#ghost.drabble

[ghostbeam]

500w, literally just gojo and merging souls and Plato’s symposium and all that

“I love you.” You tell him, but you don’t seem happy about it. You’re laying flat on your stomach, the carpet a nice shade of green that you and Satoru picked out together. He laughs from his belly, clearly amused with you. You look up at him, bent over as he looks down at you on the ground. He gets down on his knees. “Ugh, go away. Get out of here. Stay away from me.”

You turn your face away from him, resting your cheek against the carpet so you aren’t looking at him.

“You just—make me feel so much. I wanna be with you all the time, and it’s embarrassing.” You grumble, unable to look him in the eye.

“That is embarrassing.” He agrees. You turn to look at him, your eyes wide at the audacity of his words.

“Oh my god. Go away.” You groan, turning back around. He chuckles and shakes his head. You feel reach over you, leaning one hand on either side of you.

“No, I think we could do it. I think we could be together all the time. We could—here,” He puts his full weight on top of you, his limbs splayed out like a starfish over your shorter ones. You begin to struggle, and he nuzzles your neck. “maybe we can become one person if we try hard enough.”

“No! No get off!” You screech, trying to push him off of you, which proves to be incredibly difficult while you're on your stomach.

“Shhh I can feel it. Our souls are bonding. We’re getting closer.” If it’s at all possible, you feel him press even closer to you.

“Satoru, get off of me! You’re heavy.” You whine, still struggling underneath me. He gasps. You feel him push up off of you just a little, but not enough for you to move.

“You hate me and you don’t want to merge souls.” Satoru tells you.

“Oh my god.”

“You don’t want us to have four arms and four legs again.” He speaks, pulling away from you, but keeping his hands at either side of your head to hold himself up. You flip over so that you’re looking up at him.

“Oh my god, shut up!” You push at his shoulders, and he lets you. You lay him flat down on his back, this time laying on top of him instead. Your limbs don’t reach the same length as his with his impossibly tall frame, but you’re mimicking the same position he had you in before.

“Are u happy?” You speak into his chest.

“Very. We’ll be so close you can’t stand it.” You can’t see it, but you can hear his grin.

“I already can’t stand it.” You roll your eyes.

“I can’t believe you hate me so much.” He teases you, leaning down to press a kiss against the crown of your head. You sigh, and lean up to look at him.

“No, I love you. Too much. So much that in an hour when I’m not completely fused with you I’ll be endlessly disappointed.” You admit.

“You’re so weird.” He says, pressing his lips against yours. You smile. Pulling away, you go back to laying on him.

“Shhhhh. I can feel our souls mixing.”

#another draft from my notes that I need to get rid of idk #idk man I am just!!!!!!! he’s making me so!!!!! ugh!!!!!! #god anyways don’t read this #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes

[ghostbeam]

600w, reader cuts their finger, one mention of blood dripping against the cutting board, inspired by how every time I chop anything I think about how Bakugou would murder me for how I hold things

“Hold you fingers right or I swear I’ll fly home right fucking now.”

Your boyfriend’s voice sounds over the phone as you continue to chop vegetables on the cutting board. With his eyebrows pinched together as he watches you through the phone screen, Katsuki sucks in a sharp breath at the sight of the blade of your knife coming entirely too close to your fingertips.

Sent on a mission out of town, the two of you had been FaceTiming every night for the past couple of days. With time zones, your boyfriend settles into bed around the time you start making dinner for yourself. It had been the perfect arrangement until he had to watch you wield a knife.

“You promise?” You tease, staring up at his worried face through the glow of your cellphone screen as you continue to chop up cabbage.

“You’re gonna cut yourself. I’m hanging up.” Katsuki says, voice stiff as he watches you.

“No you’re not.” You don’t stop chopping. Of course he’s not. He has to make sure you don’t hurt yourself.

“Move your fucking hand.”

“Oh my god, it’s fine, baby. I’m being careful.” You finally pause to look up at him. He’s moved to sit up in the hotel bed that he was previously lying against. His shoulders are tense and his lips are pursed. It makes you giggle.

“You’re very clearly not.” He clicks his tongue.

“I’m getting it done, aren’t I?” You speak, going back to the task at hand. He sighs over the phone.

“I’m serious.” You’re going to kill him. All he can do is sit and watch and wait for the inevitable. You mock him, stubbornly holding your hand in the way he’s told you time and time again not to.

“Ooh he’s serious—ow!” The blade of the knife comes down on the tip of your middle finger, a small gash opens and a drop of blood falls against your cutting board. You may have ruined dinner. You hear Katsuki curse.

“I fucking told you. Let me see.” He commands, sticking his face much closer to his phone than before.

“It’s fine! I’m fine!” You tell him, bringing your finger to your mouth and sucking on the open wound. Your boyfriends eyes widen at the action, running a hand through his hair.

“Fuck! I’m coming home!” He moves to get out of the bed, watching you through the screen. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees you move to the sink on the other side of the counter. You’re at least washing the gash instead of getting the germs from your mouth all over it.

“Katsuki, it’s just a tiny cut!” You tell him over the sound of the water. He groans.

“No more cooking. I’m sending u money to order out. I’ve shown u so many times how to hold your hand when you’re chopping—“ He switches from to an app on his phone to send you money, transferring enough so that you can have dinner (and dessert for that matter) the whole rest of the week. “god, lemme see it.”

“Stop! Im okay! Im putting a bandaid on.” He watches you walk out of frame, likely looking for the band aid’s in the first aid kit in the bathroom. When you return, you’ve wrapped a patterned bandaid covered in stars around the tip of your finger, showing it off to him in the form of flipping him off. He rolls his eyes.

“My fucking stomach hurts. You stress me out.” He tells you, falling back into the bed and holding the phone above him.

“Katsuki.” He hears your voice over the phone. He moves his eyes to look at your face on the screen. You’re a little sweaty from the heat of the kitchen, and he can tell you’re tired from the day you’ve had. His face softens.

“What.” He speaks softly.

“I love you.” You smile.

“Love you too.” He says, “even though you can’t use a knife correctly.”

#this is NOT good #ummmmmm idk I have like a thousand drabbles in my notes rn #get it OUT of there!!!!! #going through it #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #tw blood #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes

[ghostbeam]

charcoal artist!dabi x reader, first meeting, takes place before the other drabbles, he is a bit of a creep, his feelings sort of boarder on obsession, dabi is taller than you, suggestive language at the very end but it’s barely anything

He’s staring at you.

Eye’s flickering in between you and the spiral sketchbook in his lap. Concentrated, eyebrows furrowed, hand flying furiously across the page. You aren’t sure how you hadn’t noticed him before with his dark hair sticking in all different directions, black boots heavy on the grass, sapphire eyes piercing, lost in you, in the page. No one’s ever looked at you like this, you think. 

You’re trying to be discreet, looking back down at your book when you see his eyes rise from the page. You’re not retaining a single bit of information as you’re suddenly focused on what he might think of you, how much of you he’s noticed, if you’re sitting weird, if your face looks wrong while reading. You think he’s cute, pretty, almost delicate, all eyelashes. 

You turn the page, not having read the previous one, and then look back up at him. Except this time, your eyes meet. Your breath hitches. It’s a little bit electrifying, paralyzed by his stare like you’re the one who got caught instead of the other way around.

Dabi feels his jaw fall open slightly at the sight of you, staring straight at him. Had you seen him? Did you know? He watches you close your book, not even checking to mark your place. You stand up, still looking at him. Dabi feels his heart drop to his stomach. You’ll call him a creep. You’ll run away. 

