc. I do this so that the story can relate to anyone who reads and not just of a specific colour or race. I will still take your request but I will not state the race ^.^ Thank you and I hope you understand. And also, I’m writing a Topp dogg smut right now so be prepared;)

allsassnoclass:

I Want To Hear You Say It

Chapter 11: Takeout

Summary:You order takeout for the League

Word Count: 4.8K

A/N:I gotta rush it because I’m superexcited to write the scenes after the Overhaul arc:P

The day is settling, a warm, orange hue coats the city as the sky changes to softer colors, the clouds darkening and the beds nesting above buildings and on phone wires. Tomura sits on the ledge of a building, high enough that people don’t look up at him and fear a potential suicide attempt, but he’s close enough that he can watch you at work. For the most part, it’s nice. He gets to watch you in complete and utter freeness- for the most part, you are still confined to the building. 

You wear tight clothing, your shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease the patrons who come in. He admits that it makes him upset, knowing that others are so much closer to seeing you than he has. That they get to see you flustered at most, but never scared. But it is your job, and there isn’t much that he can do about it. At least not yet. He’s been planning more, smoothing out the edges in his plan, and he’s made sure that you’ll be taken care of, that you’ll be by his side, never in harm’s way, but close to him. His hand tightens around the cornice, his eyes staring at you, but not entirely looking at you. The past night’s events brought things to his mind, how you view the relationship, how timid you are but bold all at once, or even how you believe that this isn’t anything more for him, a fling at most, but it isn’t. He’d be sure that all his actions would show that he genuinely cares for you in the way that he knows how.

His skin burns, and it creeps in, growing and incinerating him, and it brings him back to reality. His hand scratches against his cheek, softly, a tickle at first, but then grows, letting his nails drag down until it curls around his neck and lowers to his chest. With second nature, he lifts his pinky. He keeps the gloves on for you, and without them now, he can still feel the constraints of it, the pinch of his skin, the faded red outline where it dug into his flesh and just how foreign it was.

You told him that it was easier to love him, to accept whatever he wanted, than to fight back. And yet, you still tremble, you still don’t want anything more with him. You believe that it’s all some fling for him as if he can even allow himself the luxury for that. He allows you because he wants to. Because with you, at least there’s a chance that you see him as a person. You helped him without knowing him, you led him to your apartment and let him shower. You dried his hair and let him overstay his welcome. And he’s the one who is  making you cry. 

It would be much easier to get rid of you. To keep a memento of you  rather than to keep you.

He watches with sad eyes as a patron enters and seats in your section. You go to them immediately, a bounce in your step as you greet them and even from his distance, he can see that you’re smiling wide and that it’s genuine. You must know the patron. Either that, or you really just are a good person. It’s an interesting interaction to watch. They put their hands on you- on your forearm, sliding it down to your wrist, and your smile tightens. You don’t know them that well. Their hands are on you, and you can only move a step back, the hands falling off and the knuckles grazing your uniform. And then you walk away, smiling and holding your notebook close to your chest as you scurry off. 

Maybe he should have asked Toga to go inside. He’s sure that she would have done it. The restaurant is cute and it would’ve given her a reason to interact with you more- something that she has been stating ever since the initial meeting. When you return with a cup of something, you place it on the table and let your hand rest on the patron’s shoulder before you walk away. He’s seen enough.

-

The blinds are open. You aren’t normally so careless, but it is late, and you are living in an area where most people won’t be able to see you. Tomura walks down the fire escape, slinking under windows with the lights on on the other side, careful to not make a sound and rushing across the street with his hood pulled up; and people don’t pay him any mind. They let the slender man cross the road without worry of who he is.

He slinks to the alleyway beside your apartment, and he has a running start ot a jump to grab at the raised ladder and have it pull down with his weight. It makes a loud noise and he waits with bated breath until his chest is tight and his face is hot to make his way to see you. He’s growing closer to your apartment- to the window of your home. The outside night is warm- humid if he were to think about it a bit too long, if he were to focus on how his hair sticks to the back of his neck and how uncomfortably hot it feels under his hoodie. The outside air smells of oil and dirt, and the sound of cars fills the night air, and there’s laughter coming from an apartment, and crying from another and he wants the former for you- for him and you. 

Inside, your apartment is quiet. Your room is messy- sheets twisted and pillows left with your impression. Your uniform is sprawled over a chair and he’s rushing, eager to find you. He wonders why you aren’t in your room, and why you’ve chosen to be somewhere else. 

