#ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

can you feel my heart beating like a hammer? | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

You watch from your spot, shoulders tense as you anticipate the arrival of yet another creepy clown or zombie when you see him.

He’s not like the other actors. He’s not quick with his movements and doesn’t yell or jump at anyone. His terror lies in the fact that he does none of those things, that he stands across from you and stares.

And then he grins.

Your stomach turns but not in fear.

Notes: hiiiiii so this is my scare actor!dabi fic. It’s my halloween/October fic for the month!! I’ve been working on this for a while and I’ve finally finished only five days before halloween lmao. Wanna thank mari for calling me after class that day where we had the same exact thought of this at the same time and I had to pull over to put it in my notes (and also for thinking of this title cause I was struggling) anyways I hope you enjoy!!! thanks for reading!! (Title from help I'm alive by metric) listen to the playlist here!

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, f!reader, explicit content, scare actor!dabi, Dabi is touya (quite literally he is not called Dabi in this at all ajhssjsjjss), sex in public, fearplay (kind of), multiple orgasms, overstimulation (very brief), oral f!receiving, fingering, multiple instances where Dabi rests his hand on ur neck but never chokes u, biting (shoulder, neck), ‘baby’ and ‘angel’ as pet names, use of ‘good girl’, frightening (debatable im not that good) depictions of scare actors and haunts, one description of gory makeup, fake weapons

Words: 5k

You’re scared, terrified actually, and your friends are nowhere in sight.

You’re cold. You’re hungry. A clown with a chainsaw won’t stop following you around, and you just want to go home. 

When you were invited to the local haunted house, your first instinct was to say no. You’d always been afraid of these things, anything with jumpscares, anything not contained in the screen of your television, you decided wasn’t for you. But your friends insisted and explained that the local haunt wouldn’t be anything like any of those expensive theme parks with big productions and highly trained actors. 

But if you were being honest with yourself, it all felt the same to you. It was maybe a little creepier, out in a field in the middle of nowhere, the closest business a couple of miles away, and no background checks for the actors. Uneasiness washed over you the moment you stepped through the wooden gates.

And now you’re alone.

Scare actors are coming at you left and right, all dressed in dark makeup or clown outfits or fake blood, each with their very own faux weapon used for getting just close enough to you without touching. They’re targeting you because you’re scared, you realize because you scream and clutch your head and run in all different directions when they come at you. 

It’s quite the production for a local haunt. It’s eerie, smoke machines pour fog throughout, and music that ranges from creepy carnival tunes to popular horror movie scores blare through worn-out speakers, which add to the effect. The actors are painted with precision or covered in liquid latex and black blood that oozes from fake wounds. You feel like you’re in a horror movie. You might be in one, for all you know, which is what scares you the most

You finally find a moment to calm yourself down, seeking a single moment of peace against a makeshift wall on the outside of a haunted house. 

You take a moment to look around you, out over the sea of people and costumes. You observe the way the actors jump at the attendees, throwing themselves forward or making loud noises, dragging and tapping their fake weapons against the ground. It’s complete chaos, and you thought that seeing it from the sidelines would make it less terrifying for you, but it doesn’t. You don’t want to be here. 

You watch from your spot, shoulders tense as you anticipate the arrival of yet another creepy clown or zombie when you see him. 

He’s not like the other actors. He’s not quick with his movements and doesn’t yell or jump at anyone. His terror lies in the fact that he does none of those things, that he stands across from you and stares.

And then he grins.

Your stomach turns but not in fear. 

He’s not scary, just strange, and oddly handsome too, you think. You don’t smile back, but you keep your eyes on him. You aren’t sure if his smile is part of his act or if he means it. Somehow, both make you uneasy. 

He’s slow as he moves towards you, calculated. His eyes rake up and down your body as he approaches. As he comes closer, you can finally get a good look at his face, smudged with paint over scars that fall underneath both eyes and line his jaw. What looks to be like staples sit in the seam between the marked and unmarked skin, and you can’t tell if they’re part of the costume or if he wears the piercings when he’s not working. You kind of hope he does.

He looms over you, close enough that you can smell a mixture of sweat and cologne on his skin, but not enough to touch you. You think you want him to, though. His eyes are a brilliant blue, almost glowing against the night. 

He’s beautiful. You can tell even hidden under the face paint. His costume is stitched together with yarn at the seams of his shoulders, silver staples that imitate the piercings on his face scatter the stitches. His coat is long and reaches the middle of his calves, and a loose white shirt drapes over his chest. His dark jeans wear the same stitches as his coat, and his dark boots are big, the sound of the soles against the pavement is loud as he steps even closer to you. 

Touya’s never had any particular interest in any of the attendees of the haunt before. Sure, he’s taken girls home who’d bravely slipped their numbers into his pocket or caught him when his shift was over, but no one had ever caught his eye quite like you. 

He’d seen you cowering before his coworkers, running away and screaming, not unlike many of the people around you. But he had noticed you.

And now you’re standing not even an inch away from him, staring up at him with wide eyes and trembling so hard he can almost feel you. You’re adorable. He wants to see you like this underneath him with your back arched, pretty lips parted for him, just for him. 

Your moment is interrupted by the revving of a chainsaw and the dragging of metal against pavement as yet another clown laughs loudly in your ear. You jump, unconsciously moving forward, finding yourself in the arms of the patchwork man you’d been so captivated by. You squeak out a small sorry, but he says nothing, smirking down at you.

Dabi’s heart leaps in his chest. He wants to steal you away, pull you into one of the haunts, and fuck you behind one of the walls. No one would suspect a thing if he covered you in enough fake blood to pass as one of them, making you scream in pleasure against the screams of fear. 

His eyes flicker to your lips before he lowers his hands to your waist, squeezing tightly before backing away from you and leaving you alone without a word. 

…

After another half an hour of running from scare actors and looking for your friends, you finally find them near a food stand, unassuming and completely unaware you’d disappeared.

You sprint towards them, getting good at dodging anyone jumping at you after all of that time alone. Your best friend spots you first, her eyes widening as she walks towards you.

“Where the fuck did you go?” She questions with a drink in one hand that flashes different colors from the plastic light-up ice in the liquid. 

“You guys left me!” You exclaim, “I’ve been dodging those fuckers for an hour alone!”

“We thought you were with us. I promise! We went in that one haunt with the possession scene and when we came out you were gone!” She explains, but you can’t help but feel a little annoyed. You didn’t even want to come out tonight. You’d only said yes because she begged. 

“Did you look for me?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Look,” She begins, “Everything is so chaotic here. Everyone was moving on to the next house! I figured you’d catch up!”

“You suck.” You pout.

“I know I do. I’m sorry!” She pleads. “I’ll buy you something to eat. C’mon.”

She buys your meal and leads you to some of the wooden picnic tables in the small area, the rest of your friends already occupying some of the space. You’re treated warmly as they all throw questions at you about where you went. You resist the urge to act upset or make a scene, explaining that you’d been running around and looking for them while trying to avoid fake chainsaws and machetes. You’re in the middle of telling a story about getting caught in a corner with one of the zombies when your friends start to erupt in a fit of giggles. You pause your story, confused at their sudden reaction when you feel someone blow at your neck.

It only surprises you, all the fear expelled from your body in your hour of terror. You turn to look at the source and there he is again, the patchwork man from earlier. You’re not scared of him, this time, only intrigued. 

He hovers over you, moving and contorting his neck in a way that you assume is meant to be creepy, but it does nothing but amuse you. 

You smile and let out a small laugh, looking up at him through your lashes. Dabi feels his jeans tighten at the way you look up at him, eyebrows pulled up in a pout, leaning closer as he grins. 

“Are you ever gonna tell me your name?” You ask him, eyes flickering to his lips for a moment. He shakes his head slowly, maintaining eye contact while holding a finger to his mismatched lips. You give him yours, but he only stares. You’re once again pulled in by the blue in his eyes, finding yourself wondering if they’re a different shade than the last time you saw him. “Not even if I beg?”

He’ll punish you for that later, Dabi thinks. 

You watch him reach behind his back, still bent over towards your face, readying yourself for what you think might be the fake machete he carried before.

He pulls a single yellow daisy from behind him, clutching it between two fingers as he holds it out to you. You know he must have picked it from one of the patches of green that scatter the field. Your friends giggle some more, whispering things you're unable to focus on at the moment. You look between his painted face and the flower, reaching out to take it from him.

Suddenly feeling bashful, you lean away from him, smelling the flower and twirling it between your fingers. The smile he gives you is genuine.

He leans closer to you, bringing a finger up to his cheek and tapping twice to signal something. He wants a kiss, you realize. It’s against the rules, and he knows this. Scare actors are not meant to touch the guests, and doing so could get them into a lot of trouble. But Touya wants to touch you. He remembers the feeling of you pressed against him when you’d jumped in fear of the clown from earlier. He’d broken the rule then, and he had no problem with breaking it again.

If not for your friends' excited squeals around you, you’re sure you would have frozen. You push yourself forward, placing a kiss to his cheek before you can talk yourself out of it. He smiles wide as you pull away, that creepy grin still on his face as he stares down at you. 

When he stands up, he begins to back away slowly without a word. You watch him walk, clutching a fist over his heart and giving you a giddy smile as he leaves. 

You feel disheartened knowing you might not see him again tonight. You place the flower behind your ear and take your eyes off where he disappeared. 

…

You and your friends stay until closing. As the night goes on, you find yourself getting used to the fear. You think you like it now, adrenaline running through your body as you're chased with chainsaws or reached for through windows inside of the haunts. It’s exhilarating. You understand why people like these so much.

Scare actors are practically chasing people out, running at them with their weapons until they make it through the gates. It’s complete mayhem, especially with the number of people now pushed to the front of the area. 

Amidst the chaos, you find yourself alone again. You search the crowd, avoiding the actors jumping toward you as you make your way through the sea of people. You push through different groups of people until you make it to a small open spot amidst the crowd. It’s there that you see the man from before, jumping at different people who walk by him. He drags his fake machete against the floor and it scrapes with a metallic grinding sound. He’s terrifying, you think. Not to you, but to anyone around him, he must be terrifying. 

He’s tall and imposing, completely silent as he pushes his weapon toward anyone he can reach. He’s fast, too, running up on different people, the sound of his big black boots is loud against the pavement.

You can’t move. You can only stare at him, completely in his element. He’s good at what he does, better and far more intimidating than any of the other actors you’ve encountered tonight. But somehow, you aren’t scared at all, not of him and not in any real way. Maybe you should be, though. 

He turns around, looking around as he walks from his last set of victims before his eyes find you. A smile crosses his face and he lifts a hand, wagging his fingers to wave at you. You avert your eyes in embarrassment that he caught you, even in the crowd of people. 

He stalks towards you, dragging his weapon behind him. He’s menacing, and you can’t help but feel a little afraid of him, wondering if he’ll jump towards you or do something to scare you all over again. When he approaches, you watch him smirk from under his makeup, close enough to see the texture of his skin and the blue of his eyes. He runs a finger down your arm until he reaches your hand, intertwining your fingers and pulling you along with him. 

You know you shouldn’t follow him. This is how people go missing, how people are found in a ditch with their friends crying on the news about how they were just with them. 

But you can’t bring yourself to care. You find him endlessly fascinating, from the way he moves to his dark demeanor. He’s strange and unsettling, but you like it. You want strange and unsettling, contrary to your feelings earlier in the night. 

Dabi can feel your hand trembling in his. He rubs soothing circles with his thumb over the top of your hand. He doesn’t want you to be too afraid of him. He wants you to like him. He’s almost embarrassed by it, seeking the approval of a random girl who visited the haunt. When he looks back at you, your eyes are wide, mouth agape as you let him pull you through the crowd of people. You look at him with curiosity and intrigue more than fear. Dabi feels his heart beat faster in his chest.

He pulls you to one of the haunts, one you went through earlier with a zombie rock band, a ridiculous theme that you remember scaring you the least. Guitar blares through the speakers as you enter, moving the curtains back that cover each entrance. You realize that the place is empty, with no scare actors ready to jump out, no one on the sets or acting out any of the scenes you remember. It’s just the two of you now. 

You feel his arm curl around your waist as he pulls you behind one of the openings in the walls. It’s one of the spaces that the scare actors use to hide in before jumping out at the guests. It’s surprisingly spacious, and there’s a door that must lead outside of the structure or into another room. You don’t have time to ponder it before you’re pushed up against one of the walls, his hands squeezing your hips as he looks down at you with hungry eyes. 

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this all night long. You were so fucking scared.” He speaks, lowering his head to the crook of your neck, and you almost gasp at the sound of his voice. It’s rough, gravelly. It vibrates against your body where he brushes his lips against you. “It was so cute.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling him grin against your skin before licking over your pulse point. You moan, the sound almost swallowed up by the loud eerie rock music reverberating in the makeshift building. Dabi wants to make you louder. He wants you to scream.

“Are you—hah—gonna tell me your name?” You ask him as he continues to kiss your neck. His hands are all over you, squeezing the flesh of your hips, running his hands over your thighs and your arms, hands underneath your sweater, up your skirt. You can’t focus on anything but his hands and his mouth and his hard body pressed up against yours. You almost want him closer, if that’s even possible, tangling your fingers into his hair and arching your body into his. 

You’re sure your neck must be covered in smudgy face paint. His mouth is probably a muddy mess, or maybe all of the paint is gone, but you don’t care. His lips feel good on your skin. He feels good. 

It barely registers that he ignores your question. “What? You’re back to not speaking?”