“Can I see?” He doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed you getting closer. You’re all he can focus on, but you’ve surprised him. Can I see? Dabi thinks about the first time he saw you, right under that same tree, some text book bigger than his body sat in your lap. He felt the breath knocked out of him like some lovesick sap, not like himself. He didn’t even know you, but god, he wished for you. He did, like some idiot standing in the middle of the walkway closing his eyes and wishing on nothing, wishing on, well, you. 

Standing in front of him now, he sees now more than he ever has before that you’re every piece of art he’s ever loved all wrapped up in one. One portrait of you would be enough to satisfy him for a life time.

Only that’s not true, because he hasn’t been able to stop drawing you. It’s not enough, to sit across from you and capture your likeness in strokes of black charcoal. Over and over and over again, your cheeks, and your hair, and your lips in a pout, and your eyebrows all pinched. He can’t get enough. It’s almost miserable, except it’s heaven. 

And now here you are, standing over him and looking at him expectantly. Part of him wants to hide it away, keep it for himself, but that’s not fair because it’s you. It really belongs to you, should be yours, but Dabi is nothing if not a little possessive. 

Standing this close to him, you can see all of him, the pink puckered skin that spreads over him in various spots, the bit of black around his fingertips, the sun shining in his eyes. God, his eyes are blue. Could that color ever be mixed, replicated, brushed onto a canvas and still make you feel the way looking into his eyes right now does? You don’t think it could, and you don’t see the point in asking the man who works with charcoal before you. 

“It’s me, right? You’ve been, um, looking over there, so I thought…” You speak, suddenly afraid that it wasn’t you he was focused on. The thought of him being lost in the scenery on the campus behind you suddenly makes more sense than him paying so much attention to you, but there’s no mistaking that his eyes were on you the last time you looked up. 

“It’s you.” He manages to speak, suddenly very conscious of the rasp in his own voice. “You—I’ve seen you sitting there. Couldn’t help myself I guess.”

It’s one way to explain it, definitely less creepy than the fact that he saw you and felt like he might die unless he could put you to paper. 

You hold your hand out, a little impatient, more out of excitement and a little nervousness than anything else. He stands up, and your struck with the fact that he’s much taller than you. He places the sketchpad in your hand, and you force yourself to look away from his face.

You fill the page, almost every blank space filled with your face in different expressions and your body sat in different positions. He had to have been sitting there for much longer than you though to have been able to draw all of these. It’s all you, but it’s him, this piece of him that he’s allowing you to look at, take a peak inside. You want to see more. You want all of him. You want to take and take and take, and not because he has you trapped in his pages, but because it’s not enough to know him through just these strokes and smudges. Even if he lets you keep this, you’ll look at it every day, this piece of his soul, and wish it was the real thing.

It’s the same way he’s felt about you for the past couple of days. 

“Do you have more?” You ask him, a little breathless. 

“Of you?” He asks, but he thinks that it was probably stupid of him to say. He feels exposed, but by his own words and the way you look at both the page and him like your seeing him in a way no one ever has before. 

“Anything.” You shake your head. “All of it. I want to see it all, you—you’re very talented.”

You clear your throat awkwardly, the excitement, the desperation beginning to feel embarrassing. The stunned look on his face makes you feel self conscious, and maybe you should just walk away or leave him alone. 

But he wants to show you everything. 

He writes his address across your palm with a pen he’s pulled from his back pocket. He has classes during the day on Mondays and Wednesdays, but he tells you that you can come by any other time. It’s strange, you think, for him to give you his address instead of his number. It feels fast, and stupid, to meet him at his place without knowing anything but his name. (Dabi. A name that feels like it was meant to fall from your lips, and he would agree). 

But he’s ripped out the page, placed it in your palms, and told you he’ll see you later, like he’s always known you. It’s not enough, to look at your face made from his hands in lines across a page. You want to feel them on you, over your skin, grabbing and taking, your want and his. With a piece of his heart in your hands, you decide that no matter how stupid, or fast, or intense it might be, you’ll go to him.

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #LISTEN. I’m obsessed with him #he’s so weird giving u his adress instead of his number #nowhere near by yo la tengo plays in his head when he sees u it’s fine #GOD! #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes #finished this tonight am queing it for the morning idk man hiiiiii

[ghostbeam]

500w, Charcoal Artist!dabi x reader, 18+, no smut but it’s suggestive, hands hands hands

“Come here.”

You probably shouldn’t obey. Dabi takes his time with even the simplest gestures, and kissing you goodbye is no exception. He wants to savor you. You’ll be late.

He clutches your white button down in his fingers, pulling you closer. You stand in between his legs, his feet propped on the bars of the stool that sits in front of the easel.

Dabi nudges his nose against yours, barely brushing his lips against yours. Your eyes fall shut in anticipation, letting yourself lean forward, against his body.

“Shit.” He curses. You pull away.

“What?” You mutter.

“Got charcoal on your shirt.” He pulls his hands away from your body, resting them on his thighs. You look down at the gray smudge on your shirt, right over the front of your hip.

“I don’t care.” You shake your head, taking his hands in yours. “What are you doing?”

You pull his hands back towards you, running your fingers over his palms, the charcoal concentrated at the tips of his index and middle fingers and fading as it moves down his hand. The damage is done. You don’t mind being late. You don’t mind not going at all. You want to feel him again. You take his hand and press it back into the smudge. “Touch me.”

“You’ll get dirty.” He says, but you only smile. He brushes his hand up from your hip, and you watch as he leaves traces of black from his fingers over your previously pristine white shirt. He brushes his fingers over your skin, where the shirt has been left unbuttoned at the top. His fingers trail up your neck and rest at your cheek. You lean into his touch, arms limp at your sides as he cups your face and wraps his other arm around your waist.

He finally kisses you, slow, sensual, all lips and tongue. You let your eyes fall open, eyeing the charcoal nude of you that rests against the easel. You kiss him harder.

You wrap your arms around his neck, run your fingers through his hair, down his chest, up his thighs. He moves his hands down to the buttons of your shirt, thumbing them open one by one with his lips still attached to yours.

You feel his fingers graze against your skin. You gasp into his mouth, the light way that he touches you makes you squirm. He pulls away and stares, your shirt half opened and revealing a sliver of skin down the middle of your torso. Your lips are swollen, slick with spit, eyes half lidded in a trance. He’s sure he looks the same, maybe more lovestruck. Dabi thinks he yearns more than you do. His desire is frightening even to him, but you make him feel like it’s okay.

He pulls away and stares, your shirt half opened and revealing a sliver of skin down the middle of your torso. He sighs, closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. Then his eyes find you again. “You’re beautiful. God, you’re so beautiful.”

You let your charcoal-stained shirt fall to the floor.

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes #ummmmm idk been thinking abt him #gonna write more of this charcoal artist Dabi stuff #have literally been thinking abt it since the beginning of my blog #he’s consumed me look out for more of this so sorry ajshdjdjdjsj #idk what reader’s late to just uhhhhhh pretend

[ghostbeam]

Tomura shigaraki x reader, tomura is an art student, takes place in the same universe as my charcoal artist!dabi stuff, tomura is like very insecure in some of this, if the writing feels pretentious and flowery and unnecessary that’s because it is<3

His hair is getting long.

Running your fingers through the ends, you notice how it’s nearing his shoulders now. His head is in your lap, staring up at you as you lean against the mountain of pillows on your bed, clad in a pair of underwear and the tee shirt he arrived in. His jeans are stained with paint, hanging low on his hips, unbuttoned and quickly thrown on so he wasn’t naked and vulnerable in your lap. You thumb at the scar by the corner of his mouth and he kisses it, then your palm, then your wrist. Tomura takes your hand in between three careful fingers and places it over his heart.

Love is not how they told you it would be.