You sit on the couch, curled up on a corner, another blanket covering your body, your phone in hand and you’re reading something on it, and you turn the phone off, tilting the screen down before you can see into the black reflection, and you lower your head, letting out sniffles.

“What’s wrong?” A voice asks behind you- too close and too sudden for comfort.

“For fuck’s-” you yelp. Your phone falls onto the floor with a smack and you visibly flinch. You turn around to face him, your shoulders lowering when you realize that it is him. “Oh shit,” you stutter out, bending down to pick up the phone, “uh, hey, Tomura.” You click your phone on and let out a sigh when no cracks show on your phone. “No, I’m good. Don’t worry about it.” You wipe below your eyes with the knuckle of your index. 

He frowns. “But you were-”

“I know,” you quickly add. “But no, I’m good. I was just reading this manga and it really got to me, is all,” you explain, waving your phone in the air with a tight grip to avoid any further accidents and potential damage. You groan, dabbing at the corner of your eye with your knuckle, closing your eyes and he’s walking slowly around the couch, looking away, trying to make sure that he isn’t freaking you out anymore than he already has. “So-” you turn to where he was, quickly searching around until you find him at the opposite end of the couch- “what uh, brings you here?”

Slowly, he sits down, keeping to himself, trying to gauge your reaction. He doesn’t know what to do at this moment. He swallows roughly, and clears his throat. “I wanted to visit.” You nod and say nothing.

It’s silent for a few moments, time dragging on, the clock in your room ticking with every passing second and you stare away from him. Has it always been this tense around you?

“How did you get in?” You’re looking at him and he isn’t sure what your expression is supposed to be. Disgust? Fear? A mixture of that and possibly even more? “I thought that you’d come through the balcony.” You nod your head over to the open blinds. He isn’t sure how you’d react if you knew that he came in through your window. You smile and turn away. “I guess it’s better if I don’t know, huh?”

“How was work?” He asks, desperate to change the conversation.

You shrug. “It was fine. It’s food service, so it’s awful, but today was manageable.” You turn to him, giving him a tightlipped smile. “We do to-go orders sometimes, and usually people place them through the website and sometimes it takes a while for it to show up on our end, but the customer showed up literally seconds after they placed the order.” You let out a sigh and lean back, tilting your head upwards. “It was just annoying, you know?” He nods, as if he knows, and a part of him does. Not the part that watches you, the part that has to deal with the minimal things, the part that understands how difficult people can be.

You’re easier to talk to afterwards. The conversation formed on your end as you ramble and complain, turning your body to face him, moving your phone from hand to hand, and ranting to him. He, of course, hangs onto every word, nodding along, hoping for you to continue more. Logically, he knows that you trust him, or at least trust him to keep you safe, but even so, you still refrain from sharing all of your day. You don’t tell him about the customer who slid their hand from your arm to your wrist. Do you just not care about it? That has to be it. You had come to him, crying that one day when you were mugged. If it were a bigger problem, he’s sure that you would have confided in him. 

“Anyways,” you sigh, tucking your legs under you, “I’ve talked enough for the night. What about you? I didn’t hear anything about the League of Villains on the news today. Did you not go out and-” you look puzzled for a moment- “steal?” You end with confusion. “What do you guys do?”

“The news calls it terroism,” he states without much emotion, and when he catches your eyes, wide and almost scared as if you truly remembered they weren’t just a band of thugs bashing in mailboxes, he shrugs. “But today, we didn’t do much. We-” he frowns and remembers going to the factory with the rest of the League late into the evening. Picking the shades off of the floor, and having to touch Magne one last time. He remembers how Himiko cried, how she tried to be quiet but kept sniffling and hiding her face. How silent Jin was. How he didn’t know whether he should stand so close to Magne, or if he should stay away. How Atsuhiro swayed in his stance and leaned onto Shuichi for support. How Shuichi looked so sad, so close to tears but never letting them spill over. How Dabi stood silent, close to Himiko, and how rigid he held himself as she cried like a child. 

Tomura remembers how cold Magne felt. How it wasn’t fitting that she should have such a sad funeral. To have no funeral at all for her. To reduce her to ash because at least that way she wouldn’t be stuck in dirt.

“Tomura?” He looks at you. “You okay?” You don’t have to know that.