He’s silent, once again, pulling away from your neck to smile down at you. You were right, the paint is almost completely gone from the bottom half of his face, leaving behind the sight of scars in contrast to the unmarked skin on his cheeks. You’re panting, looking into his eyes as he reveals nothing. He leans forward to kiss you, catching you by surprise even though he was sucking on your neck just moments ago. The kiss is short, with barely enough time to feel his tongue against yours before he pulls away. 

“So mysterious.” You quip, trying to save yourself from the embarrassment of being affected by one kiss. He pulls his long coat from his shoulders to reveal surprisingly muscular arms covered in the same scars and piercings that litter his face. He continues with his vow of silence as he starts to lower himself before you, placing kisses against your chest and your stomach as he falls to his knees. His hands sneak up your skirt. “Oh, fuck.”

He raises the front of your skirt, moving one of your hands to hold it against your stomach. He runs his hands up the front of your thighs, looking up at you through thick lashes, spreading your legs even further apart. He brings a hand forward, pressing the pad of his thumb against your clothed cunt. He gives you a look, and he doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he’s thinking, for you to be embarrassed by how wet you are from just a little groping. 

He moves his hand and leans forward, pulling you by your hips and burying his face in between your legs. You feel his tongue through your underwear, gasping at the feeling, simultaneously too much and not enough. You bury your free hand in his hair as he licks you through the layer of fabric. Your panties are thoroughly ruined, your inner thighs sticky with your slick. He groans against you, tasting what little of you he can through the barrier. He pulls away and rips them from your thighs, wasting no time before he’s in between your legs once more. 

“God!” It’s not his name, but it’ll do. “Fuck, right there!”

He laps at your entrance, completely lost in making you feel good. Every moan he pulls from you only spurs him on, tonguing your cunt like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. He thinks that maybe it is. 

You buck your hips against his face, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt and pulling at his hair as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to your orgasm. He runs one hand up your thigh, pulling away for a moment to slip a finger inside of you. He groans at how much of a mess you’ve become, how much of a mess he’s made you. He adds another finger, watching how easily they slide in and out of you. He looks up at you, silently asking if it’s something you like, and the moan you let out tells him that it is. You nod at him, moving your hips while he moves his fingers in and out of you. 

“Please!” You whine, missing the feeling of his tongue on you. “Need more!”

He slows the movements of his fingers down, pulling another unsatisfied groan from your throat. It’s cute how impatient you are, how he’s reduced you to such a hungry little thing, all for him.

He moves one hand behind your knee, hiking your leg over one of his shoulders and earning a surprised gasp from your lips. His tongue finds your clit again, running tight circles around you as his fingers speed up. 

You grind against his face, closer to the edge than before, moaning at the sensation of his mouth against your entrance. He curls his fingers inside of you and licks over your clit, his motions repetitive and focused as he feels you clench around his fingers. You’re close, and he can feel it, and it’s taking everything in him not to beg you to come for him.

“I’m gonna—” a strangled cry escapes your throat as he brings you to the edge. He slows his movements down as you ride out your orgasm, thrusting his fingers slowly and licking languid strokes over your clit. Hips spamming against him, you have to push his head away from your sex, breathing heavily and running your fingers through the hair falling in his eyes. He’s gorgeous when he looks up at you through a glistening grin. He rises from the ground, bringing the two fingers, now covered in your slick, towards his mouth. You whimper as you watch him wrap his own lips around the two digits, his eyes never leaving yours. He releases them with a sticky pop, surging forwards to capture your lips with his. 

It’s better than the one before, longer, slower. You can taste yourself on his tongue. He slots his body against yours as he deepens the kiss, and you can feel him hard against your thigh. His hands run up your sides, over your breasts up to your sternum. He rests one hand against the front of your neck, gently and not squeezing, just to keep you there against him. He slips his tongue into your mouth while his other hand sneaks up the back of your sweater. He has your bra off before you have any time to think, and then he runs his fingers over your nipples. 

He’s much gentler than you thought he’d be, especially under the circumstances. He has you pressed up against a wall in public. You’re someone he’s only just met, and you know you must not be the first person he’s done this with. 

But he kisses you like he loves you. 

And maybe it’s the adrenaline or the raucous music preventing you from thinking clearly, but you think that maybe he could. Maybe you want him too. 

God, you’re crazy. 

He sucks your tongue into his mouth again and you tug at the strands of hair at the back of his head. Your movements become more frantic as you push your bodies closer together. Twitching hands find the front of his jeans, thumbing the button open and stroking your hand over him. He groans into your mouth, a faint curse as he pushes his hips forward. He bites your lip hard before pulling away from you, pulling a shiny square package from his pocket and releasing himself from the constraint of his underwear. He tears it open with his teeth and rolls the condom on, reaching down to hike your leg back up like it had been before. With one strong hand holding you up from behind your knee, he drags the head of his cock through your folds, pulling another moan from you that you try to suppress in the crook of his neck. 

His lips find yours once more, swallowing the sounds you make as he sinks into you. You arch your back, pushing yourself closer as he stretches you. The stretch is almost too much, even with the mess he’s made of you, but you feel good, full, complete.

He starts slow, long drawn-out thrusts of his hips that drive you crazy. He touches you everywhere, squeezing anywhere he can get his hands on, sucking on your neck, your chest. He kisses over your face, sweet pecks of his lips to your jaw and cheeks. It’s overwhelming, the attention he gives you, the need to put your pleasure before his, to make you feel wanted. You are wanted. 

He’s getting desperate now, speeding up as he moves against you. He reaches so deep, keeping your leg hiked up with your back against the wall. You aren’t gonna last much longer, not with his tongue in your mouth, not with the sound of his own whines meeting your ears as he quickens his thrusts. 

“Please—” You beg, digging your fingers into his hips. You’re so close, clenching around him so tightly he can barely think. His eyes find yours as you feel yourself growing closer and closer to your release, neon blue clouding your vision before you throw your head back against the wall behind you. Pleasure wracks through your body as he pulls you even closer. You fall limp in his arms, feeling him release your leg and pull out of you. You rest your forehead against his as you calm your breathing.

“Think you can give me one more?” The rare sound of his voice startles you. His hand finds the back of your head, pulling away to look into your eyes. Dazed, you nod at him, watching him smile down at you. “Good girl.”

He kisses your cheek, and you let him spin you around to face the wall. You brace yourself against it, two hands flat on the surface as you feel him behind you. He places sloppy kisses against your neck, slowly entering you once more. You gasp, still sensitive from before, but he shushes you, nibbling on your earlobe as he moves in and out of you. 

“Your—hah—your name.” You whine, barely getting the words out as he quickens his pace. He groans behind you, leaning forward to bite your shoulder, thrusting in quick short motions against you. “Please! Fuck! Wanna—”

“You wanna what, baby?” He breathes against your ear. He places a kiss beneath it, peppering more down your neck as he slows down. 

“Don’t! Please don’t slow down.” You beg, pushing yourself against him. 

He leans his large frame against your back, bringing an arm around the front of your chest, resting his hand at the base of your neck. He pulls your back against him, lips brushing against your ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna—ngh—scream it.” You pant, feeling his thrusts speed up at your admission. “Wanna scream your name.”

“‘Course you do, angel.” He coos, running a hand down the front of your body until it slips up your skirt. You feel his fingers against your clit and gasp, twitching from the sensitivity. It’s too much. You want more. “Call me Touya.”

“Touya!” You cry, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. Touya, Touya, Touya. It sounds perfect falling from your lips. You were meant to say it, meant to scream it just like this. “Wanna come. Make me come, Touya.”

He buries his face into your neck, biting down hard as he speeds up the movements of his hips and his fingers on your clit. You scream, just how he’s wanted you to all night, the feeling of pain and pleasure leaving you dizzy. 

“Gonna—” You choke, moaning his name once again. He groans against your skin.

“I know, baby, me too.” His thrusts become sloppier, feeling himself approach the edge, but not before you. You scream his name one last time, reaching your high just moments before him. He cries out after, pulling your face towards his to kiss you deeply once more. 

Realizing where you are, music still playing loudly through the speakers, your body up against a rough wooden wall, and Touya’s tongue in your mouth, you force yourself to pull away. He moves away from you, taking a moment to discard the condom and pick up your ruined underwear from the ground. You lay your head against the wall, throwing your arm over your eyes and laughing at the absurdity of the situation. 

You think about the feeling of dread from the beginning of the night, how quickly you ran from the men in masks and makeup, the fake chainsaws and knives. And now you’d been fucked by one, one you’d learned the name of just seconds ago. 

When Touya returns, you’ve fixed yourself, putting your bra back on and pulling your skirt down, though you’re still without underwear. He walks towards you, cupping your face with one large hand and looking down at you.

“You okay?” He questions, genuine concern in his cyan gaze. You give him a shy smile and nod. He narrows his eyes before giving you a sly smile. “I need verbal confirmation.”

“I’m okay, Touya.” You tell him, wrapping your hand around his wrist and resting it there. 

“Fuck,” he speaks, “say it again.”

“You should’ve told me sooner.” You say, ignoring the command. He rolls his eyes, kissing your forehead before pulling away. He takes your hand in his and opens the door beside you.

“C’mon let’s get you cleaned up, then I’ll take you home.” He leads you through the door, down a labyrinth of alleys all connected by the various haunts. He looks back at you and shrugs sheepishly. “Sorry. Your friends are probably gone.”

“Probably.” You don’t care, but you should. And you shouldn’t let him take you home. You shouldn’t let him touch your face gently or take you to one of the twenty-four-hour diners nearby after you leave. You shouldn’t give him your number. You shouldn’t let him take you out once, twice, three times. You shouldn’t let him sneak you into a different haunt the next time you visit him at work.

You do anyway. 

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #Touya Todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[hufflepuffsandghosts]

Fic swap? 👀 - ur bestie Zero 🖤

Plot: PH!Bakugo and Y/N (AFAB)  get captured and thrown together in a dark cell. Whoever put them together wants them to do..things. They both refuse. But their captor is determined, putting hormones in the air to urge them on. How long can they last? 

A/N: Hello friend! This is a FicSwap for my lovely bestie! I tried to keep it as gender-neutral as possible for you bby. But please keep in mind that the reader has female anatomy. I really hope you like this as you know i am NOT the type to write smut ahh <3 ily

TW: Non-Con/Dub-Con, Use of drugs. Slight exhibitionism if you squint. Swearing. Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kiddos!), Breeding NO MINORS ALLOWED TO INTERACT

The night was dark and eerie, with an air of tension surrounding Bakugo, aka Dynamight, Japan's #2 hero, and Y/N, aka H/N. Bakugo’s explosive quirk and Y/n’s strategic abilities complemented each other perfectly. The villain in question has been known to kidnap and kill couples. 

As the night settles in, the moon’s faint glow casts shadows on the abandoned industrial complex where the villain has set up his hideout. The air was tense, and each breath felt electric as the pair prepped to confront the dangerous kidnapper. The villain emerged from the shadows, his sinister laughter echoing through the desolate space. He was a towering figure, clad in all black as the moonlight glinted off a wickedly sharp blade he wielded. 

The battle began with a ferocious exchange of blows from both parties at play. Bakugo charged forward, using his explosions to close the distance between him and the villain. Y/N, always one step ahead, flanked the enemy with precision. Using their wits and agility to dodge the villain’s attack. 

Bakugo and Y/N always moved with almost telepathic coordination during their joint missions. They knew and anticipated each other’s moves, covering for one another effortlessly. Their effectiveness as a team always caught the attention of their peers and superiors, leading to more frequent assignments together. During this particular mission fraught with danger, the pair were hesitant to acknowledge their evergrowing feelings for one another. It wasn't until a split-second decision on Bakugo's part, stepping in as a shield for Y/n from a deadly attack that put them in this predicament and was captured by the villain and his team

In a dimly lit, desolate underground cell, Bakugo and Y/N found themselves shackled together. They were both heroes, each possessing unique abilities and strong wills to help. But now, stripped of their powers and freedom, they faced an unimaginable challenge. Their captor, a sinister figure hiding in the shadows, had a twisted plan for them. 

Bakugo’s fiery temper ignited immediately as he attempted to break free from the chains that bound him to Y/N. “Let me GO, damn it! We’ll tear this place apart!” he snarled, his red eyes blazing with fury. 

Y/n on the other hand, remained surprisingly calm, trying to reason with their captor. “There’s no need for this. We won’t give in to your sick demands,” they declared, their voice steady despite the fear bubbling beneath the surface. Their captor’s voice echoed through the chamber, chilling them both to the bond. “Oh, but you will my little bunnies. I’ve laced the air with hormones designed to incite desire, and unless you want to be permanently trapped together, you both will have to cooperate.” 

Bakugo growled in frustration, not wanting to give their captor the satisfaction of seeing them weaken, “Like hell we will! I’m not falling for your tricks!” Y/n on the other hand, felt a sudden warmth spreading through the air, affecting their thoughts and emotions, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the proximity of Bakugo, the scent of his sweat, and the intensity of his gaze. 

As time passed, their willpower began to waver. Their captor kept the pressure on, taunting them with veiled threats and vague incentives that played on their deepest desires. “Come on Katsuki, don't you wanna feel how good Y/N feels? I know for a fact that she’s absolutely dripping right now.” Whispered the villain. 

Bakugo grunts, and shifts a little, he can see how slowly Y/n is becoming more and more desperate, moaning a bit here and there and shifting her legs to gain some sort of release for themselves. “F-Fuck Bakugo, please. I don't know how much longer I can take it.” Y/n Groaned. “It’s the hormones talking Y/N, dont let them win.” Bakugo huffed. 

“Tsk, tsk,” The villain said. “They’re practically asking to be used at this point Katsuki, how on earth can you deny them the pleasure.” 