The two of you were assigned to the same group in painting iii, formed so that the students could give one another critiques independently. Only, you couldn’t find a single thing to critique in his work.

Tomura worked with oils—or Tomura lived and breathed and died for them. He painted people, always caught in a moment, in the middle of talking, or yelling, or drinking, or sleeping. His attention to detail was unlike anything you’d ever seen before, colors you’d never realized could appear in skin tones, shine on limbs and cheeks that made his subjects both more alive and human than any real person. His work felt sort of dirty, sweaty, perpetually damp. But it was beautiful. You couldn’t say a thing about it.

He’d confronted you about it one afternoon, stuffing handouts from the professor into his bag, which looked to be filled with more loose paper and no text books.

“Do you hate it that much?” It was the first time he’d ever talked to you, actually talked to you and not just about your work during a critique. “You never have anything to say.”

It stuns you for a moment, his anger and annoyance, how he’s decided to aim it at you instead of the group of people clamoring for issues with his painting all class period.

“I’m supposed to point out flaws, tell you where you could have done better, explain how I wasn’t moved,” you explain, staring down at your shoes, “but I can’t do that. There’s not—I don’t see how I could possibly tell you how you could do better.”

“That’s bullshit.” He mutters, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Don’t just say what I want to hear. I won’t like you any more for it.”

He leaves you standing alone in the classroom. Like you? He thought it was about being liked? You’re in such awe of him that you can’t speak, and he thinks you’re just trying not to hurt his feelings.

During the next class, when he stands before your group for critique, you don’t say a word. And he keeps looking at you like he’s waiting for it, like you’ll be angry enough at him for last week that you’ll rip his painting apart. But your silent, once again. Nothing’s changed.

He’s the first one out of the class once you’re dismissed. He walks fast, and you’re out of breath by the time you catch up with him, resting a hand on his shoulder that he flinches away from. Your breath comes out in quick puffs that you can see, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself as you fix him with a glare.

“You’re wrong.” You say once he’s turned around. “I don’t care if you like me or not after critique. It’s not about sparing your feelings. I’ve never seen anything like what you do. And I watch you in class, and you paint like something is clawing it’s way out of you, like you need to do it or you’ll die.”

“You’re honest with everyone else but me.” He argues, unable to accept your words. You have real things to say to your peers. You don’t hold back with them. You make them better. Why couldn’t you do that for him?

“You are not everyone else.” You watch his eyes widen at your words, and if you had any shame, maybe you wouldn’t have said something so bold. “You’re leagues above all of us. Everyone knows it, and that’s why they’re harsh on you.”

Where you say nothing, your group rips into him, picking at each and every detail until there’s nothing left. He takes it all in stride, accepting their words like it’s absolute truth, and returning to his canvas with sunken shoulders and furrowed brows, concentrated on how he could be better. It’s exactly what they want.

He opens his mouth the say something, but stops, feeling a drop of something fall on his cheek. He looks up at the dark clouds above the two of you, and it begins to rain. He curses, taking a hold of your hand and leading you underneath the front of the design building.

“They’re harsh because I deserve it.” He points out, still holding your hand. You could say a million things right now, tell him in detail how moved you are by every piece he makes, but his hand is still in yours, and you don’t trust yourself not to trip over your words because of it. You can only shake your head.

“Why can’t you accept that you’re brilliant?” You question, exasperated. It makes him laugh, his smile being something you’ve never seen before. It makes you think of all the people who have seen this smile before, the stretch of his lips, the creases by his eyes. Had they felt this lucky?

“I think you’re crazy.” He tells you, knocking his knuckles against your head.

“Do you wanna go out?” You ask before you’re able to stop yourself. He leans away from you, surprised.

“What?” You can’t find the words to speak, to tell him you’re sorry, that it was uncalled for, that you’re a total creep. His face is red, you notice. He speaks a moment later, “yes.”

Rising from your lap, he leans over you, kissing your lips with as much tenderness as he had your palm. Your lips are his favorite thing to paint, second only to your thighs which he grips tightly as he wraps your legs around his waist.

When he’d met you, all full of hope and belief in him of all people, he’d thought of you as such a faraway thing. Unattainable. If you couldn’t talk about his work, there was no way you’d ever talk to him. But he was wrong, something he rarely ever is, your faith in him changing how he viewed his own art forever.

He paints you. He paints you a lot. He even paints the two of you together, though your faces are never in those ones, just bodies tangled together on one canvas. He’d call you his muse if you didn’t hate it. And besides, he knows you’re so much more.

If there had been something inside of him clawing it’s way out, you had noticed it, freed it, kept it safe with you so it wasn’t so agonizing to carry on his own.

No, it’s not how they told him it would be at all.

#tomura shigiraki x reader #shigaraki x reader #bnha x reader #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes #sorry was suddenly consumed by art school au thoughts #oil painter tomura u will always be famous #in my brain his work reminds me of Malcom liepke btw #soooo yeah #anyways it’s 4am I’m gonna go sleep now byeeeeee

[ghostbeam]

1.5k, charcoal artist!dabi (again I’m so sorry), mentions of alcohol, dabi and reader are awkward, idk what this is but I kept it under 2k and that is a win for me

It’s been two weeks.

You haven’t seen him by your tree since then, but you haven’t taken him up on his offer and showed up at his place. You transferred the address from the pen on your skin to a scrap piece of paper and hung in on your fridge before you could lose it forever after washing your hands.

It would be weird to show up without calling, only you can’t call him because you don’t have his number. You don’t have classes in the same building, and you think it would be even weirder to walk around the art department to find him instead of just knocking on his door, like he asked you to. 

So, you do end up at his front door, double checking the address with the numbers outside, because Dabi seems to live in some kind of warehouse, and you would assume he wrote down the wrong address if it didn’t make complete sense in your mind that he lived here. You decided on a Friday night, because you assumed a guy like him would be out, and the thought of him answering his door right now is mortifying. 

But he does answer it, and his hair is sticking out in different directions even worse than before, and he’s yawning into his fist, and you’re realizing you’ve just woke him up. 

It stuns him a little, to see you. You’re cute all bundled up from the chilly night out, chin tucked into your scarf as you let your eyes fall over his form. 

“I didn’t think you’d come.” He tells you, leaning against his door frame, voice heavy with sleep. “Figured you thought it was weird that I gave you my address.”

“It was weird.” You nodded, shivering a bit from the cold. “Can I come in?”

He opens the door wider and lets you through. It’s mostly dark inside, one lamp in a far corner illuminating just a little bit of the room. He mutters a sorry as he passes by you, turning on lights overhead, half of the lightbulbs needing to be changed and not helping to illuminate the place much at all. 

“It’s usually brighter during the day.” He shrugs, turning back towards you. “The windows.”

He gestures behind him and you notice the large panels of glass against both walls. It must be nice in the day, all of the natural light, especially for an artist. 

You continue to look around. It’s mostly one giant room with ceilings as tall as the sky. There’s a small kitchen on the right side of the place, art that you assume isn’t his hung on the refrigerator, handmade mugs hanging on a rack by the sink, boxes of sugary cereal on the wooden island you think maybe he or someone else built.

There’s a bathtub to the left, just out in the middle of everything. It’s strange, and completely out of place, but looking at it gives you some sort of weird vision of the future in your mind. Reading in it, leaning back against Dabi and falling asleep, him peering over the edge and kissing you goodbye. A fond smile crosses your face.

Easels, and standing desks, and giant canvases full of abstract paint fill the rest of the room. A tarp on the floor in the middle of everything is covered with charcoal and red paint, pages and pages of unfinished sketches. Paperbacks lay on tables, stacked up against walls, three on his bedside table, all with bookmarks inside, unfinished.