“We didn’t do much. I have to get ready for a meeting soon, so I mainly spent the day in.” You nod and the answer suffices enough for you. He waits for a moment, wondering if you’d add anything else, but you remain silent, turning your attention back to your phone. The screen illuminates you until he interrupts, and your attention is back on him. “There’s this new game coming out. I’m hoping to get it.”

You stare at him, blinking once, then twice. “Oh yeah,” you say below your breath. “You mentioned you liked video games. You uh, played a lot as a kid, right?”

He gives you a small smile. “Yeah,” he says in a tone matching yours. “They were really the only thing I was allowed to actually have. That and figures and some comics.”

“So nerd culture, huh?” You’re smiling at him now. There’s a teasing tone in your voice, and you lean to the back of the couch, your arm bent to rest your head on. “What’s the name of the game? You know, the one that you want to get?”

“It’s a sequel to this other one.” You’re trying, and he has to try to but it is difficult. “Well, it’s not a direct sequel, just another game with the same character. From what I played as the demo, the uh, min character is sucked into another world and has to rescue their friends that are trapped in cages.” 

“Sounds exciting.” You nod, encouraging him to continue and he does. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “It is. The game- or well series isn’t particularly too difficult, so it’s more for fun than anything.”

“I like games like those,” you add. 

“Animal Crossing, right?” You lift your head from where your arm was resting. “You mentioned it once a bit ago. Stuff with simple tasks, right?” You smile and nod.

“Yeah, simple tasks,” you repeat with a smile. “I want to get into some platformers but the joystick on my Switch is busted and I keep putting it off on getting it repaired.”

“The drift?” He questions.

“Yeah,” you say exasperatedly. “It isn’t super bad but I would like to be able to play without worrying that it’ll slow me down or anything. And then these spare controllers that I got for the holidays, had the buttons stop working like a month or two later.” You give him a tired grin. “Do you play by yourself?

“Sometimes. If I play co-op, I play with Spinner.” The back of his neck is starting to feel hot.

“He’s the green one, right?” You ask quickly.

“Yeah.” He clears his throat and brings a hand to the side of his neck, pulling down on his sensitive skin, his nails dragging and burning lines into him. “He’s the one who likes gaming the most in the League. The others aren’t nearly as into it.”

“How are the others?” You ask and he gives you a confused look- or at least one with narrowed eyes. “It’s been a day or two since Magne’s-” you let the sentence trail off, not quite finishing it, but he can put two and two together. “It’s just that Toga seemed close to her and she’s still young. That-” you chose to skirt around the word death, and he lets his nails pull against his skin once more, before they still- “must have been difficult for her.” You look at him, and there’s pity in your eyes. “For all of you, really.”

“She’ll be okay,” he adds and he turns his attention away from you and stares at his reflection on the television. “She’s still processing it.” His words hold a particular tightness to them. The words are short, making it clear that whatever conversation you’re trying to have is now shut down. In the corner of his eye, he sees you deflate and he tilts his head away. He should leave- before he makes you upset. He reaches into his hoodie pocket, pulling out Father. Your eyes are on him, and you watch as his face is concealed. He stands and when he turns to you, he isn’t sure how to say goodbye. His mouth opens behind the cold palm, and it’s warmed by his breath as he exhales.

“I told y’all that he’d be here,” a voice booms across the room. You visibly startle, your shoulders raising and for a moment he’s reminded of a scared cat that arches their body and the hair that stands on its end. 

You both turn and the League- what remains of it- stands in a group, Atsuhiro leaning against the wall, and his mask is on, making it hard to discern what type of look  he’s giving the two of you. He’s sure it’s a mix between pain and suspicion. Shuichi and Jin stand beside one another, Spinner looking towards you and Twice holds an arm around Spinner, and he can tell that there’s a grin behind his mask. Himiko stands with her arms crossed, hands curved over her biceps and her eyes are rimmed red, and she refuses to look at him. Dabi stands at the back, eyes fixed on Tomura with a smoldering look.

He’s still standing, and you stand beside him, giving them a nervous smile. Your head moves slightly as you stare at each member, until you finally come to Atushiro. “Oh my goodness,” you gasp, looking at Mr. Compress, the sleeve of his arm pinned to his shoulder. Even his mask looks sad, downturned, black lines that form sad eyes and a frown. 