“Shit” Bakugo thought. This was not good for the both of them, but all he could imagine is Y/N whimpering underneath him as he- 

No

Stop

Don’t give in. 

Is what he kept on telling himself before he realized that he was over the top of Y/n, both of his hands freed and placed lightly on their skin-tight hero costume, playing gently with their breasts. Y/n purred softly, grinding on his thigh at the slight touches. “Please Katsuki-” Y/N spoke softly, before being immediately interrupted by a forceful kiss from their partner in crime. “Shh baby, let me take care of you properly” Katsuki growled, placing kissing and nips along Y/N's neck.

  Feeling the heat rise between the both of them. Katsuki gets off slightly, admiring the work of light bruises along their neck. Bakugo rips the bottom half of Y/n’s costume, revealing their wet pussy. He chuckles “Wow, what a little slut you are, getting off just at my leg alone. Tell me, what do you want.” 

Y/N huffs and doesn't say anything. 

Smack. A sting to their ass before he repeats. “Tell me, what, you want.”  

Smack

Y/N whimpers “Make me cum please Kat, please.” before gasping for air as Bakugo uses his thick, rough fingers to make quick work of spreading their legs the rest of the way, and his tongue is suddenly everywhere. Eating them out like his life depended on it. Lapping everything up like it was the last thing he was ever going to drink. 

Y/n writhed underneath him, grabbing and pulling at the blonde’s hair. He sucks on your clit and rubs his cock against the hard mattress when you moan. Tongue sliding between your folds like he’s been starving for you. Bakugo then moves his face so it’s closer to your neck, so his lips are beside your ear and he can say things just as breathily as you. and places bites and hickeys along their breasts while inserting two fingers. “fuck Y/N,” he moaned. “You’re already so tight for me and I haven't even done anything yet.” Y/n nods, chatting out agreements “Just fucking get it over with already Bakugo-” 

He reaches up and places two fingers into their mouth, while you suck and gasp as he removes his pants, showing his cock covered with his own pre-cum, slowly teasing Y/N’s wet folds. He removes his fingers and smirks, slamming his dick inside. Y/n jolts suddenly, toes curling at the sheer size and thickness of Bakugo’s cock. 

“You’re being so obedient for me Y/n, you’re so good for me..” He purrs, slamming into you over and over again. Losing a bit more sanity and more as Y/n gets tighter and tighter around him. “Fuck, that's it, baby, let me hear you.” He says, grabbing Y/N’s hair and pulling the both of them as close as possible. Slamming into Y/n's G-spot as they moaned and were almost screaming with pleasure. It makes both of their heads a little foggy. 

“Shit- fuck- Y/N I'm gonna-” Katsuki moans, pushing in as hard as he can, hitting the cervix before cumming. “M-me too-” Y/n moans. Slow and controlled, lifting up a bit to kiss them deep and make you feel every little bit of him. He allows himself to fuck the cum into you, reveling in the quiet gasps you make. Both are so sensitive, but it feels so good. 

“You’re mine now, Y/n,” He huffs, before kissing Y/n’s lips, and then to their forehead. Y/N smiles, “I would love that but now, let's figure out how to get the hell out of here.”

All content © hufflepuffsandghosts 2023. Do not repost, modify, or claim my work as your own.

#bnha x reader #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero acedamia #boku no hero academia x reader #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugou x reader #mha bakugou #mha bakugo x reader #mha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugo smut #tw.dubcon #tw.noncon #tw. drugs #tw.breeding #tw.overstimulation #mha smut #ficswap #ghost.fic #ghost.moots #pro hero bakugo x reader #pro hero bakugou #pro hero au #update: 100 notes

[bluu-ghost]

ooops…. looks like Jet and Party are gonna share a bed… woe is them… they will never understand how awkward this is for the other because the feeling definitely can’t be mutual…. oneshot for prompt: “there’s only one bed…” Party’s a big ol’ gay mess and Jet’s a bit more sensible but also Very Dumb

Hey, I did a very little bit of writing

#danger days #ttlotfk #party poison #jet star #jetpoison #mcr #here have this #i know how to write even less than i know how to draw but it's just them bein cute and dumb #writing #ghost.post #ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

all my blood for the sweetness of her laughter | dabi/touya todoroki

You go to the store for the ingredients you need to cook for him tonight. You pick up the small cake you ordered from the bakery down the street. You wrap the vintage leather jacket you found for him at a thrift store despite his insistence upon no gifts. Everything is going according to plan, for the most part.

That is until you hear his name from the mouth of the news anchor on your television as she describes the events of a villain attack somewhere in the city. From where you stand at the stove, you freeze, listening to the report. You’re too afraid to turn and look at the screen, knowing that if you see him, you’ll break.

notes: hiiiiii so this is a repost from last year because I unfortunately did not have time to finish dabi’s birthday fic and then I remembered I deleted this one from tumblr bc I suddenly hated it ajshsjhdjd but anyways I edited it a bit but it’s also on ao3 (unedited but I’ll do that later) soooo yeah happy birthday to my greatest love or whatever (gross)

warnings: minors dni, no smut but implied sex, f!reader, blood and injury, angst, hurt/comfort, dabi picks reader up

words: 2.7k

Dabi returns home to you on a Thursday afternoon. He carries a beat-up overnight bag not filled with much since most of his wardrobe now lives in your closet, his toothbrush sits next to your sink, and his stash of fancy chocolates lies inside one of the drawers in your kitchen.

He drops the bag at his feet as he steps through the door, the key you made for him hanging around his pointer finger as he slams it shut with one foot, opening his arms for you to greet him with a hug.

His arms wrap around you tightly, walking you backward as he buries his face in your neck. He’s been gone for a little longer than a week, off on a mission for the league in a few cities over, a mission that you are completely unaware of. As far as you know, Dabi was visiting his family.

“Missed you.” You murmur against his neck. Dabi lets out a deep breath, preparing to pull away to look at your face. He cups your cheeks in his hands and grins.

“Really?” He questions. You reach your hands up to rest over his wrists.

“Mhm,” you nod, “did you miss me?”

“What do you think?” He rolls his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. When he pulls away, he drops one hand to your waist and pinches your cheek with the other. You swat his hand away, glaring at him, but it only makes him smile.

“I think maybe you did.” You shrug in his arms, “You know, judging from all of the random pictures of cats you saw on the street, and the constant messages asking what I was doing, and all the times you asked for pictures—”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He shushes you again with another kiss to your lips, deeper and hungrier than before. You’re breathless when he pulls away.

“You totally missed me.” You tease, pulling away from him and walking past him to the door. He sends a slap to your ass that makes you jump as you walk by, shoving him away so that you can pick up the bag he abandoned when he arrived.

“Doesn’t look like there’s much in here.” You comment, judging by the weight.

Dabi hadn’t packed much for the mission, just enough to get by in the shitty hideout that Shigaraki had set up for him. But you aren’t meant to know about that, so Dabi lies.

“I dropped some stuff at my place.” He shrugs as you look inside. You pull out a cheap box of black hair dye, looking up at him.

“Your roots are showing?” You question, and he nods.

“You cover them up the best.”

“Oh, yeah? How can you know that? Are there other people dying your roots for you?” You cross your arms over your chest. Dabi wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in.

“Maybe.” He smirks. You let your jaw fall open, pushing on his chest. But Dabi keeps a tight grip on you.

“Then they can dye it!” You resist, but Dabi pushes your arms down at your sides, trapping you there. He shakes his head, placing kisses across your face as you try to stifle the giggles that threaten to bubble from your throat.

“C’mon,” He rasps, resting his forehead against yours, “you know there’s only you. I don’t think I could find anyone else to put up with me.”

“I’m not putting up with anything.” You say, softly. Dabi pulls away to look at you. “‘Course, I’ll help you with your roots.”

The process is easy enough, one you’ve gone through many many times with him, something Dabi considers important to him. It’s that mix of being taken care of and trusting someone enough to allow it. Dabi couldn’t remember what that felt like—until you.

In the beginning, Dabi resisted you. He hated that wanting feeling and tried to ignore the burning in his chest when he looked at you. You came along and threw his priorities all out of whack, and Dabi was furious with himself for even considering you.

But at some point, the want became need, and there was no longer any doubt about keeping you in his life. Even if it meant hiding things from you. He never planned on not telling you about his villainous activities. He thought about getting it out of the way for a long time. He would tell you and maybe you would scream or cry or call the heroes. Or you’d tell him you hated him, and that had always seemed much worse than being locked up. So want was need, and Dabi was not Dabi he was just yours, and you were something he couldn’t stand to lose.

“Are you sure you’re not secretly way older than you look?” You question him, washing his hair over your tub after letting the dye sit in his white roots. Black swirls around your drain as he chuckles.

“I’m pretty sure.” He says, before pausing to look up at you “Unless…do you maybe have a thing for older guys?”

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, shoving his head back under the running water.

“I mean, I am getting up there. I’ll be twenty-five soon. Does that turn you on?” He teases.

“You are the worst. Wash your own hair.” You groan. You watch him run his fingers through his hair to get the rest of the dye out, thinking about his words again. “How soon?”

“Huh?” He asks, turning off the water and taking the towel that hung over the tub. You watch him scrub his hair with his brows furrowed.

“How soon will you be twenty-five?” A smile stretches across his face, and he wraps the damp towel around his neck to free his hands. He reaches for you, pulling you towards his chest.

“God, you totally can’t wait ‘till I'm old and gray, can you?” You roll your eyes at him, pushing at him lightly.

“I’m asking about your birthday.” You stare at him. Dabi looks away from you for a moment, letting out a sigh.

“Yeah, cause you’re counting the days.” He smirks. You hook your hands around the towel around his neck and pull him down to your level.

“Dabi.” You warn, touching your forehead to his.

“You know, you really can’t get this close to me and expect me not to kiss you.” He speaks, bumping his nose against yours. Your eyes flicker to his lips, and you slowly begin to lean in. Dabi leans forward, pressing his lips to yours, but you don’t let him linger for long. He follows after you, eyes still closed, satisfied with moving to your jaw once you’ve pulled away.

“When is your birthday?” You ask him, a little breathless. He places a soft bite at the side of your neck that makes you shudder before speaking.

“It’s Wednesday.” He speaks against your neck. You freeze, moving your hands up to his head to pull him from your neck.

“This Wednesday? As in a few days from now?” You ask, your hands still in his wet hair.

“I don’t want to make a big deal of it.” He tells you. Dabi doesn’t remember the last time he celebrated a birthday. He most likely would have missed it if you hadn’t brought it up.

For Dabi, birthdays are a reminder of time working against him, of the clock ticking on all of his plans, everything he’s working towards. He’s also reminded of how those plans seem so small now, compared to waking up with you in his arms every morning.

“We don’t have to make a big deal of it.” You tell him. You move your hands from his head down to rest on his chest. “Can I just…make you dinner or something? Or I can order from that one place you like?”

“Just dinner?” He questions.

“Well…” You trail off. Dabi squeezes your hips, making you yelp and you jolt in his arms. He smiles at the reaction, “Dinner and one gift?”

“No gifts.” He shakes his head, bringing his hand to the back of your head. You look up at him.

“What if it’s the greatest gift ever?” You ask. He smiles softly and shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you.

You let him deepen the kiss, though you know it’s a way to distract you, pressing you into the bathroom counter as he traces your lips with his tongue. Your hands tangle in his newly dyed hair, arching into him as he moves his lips against yours. He lifts you onto the counter, pulling away from your lips to place kisses against your neck.

“C’mon,” You try, your breath catching in your throat, “just one.”

He bites down on your shoulder hard, earning a soft moan from your throat. He kisses over the mark, leaving more kisses down your chest, “No gifts.”

He runs his hands up your thighs as he lowers himself to the ground. He draws circles on the inside of your thighs, looking up at you. “Yeah?”

“No gifts.” You say, running a hand through his hair. He grins at you, kissing your thighs. “Just come at six okay?”

“I’ll be here.” He promises, biting your skin and making you shiver. “Now shut up. I missed you.”

….

Wednesday arrives quickly. You send a happy birthday text to Dabi paired with a scandalous photo of the blue underwear you’re wearing underneath one of his shirts, and he answers immediately. You remind him of what time he’s supposed to come by before leaving your phone behind on your bed to get ready for the day.

You go to the store for the ingredients you need to cook for him tonight. You pick up the small cake you ordered from the bakery down the street. You wrap the vintage leather jacket you found for him at a thrift store despite his insistence upon no gifts. Everything is going according to plan, for the most part.

That is until you hear his name from the mouth of the news anchor on your television as she describes the events of a villain attack somewhere in the city. From where you stand at the stove, you freeze, listening to the report. You’re too afraid to turn and look at the screen, knowing that if you see him, you’ll break.

The League of Villains, the anchor calls them, a name you find vaguely familiar. You don’t pay much attention to the news at all, but you can recall hearing of the group in passing. You don’t expect to hear your boyfriend's name in relation to them. You, at the very least, have half a mind to turn the stove off before you sink to the floor, bringing your knees to your chest. A villain. Dabi is a villain. For some reason, it doesn’t scare you as much as it should. More than anything, you’re upset about being lied to.

You know that the smart thing to do is call someone, the police, a hero, get someplace safe. You don’t want to do any of that though. You want to stare at the cabinets in front of you, and you want Dabi to come home.

You can’t think of anything but him, not the damage he’s done or the people he’s done it to, just him and the promise of his presence at your door at six o’clock. You can figure out the rest later.