“It’s a mess, I know.” He shrugs. “I kept it nice for a while, you know, in case you came, but then I kind of figured you never would. But you did.”

There’s something guarded about him this time, less open than he was when you met him on the grass. You can understand it. After all, you’re intruding. He was asleep. You should go home. 

“Maybe I should go home. It’s probably a bad time. It’s late, and—” You feel his hand wrap around your wrist, stoping your nervous ramble.

“Stay. Please, I want you to stay.” He tells you, and you can see that bit of vulnerability shine through, a little bit in his eyes. You nod, unable to look away from him. “You want something to drink?”

You don’t trust your voice, so all you do is nod, and when Dabi disappears into his tiny kitchen, you walk further into the room, entranced by his art. You wish you knew more about it, then, that you had something to compare it to, though you think maybe there’s nothing like what he does. 

He brings back a bottle of beer, and you take a long gulp because you suddenly feel hot alone with Dabi in his space. He chuckles under his breath and tugs on your arm.

“You wanna take this off?” He asks you, tugging on your scarf. You hand him your beer and take your scarf and coat off, letting him take them from you and laying them across his bed. He walks to one of the desks in the room, pulling the spiral sketchbook from the day before and a portfolio with handles from behind the desk. He hands you the book and drops the portfolio heavy on the floor. 

“Here.” He tells you, rubbing his palms on the sides of his pants out of what you think is nerves. “It’s obviously not everything, but you can start here, I guess. Or stop there, too. If you get sick of it.”

You say nothing, but you move to sit on the floor, opening the spiral sketchbook. It’s not all pretty or refined or finished. It’s a hand and an eye and the face of a friend and a tree and a body of water. It’s all scribbled and jagged, and there’s bits that are smooth, smudged over and shaded in a way that makes you feel like if you touched it, it would feel like skin. There’s splotches of red and yellow, blues and greens, a random water color on one page, ink on the next. 

And when you get close to the end, it’s all you. 

It’s not much, but it’s more than you expected. There’s no more mistakes here, nothing unfinished or crossed out or scribbled over. He’s careful about it. You’re speechless. 

You pull the portfolio into your lap and open the flap. Pages of all varying sizes and textures are stuffed inside. These pieces are much more refined. He’s worked on them for longer, maybe for a class. He has an unbelievable eye for the human body, how it bends and folds. You hate to think about how these are hidden away behind his desk. You’d put them up around the city, and on bulletin boards in cafe’s, and over every inch of your walls in your own apartment.

It makes you feel a little bit emotional, here on his floor with his soul in your hands. There’s this urge you have, to hug him, to push his hair from his eyes, to kiss his hands. You hold one page in between your fingers, the torso of a man and his arms around a woman, her head lying back against his chest. You stand up, and you look at him with your watery eyes, and you turn to walk away. 

You swing a leg over the weird, out in the open bath tub, and settle down inside, looking down at the piece you took. Dabi’s footsteps are slow as he approaches you, crouches down next to the tub and rests his forearms on it.

“You can have that one.” He says, resting his chin against his arm. “Or any of them. Tell me, and it’s yours.”

You don’t know how to tell him you want it all. Selfishly, you’d take every single piece if he gave them to you. 

You look at him, thumbing the corner of the page, yours now. You keep opening and closing your mouth like you want to speak. You want to tell him thank you, and you probably should if he’s really letting you keep it, but it’s more than that. Thank you for letting me see you. I have nothing like this that can show you the inside of my soul, but you can reach through my ribs if you want to.

His hand comes up to rest behind your head, the brush of his thumb against your neck, tender. You lean into it and close your eyes. When you open them, he’s much closer now, so close that leaning forward makes you bump noses. He smiles. 

“Will you stay?” It’s not a question of just to night, but forever, you think. Or at least that’s how it feels to you. You nod. 

“God, yes.” You answer, like you’ve been waiting for him to ask, like you’re whole life has led up to this moment in this empty bathtub. He brushes his lips against yours like he’s asking permission. You give him the slightest nod. 

He kisses you. 

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #posting this at a weird time I just want it GONE!!!!! #I think I hate it sort of idk anywayssss #ghost.writes #ghost.drabble #ALSO NOT EDITED SORRY OMG

[ghostbeam]

More charcoal artist!dabi x reader, smoking, mentions of nude drawings

Dabi waits for you by that tree, the one he saw you sitting under all those months ago. A cigarette hangs from his fingers, his loose anatomy sketches from class underneath his arm. He takes another drag before he spots you.

He exhales out the side of his mouth, dropping the cig to the ground and stomping it out with the toe of his boot. You haven’t noticed him, too busy looking around you, observing the bodies that pass, the clouds in the sky overhead. It’s easy for you to get distracted like that.

When you see him, a wide smile stretches across your face, and he notices how you start to walk faster. When you’re close enough, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling you into him, chests colliding as he presses his lips to yours. When you swipe your tongue against his bottom lip, he pulls away.

“Sorry.” He speaks, forehead resting against yours. “I taste like smoke.”

“I like it.” You move your hands up his arms, resting on his shoulders.

“Okay.” He grins. “Kiss me again.”

You do. “Again.”

He lets his sketches fall to the ground so that he can wrap both arms around your waist. You moan against his lips, so quiet he could have missed it, but it’s enough to drive him crazy. He licks into your mouth. He wants another moan. He pulls away to place kisses against your jaw.

The wind picks up around the two of you and Dabi’s sketches go flying. You pull away with a gasp, moving to pick up the scattered pieces of paper.

“Shit.” He curses, moving to help you.

“I wanted to see these.” You tell him, gathering a small stack in your hands, examining the figures on the page.

“They were just for class. Nothing special.” He tells you as he chases the rest of the sketches down. You shake your head at his words, and also at how silly he looks going after the papers.

“It’s all special.” You tell him, taking the stack that he’s gathered from his hands. You sit down, and Dabi looks at you fondly, recalling that first day he saw you. “To me.”

You can feel the charcoal against your thumbs as you flip through the pages, the smudges of shadows over each nude figure coming off on your skin. Dabi slowly sinks down next to you as you look through his sketches.

He finds himself nervous every time you look at his work. You see everything, every piece of his soul in every line, stroke, and smudge. Even in something as simple as a sketch, you still see him. You look up at him, eyes scanning his face, his furrowed brow, how his teeth tear at the skin of his lips. You reach up to pull it from his teeth, leaving a streak of gray against it.

“Will you draw me?” You ask him. “Like this?”

#dabi x reader #bnha x reader #if there’s typos in this no there literally isn’t #except pls tell me if u catch one so I can change it and not be embarrassed forever and ever #dabi has no folders or binders or anything to keep his stuff in #carrying around loose paper #rawdogging college #anyways #uhhhhhhhhh yeah #ghost.writes #ghost.drabble

[ghostbeam]

hello beloved sweet angel <3

happy halloween!!!!! for your liddol drabble thing i am humble offering katsuki + haunted house :3

Hiiiii sainty!!! Happy Halloween!!! I hope u have a good one and I hope u like this<3333

Katsuki Bakugou + haunted house

warnings: nothing really, discussions of ghosts, Katsuki doesn’t believe u

words: 700

Blunt fingernails brush against you back underneath your sleep shirt. You lay on your side, staring at your boyfriend as he looks down at you with a face you know means he’s thinking a little too hard. He’s trying to hide it behind soft eyes and relaxed shoulders, but his eyebrows are still pinched like he’s trying to figure something out.

You rub your thumb in between his brows and his moth falls open slightly like he’s been caught, “what are you thinking so hard about?”

“Gotta ask you something.” He says, sitting up on his elbows. “But it’s not—look, I don’t *care*, alright? I just wanna know.”