“Ah, yes. I suppose Shigaraki has told you all about it?” Your lips pull into a thin line. You aren’t sure if you’re supposed to answer with the truth, and his eyes glance towards you. “It’s fine if he did.” There’s a pause. “I’m sure you also heard about Magne.” Toga looks down, her hands tightening around her biceps.

Silence fills the gaps, making the question uncomfortable, and air tense in a way that Tomura isn’t sure he appreciates. This place was supposed to be his and yours. “I did.” At the sound of your voice, he turns his head towards you. “I’m terribly sorry about your loss. I- I’m sure you were all close.” His jaw tenses. “Does it- Do you want- or need painkillers?” You ask, taking steps around the couch and towards the League.

Atsuhiro perks, prying himself off of where he leans. “Ah, if you would be so kind.” You let out a soft hum, and give a curt nod.

“Of course, Mister.” You rush to him, grabbing at his hand and pulling him with you. “You should sit. Are you okay to be moving around so much?” You help him to the couch and Tomura scowls behind Father. 

“Oh, it hurts incredibly so, but I’m the one who can really transport all of us at once to here.” There’s a change to his tone, and he leans back onto the couch, a hand coming to cup around his upper bicep gingerly, and his head tilts. The sad looking mask adds to the pity that he’s trying to gain.

You frown and move your hand to the side of your face. “Oh,” you sigh. “Is there anything you’d like? Some coffee or tea? Are you hungry? Is there anything that I could get for you?” Your tone is much softer, speaking to him as if raising your voice would harm him in some type of way.

“If you could,” he says softly, “I would like some sushi.”

You frown. “I’m not sure-”

He hisses in pain, his hand moving upwards to clutch at his shoulder. “Ah, no, then it’s okay. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.” His head lowers the others just stare at him, watching as you lower yourself to a bend, a hand on his knee placed so innocently, and Atsuhiro looks up at you. “It’s been a minute since any of us had a proper meal.”

“I can always have it delivered.” You lift yourself, and Atsuhiro follows you. “Would you all like anything to eat? I don’t mind getting it delivered. I think I have a code for free delivery.”

Tomura scoffs under his breath, rolling his eyes. You hadn’t offered him dinner. His arms cross over his chest and he turns his attention to the wall. 

-

It takes a minute to find a restaurant open so late and to have someone willing to deliver at such a late hour. You make sure that your guests are hidden, stuffed in the kitchen where you can hear your cabinets shut and glass clink. You smile and make sure to give the delivery driver a pretty tio that hurts your wallet, but is necessary. You would hate to be in their shoes- picking up food from different restaurants, and driving late and climbing up the stairs. A tip is necessary. With a smile, you thank the driver, and wish them a good night, closing the door and clicking the locks into place. You grab the bags and carry it just a bit further away from the door until you rest it on the ground once more, fearing that the weight from the food will tear the handles and ruin everyone’s dinner. The food sits on the floor and not wanting to call for help, you sigh, lowering, to pick it all up when a pale hand reaches for a bag at the same time as you. With a gasp, you apologize and look up, meeting the glossy eyes of Toga.

“Oh, you don’t have to help me, Toga,” you say softly, grabbing the plastic bag from her hand. She lets it go without much of a fight. You bite the inside of your cheeks and take in a deep breath. “I’m sorry.” She looks up at you. “I know Magne must have meant a lot to you. You had called her your big sister and I’m-”

“I miss her,” she says, and she looks like a child. Scared, and tearful. And small. 

You let the bag go. “Do you want to talk about it?” She shakes her head, going from a bend, to sitting down and turning her body so her back is pressed against the wall, her knees pulled up to her chest, and face partially hidden. “Do you want me to sit beside you?” She nods her head slowly, and with a regretful glance to the food that will slowly grow cold, you move to sit beside her. 

Her head falls onto your shoulder and you lower your head to rest above hers. She’s far from quiet. She’s sniffling and shifting, moving her already close body, closer to you, until her arms are linked to yours, and you’re shifting to hold her as she buries her head into your shoulder. Her hands reach behind your back and bunch up your shirt, her body trembling, small, quivering gasps whispered into your ears and making your heart heavy. Your hand curves around her ears when Spinner comes by to pick up the bags, and you keep her close to you, holding her as she cries and mourns her sister. 

Every now and then, she lets out a whimper, holding you tighter and you know the sound all too well. She wants to sob. The type where she’s wailing and a headache will form after, where she’ll cry and ruin her throat. It can’t be easy for her. Being so young and thrust into homelessness, having to witness her family die and crying into a stranger’s shoulder. 