He isn’t there at six, though, or seven or eight or any hour after that. You sit on the floor with the buzzing of voices on your television for hours before you pick yourself up. You pack up dinner numbly, placing things into tupperware that you put in the fridge without thinking. You turn the TV off, and you don’t change out of the dress you wore tonight specifically for him, and you don’t wash your face either. You just pull back the covers to your bed and clutch Dabi’s pillow tight. You don’t fall asleep.

Dabi comes home at around two a.m. He stumbles through your front door and leaves his key in the lock, slumping against the counter. He hears you come out of the bedroom, stopping at the end of the hallway and staring at him. He looks up at you for a moment but averts his gaze in shame. He’s a mess, staples missing and bleeding from his seams. His skin is raw and irritated against his clothes, and he’s sure some of his ribs are bruised.

And you, you look gorgeous, in that dress that Dabi’s always liked on you, your mascara lightly smeared underneath your eyes. Have you been crying? He can’t tell. He hopes you weren’t, not for him.

You walk toward him slowly, a little cautious, caught in between yelling at him or holding him. You can yell later, you think. Right now, you just want to stop the bleeding from his face and ice whatever injury he’s clutching at his side.

Approaching him, you bring your hands to rest at the side of his neck, urging him to look at you. He won’t. You sigh and push yourself closer to him. He doesn't move away. He nuzzles his cheek against yours, blood smearing across your skin, and you bring a hand down to his.

Silently, you pull away, tugging lightly on his hand for him to follow you. He stumbles for a moment before catching himself, walking behind you into the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the tub and thinks about when you dyed his hair for him, how long ago that feels now, how you might never do it again after tonight.

He watches you pull a first aid kit out from beneath your sink, rummaging through the supplies and setting them on the counter. You wash your hands and dampen a cloth, before leaning down to gently clean up the blood on his face. You do it all in silence, gently pulling away any staples that are near falling out, careful not to hurt him more than he already is. You remove his jacket from his shoulders and pull his shirt over his head, examining the rest of the seams in his skin. The ghost of a bruise is forming on his ribs, and you stand up to find something to ice it. Touya grabs your wrist before you can leave, his grip limp, tired. You could pull away easily if you wanted.

“Why are you doing this?” He rasps. You pause, turning around to look at him.

“You’re hurt.” You tell him.

“I’m late.” He says. “And I’m–”

“I don’t care.” You don’t care about what you saw on TV, or how late he was. You don’t even really care about the lying anymore, not when he’s bleeding on your bathtub.

Dabi stands with a groan, and you reach toward him to steady him. He takes the cloth from you and rests a hand on the back of your neck. He gently wipes your cheek in the place where his blood is smeared. You close your eyes, feeling the tension in your shoulders leave your body.

“Things are never going to be how they are now ever again, you know.” He speaks, setting the towel down on the counter. He caresses your cheek with his thumb. “You’ll know everything because I’m not going to hide it from you anymore, all of the gory details, everything I’ve done, everything I’m going to do.”

“Dabi.” You try to speak, but he doesn't let you. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, keeping you focused on him.

“I’m not a good man, and I don’t deserve you. And if I was better, I would let you walk out of here. But I’m not. I’ve always been weak, and I’m not losing you.” He’s desperate, so afraid that you’ll walk away, leave him, tell him he’s too much. “So you have to tell me now if you don’t want this.”

“I want it.” You speak, almost frantically. “Maybe something is wrong with me, but the only thing that mattered to me tonight was that you’d come home.”

“I am home.” He speaks, pulling you tight against his chest. He winces at the pressure on his ribs, but when you try to pull away, he only squeezes tighter. “I’m home.”

You wrap your arms around him, “Sorry your birthday sucked so bad.”

“We’ll try again next year.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha angst #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

empty til she fills | fuyumi todoroki x reader

You’re beautiful, really. It’s truly no wonder why they chose you for the job, every line and curve and fold. They’ll never be able to capture you the way you really are. Nothing compares to the real thing.

Her eyes gaze over your neck, down your chest, over your stomach, your thighs. That familiar hunger sits in Fuyumi’s stomach, aches in her jaw. She wants to bite you everywhere that she can, really make you bleed. But Fuyumi doesn’t feed from anything but animals, and it’s not like you’d satisfy her hunger anyway. She’s given up on that feeling a long time ago.

Notes: Hiiiii everyone!!! This is the first installment of vampire empire and it’s all about fuyumi!!! It’s much shorter than I thought, but when it was done it was done u know? I love her I think she should be allowed to go apeshit and drink blood and not hold back if she wants to!!!!!!! Let her fuck!!!!!! Anyways yeah thanks for reading!! (title from vampire empire by big thief) u can listen to the playlist for the whole anthology here! Also I made a Pinterest board!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, f! reader, explicit content, dark content, angst for like the briefest moment, violence, vampires, detailed descriptions of blood and gore (on both reader and another person), murder (u kill someone! It’s offscreen tho), blood kink, biting, drinking blood (fuyumi drinks from reader, u both drink from the dead man), biting and drinking from already open wounds, fingering, oral (reader eats fuyumi out!!! Yay!!!) (bloody), bloody sex, reader is sort of a masochist, soooo many commas, a line completely stolen from fascination (1979) cause I had to ajsjsjsjs, perspective changes between u and fuyumi like a lot idk I’m sorry she spoke to me<3

words: 4.3k

Fuyumi has always been a little unsure of what to do with her hands. When she sits, when she walks, when she kisses, while she waits. Where does she put them? Where do they go?

It’s the same, squeezing porcelain clay through her fingers, molding and shaping and running a wire through the middle and cursing when it doesn’t topple over. She’s bad with her hands, but she loves it, lumpy mugs and all. 

And her mugs are lumpy, most of them break in the kiln, but whatever she’s proud of, she sends to her brothers. 

She’s never been much of an artist, and all the years she’s lived (many, many years), none of it ever interested her. But when you’ve done everything, there’s no harm in trying. And so even though her pots and bowls end up twisted and misshapen on the wheel, she tries and tries until they’re at least a little bit useful.

The truth is that there, in the studio, surrounded by people who do all the same things that she does, mess up and try again, break things when they don’t turn out, or smash fragile wet clay held together by careful hands, Fuyumi feels human. She makes mistakes. She screws up. It’s something she’s never been allowed to do before. 

Plus, you’re there. 

The anatomy class pays you to model. Sometimes, she sees you run around in your long robe, buying snacks from the vending machines or remembering something you left in your car. She’s completely enamored with you, with your humanity, how free you seem. She’s envious, in a way, but really she just likes you, wants you—wants to bite you. Which is dangerous for Fuyumi because she stopped feeding from humans ages ago. 

You collide on a Saturday night, left alone in the studio, separated by one wall. Fuyumi works late because she doesn’t sleep, and one of the owners of the building had given her a set of keys to lock up when she leaves. When she opens the door to the pottery studio, you’re out in the hallway, slapping your palm against the door next door and murmuring soft no’s as you peak through the glass. You have half a mind to just bust the thing down, except now you’re not alone in the hallway. 

Fuyumi. The pretty vampire with streaks of scarlet through her ivory hair, cute glasses perched on her nose, and hands you think about way more often than you should steps out of the pottery studio. You’ve caught her staring at you before, and you can’t tell if it’s because she knows of the similar condition you have in common, or if she’s as interested in you as you are in her. 

You both pause, caught staring at one another. The only thing on Fuyumi’s mind is that you’re probably completely naked under your robe. 

“I—um, got locked out.” You say, finally, blowing air you have no need for out of your throat like a breath. It must be nerves. “My clothes are in there. My everything is in there.”

“Oh!” She shakes her head free of the thoughts of your bare body. Then a realization, “I have a key!”

You move out of her way and let her unlock the door, jiggling the key in the lock and pushing it open. You grin, press your hands into her shoulders and let out a squeal of delight. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, no problem.” She speaks, willing herself not to melt at the feeling of your fingers digging into her flesh for a moment. She turns to leave, satisfied with the interaction, enough to hold her over for a lifetime, maybe. Your hands on her shoulders, your robe against your skin, your neck. 

“Fuyumi!” You call, and she feels like maybe she’s dreaming, or maybe she’s hearing things. But when she turns around, you’re looking at her expectantly. “Would you wait for me? I don’t really wanna walk to my car alone at night.”

It’s a good excuse, you think. Fuyumi’s got that bleeding heart (or lack of one). She won’t leave you alone. 

“‘Course! Yeah, I’ve gotta lock the front, anyways, so—yeah, I’ll wait.” She nods, stepping back into the room and letting the door fall shut behind her. She watches you untie you’re robe at the middle, and she spins on her heel, facing the door again. She hears you chuckle, and it makes her feel a little silly. You’re naked for, like, four hours every day. It’s not like you would care if she watched. 

But Fuyumi cares, because she doesn’t want to see you naked for the first time like that. She doesn’t want to see you naked and know she won’t be able to touch you. 

“Okay, you can turn around, now.” You speak now that you’re dressed. She turns and you walk toward her, locking elbows. She leads you outside, locks the door with your hand against her arm like she’s yours, and walks you to your car. 

“Guess I’ll see you next week.” She tells you, pulling away from you to walk to her bike. You call her name and it’s deja vu.

“Do you want to go get coffee?” You ask, stopping Fuyumi in her tracks yet again. She turns.

“It’s eleven o’clock at night.” Fuyumi says like an idiot. 

“I just—I wanna keep…hanging out.” You say, and well, so does Fuyumi. Of course, she does. “Your bike’ll fit in the trunk. I’ll drive you home after.”

So, she says yes, stuffs her bike into your trunk with the back seats folded down, and ducks into your car. 

You drive like a maniac, and you listen to your music way too loud, and Fuyumi hopes she doesn’t look as terrified as she feels despite knowing she can’t die in a car accident. But you can, she thinks, so yea, she’s terrified. And you drive like this all the time?

But you both make it in one piece, skirting into the parking lot of a diner with a yellowing neon sign out front. Everyone knows you inside, greeting you with happy smiles and asking you questions about your life, details Fuyumi hopes to know after tonight. 

You take her to a booth in the corner, sliding in next to her instead of across, thighs pressed up against each other as a waitress brings you both a mug of hot coffee. You order apple pie with ice cream, and Fuyumi envies the fact that you’re even able to eat it. Since becoming a vampire, she’s lost any appetite for anything that isn’t blood. 

“So, when were you turned?” You speak, licking vanilla ice cream off the back of your spoon, head resting on you fist as you stare at her. If Fuyumi had a working heart it would be beating out of her chest right now. “I don’t think you’re all that old. You actually seem pretty young. Tell me, maybe in the mid nineties, early two-thousands?”

Fuyumi opens then closes her mouth, unsure of what to say. How could you have possibly known (besides the fact that you got the decade way off)?

“I was turned in ’87 by an old boyfriend who couldn’t control himself.” You shrug, revealing the information like you hadn’t just told her that you, the little human she’s been so fascinated by lately, are a vampire. 

“You’re a vampire.” She says—a statement—not a question, because of course, you’re a vampire. 

“You didn’t know?” You ask, softer. She shakes her head, stares at the booth in front of her. She feels your fingers underneath her chin, and she’s not sure how she never noticed it before, but you’re hands are freezing. She lets you guide her to look at you. “Hey, are you okay? Did I freak you out?”

And it’s not that you’re a vampire. It’s not even that you’re a vampire that she was convinced was human. It’s that she wanted to bite you, wanted to feel that pop and gush, drink from you what’s not actually even being pumped through your body anymore, blood that’s lying dormant in your veins. And the thing is, she still wants to. 

“I think I’m just shocked.” She speaks, willing herself to calm down, accept the situation, adapt. “I haven’t met another one of us here in town. It’s new, but it’s…good. I’m actually a little excited about it.”

“You don’t sound excited.” You observe, letting your hand fall to her thigh. 

“I am—no really. I am.” She grins, leaning toward you. “How come you can eat real food?”

You think maybe she still hasn’t processed everything yet, the smile on her face a little unnerving. And there’s something in her eyes, raw, dangerous, hungry. It makes you shiver. “I never lost the appetite.”

“It tastes good to you?” 

“So good.” You nod, unknowingly moving a little closer. Two girls pressed up against each other in a booth in a dark corner. Two vampires. Two monsters. 

You’re there later than either of you expected to be, fingers intertwined, hands brushing away stray hairs, and words whispered against ears, tucking your face into her neck when you laugh at something inappropriate. 

When you leave, Fuyumi tugs on your hand, interlocks two fingers as you walk to your car. You drive just as bad, but she doesn’t think she minds it this time. To die by your side, and all that. 

When you drop her off at home, you scribble your number on her wrist with a green glitter gel pen and resist the urge to do something drastic like kiss her or invite yourself in. 

Fuyumi realizes she’s left her bike in your trunk, her only mode of transportation to the studio besides walking. She eyes the green glitter on her skin and opens her phone. 

left my bike in ur car:/ pick me up to go to the studio tmrrw? Read 2:22am

be there at 10 sent 2:24am

u can sit in on my class sent 2:25am

…

She does sit in on your class the next morning. You hold her hand and show her where to sit, a view of both the artist’s sketches of you and the actual you draped over a couch. It’s probably inappropriate to sit there all horny in the middle of this art class, but you won’t stop looking at her. You know exactly what your doing, mimicking the rise and fall of your chest like you’re breathing when she knows you’re not. 

You’re beautiful, really. It’s truly no wonder why they chose you for the job, every line and curve and fold. They’ll never be able to capture you the way you really are. Nothing compares to the real thing.

Her eyes gaze over your neck, down your chest, over your stomach, your thighs. That familiar hunger sits in Fuyumi’s stomach, aches in her jaw. She wants to bite you everywhere that she can, really make you bleed. But Fuyumi doesn’t feed from anything but animals, and it’s not like you’d satisfy her hunger anyway. She’s given up on that feeling a long time ago.