“Okay.” You speak, your voice soft, cheek shoved against the pillow as you stare at him.

“How come we never stay at my place anymore?” He asks. “It’s not like it matters, but you always make up excuses not to come over, or you ask if I can come over instead, like tonight. It’s not a big deal. I was just thinking about it.”

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Katsuki’s house. It was nice, really beautiful too, the kind of place you could see yourself living in. But there was a small problem, and it felt foolish to admit it.

You turn around so that your back is facing him, unable to look at him when you say it, “your house is haunted.”

“What.” He asks, only its not much of a question. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes it is.” You argue, turning to lay on your back. “It makes noises.”

“It’s an old house. It creeks.” He tries to reason with you, but it doesn’t seem like you’re letting up very soon.

“Old houses don’t creek like that one does. Old houses don’t speak.” You honestly feel a little silly trying to justify this to him, but you know what you’ve seen and heard and felt has no reasonable explanation.

“Speak? It speaks to you?” He asks, a mischievous grin breaking out across his face, “what does it say?”

“Stop making fun of me. I’m being serious!” You whine, sitting up in the bed. His hand comes to rest on your lower back.

“I’m sure you are, baby.” He shakes his head, “but my house isn’t haunted.”

“Katsuki, it’s *so* haunted. Ask anyone.” You tell him.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean? Who are you discussing my house with?” He asks, surprised, sitting up with you.

“Literally everyone. Deku saw a lady in a red dress.” You reveal, and he rolls his eyes.

“That’s my other girlfriend.” He deadpans, and you push against his shoulder.

“You’re not funny.” He wraps his fingers around your wrist and pulls you against his chest.

“Deku didn’t see shit.” He scoffs. “If I had ghosts, they’d attack him.”

“You can’t sic your ghosts on people.”

“Why can’t I? They’d feed off my energy or some shit, right? Hate what I hate, love what I love.” He smiles. You shake your head at him.

“It doesn’t work that way.” You let yourself fall back into bed with a sigh. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“How does it work then?” He leans down, propping himself up with one elbow and running a hand up your thigh to rest at your hip. He’s always touching you, somehow.

“They’re spirits, they’re not you, or extensions of you.” You shrug.

“They are whatever I say they are.” He says, confidently. Maybe he believes you. He takes you chin in between two fingers. “Hey, haunted or not, you know you’re safe with me, okay?”

“I know.” You nod, wrapping your fingers around his wrist as he moves his hand from your chin to your cheeks.

“The house loves you.” He says after a moment, eyes completely serious and voice firm.

“How do you know?” You whisper. He smiles, unguarded, placing a kiss against your lips.

“Because, I love you.” He speaks, and you roll your eyes.

“We just discussed that’s not how it works.” You chide.

“Hey, they’re my ghosts, not yours.” He flicks your forehead. “Unless you want them to be.”

“I’m not moving into your haunted house.” You turn away from him, pulling the blanket up to your chin. He wraps an arm around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against him and up over his body.

“It‘a not haunted!”

#I Hope u like this I sort of went a different route that I thought I would initially but yeah ajsjsjsjsjs #trying to keep these short but honestly could have written a little more ajsjjsjsjsjs #happy Halloween!!!!!! #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #ghost.writes #ghost.drabble #should I have a tag for these ummmmmm #ghost’s halloween drabbles! #sure #ajjsjsjsjsjsj

[ghostbeam]

Hewwo :3c

For ur ask game gojo and moonlight 🌙✨

-yours spookily, mint <3

My beloved mint happy (late) Halloween I hope u like thissss<333

Gojo satoru + moonlight

Words: 400

“Just a little bit further.” He tells you, pulling you through the lines of trees, the only form of light being Satoru’s phone flashlight and the moon above you.

“We’re gonna get lost.” You point out, “and I’m cold.”

He stops, turning back to look at you. He slides his coat from his shoulders and legs you climb in, the thing completely engulfing you.

“I promise we’re close. I remember that tree.” He tells you, taking your hand again and leading you once more.

“Oh, you remember that tree?” You scoff. “What about that one over there? Or how about this twig on the ground?”

“Have I ever gotten us lost before?” He asks, looking at you over his shoulder.

“Yes.” You glare.

“Name one time.”

“I can name like five!” Staring at the ground as you walk, you don’t notice when Satoru has stopped in front of you, causing you to bump into his back. He doesn’t move an inch, just reaches behind to pull you around to the front of him. With his arms around you, he shows you the scene in front of the two of you. There, in a small clearing of trees sits an extremely bright halloween themed blanket covered in various picnic foods and electric candles.

“I actually thought you were gonna bring me out here to scare me, or force me to do a ouija board, or meet the Blair Witch.” You tell him, still shocked at the kind display.

“Well, the night is young.” He shrugs. You swat at his chest with the back of your hand and move forward to sit on the blanket.

“Oh! These are my favorite!” You gasp, picking up the packages of candy sitting in a pile. You unwrap it and place it in your mouth, looking over the rest of the spread. Realization hits you, “oh, these are all my favorites.”

“I know I haven’t been around as much as I used to be.” He says, fiddling with your discarded candy wrapper. “And you’ve been talking about this full moon all month. I wanted to do this for you.”

His vulnerability shocks you. It’s not that it’s uncommon for him, but the admittance without jest is a little jarring. You don’t care that he’s been gone more often. You know he has a responsibility. He still comes home to you.

You reach up and brush your fingers against his forehead, moving his hair from his eyes, “thank you.”

The faux candlelight bathes him in a warm glow, from the the tops of his criss-crossed thighs to the line of his jaw, but you’re all moonlight.

#sorry for making gojo lure u into the woods he just wanted to surprise u🫶 #sorry this is late!!!!! #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #ghost.writes #ghost.drabble #ghost’s halloween drabbles!

[ghostbeam]

Happy Halloween Oz!!! 🎃 👻

Hmm a lot comes to mind with Halloween but I think the biggest ones are ghost or candy! So I'll let you pick. This is a cute little event bb 🖤🐈‍⬛

Happy Halloween kitten!!! I didn’t know who to write so I figured Bakugou would be a safe bet so yeah I hope u enjoy!!!<3

Katsuki Bakugou + Candy + Ghost

Words: 400

“That shit’ll rot your teeth.” You hear from behind you, making you jump out of your skin, the bowl of Halloween candy falling out of your lap and onto the floor in front of you.

“Don’t do that!” You scold, turning around to glare at the man standing behind your couch, arms crossed over his chest.

“But it’s so much fun.” He barks out a laugh. “What else am I gonna do?”

“Maybe go haunt someone else?” You suggest, bending down to pick up the spilled candy. Katsuki had been haunting you since you moved into the tiny apartment. It was the first place you’d ever lived on your own in—well almost on your own. The apartment he died in was one floor above yours, and he never explained to you what happened. He probably never would. But he liked hanging around you, for some reason.

“But you’re my favorite.” His voice his suddenly inches away from your ear, and it startled you, once more. “Plus, you’d miss me.”

This time, Katsuki had materialized in the seat next to you, leaning so close to your face that you had to move back or bump your nose right into his.

“Shut up—eugh!” You push both hands forward, hoping to land on his chest and shove him away, but you fall through him instead. Sitting back up, you glare, “I hate when you do that.”

“If you want to touch me so bad, you could always ask.” He shrugs, stretching an arm over the back of the couch, and staring straight ahead at the horror movie playing on your tv. You wish your ghost wasn’t so attractive.

You groan, throwing your head back against the couch, landing against his wrist, “God, I need a fucking exorcism or something.”

“I’m not a demon, sweetheart.” He chuckles, moving his hand to rest against the back of your head.