You aren’t sure how long it’s been, how long it’s been since her cries turned into whines, and hiccups, and finally, soft breathing with her weight leaned onto you. You move slowly, keeping her held, trying your best not to cause her to slide and hit her head against the floor. Carefully, you hold onto her, shifting her around until her head is on your lap, eyes closed and tear streaks wetting her reddened cheeks. Your thumb arches over her, drying the fallen tears to the best of your ability. 

“You didn’t even get to eat,” you murmur under your breath, moving your hand away from her face, resting it over her bicep. Your eyes close and you turn your head, closing your eyes for a moment. 

Your brows furrow and you open your eyes. The others hadn’t made sound while you held Toga, they’ve been particularly quiet, and it makes you wonder if they’re still here. Tapping your feet against the air, you debate on calling on Tomura, fearing that you’d wake up Toga. You tap your pockets to search for your phone, only to hear the faint buzz on the table in the living room. Looking down once more, you bite back a frown, opting to pull your lips in a thin line. 

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath. You don’t mind being a shoulder to cry on, but she’s asleep now, and you’re trapped without so much as having your phone on you for entertainment.

You knock your head against the wall, and shut your eyes tightly. 

“Did she fall asleep?” A voice breaks the silence and you’ve never been so glad to hear another voice in your apartment. Logically, it hasn’t been that long, but it’s the feeling, the nerves pricking at your skin that had started to make you feel uncomfortable from sitting for so long. You turn your head and Twice comes to a bend, his hands hovering over her, before he pulls away and looks towards Mr. Compress.

“Yeah,” you answer even if there is no reason to. “Just a little bit ago.” You don’t need to say anything else in relation to her. You’re sure that they know. You look at Tomura who still has the hand covering his face. “What time is it?”

“Late,” he answers in a curt voice. “We have to get going.” You look down at Toga and when you look up, Mr. Compress is already making his way towards.

“Are you sure you should still be using your quirk?” You ask, your hand covering over Toga’s shoulder when Mr. Compress’s bare hand goes to touch. “It won’t hurt you?”

He shakes his head. Even his mask is still on. “I’ll be okay. It’s better to marble her to make moving easier. We won’t be able to evade if we have to carry her.” He lowers his head and nudges your hand away with the back of his. “She’ll be fine if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve already marbled her food as well.” 

In an instant, she’s gone. The weight is lifted off from you, legs numb as a small, blue marble vanishes from sight into a clutched hand. That hand places the marble inside a pocket that is securely fastened and you bite the bottom of your lip in worry. Slowly, you rise, trying to fight back a pained smile when pins and needles dance across your legs. You let out a weak cough, going back to the floor, trying to not let the pain show too much. 

“Are you okay?” Tomura asks, and you give him a nod.

“Yeah, legs just fell asleep is all,” you laugh weakly. You sit awkwardly on the floor, staring up at the guests. “How are you guys going to get out? Through the front?” You’re still curious on how they actually enter your apartment without you knowing. 

Dabi is the one who smiles, a teasing one that makes you feel silly for asking something. He turns around and Tomura gives you one last look before he turns and follows the others. You hear a door open and your eyes widen. You stand, ignoring the still present pins and needles, and rush to your room, watching as the window is already open and they’re stepping out of your room with ease. 

Standing at the doorway, you watch as they exit out of your bedroom window, one by one, each going by quickly, save for Mr. Compress who takes his time. Once outside, he pats his pocket, feeling for the marble that holds his teammate. 

You’re horrified. It makes sense- hardly anyone uses the fire escape, there’s no cameras back there, and it’s hidden, no one really opening their windows since there’s no view to be seen. but you’re still horrified. Your room is a mess and they’ve seen it all. It’s a breach of privacy that you don’t like. They wave goodbye, some with  a smile more sinister and others with a gentle wave that falls quickly. Once a minute passes, you rush to the still open window and close it shut, your eyes wide and face feeling immensely warm. You stare at the windowsill, and click the lock into place. Slowly, you lie in your bed, pulling the covers over your body in an attempt to hide yourself. You spend your last conscious moments thinking if you should tell the landlord that you need new locks, but decide against it- the cost being one reason and the other being that you can’t just lock them out like they’re some sort of stray cat. They’re people, people who you care for- some more than others, but still. You can’t do that to them.

Finally, you let sleep consume you with your neck still hot.