When the class ends, Fuyumi leaves to make more misshapen mugs, taking a few out of the kiln she thinks she’ll give to you. As the sun sets, both of you get ready to leave, and you’re at the door to the pottery studio by the time Fuyumi is done cleaning her space. You’re a little disappointed you missed watching her on the wheel, her pretty hands shaping the clay like you’ve seen her do many times before. You knock on the door frame, and she looks up at you, grins. Her hair is tied up, pieces of hair falling over her face, her cardigan falling down and exposing her right shoulder. You can’t get over how pretty she is, a little messy.

“Hi.” You speak.

“Hey. You ready?” She asks, throwing her bag over her shoulder and walking towards you. You always want to watch her walk towards you—never away.

“I’m ready.” You nod, intertwining your fingers with hers when she makes her way towards you. You drive Fuyumi to your house, your arm over the console and your hand on her thigh. 

Your place is small, really just big enough for you. The walls are a mauve color that Fuyumi decides she likes, tiny star shaped twinkle lights hang over each window instead of curtains, a bundle of violets stuffed inside a beer bottle sit on your coffee table, books and dvd’s and records all stacked against one another with what seems to be no sense of organization in your bookcases. It’s really not much for a vampire.

She sets her tote bag carefully on the counter, red and white checkered, pulling two of her signature misshapen mugs from inside. One painted blue with tiny yellow stars and the other lined with terribly drawn strawberries. 

“These are for you.” She tells you, turning to face you as you’re bent over your stereo, looking for a station you like. Bits from the past stick with you like a refrigerator magnet. Fuyumi wants to remember the look on your face when you turn around and see her gift for the rest of her life. 

“I love them!” You gush, rushing over to pick both of them up. “They’re perfect. One for me, and one for you. We’ll drink blood from them with our pinkies up and cheers to LeFanu.”

Fuyumi laughs, says nothing about the blood. “I’m glad you like them.”

You turn around, opening one of your cabinets open with a finger, setting the mugs down on the counter and moving two snoopy holiday mugs on one shelf towards the back. You set the gift down in their place and wave a hand over it like your presenting them on a gameshow, “I’ve replaced the snoopy mugs with them. That’s a big deal, you know.”

“I’m honored.” Fuyumi grins, moving around the counter to stand near you. 

“You should be.” You lean a little closer to her, let her hand brush against your hip, hook her fingers in your belt loops. You nudge your nose against hers, and she takes that as a sign to kiss you. 

Chapped lips meet yours, hungrier than you expected, much less soft than the girl before you. There’s a burning in your gut, her hands, those hands you’ve payed so much attention to, pressing into your hips, pulling you flush against her front. You let out a moan when she swipes her tongue against your lip, your bodies pressing closer and closer like you’ll become one person. She moves her leg in between your thighs, pressed up against you, and your mouth falls open in a gasp, one she wastes no time taking advantage of, all tongue and teeth, all her, her, her. 

The two of you end up on your couch, unable to make it to the bed. If you had to wait any longer, you think maybe you’d both explode. She eats you out, there in your living room, makes you come three times in a row, familiar hungry eyes never stray from your own. 

…

She doesn’t talk about the vampire thing. Ever. She goes quiet when you bring it up, busying herself with something else like washing the dishes in your sink or trying to find something to watch on tv. You mostly let it go because you know Fuyumi. You know how fascinated she is by humans, how she envies them, how that envy and fascination is the very reason you’re together now. 

And maybe it should hurt you, the fact that believing you were human was the one reason she’d been so interested. But you know her, bleeding unbeating heart and all, she loves you. She loves you and your monster, she just doesn’t love her’s.

It’s difficult to drag the body through your house alone, vampire strength being something you hadn’t been blessed with once you’d turned all those years ago. Fuyumi sent you a message that she’d be at the studio late and would probably just end up going home instead of coming over. You figure you have time to drain this guy of all he’s worth, pack him up into little tupperwares in your fridge and be done with him by morning. 

You’ve done this a million times before, dragged a body out to your back yard, fed from it until your satisfied before saving the rest. It’s enough to last you a couple of weeks. It’s a good system. 

You don’t hear the sliding door open, you just hear Fuyumi say your name. You look up at her, blood on your mouth, your neck, your hands, fangs poking out underneath your top lip. You’re sure you look terrifying, but it’s the look on her face that scares you. 

It’s disgust, and betrayal, and anger. It’s tears welling up in her pretty, gray eyes and her mouth falling open and closed at the sight of you. 

But Fuyumi, well, Fuyumi wants to join you. It’s taking everything in her not to fall to her knees and sink her teeth into the neck of this possibly innocent man. She wants to drink and kiss you, and drink, and touch you, and then drink some more, this time from your neck. But Fuyumi doesn’t kill for blood, and she thought that neither did you. 

“I can’t believe you.” Her words are quiet. If you both hadn’t been outside on a completely silent night, you don’t think you would have even heard her. 

“Fuyumi…” You begin, standing up from where you’d previously crouched down, blood on your hands falling against the concrete in sticky splatters. She takes a step back like she’s scared of you. 

“You killed him.”

“Fuyumi,” another step.

“Stay there.” You stop. It’s not supposed to be like this. She’s supposed to love you. She does love you. You have to tell yourself that. 

“I’m a vampire. What did you expect? This is who we are.” You try to explain. 

“It’s not—it’s not who I am.” She shakes her head, flashes of red appear behind her eyes, the teeth of her brothers, her hands covered in blood the same way yours are now. Laughing, hollering, arms tangled together, the last time they’d all been with each other, the last time they were happy. 

“It is. It is who you are. Fuyumi, you’re starving.” Your words seem to do something to her, her mouth falls closed. A decision is made, and her feet take her closer and closer to you and the body on the floor. 

She wraps her hand around the back of your neck, thumbs through the blood you’re covered in and kisses you. She licks the blood on your lips, moaning from either your tongue or taste, you’re unsure. You pull her close, blood smearing against her white t-shirt. She pulls away from your lips, kissing your jaw and your neck, poking her tongue out to lick up the mess. You place your hands on her cheeks, pulling her back to look at you. 

“Come here.” You whisper, pulling her down as you crouch to the ground. “I want you to drink—I want to share.”

She lets you pull her down, taking your hand in hers, slippery, slick. You move away from his neck, leaving it open for her, urging her. This is what she wants. There’s something about drinking from your bite in the man’s neck. You’ve been here, you’re bite is her bite is her blood. 

And, god, is it delicious. She drinks, lets it fall down her throat in large gulps, dripping down her chin and neck. A sound escapes her throat, guttural, everything she’s deprived herself of having, here in between her teeth. She watches you while she drinks, eyes looking up through white lashes, reaching a hand out to hold you by the wrist, grounded. She pulls away, heaving, even though she has no need for breath. Her lips, saturated in red, begging to be tasted.

“You’re beautiful like that,” You speak, squeezing her hand, “with his blood on your mouth.”

She kisses you, all tongue, her fangs catching on your bottom lip. She pulls away and pushes you down, lets you bite the other side of the dead man’s neck, pets your hair as you drink. It goes on like this for a while, kissing, drinking, touching, whispers of please and oh, god and both of your names over and over until you’re a jumbled mess of words and sounds and blood and guts. 

You stumble, half naked through the door, Fuyumi’s hands and lips all over you. You don’t make it to the bed, a habit the two of you have seemed to form, falling down on the hardwood, limbs all tangled. With her shirt already discarded outside, you thumb the hooks of her bra open, throwing it to the side. Blood has dripped from her throat down between the valley of her breasts, and you lick it up, feeling her back arch as she hovers above you. 

She kisses your neck, almost frantic. Her fangs brush against your skin like she might sink into you, but she doesn’t, just kisses you so sweetly. 

“Can I bite you, please?” She moans. “I need to—I’ve wanted to—”

“Yes.” You interrupt her, throwing your head back against the floor and baring your neck to her. She wastes no time sinking her fangs into your flesh, blood pouring into her mouth. Coppery and sweet, a hint of licorice and cherry—Fuyumi thinks she can’t get enough. You gasp, hands grabbing at her waist, fingers digging into her sides enough to leave a mark. You’ve never felt pain like this, all agony and bliss. 

She smiles at you, bloody, when she pulls away. A part of you is her’s now, nestled between her ribs, living in her stomach. You taste yourself on her lips, hands pulling at her jeans, your leg moving between her thighs to grind against her cunt. 

You flip her onto her back, sucking on her neck, venturing down her body. You pull her jeans from her legs, along with her underwear, spreading her legs. She’s so wet, thighs sticky with arousal as you run a finger through her folds. A whine escapes her lips as you thumb over her clit. With your eyes on her, you press your tongue to her entrance, watching how her face contorts in pleasure. It reminds you of the way she’d stared at you while drinking from the man, hand clutched to your wrist, not once daring to look away, With one hand, you reach up to do the same, bloody fingers circling her wrist as you devour her. 

She writhes, arching her back and grinding against your face, a mess of slick and blood pooling in your mouth as you bring her closer and closer to orgasm. 

“Please!” She cries, “please! Oh my god!”

Her moans only spur you on as you speed up the movement of your tongue, squeezing her wrist as you let her move her hips against your mouth. She comes with a strangled cry of your name, legs shaking around your head, falling limp against the floor as you lick at her swollen clit. You pull away, rising from your place in between her thighs to hover over her.

“Like that?” You ask her, placing soft kisses against her jaw. She manages a soft mhm before moving her face to kiss you.You run your hands up and down the sides of her body, “so pretty…”

“Let me touch you.” She begs, pushing herself up onto her elbows. You nod, letting her maneuver you so you’re on your back again. She kisses you again, swirling her tongue against yours, tasting herself. In a way, part of her is yours now, too.

She slips her hand into your underwear, gasping at the feeling of how wet you are. You take the opportunity to lick into her mouth, moaning against her lips as she slips two fingers inside of you. She pulls away from your mouth and eyes the open wound on your neck. You lock eyes with her, nodding in approval, allowing her to bite you again. 

She bites and curls her fingers inside you at the same time. A choked scream escapes your throat at both sensations. You move your hips as she pumps her fingers in and out of you, her throat bobbing with each drink she takes from you. It’s overwhelming, and so satisfying, being the consumed for a change. 

Her thumb brushes over your clit and you jolt, gripping her waist as she brings you closer to the edge. 

“Kiss me!” You cry, “Fuyumi!” 

She pulls away from your neck, watching how the blood flows from the wound, continuing her movements against your pussy. You pull her down to kiss you as you come from her fingers. You’re both moaning against each other, passing your blood between your tongues. She pulls her hand from between your legs, stares at the pink-tinted slick and how it webs between her fingers before wrapping her lips around her fingers and sucking them clean off. 

She smiles down at you, hair a mess, glasses-less as they’d fallen off much earlier. You press your palms against her cheeks, admiring her. This Fuyumi is hungry, and bloody, and the furthest thing from human. You love her like this. You’ll be her’s forever, if she’ll have you. 

You pull her into the shower with you, washing the blood from her hair and her back, taking turns and watching the blood swirl down the drain. She cleans the wound on your neck, and places a bandage over it, though you know it’ll be healed by morning. You place her glasses back onto her face. The two of you fall into bed, finally, arms and legs tangled together, huddled closely. She rubs over the bandage on your neck. 

“Next time, I wanna bite you, okay?” You ask, nudging your nose against her. She lets out a laugh you’re excited to hear for the rest of your immortal life and nods. 

“I can’t wait.”

#fuyumi todoroki x reader #fuyumi todoroki x you #fuyumi todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #ghost.writes #ghost.fic #vampire empire

[ghostbeam]

biting down | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

He’s fast as he weaves through the trees, breath hot against your neck as he runs as if he has any need for breathing at all. You feel your shoulders drop in relief, tucking your head into the crook of his neck, the texture of his skin a comfort to you as you think about what could have happened if he hadn’t found you. 

Dabi is a vampire, a real, live (debatable), blood-sucking, sunlight-repulsed, creature of the night.

You think you might be in love with him.

Notes: hiiii so this is my vamp Dabi fic I’ve finally finished!! Enjoy this mess of blood and gore and cheesy corny vampire romance. A big thanks to bun and mari for talking me through this entire thing and giving me the idea for a vamp fic in the first place!! Thanks for reading!! (Title is from biting down by lorde) the playlist for the fic is here if u wanna listen!

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, f!reader, explicit content, some angst, violence, vampires, Dabi picks reader up, detailed descriptions of blood and gore (lots and lots of blood), blood kink, self inflicted harm (reader cuts her palm open), Dabi is a little mean sometimes, biting (he bites ur neck, thighs, chest he drinks ur blood he’s a vampire), pain play (biting to puncture skin, biting and drinking from already open wounds), drinking each other’s blood, fingering, (bloody) oral f!receiving, bloody sex, unprotected sex, marking, bruising, corny vamp dialogue, if u don’t like blood PLEASE do not read this

Words: 5.3k

Blood drips from your palm as you hold it high in the air. The liquid pools in the open wound, streaks of red falling down your arm. 

“Alright!” You call out to the darkness, “I don’t know how else to find you! I don’t even know if this will work, but I have to try!”

You know it’s foolish, especially now that you know that they exist. Years of research, years of books and films and legends and rumors, everything you’d spent your life chasing was real and just out of reach. You don’t know how to let it go. You don’t know how to let him go.