“Could’ve fooled me.” You sulk, crossing your arms over your chest and sinking further into the couch. He grabs your arm, pulling you flush against his side. He throws an arm around your shoulders and you squirm against him.

“Behave, or I’ll make you fall through again.” He speaks against your head. You let yourself relax into him, not wanting to fight against him anyways. He turns his head back to the tv, “what’s this one about.”

“A ghost.” You grumble, “an evil, malicious, terrible thing that makes the main character’s life a living hell. Kind of like you.”

“Can’t be hell if you’re here.” He shrugs and stars ahead at the tv like he never said anything at all.

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes #he would be a fun ghost I think #a bossy one but a fun one #ghost’s halloween drabbles!

[ghostbeam]

for your game, choso & pumpkin < 3 happy halloween beloved -izhyperfixates

Iz my bff iz!!!! I’m still so nervous abt my characterization of him so this is sort of shorter than I’d like it to be but I hope u like it!! Happy Halloween!!!!!<333

Choso Kamo + pumpkin

Words: 400

“Mine looks weird.” It’s hard not to laugh at the pumpkin in front of your boyfriend. The lopsided eyes, the single tooth in the jack-o-lantern’s smile—it really does look weird. You don’t know how he managed to carve so off the black outline he’d drawn earlier.

“No! It’s—it’s got character!” You tell him. He pouts, running a thumb over one of the lopsided eyes.

“I don’t think that’s what it’s got.” He speaks, making you giggle.

“No really, I like it!” You try, and you honestly do. It’s sort of strange looking, but in a good way. You like that he made it, and a normal Jack-o-lantern’s face was boring. And Choso is anything but boring.

“Okay, then let’s trade.” He pushes his pumpkin toward you.

“Oh—um, no that’s okay.” He grins, letting out a laugh at your attempt at being polite.

“You hate it.”

“I don’t!” You protest through your laughter. “I’m gonna put a candle in it, and keep it outside and everything.”

He brings the pumpkin back to his side of the table, before grabbing the seat of your chair and pulling you closer. “Show me yours.”

The action flusters you, and you take a second to recover. Choso was good at doing things like that—something that would make butterflies erupt in your stomach, acting like it was no big deal to him. You think he must like the reaction he gets out of you.You pull your pumpkin towards you so that he can’t see it. “It’s not finished!”

“You just don’t want me to feel bad because you made a masterpiece and mine is some freak.” He rests his chin on his hand, watching you use the knife against your pumpkin.

“I like your freak.” You smile. He shakes his head, slotting on leg between your thighs and pulling you closer. He nudged his nose against yours, urging you to lean closer. When he captures your lips in his, you feel him smile against you.

He pulls away a moment later, tugging on the stem of ur pumpkin and turning it around so he can see. His eyes widen, and he lets out a loud laugh. “You made a freak too!”

“I fucked up the eyes, so I just gave it three.” You shrug, leaning back in your chair.

“Should I make mine weirder?” He asks, still examining yours. You laugh and shake your head at him. “I still wanna trade.”

“No!” You swat at him, pulling your pumpkin back.

#u guys and ur freak pumpkins!!!!!! #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes #ghost’s halloween drabbles!

[ghostbeam]

Oz happy Halloween friend !!!! Can I send in my pookie boo-ta yuuta :> hmmmmm for a word….. maybe pumpkin 🎃

Hiiii aleks!!! Happy Halloween I hope u had a good one and I hope u enjoy this!!!<33

Yuuta Okkotsu + pumpkin

Warnings: ummmm just a big ass pumpkin really

Words: 400

Yuuta follows behind you, hand clasped in yours and you lead him around the lively pumpkin patch. Searching for the perfect pumpkin to carve is not an easy task, and with this many to choose from, you know you might be here for a while.

But Yuuta doesn’t mind at all.

He’s content to watch you move between batches of pumpkins, picking certain ones up and deciding if one is better than the other. You’ve told him multiple times that you’ll come back to a certain area if you can’t find a better one at the next, and Yuuta believes you every time.

It’s not his fault that he could watch you do anything, the way your face lights up at the Halloween decorations around the pumpkin patch, how you excitedly pulled him into the corn maze and managed to find your way out in record time, the way you wrap your fingers around his bicep and stroll through the lines of pumpkins, gazing at the changing leaves overhead.

And that’s when you see it, the exact pumpkin you’ve been searching for, large and round, and a little intimidating if you’re being honest.

“That’s it!” You call, pulling on Yuuta’s hand and dragging him toward it. “This is a stereotypical Halloween pumpkin. We have to get this one.”

“You’re sure?” He asks, “you don’t want to look some more?”

“No, this is it.” You shake your head. He shrugs, leaning down to grab it. You hold your arms out to take it from him, and he doesn’t hesitate to hand it over.

The pumpkin is heavy, weighing your arms down the moment he thrusts it forward. You fumble with it a bit, and Yuuta grabs the other side of it to help you out. You smile at him as a thank you, and secure it in your arms.

The two of you begin to walk toward the entrance of the pumpkin patch, his hand resting at the small of your back, the large thing in your arms getting heavier by the minute. Noticing how you’re slowing down, Yuuta moves to take the pumpkin from you.

You snatch it back, “I’ve got it.”

“I know you do.” He chuckles, “but let me help.”

You sigh, looking up at him with his arms outstretched towards you.

“Yeah, okay.” You shrug, pushing the pumpkin into his arms. He grins, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Thanks.” He says, stretching his elbow out for you to take hold of, always seeking your touch. You wrap your hand around his bicep, leading him back to the front.

#I’m lowkey nervous I’ve always been like #unsure if my characterization of him #even tho he’s fun to write for me #sorry it’s so short!!! #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta x reader #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes #ghost’s halloween drabbles!

[ghostbeam]

1.1k, f!reader, suggestive content but nothing explicit, Touya calls reader a ‘good girl’, used the name touya throughout the whole thing for some reason idk, just a little carnival daaaate

Rainbow reflects in his eyes as the two of you walk together, your fingers brushing against one another’s. You’re too scared to make the first move, to intertwine your fingers and hold his hand, and he’s waiting to see if you’ll be brave enough to actually do it.

It’s not exactly a date, at least he hasn’t called it that. He never does, and neither do you, even though you both know what they are. You both know that you’ll end up in his lap in the backseat of his convertible once the parking lot has cleared out, once you’re both the only two people left on earth (or at least until it feels that way).

He walks with you down the line of games, telling you about some horror movie that’s coming out, one he wants to take you to, another not-date. You run a finger absentmindedly down the seam in his hand between his scarred and unmarked skin. It makes him pause, the words getting caught in his throat at the intimate gesture. He wants to intertwine your fingers and pull you closer to him, but you’re tugging on the sleeve of his leather jacket and dragging him towards one of the booths.

“Touya, look!” His name, his real name, falls from your lips as you continue to drag him with you. A smile graces his lips as he watches you point towards the top of the booth your in front of you. A brown teddy bear with heart patches for eyes hangs above your head. “He’s so cute!”

“You want him?” He questions you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. You nod up at him with a bright smile. “You sure? It’s not even one of those giant ones. Can’t make me haul it around on my shoulders.”

“No, but I like it anyways.” You hum. The sound of a throat clearing interrupts your thoughts, and the lanky boy who runs booth looks between the two of you.

“If you’re gonna stand there, you have to play the game.” He speaks. Touya clicks his tongue before setting a few bills down on the counter. The kid sets three white balls in front of you before he speaks again, “you just have to knock all three faces down to win a prize.”

“Seems easy enough.” Touya shrugs, placing a kiss to your head before backing away to let you play. The game isn’t easy, though, and even when you hit one of the clown-faced slabs of metal, it pops right back up. You’re out of tries before you know it.