You can’t see much of it in the darkness, but you can feel the blood as it slides down, wet and warm. It dries tacky in the wind and you wonder what it might taste like, if it’s as sweet as it seems to be, as sweet as he makes it sound. Before you can think about touching your tongue to the red, you’re scooped up into arms that aren’t unfamiliar to you.

He’s fast as he weaves through the trees, breath hot against your neck as he runs as if he has any need for breathing at all. You feel your shoulders drop in relief, tucking your head into the crook of his neck, the texture of his skin a comfort to you as you think about what could have happened if he hadn’t found you. 

Dabi is a vampire, a real, live (debatable), blood-sucking, sunlight-repulsed, creature of the night.

You think you might be in love with him.

The two of you are at your place within no time. He drops you from his arms, your feet hitting the ground as he walks through your front door. He doesn’t speak as he makes his way to your bathroom, and you follow him close behind, blood dripping from your wound onto the floor. He picks you up and places you on the counter, and you can see your blood on his neck and the collar of his shirt from where you held onto him. 

He flips open the lid of the first aid kit beside you and fixes you with a harsh glare.

“Are you mad?” You question, even though you know the answer.

“Are you an idiot?” He spits as he runs your hand under warm water, “I’m seriously asking. Why would you do this?”

“I didn’t know how else to find you!” You argue, throwing your free hand into the air. 

“Maybe I didn’t want to be found.” He replies, cleaning your palm with alcohol. 

“Then don’t tell a vampire-obsessed freak that vampires exist.” he presses into your palm with the cloth and you flinch. You pull your hand from his grasp and stare at the blood that remains on your fingers and wrist. Looking up at him, you hold it out to him, “Want some?”

“Very funny.” He says impassively, but you can see how he clenches his jaw at the thought of tasting you. He moves your hand away before wrapping it tightly in gauze. You sit and watch him as he places your supplies back into the first aid kit, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, though you figure that’s more about your blood than anything. He places it back underneath the sink and stands up, but not before taking your hand in his. 

He brings it to his lips, and your breath hitches in your throat as he slides his tongue over the drying blood there. He sucks two of your fingers into his mouth, lapping up all that he can while holding your stare. He pulls them from his lips with a wet pop, swallowing harshly. The two of you are silent for a moment, your hand still clutched in his as you hold your breath. You’re sure he can hear your heart beat rapidly in your chest, but you’re unsure of how to calm down, not when he’s so close, not when he’s looking at you like this. You think he might do something, bite you, kiss you, maybe both, but he drops your hand to your lap and pulls away.

“Clean up.” He tells you, leaving you behind in the bathroom as you stare down at your shaking hand. 

You find him in your bedroom, pulling your comforter halfway down your bed. He looks up at where you stand in the doorway, arms crossed over your stomach as you meet his gaze. He raises an eyebrow at you and nods his head towards your bed, a silent demand for you to get in. 

You take a step forward, standing by the side of your bed and beginning to move before pausing your actions. You look up at him through your lashes and ask, “will you stay?”

“Get in.” He doesn’t hesitate to command, and you let out a long sigh before sliding into your bed. He pulls the covers up to your chin and begins to turn away, but you take his wrist in your hand before he can leave. 

“Dabi.” You plead. He pauses with his back turned to you. His wrist is cold between your fingers and you can’t see the expression on his face. You watch his shoulders tense and then relax as he pulls himself from your grip. Defeated, you fall back into your bed with a sigh, but he doesn’t move. 

“Okay.” He finally speaks. He turns to you, climbing into bed next to you. He lies over your comforter and motions for you to give him room. You relax into your bed, a soft smile on your face as you look up at him. He rolls his eyes and speaks again, “Okay, only to make sure you don’t run off again, you little maniac.” 

He flicks your forehead and turns off the lamp beside your bed. You turn to lay on your side, and Dabi watches as you fall asleep. He doesn’t touch you, no matter how much he wants to, his fingers twitching with want. You’re warm beside him and he watches the way your body moves with each breath you take, all too aware of how alive you are and how dead he is.

You wake up the next morning to an empty bed and a Dabi’s number scrawled in red glitter gel pen on a note that reads: Text me next time. No need for a blood sacrifice.

…

Dabi knows he shouldn’t get involved with you. He knows that humans and vampires are a deadly mixture, whatever is between you cannot end well no matter how he tries to look at it, no matter how much he’s tried to justify it in his mind. 

You’re doomed. 

He knows this. He knows that he’s a monster, that he’s been one for years, that he will always be one. He knows that you are flesh and bone with a beating heart, that you have an entire life ahead of you, that you’d be better off without him. He’s certain of it. 

And Dabi knows that he should not be picking you up from one of your night classes in an effort to spend more time with you.

You spot him across the parking lot, his ivory hair standing out against the darkness. He leans against his car, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the lack of sun. He grins when he sees you, opening the door and helping you inside. His cold hand rests against your thigh for the entirety of the ride as you tell him about your classes. The mundane events of your human life are endlessly interesting to him, even with all his years of experience. 

Dabi lives on a secluded property up at the peak of some mountain you can’t remember the name of. It’s a house far too large for one man to be living in. It’s a crowded place full of books that line shelves and spill out onto the hardwood floors, hanging plants and dead flowers, exposed brick littered with band posters from the ’70s, large panels of glass windows that look out into the expanse of trees below the mountain, the same forest that you live directly on the other side of. 

His heavy boots creak against the worn floors, moving to flip the switch and pull the chords of lamps from various thrift stores and antique shops, filling the place with a dull light to make up for the lack of working bulbs in any of the overhead lighting. 

The kitchen, however, is the one place with a working light, one you forced Dabi to let you put in yourself as he held the ladder for you and snuck peaks up your skirt. You can hear Dabi sorting through records in the next room as you start on making a cup of coffee for yourself, opening the fridge to grab the coffee beans that sit next to the blood bags, the only other thing that occupies the fridge. 

This has become routine for the two of you. Dabi feels guilty about ruining your sleep schedule, letting you drink cup after cup in order to stay up with him, but he’s too selfish to tell you anything. 

You feel rough hands grip your hips from behind as you pour the hot liquid into a handmade ceramic mug you’ve decided is your favorite, and Dabi rests his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around you. You relax into his hold, leaning your head against his chest. 

There’s a vase at the edge of the counter, something also handmade and a little lumpy with painted pink roses around the bottom. You’ve never seen it before, which isn’t such a rare occurrence in the crowded home, but there’s something about it that intrigues you, curious enough to ask Dabi where it came from. 

“That’s, uh, an old vase my sister made. I found it in the basement in some old box.” He speaks next to your ear. You pull yourself from his hold and he follows behind you like a magnet, one hand on your hip as you move to pick the vase up.

“It’s pretty.” You tell him, examining it in your hands, “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

He stiffens behind you as he always does when you find yourself asking too many questions about him. “Yeah, I have a couple of brothers too.”

“Really?” You question, turning around to look at him, thrilled at his sudden openness, “What are they like?”

His hand drops from your hip and moves to scratch the back of his neck. With his eyes no longer on you and darting from the ceiling to the vase to wherever else he can place them in order not to face you, you can tell he’s uncomfortable with the topic. It’s the way he always behaves when you peel a layer too far back. 

“They’re, well–look–” He cuts himself off, finally finding your eyes again, “I can’t–”

“You don’t want to tell me.” You speak and he doesn’t say anything. “You shut down every time I try to learn anything about you, and it fucking hurts.”

“That’s not true–”

“It is!” You exclaim, “It is, and you know it. You know everything about me. I don’t know about you, about your past, your friends. Don’t you think it’s weird that this is the first time you’ve mentioned your siblings?”

Dabi watches you as you speak but doesn’t say a word. He can’t. You’re right about all of it. He can’t tell you about his past, about what he’s done. He can’t risk losing you. He can’t risk letting you in.

“I want you. All of you.” You tell him. You wait, for what, you aren’t sure. Some kind of reaction, something that tells you that the past couple of months spent with him haven’t all been so that he can let you walk away. “I just wish you would have told me you don’t feel the same instead of letting me fall for you.”

He wants to tell you that he does feel the same. He probably feels more than you do. Dabi wants nothing more than to close the growing gap between you, to sink his teeth into taught flesh and make you his forever. 

But he can’t do that to you, and he never will. 

That’s why he tries to let you go, tries to watch you walk out the door without worrying about how late it is, how dark it is outside, how he’s already had to save you before.

And Dabi cannot live the rest of eternity knowing that he let you get yourself bitten by someone who isn’t him, that you could belong to someone else, dead or alive. 

So he runs, despite himself. He runs, realizing just how long he stood in his kitchen and contemplated your death, afraid he might be too late. You might already be lost. 

He’s relieved when he spots your figure, illuminated by nothing but moonlight and shivering in the cold. He startles you when he reaches you, enough that you trip over your feet and into the street in surprise, much to Dabi’s dismay. 

His grip is tight on your arm as he jerks you up, his face inches away from yours as he speaks, “What a fucking mess, falling over in the street. The hell do you think you’re doing? Huh?”

He’s trying to be quiet even though there’s most likely no one for miles, no one human anyway. Your eyes flicker between his hand on your arm and his angry gaze.

“Dabi, you’re scaring me.” Your voice is calm as you say it, like you're trying to calm an animal down, like if you’re too loud, he’ll rush forward and bite you like he’s always wanted. Like you’ve always wanted. 

“I’m scaring you? You’re lucky it was me who snuck up on you and not some blood-thirsty monster.” He bristles. He knows you’re scared. He can hear your heart beating out of your chest, a reminder that he no longer has one that works. 

“You are a blood-thirsty monster.” You spit. He doesn’t let it get to him because he knows why you said it. You know about all the nights he’s watched your chest rise and fall, why he presses his ear to your back when he holds you in bed, why his fingers brush over your neck and your wrists. He’s obsessed with your mortality. He envies you.

“Yeah, and look how well that turned out for you.” He retorts, finally letting go of your arm with a small nudge. He turns away from you, running a hand through his hair before fixing his stare on you once more, suddenly very serious. “You can’t just run off in the middle of the night.”

“Why the hell do you even care? You let me leave! You’re the one who watched me run off in the middle of the night!” His shoulders tense as he looks at you, everything he’s held in, all the things he wouldn’t allow himself to say to you, to do to you. It’s all been for nothing. He can’t let you slip away, no matter how much better off he knows you’d be without him. His hands come up to rest on your shoulders, fingers digging into your flesh, and his eyes never leave yours. 

“Are you an idiot? Of course, I care. And I do want you! You remind me of everything I can’t have and everything that was taken from me, but you’re worth it.” His hands shake where they lie on your shoulders, speaking like it pains him to keep it in because it does. He can’t get the words out fast enough. “I’m in love with you, and it hurts. But it hurts more not to have you.”

You stare at him, unsure of if you believe him. You want to believe him, part of you does, but you don’t think you can stand loving a man you barely know. He can see it, the doubt in your eyes, how badly you want to turn away and run, but he’s desperate. 

Dabi falls to his knees in front of you, earning a gasp from your lips that he ignores. He looks up with you, eyes pleading as he speaks, “I’ll beg. I will. I’ve never begged for anything before, and I’ve lived a lot, so you know I’m serious.”

Unsure how to react, you laugh nervously. If he’s not lying, if he really hasn’t begged for anything before, then you’ve brought a monster to his knees, and it makes you feel powerful. It makes you believe he loves you.

“I am. I love you. I want you. Please come home.” Because that’s what it is. Your home. With how much time you spend there, how much of his things have become yours, how much light up the place in more ways than one. It is your home. He begs for you with his hands attached to your thighs and his eyes wide with desperation. You set a hand on the top of his head and roll your eyes. 

Pulling him up to stand, you let your arms fall around his neck, pulling him close enough so that your noses touch. He kisses you and it doesn’t taste like blood. It just tastes like you, you and the fruit you ate for breakfast, the cigarette you snuck before class. You taste like everything he wants and everything he’s not allowed to have. You taste like living.

You pull away from him and whisper, “I love you too, Dabi.”

He pecks your lips once more, “It’s Touya.”

“What?”

“My name.” He tells you. “My real name.”

“Touya.” You say, trying it out. He likes the way your lips move around the word. “I love you, Touya.”

…

Touya kisses you like you might slip away. His lips move against yours hungrily. His hands grip your hips, your thighs, touching you everywhere as if he’s unable to leave a part of you not felt or marked by him. He slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting you like this instead of the way he desperately wishes to. 

Your hands move underneath his white tee shirt, your warm hands against the cold skin of his stomach. He shivers beneath you and you’re flat on your back in an instant, no longer resting on his couch in his lap, but against the floor, his hips pinning your own to the hardness beneath you. He moves from your lips to your neck, nipping and sucking, and returning to your lips to swallow your moans.

He groans when your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging and pulling at the strands the way you know drives him crazy. He groans into your neck, bucking his hips into yours. You gasp, throwing your head back against the floor, baring your neck to the man above you whose lips hover over your pulse point. 

Blood pumps underneath your skin, loud in his ears, and your heart beats in your chest. The feeling, the thrum of the beat, the rush of blood. He can feel it like it’s his, like he lives inside of you.

He could rip your neck open in seconds and drink from you for days before you were drained. He could kill you. You could cease to exist and be nothing but another body he has to bury. 

Or he could make you like him. 

“You can.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and you’re unsure if he even hears you, “If you want. You can bite me.”

You’ve imagined it a hundred times before, what it would be like. You’ve wondered how badly it would hurt, how much you could endure, if it would be worth it. You think it would be. For him, it would be. 

He pauses above you.

You’re giving him permission. You’re telling him he’s allowed, that you want him to. There’s a look in your eyes that almost tells him you need him to. 

A wave of disgust washes over him, furious with himself that he would ever consider turning you into this, into someone who can barely control themselves around the person they claim to love, the person they need to protect.

He’s off of you and across the room in record time, so fast you still have your neck exposed when you hear his voice from where he stands. 

“Don’t.” It’s the last thing he says before leaving you alone in the house. 

…

You don’t move from the couch, not once in the hours that you’re alone. Evening turns into night turns into morning. The faintest blue tint paints the room as morning creeps in. You realize, then, that Touya has to come home soon. The sun is rising. 

The door creaks open like he’s trying to be quiet. He shuts it behind him slowly, afraid to wake you if you’ve fallen asleep, but when he turns around, you’re there on the couch.

Tired eyes find his across the room and guilt eats at him knowing you’ve been up since he left. He doesn’t say a word but moves to sit down on the couch beside you.

“I love you.” You speak after a moment, but you don’t look at him.

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do. And you love me too.”

“But I shouldn’t.”

“But you do.”

“I do. And that’s why I won’t bite you. I’ll never hurt you.” He can’t. No matter how badly he wants to keep you forever, he can’t turn you into what he is. 

“You’re hurting me now.”

“Why don’t you get it?” He snaps, standing up from the couch. “This is a curse. I’m a fucking monster, and I’m going to be one forever. I won’t do that to you. I can’t. I won’t curse you, too.”

“It’s not a curse to love you.” He looks at you then, your gaze still locked straight in front of you like you’re afraid of his reaction. You look down at your lap, playing with your fingers before you finally find the courage to look up at him. 

He thinks for a long moment. There are so many reasons he shouldn’t, the same reasons he tried and failed to stay away from you. But there’s one question, something that’s plagued him for all of his years as a vampire, something he’s too afraid to ask.

Can Touya really be loved forever?

He thinks the answer doesn’t matter. It’s enough to be loved by you.

He bites you.

It’s nothing like you’d imagined. It’s better. It’s heaven.

His teeth sink into your flesh and your blood fills his mouth, fangs sharp against your throat. He’s not fast enough as he drinks, trying to savor you. It spills out of the sides and down your neck. He’s never tasted anything like you before. 

It stings but you moan, letting your head fall back to give him more room to drink. It takes everything in him to force his lips away from your neck. He could have drained you. Maybe he would have if he didn’t love you, but he does, so he pulls away. Half-lidded eyes look into his, a faint smile crossing your face as you bring your hand to his cheek. You swipe your thumb through the blood on his bottom lip and grin. You’ve stained his lips. 

Touya wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you closer. He brings a hand to the back of your head and guides you to his neck. You place a kiss against his skin before you bite down, drawing blood in the same way he did. He lets out a strangled moan and grips your hair in his hand. The taste of copper fills your mouth and you force yourself to drink. This is all you’ve ever wanted. 

He pulls you away from his neck and kisses you, the mixture of his blood and your blood a mess on your tongues. He pulls away and licks over the wound on your neck. It’s tender to the touch. You whimper as his tongue swipes over it again and again. You arch your back, holding back a moan as he sinks his teeth back into the open wound. 

His hands are rough as he grips your hips, no doubt leaving bruises behind, as he pulls you over his lap, never detaching from your neck as he does. You run your hands up his stomach, reaching his neck and pressing your fingers into his wound. He groans into you, pushing your hips down to grind down against him. 

He releases his teeth from your neck and captures your lips with his. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, tasting the blood that remains as he thumbs the bottom of your shirt. He pulls away only to pull it over your head. His lips find the wound on your neck once more. 

“I’ve never tasted anything like you before.” He speaks against your neck, licking a long strip up your neck, “You’re addicting.”

You pull him away from your neck, your fingers tangled in his hair as you pull, earning a groan from the man below you. You grind your hips down as you suck on the wound on his neck, curious if he feels the same things you do. The blood is sweeter on your tongue than you remember running your tongue over the wound and down his neck to taste the blood that’s dried against his chest. 

“C’mere.” He whispers, kissing you again. He flips you over gently, pushing you against the couch as he hovers over you, “C’mere, baby.”

He kisses from your neck to your shoulders, down the valley of your breasts and your stomach. He nips at your skin, leaving behind pricks of blood and pulling whimpers from your throat. It’s soft, even as he’s hurting you, even as he pierces your skin. He’s so gentle. 

His fingers find the band of your pants, pulling them off with your underwear in one go. He moves his body in between your legs, bloodied hands running up the outside of your thighs as he lowers himself to your sex. He doesn’t look away from you as bites the inside of your thighs, sucking bruises into the flesh and licking the blood from where he punctures the skin.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and let out a shaky breath, “Please.”

“Fuck.” Touya curses at the sound of desperation in your voice. He draws soothing circles in your inner thighs, smearing the blood around, as he looks up at you, “That’s it, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“W-want–” You speak breathily, “want your tongue.”

“Yeah? Want me to taste you?” He asks, bringing two fingers to your clit, moving them in a slow circle. It’s agonizing. You try to move your hips, but Touya holds you down with one arm thrown over your lower stomach. “Patient, baby. I want you to feel good.”

He buries his head between your thighs, swiping his tongue along your entrance. The feeling of his tongue on your clit has you throwing your head back and arching your back, finally giving you some kind of release. A strangled whine escapes your throat, and it only makes Touya work harder. 

You’re a mess of slick and blood, pure heaven on his tongue. He brings two fingers to your entrance, pushing in slowly as he sucks on your clit. He moves them in and out of you, running his tongue agonizingly slow over your swollen bud. 

“Touya!” You moan, trying to move your hips and failing from the grip he has on you. “I’m close.”

“I know, baby, I know. Wanna come for me?” He teases, moving his fingers in and out of you in slow strokes, barely reaching your sweet spot. He pulls his fingers from you and swipes his tongue along your cunt, licking up your juices like he can’t get enough. 

“Gonna cum! Gonna cum, Touya!” You cry, pulling at the inky strands of his hair, now slightly wet with blood from your fingers. “Make me cum!”

His fingers slip back inside of you, moving his mount over you and sucking your clit between his lips. He moves his mouth back and forth, moving his lips and tongue against you as he curls his fingers inside of you. You cum with a loud cry of his name, finally grinding your hips against his face now that he’s no longer holding you down. Touya moans against your cunt, feeling how you twitch at his tongue still moving against you. 

When he pulls away, he licks at the blood from the small punctures in your thighs, creating more as he rises from between them. He stands quickly, slipping out of his now stained white tee shirt and dark jeans before hovering over you again. 

“How do you feel?” He asks you, kissing down your neck, drinking from you like he’s always wanted. 

“Not cursed.” You reply, moving your hips against his as he sucks on your neck. You want more of him, more blood, more flesh. It’s your turn. 

When he pulls away, you pull him down by the back of his neck, sinking your newly sharp teeth into the other side of his neck, the one without the wound you gave him before. He sinks into you as you bite, crying out your name as he begins to move his hips. You drink from him and it’s brand new. 

He kisses you when you release his neck, his hips moving rapidly against yours. He groans into your mouth, the blood moving between your lips, over your tongues, spilling from your mouths and down your necks. You’re both a complete mess of blood and sweat and spit.

Touya’s hands move from your hips up the length of your body. He fucks into you slowly, moving his hands up to lace his fingers with yours, bringing your arms up above your head. He leans down, sucking more marks into your neck and down your chest. You cry out and grind your hips against his, chasing your release as pain bubbles over your skin in the places he’s marked. 

“Please.” You beg as he fucks you deep and slow, “M-more. Want to feel you.”

“Can’t you feel me, angel?” He questions, placing a hand against your lower stomach. He doesn’t speed his movements up at all, forcing you to endure the slow thrusts against your insides. 

“You’re teasing.” You breathe, wriggling in his hold, but he keeps your arms pinned above you. “Playing with your food.”

“I’m savoring you.” He chuckles, leaning down to lick your neck.

“I need you to fuck me.” You plead, trying to grind your hips again. Touya grins above you, kissing you deeply before speeding up his thrusts. You gasp against his lips, and he licks into your mouth, tasting his blood on your tongue. 

His hips slam into yours, squeezing your hands as he looks into your eyes. You’re beautiful. You’re a monster now, and you’re beautiful. You’re his.

He continues to move in and out of you, his length twitching inside of you as he gets closer and closer to the edge. He continues to drill into you, leaning forward to drink from you once more before he cums. You cry out at the feeling of his teeth in your neck, addicted to the feeling of being eaten, consumed. 

“Kiss me.” You pant, feeling the coil tighten within you. “Please, Touya, kiss me.”

He pulls away, blood spilling from his lips as he kisses you. He forces you to drink with his lips against yours. The two of you cum together as you share your blood. His hips begin to slow, riding out both of your orgasms as you swirl your tongue against his. He pulls away, letting go of one of your hands to push your hair from your face. 

“You’re mine.” He speaks, rough and possessive. “Forever.”

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #dabi x female reader #dabi x you #bnha x reader #bnha smut #Dabi smut #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[hufflepuffsandghosts]

The Costume Contest

Plot: Garcia has made plans to host a Halloween party at the BYU office after a stressful mission. Little do you know that you and your best friend have the same plans in an unexpected way. (Friends to Lovers, Fluff)

TW: slight mention of alcohol

The streets of Quantico buzzed with excitement as Halloween approached. Agent Spencer Reid couldn't help but feel the festive atmosphere of the crisp cold air and the smell of stale leaves. He normally found himself buried in case after case at this time of year, however, his good friend Garcia and Y/N had managed to convince him to attend a Halloween party at the office after a case. “And remember..” Garcia said, sternly, “…you HAVE to wear the costumes that will be provided by either myself or Morgan.” She gave a wink to the both of them, Their faces blush with anticipation as to what they might be.

As Halloween night arrived, Spencer found himself in front of BYU, nervously adjusting the costume that Morgan had him put on and making sure not to ruin any of the makeup Garcia did. Morgan chose Victor Van Dort, from Y/N’s favorite movie “The Corpse Bride”. They watched it together almost every Halloween, it was almost tradtion at this point. But surely a change might be good for both of them, especially after the case the crew just worked on. A typical serial killer basing her kills off of Michael Myers. Which took hours of work on all fronts in order to bring justice to the lives that were lost. As Spencer glides into the building he sees the big gathering in the office and stops. Time seems to slow down at the sight of Y/N, Her makeup done to resemble a blue corpse, with stunning Fx’s and a torn-up white bridal gown, dirtied with mud and coffee stains to make it seem older. She was Emily, his Emily. As the rest of the team look they are greeted with admiration and applause for their perfectly coordinated costume.

Y/N smiles, walks up to him, and holds out her hand. “Looks like we make a great pair, don't we?”

Spencer Chukled nervously, “I guess we do.”

The night was filled with laughter and joy. They danced, played games, and enjoyed each other's company like they always have done. They were, as always, in perfect sync, easily understanding each other in games and humor.

At one point, Y/N excused herself to get some drinks for the two of them, leaving Spence to talk to their other colleagues. As she walked to the bar she overheard two other people dressed as Barbie and Ken.

“My money’s on them becoming a real couple by the end of the night.”

Y/N blushed. There’s no way Spence would reciprocate her feelings right? What they had was something special, sure, but there was no way that she would want to ruin their relationship.

When she returned to Spencer’s side, she noticed he was engrossed in a conversation with another agent and dear friend, Derek Morgan. Spencer appeared somewhat distracted, but as soon as he saw Y/N, his eyes lit up.

‘Hey, you,” he said, smiling.

“Hey,” She replied, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach caused by his smile.

Eventually, the party’s host announced a couple's costume contest. Spencer and Y/N exchanged amused glances. They hadn’t really planned for this, but now they were unexpectedly part of the contest.

Y/N started to fidget a little, and with Spence noticing he leaned and whispered. “We don't have to do this if you don't want too, sugar.” Y/N looked up and blushed, noticing how close they were to each other faces, She smiled softly. “Why not? Could be fun.” He nodded, both their hearts fluttering with anticipation.

They stepped onto the makeshift stage, and the crowd cheered for them, standing together, shoulder to shoulder, hand grazing each other until Spencer held Y/N’s hand gently. When it was their turn to present themselves, Spencer couldn't help but get caught up in the moment.

“Hello, everyone. Sorry about this but I would like to make a small speech.” he paused, looking at Y/N before looking back out to the crowd. “Tonight, we honor the spirits of the past and I could of think of a better partner to do that than with Y/N,” he said, his voice sincere and filled with kindness.

Y/N eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. She kept our composure and added, “We may not have planned this, but sometimes life surprises you with the best of partnerships.”

The crowd erupted into applause, and Spencer and Y/N won the contest hands down. They were awarded a cute trophy, which they shared as they posed for pictures together.

As the night wore on, everyone ended up sharing ghost stories and Spencer, in his natural enthusiasm, explained some historical context behind the tales, captivating everyone in the room. After the party ended and they all said their goodbyes, Spencer walked Y/N back home to her apartment. Hand in hand, still basking in the glory of the evening. Underneath the full moon, they shared a few lingering glances and smiles that spoke volumes. When they both arrived at the doorstep, Spencer hesitated for a moment before speaking. “You know Y/N…I didn't realize how much I truly enjoyed your company, and just how special you are to me,”, he admitted, cheeks flushing.

Y/N nodded, her heart now pounding. “Spence, you are so incredibly special to me too. More than you know-”

Before Y/N could finish her sentence Spencer leaned in, their lips meeting in a tender kiss. It was a sweet, tender moment. Y/N pulled back a bit, smiled, and asked “Do you want to come in? Watch some corpse bride with me?”

Spencer grinned, “of course, I would love that.”