“You’re kidding.” Touya speaks, looking up at the kid. “She hit two of those no problem and they didn’t stay down.”

“Didn’t throw hard enough.” He shrugs, “Do you wanna try?”

Touya knows the game is probably rigged, and he’s not really sure how good is aim is, but he wants to get you that bear. He wants to make you happy.

He nods his head and sets more money down on the counter. The boy places the same balls in front of Touya, and he begins. The first face goes down from the force of his throw and stays down. He hears you let out a small squeak in excitement beside him, which spurs him on. He throws the second ball with a smirk, and it goes down just the same.

“C’mon.” You mutter from beside him, anticipation bubbling in your chest. Touya pulls his arm back and throws the ball towards the clown head with full force. He hits the head and it falls down. It stays down for a moment before popping back up like yours had.

“What the fuck?” He questions, throwing his hands into the air. “I had that! It went down!”

“It didn’t stay down, though.” The kid answers, smug.

“It would’ve if it wasn’t rigged.” He speaks, leaning over the counter with his palms flat on the surface. He glared down at the kid before he hears you speak.

“Touya, it’s fine.” You tell him, wrapping yourself around one of his arms. He frowns down at you before he lifts his gaze back to the boy.

“Can I buy it?” He questions. The boy shakes his head.

“Sorry, not possible.”

Touya scoffs, “How is it not possible? I give you cash, and you give me the bear.”

“That’s not how we do things.”

Touya wants to say fuck how you do things, but he knows you don’t like to make a scene. He takes a look at the bear above him, then back at the kid behind the booth. Taking your hand in his, he sets his eyes back on the stuffed toy. He thinks for a moment before reaching up and ripping the bear from where it hangs. You let out a gasp at the action as you feel him shove the bear into your arms. You have no time to think before Touya pulls you with him.

The two of you run together, hand in hand, as the faint sound of shouting sounds behind you. You weave through the crowds of people and colorful light. Laughter bubbles from your lips, and he smiles, squeezing your hand even tighter as he runs.

He pulls you into a dark corner behind the house of mirrors, pushing you up against the wall and keeping you still as security continues to search for the two of you. So much for not making a scene.

You lean against the wall, trying to catch your breath before you realize just how close you both are. You lift your head up to find that he’s already staring at you. Red, blue, and green light flash within his eyes from the carnival ride just beside the house of mirrors. Your eyes flicker to his lips.

“Thank you,” you swallow, “no one’s ever…stolen for me.”

“Anytime.” He chuckles, reaching up to run a finger from your temple down to your chin. He cups your face, thumbing over your bottom lip.

“You shouldn’t, though.” You tell him, mentally kicking yourself for trying to lecture him on morality when you know who he is. It makes him smile, though, and he nudges his nose against yours.

“Such a good girl.” He coos. You feel his lips brush up against yours and close your eyes, relaxing against him. You clutch your bear tightly in one hand and his lips capture yours. He wraps his arms around your waist, holding you flush against him. You wrap your free arm around his neck and deepen the kiss. He groans against your lips before pulling away.

“Careful.” He warns, squeezing your hip with one hand. You place another kiss against his lips.

“Or what?” You tease, pulling away to nip at his jawline.

“Or we’ll get kicked out for more than just stealing.” He mutters before kissing you again.

You hear a commotion from the side of you, pulling away from his lips and turning to look. He continues to place kisses down your neck and jaw as you spot a carnival employee pointing in your direction.

“Touya.” You speak as he hums against your skin. “We need to run.”

#touya todoroki x reader #Touya todoroki x female reader #dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #dabi fluff #ghost.writes #ghost.drabble

[ghostbeam]

OZZIE FOR YOUR ASK GAME BAROU AND WEREWOLVES PLEASE AND THANK YOU I LOVE U SO MUCH MY ANGELIC TUMBLERINA

Lamb my angel this is my first time writing for him or any bllk boy so I hope I did him justice!! Sorry that this is so late!!!<3

Barou Shoei + werewolves

Warnings: u chain barou up, brief mentions of bones breaking and shedding skin (it doesn’t happen u just think abt it), some of this is sort of suggestive, it turns u on that ur boyfriend is a werewolf

Words: 600

“I feel like this is sort of inhumane.” You point out, dragging a chain down the stairs, following after your boyfriend. “Doesn’t it go against your instincts to be chained up?”

“It’s not inhumane. You wanted to see me all wolfed out.” He tells you, looking over his shoulder. “You could get hurt if I lost control. This is just a precaution. I’m not risking it.”

“I still feel like this isn’t fair to you, though. I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me.” And it’s true. You do trust him. In all your years of knowing Shoei, he’s never once made you feel like you couldn’t. Besides, he’s been through tons of full moons while you were dating, and he’s never come after you then. What’s so different now?

Granted you’d never been in the same place as him, let alone the same room, but what was stopping him from ripping through your apartment door all those other times?

To say that you hadn’t thought about it would be a lie. It’s part of the reason you asked to see him tonight.

“And that’s very sweet, but it’s not about that. It’s primal—instinctual—I won’t know until it happens. And I don’t want to chance it.” He explains. The word ‘primal’ has a bit of an effect on you, stopping you in your tracks as you watch him attach the chains to a metal hook fused to the wall of his basement. Barou turns back, smirking at your reaction before waving a hand over so you can give him the other chain in your hand.

It’s interesting, chaining him up like this, watching him pull on the restraints to make sure he can’t get out of them. He thanks you, but it feels strange to be thanked for something like this.

“Here, take this.” He hands you the key from his pocket, his chains rattling as he hands it over. “It’ll be a little scary at first. I’ll growl and struggle, maybe even yell. But I should calm down after a while. It would probably be best to keep your distance until then.”

He says it like it’s so simple. Like you aren’t endlessly curious about the transformation, what he looks like afterwards, if you being here would change anything about how he acts. You’ve seen it many times in different pieces of media. Sometimes it’s all broken bones. Sometimes it’s the shedding of flesh. You don’t know why would want to be here for that, but you do.

As the night progresses, you can tell Barou is becoming more and more effected by the rising of the moon. His breath becomes heavier, and you can hear the chains jingle against each other as he fidgets in his place on the ground. It’s enough to keep your attention of the book in your lap, eyes finding your boyfriend across the room, already looking at you.

“You should probably go upstairs for a while.” He tells you, voice rougher than you’ve ever heard it. The stare he’s fixed you with is hungry, longing. You don’t think you can leave him.

“I want to watch it.” You breathe. Something in him snaps, his body struggling against the bars before he’s even had the chance to transform. His hands flex by his side like he needs to grab ahold of something.

You watch him blink his eyes shut, and when he opens them again, you swear they glow.

#omg I’m NERVOUS what if he’s so ooc ajsjsjsjsjsjsj #werewolves are fun….perhaps I will write more next year #barou x reader #barou shoei x reader #ghost.drabble #ghost.writes #ghost’s halloween drabbles!

[ghostbeam]

1.3k, sfw, one mention of sex, angst with a happy ending, wrote this based on this post cause I can’t stop thinking about it

You can’t remember the last time he did this.

At the beginning of your relationship, Dabi’s presence in your life was irregular, never a guarantee. He made sure to tell you this time and time again. You were never without the reminder that Dabi lived a life that you would never understand, let alone be a common occurrence in.

He was mysterious, and from what you could gather at the time, a little dangerous, and the fact that he chose you to spend the small pockets of time with in between his otherwise busy hours excited you.

Dabi only ever came by when he felt like it. You were a way to pass time and someone he actually enjoyed the company of. You never believed that he saw it as anything more than sex.

And then he kept coming back.

Day after day, Dabi would visit you in your apartment after doing what you now know to be recruitment for the league of villains, though at the time this remained completely unknown to you. He’d slink through your window or show up outside your door, text you from outside of your building and take you for cheap street food. He’d wake up in your bed and leave whatever breakfast he attempted to make for you in the microwave before he left.

Thinking back on it all, you can’t pinpoint when it all changed, when he decided that he would stay, that he would tell you everything and trust you enough to love him anyways. You don’t think there ever was a turning point or some grand realization. Falling in love with him was easier than breathing.

So when he comes home after three days of radio silence, three days of wondering whether or not he’s dead or alive, if he’s left you, if he’d suddenly changed his mind and walked out, you can’t help but feel a little angry with him.

Maybe more than a little.

“I don’t want to see you right now.”

It’s the first thing he’s heard you say in three days, and it’s the exact opposite of what he needs.

He hates how you’re looking at him. He thinks you might hate him, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“Baby.” he tries, but the way that you recoil at the pet name makes him feel sick.

“Let me explain.” he says, even though it feels foolish to even try. Dabi knows he’s fucked up. He knows that he spent the weekend ignoring your calls and texts even when it was safe not to.

“No. I don’t want an explanation.” you sigh, rubbing a hand down your face as you feel a headache coming on. “I want to go to bed. And I don’t want you there with me.”

“Please—“ he tries to speak, but you shake your head, cutting him off with your own words.

“Do you have a phone?” you question, your eyes piercing and intense as you stare at him.

“Yes.”

“Is it working?”

“Yes.”

“Then there’s nothing to explain.” you tell him, turning on your heel and retreating to your shared bedroom, the one he’s not allowed inside of tonight.

He hears the door shut with a harsh slam and he sighs. He takes a look around your living room, the place a complete mess from the weekend with empty take out containers strewn across the coffee table and laundry that needs to be folded shoved to the end of the couch.

Dabi gets started on the trash first, gathering it together as quietly as possible so that you don’t hear him and come out to wonder why he’s cleaning this late at night. He washes the dishes in the sink, though it proves difficult to keep quiet while doing so. He folds your laundry in silence for you and sets it aside.

He walks to the closet in the hallway that he knows holds extra pillows and blankets before retreating back to the couch. He makes himself comfortable, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling, thoughts of the weekend, of being away from you running through his mind.

Dabi’s business with the league was dangerous, and the past couple of days had not allowed him much time to call you, much less time than his usual missions with the group. But you were right. His phone worked, and even though he wasn’t able to use it for most of the weekend without risk, he still had time to text you about being away and he didn’t.

And he feels terrible about it.

Being away from you was agony, and now he’s home, and you’re just a room away, and he can’t hold you.

He decides the couch is too far from you. He won’t enter the room and he won’t climb into bed with you no matter how badly he wants to, but he can’t bare to be any farther from you than he needs to be.

Tucking the pillow and blanket under his arm, Dabi tip toes down the hallway and stops right in front of your door. He sits down on the floor with the pillow tucked between his back and the door behind him before pulling the blanket over his legs and leaning his head back. It’s not the most comfortable position, and he’s not sure he’ll get any sleep at all, but he’s as close as he can be to you right now, which is all that matters.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, and he’s surprised that he even managed to, but he’s woken up by a soft hand against his cheek, his head neck strained uncomfortably from laying flat on the floor.

His eyes flutter open slowly to reveal you crouched above him, a concerned look on your face.

“Good morning.” he croaks, a lazy smile spread across his lips because you’re touching him.

“Did you sleep out here all night?” you ask him, furrowing your brows in confusion. He nods before bringing his hand up to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“I missed you.” he tells you, even if it embarrasses him to say it. It’s never been easy for him to express his feelings so plainly, but his mind is clouded with sleep, and you aren’t looking at him like you did last night.

“You didn’t seem to miss me this weekend.” you speak, still clearly hurt by his recent actions. He frowns and sits up, his back cracking from sleeping on the hardwood floor.

“I’m sorry.” he tells you. He pulls you closer and you let him because you miss how his hands feel against your skin, “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“Well you did sleep on the floor all night.” you shrug, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Because—“

“You missed me.” you finish for him with a pleased grin, “I know.”

“I did.” he sighs before placing a kiss to your temple and tucking your head against his chest.

“You know, I think if you got into bed with me last night I wouldn’t have stopped you.” you speak softly against his bare chest.

“I’ll remember that for next time.” he jokes. His words make you pull away from him.

“You’re not funny.” you tell him.

Dabi places a chaste kiss to your lips before speaking, “yes I am.”

“You have to tell me next time. I was scared. Anything could have happened to you. You could have—“ you start to speak, feeling more and more anxious as you think about the risks of a job like his, but he shushes you.

“I will. I promise.” he assures you. He takes your face in both hands as he looks down at you, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll always come home to you.”

“You can’t promise that.” you argue.

“I just did.” he retorts, squeezing your right cheek between his fingers, “you’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah?” you question.

You let him kiss you when he leans in, “You’re the only person I’d sleep on the floor for.”

#don’t read this it’s bad:// #dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha fluff #dabi fluff #ghost.writes #ghost.drabble

[ghostbeam]

500w, sfw, vampire!dabi, mentions of blood, thoughts of violence (ripping into reader’s neck), set during biting down

It’s always the same routine, the two of you making your way around Dabi’s large living space to turn on dim lamps and light candles. Before you, Dabi lived in the dark, and he never gave much thought to how he felt about it. It just was, and he decided he was okay with that.

And then Dabi met you, and he decided he liked the lights.

With one of his oddly shaped ceramic mugs in your hands, you make your way back to the living room, watching Dabi light the last candle. He stretches his arms above his head, scarred skin on display now that he’s shed his jacket. He groans as you watch him crawl onto the carpet and flop onto his back. It makes you giggle, and he finally notices you leaning against the wall.

He raises an eyebrow at you, eyeing you from underneath thick eyelashes, “what?”

“Are you comfortable down there?” You question, setting your mug down on the table to your left.

“Mhm. Very.” He says. He doesn’t tell you that he lays on the floor for a view of the string lights you helped him put up all those months ago, the pattern of the lines crossing over one another reminding him of the constellations he used to memorize.

You crawl over to him to lay beside him, flat on your back like he is with your eyes on the ceiling of stars. He looks over at you, how the light reflects in your eyes as you stare. “S’pretty.”

“Sure is.” He speaks softly. You turn to look at him, shifting your body so that you can lay your head on his chest, one leg thrown over his waist as he wraps one strong arm around you.

“Dabi?” You ask, voice soft and hesitant. He hums in reply, “Do you still have a heart?”

He lets out a breathy laugh before speaking, “Yeah, I think so. It doesn’t work anymore, but it’s still in there.”

“Hm.” You nod against him. “When I lay like this, it sounds like when you can hear the ocean in a seashell.”

“You know that’s just the blood pumping in your ears.” He tells you, running a thumb over your hip as he speaks. “It’s not actually the ocean. You can hear it with anything that’s hollow.”

You shush him, “you’re not hollow.”

But he is, Dabi thinks, he is hollow. He is hollow because he has no heart. He has no heart because you stole it.

He startles you, then, flipping you over so that you’re the one laying flat on your back. Dabi presses his ear to your chest this time to listen. It’s what he expected, your beating heart, your life.

“What does it sound like?” You ask him.

“Like blood.” He shrugs. “Just your blood.”

“Guess we hear the same thing, then.” You say.

Dabi relaxes against your chest, arms wrapping around your waist as your hands fall to his head. It should distract him more, the blood, your life, how he could rip into you at any moment and keep it all for himself. But it doesn’t.

“Guess so.”

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #ghost.writes #ghost.drabble #biting down