All content © hufflepuffsandghosts 2023. Do not repost, modify, or claim my work as your own.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x y/n #x reader #fluff fic #SFW fic #ghost.fic #tw.alcohol

[ghostbeam]

when i’m good i’m very good but when i’m bad i’m better (bet on forever) | dabi/touya todoroki

“Hey!” His voice sounds from the end of the store. You turn to look at him, and you can see his shoulders physically relax at the sight of you looking back at him. He looks at you, that pretty smile that spreads across your lips, how you stare at him with nothing but love in your eyes, at him, the man who just knocked a cop out for you. He smiles and speaks. “I love you.”

You let out a breathy laugh before turning around completely and making your way back to him. You lean up and capture his lips in a kiss, even though he’s still got a gun pointed at the clerk’s head. He wraps an arm around your waist as he melts into the kiss. You press your lips to his one last time before you pull away completely. “Love you too.”

notes: hiiiii this is chapter 3 of bet on forever and it’s honestly embarrassing how long it took me to write considering how short it is. If u need a break from the violence of the last couple of chapters this is that break (but not really cause there’s still some violence…just no murder) this is a lot shorter than my other chapters and will probably be the shortest one in the whole series but anyways I hope u enjoy!! (title from you’re so cool by Nicole dollanganger) listen to the playlist here!

warnings: 18+ (nothing nsfw in this chapter but the series still is) f!reader, violence, blood, use of guns, drugs (weed), possessive relationships, codependent relationships, mentions of murder

words: 3k

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

Dabi is already looking at you when you gaze out the window. He fills the car up while he studies you through the glass, sunglasses sitting atop his mop of messy black hair. You watch his jaw move as he chews the gum you’d offered him in the car, feeling embarrassed at how flustered the act makes you, how he makes something as simple as chewing gum attractive.

You’re broken from thoughts of your boyfriend as you hear the bell at the top of the gas station door jingle. You pause your movements at the slushie machine, watching as the uniformed officer crosses the threshold. Your breath catches in your throat and you hide your body behind the shelf of candy and snacks at the end of the aisle. When you look outside, Dabi is nowhere to be found, no longer outside of the car. You can’t seem to spot him inside either, and you feel your stomach turn in knots.

“Morning officer.” The lanky clerk behind the counter greets him, his voice cracking as he does, probably thinking about the weed he has stashed in the breakroom or how his tags haven’t been changed on his car yet. The cop doesn’t seem to notice or care as he speaks again.

“Seen anyone suspicious come through here.” You hear the officer speak. A quick look from behind the shelf shows the man leaning against the counter as he questions the clerk at the front of the store. He shrugs, looking the officer up and down.

“Lots of suspicious types come through here.” He tells him, keeping his voice calm this time, you observe. “Looking for anyone specific?”

“Some kid killed a man and ran off with his car and his daughter.” The cop explains, his voice low as he speaks. You can barely hear him, but your eyes grow wide at his words. “We’re calling it a kidnapping, but if you ask me, I think she’s in on it.”

“You mean she went willingly?” The clerk questions.

“Lovers on the run and all that bullshit.” He quips. “Seems like they watched one too many movies.”

The clerk is silent for a moment, before he nods his head towards the window of the store. He says nothing, but the cop understands. You watch him nod and take a step towards the door. You don’t know where Dabi is, but there’s no way he’d leave you at some gas station in the middle of nowhere. He’ll be caught if the cop gets the chance to have a look around, so you do the only thing you can think of.

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, feeling foolish for what you’re about to do. You lean forward and take the half full slushie from the counter before pouring it out onto the floor, and letting yourself slip through the icy liquid. With one hand on the self beside you, you take the whole thing down with you, snacks flying through the air as you try to fall to the floor without hurting yourself.

You screech.

Both of the men turn to look your way, worried looks on their faces. It’s clear that the clerk forgot you were even in the store as he makes his way from behind the counter. Both of them begin to walk your way as you start to stand up. Red slushie runs down the back of your legs as the cop starts to help you up.

“Took quite the fall there, hon.” He speaks. You steady yourself on your legs, looking at the two men. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You speak in your sweetest voice. You let out a faux laugh, placing a hand over your chest as if trying to catch your breath. “I slipped!”

You burst out into a fit of giggles, and the men join you. They laugh at your mistake, and you feel relieved that you’ve managed to distract them. You’re doing a good job. You have it handled.

At least you think you do until Dabi walks through the door with a gun.

He fires a warning shot into one of the bottles of alcohol behind the counter before sauntered over to the three of you. The cop steps in front of you, pointing his gun in the direction of your boyfriend as he walks. Dabi lets out an amused chuckle, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“You stay right there.” The cop demands before looking over his shoulder at you. You look at Dabi through wide eyes in faux fear. “You’ll be alright, darlin’”

You roll your eyes when he turns around to look at your boyfriend, and Dabi laughs.

“Yeah, you’ll be just fine, darlin’” Dabi mocks. The cop doesn’t seem to like this, clicking the safety off his gun as he points it right between his eyes.

You don’t have long while the cop is distracted, so you sneak up behind him and send a kick right between his legs. His gun goes off as it hits the floor and you watch Dabi jump up in the air as it slides past him. He looks up at you as the officer falls to his knees, eyes gazing over your figure in concern after the gun went off.

“I had it handled.” You tell your boyfriend with a roll of your eyes. He scoffs at you before bending down to pick up the gun behind him and throwing it towards you..

“You’re covered in red dye.” He argues. You catch the gun in your hands easily, before shaking your head at him. You turn around quickly, pointing the gun in the direction of the clerk. He raises his hands, clearly shaking in fear as he stares down the barrel of your gun.

You hear a commotion behind you, turning to glance back as Dabi knocks the cop’s head into one of the shelves. The cop groans, blood pouring from his nose when Dabi pulls his head back once more. He slams it back into the shelf before the cop is out cold, and Dabi wipes his bloodied hand on the officer’s uniform.

“Fucking call her ‘darlin’’ again, asshole.” He spits, kicking him in the side for no good reason. You try to ignore how his words make your stomach flip, how violence in your name makes you feel, especially when it comes to Dabi. Turning back to the clerk, you speak.

“You gonna call the cops?” You ask him.

“No, ma’am.” He assures, frantically shaking his head.

“No?” You lean your head to one side and raise an eyebrow. Dabi walks away as you question the man. You don’t think he will, at least not until the shock wears off. And by then, you and Dabi should be far away from here. You hear Dabi walk up behind you, his boots loud on the floor.

“He won’t.” Dabi confirms. He places a hand on your shoulder before holding up an object in his hand. You turn towards him, spotting the role of duct tape that hangs from two of his fingers. “At least not for a while.”

You look up at him with a wide smile, which he returns. The clerk says nothing as he looks between the two of you before letting out a defeated sigh and holding his wrists out towards Dabi.

“Bring the car around, okay?” Dabi tells you, fishing his keys out of his jacket pocket and handing them to you. You nod, tucking the cops gun into the band of your jean shorts before turning to walk away. You make it half way down the aisle before Dabi calls out to you.

“Hey!” His voice sounds from the end of the store. You turn to look at him, and you can see his shoulders physically relax at the sight of you looking back at him. He looks at you, that pretty smile that spreads across your lips, how you stare at him with nothing but love in your eyes, at him, the man who just knocked a cop out for you. He smiles and speaks. “I love you.”

You let out a breathy laugh before turning around completely and making your way back to him. You lean up and capture his lips in a kiss, even though he’s still got a gun pointed at the clerk’s head. He wraps an arm around your waist as he melts into the kiss. You press your lips to his one last time before you pull away completely. “Love you too.”

You snag a pair of cheap sunglasses off the stand before making your way out the door and bringing the car around for Dabi. He doesn’t keep you waiting long before he hops into the passenger seat and the two of you are off.

“You’re amazing! Do you know that?” Dabi’s excitement fills the car as he speaks. His voice is loud over the sound of the radio. The two of you speed down the road, nothing but mountains and dirt for miles ahead. “I mean, you caught the gun like it was nothing! You were so cool!”

He leans across the console and takes your head in his hands, planting a wet kiss to your cheek as you drive. You giggle as you feel his lips on your cheek. “You are cool. You’re so cool.”

“Yeah? You think so?” You laugh at him, looking between him and the road as you drive. “As cool as you?”

“Even cooler, babydoll.” He tells you, leaning his head back on the seat. You watch his chest rise and fall with each breath, looking between him and the road. You reach out to run a hand through his hair, noticing how the white of his natural hair is coming in at the root. It’s not noticeable yet, but you make a mental note to pick up some black hair dye at your next stop.

…

“He’s gonna love you.” Dabi says, removing one hand from your waist and knocking on the door that you stand in front of. The door is old and beat up, with the numbers at the top scratched over and faded. You think it might fall off the hinges if it opens.

“You’re sure?” You ask, bouncing a little on the balls of your feet, nerves settling in your bones. You were good with Giran, and that was huge for you, but this feels different and you don’t know why. Dabi speaks so highly of Jin, tells the story of him being saved from getting jumped with excitement in his voice and light in his eyes. You need Jin to like you. It’s important to you, but mostly, it’s important to Dabi.

“Hey,” he speaks, squeezing your hips with his hands. He knows you’re nervous, can practically feel it as he’s wrapped around you. But he loves you, and he knows Jin will too. You’re the most important thing in the world to him and Jin is no fool. He’ll be able to see it. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see it. “I promise. There’s no way he won't.”

You squirm in his hold, feeling your face heat up at his words when the door swings open in front of you. A tall blond man stands in the doorway, with dark circles underneath his eyes and a faint scar down the middle of his forehead. A white tank top fits snug on his torso, and you twitch in your boyfriend's hold as his dark eyes analyze you. The smell of weed is strong throughout his place, probably from the joint that hangs from his lips.

His gray eyes brighten at the sight of your boyfriend standing behind you. He pulls the joint from his lips and opens his arms wide in the doorway.

“Dabi!” He bellows with a smile. His voice surprises you, friendlier than you expected, from the way he appears with his tired eyes and imposing figure. He’s even taller than Dabi. Then his eyes land on you. “Are you gonna introduce your girl?”

“What? Not even a ‘how are you’? You see a pretty girl and go all stupid.” Dabi huffs from behind you. You shake your head and introduce yourself, holding a hand out for him to shake. His hand is large as it envelopes yours, rough and calloused from work you aren’t aware of. He’s comforting, you think, handshake firm and strong as he grins down at you.

“Nice to meet you, girlie. Come in! Come in!” He says, opening the door to allow the two of you to step into the hazey apartment. It’s nicer than you expected from the state of his front door. It’s a nice apartment, lived in and decorated in the way you assume he likes. “You can call me Jin. I’m sure Dabi’s told you all about me if you’ve come all this way–probably hasn’t told you jack shit–shit, sorry.”

He turns around with an apologetic smile and you send him a smile back, assuring him that you weren’t phased by his sudden change in behavior. His shoulders relax as he continues to lead you through the apartment. Dabi pulls you into his side, placing a kiss to the top of your head as you follow Jin. You’re happy that you’re making a good first impression, but Jin is not at all hard to talk to. You like him, and you can see why Dabi admires him.

“Sorry about the smoke. Helps with the headaches.” He says, motioning towards his head with a wave of his hand, his joint snug between two fingers. “You hungry, sugar? I don’t have much, maybe some cereal.”

“Cereal sounds good.” You nod, feeling Dabi pull away from you to pick up the remote that sits on the beat up coffee table in front of the couch. You watch his lanky body drop town on the couch as he scrolls through channels, knees bent too high from how long his legs are and how close to the ground

“Want some Dabi?” Jin asks from the kitchen. Dabi tells him that he does and you can hear Jin mumbling to himself about something you can’t make out. Dabi leans his head over the back of the couch, staring at you where you stand. He nods you over, holding a hand out for you to take, pulling you down with him. He leans forward and picks up a freshly rolled joint from the ashtray on the table.

“You ever smoke, baby?” He asks you, fishing for his silver zippo in his pocket. He tosses it towards you, and you catch it easily.

“A couple of times in high school.” You shrug, flipping the lighter open and holding the flame to the end of the joint in between his lips. You go to give him the lighter back, but he stops you.

“You should take another look at that.” He says, blowing smoke from his nose. You look down at the piece of silver in your hand, flipping it over to try and understand why it’s important. Dabi turns it over in your palm and you see faint lettering engraved in the metal, your name.

“When did you do this?” You ask, flattered by the gesture. It’s not much, but it’s sweet, and it's undoubtedly Dabi.

“Had it done back home.” He explains. “I like having you with me.”

“I’m always with you.” You say and he grins. He nudges his forehead against yours before speaking.

“I know, baby.” He kisses your cheek before closing your hand over the lighter. “Keep it safe for me, yeah?”

You nod, holding the lighter close to your chest as he leans down to kiss you. You pull away quickly, hearing Jin’s footsteps as he returns from the kitchen.

“Well aren’t you two just the sweetest–yuck!” You hear Jin speak from behind the couch. You let out a small laugh, hiding your face in Dabi’s shoulder.

“Fuck off.” He grumbles, placing a large hand behind your head. You can’t stop laughing as he holds you close, sounds muffled by his t-shirt.

“You’re the one making out on my couch!” Jin argues. You laugh again at the ridiculousness of the situation, at the fact that you and Dabi just left a cop knocked out at a gas station and are now getting high and eating fruit loops with a friend from his past.You pull away from Dabi and let out a loud laugh, throwing you head back as the sound bubbles from your throat. Dabi would bottle the sound if he could.

The two men join in, laughter filling Jin’s apartment as you try to catch your breath. He comes around the back of the couch, handing you and Dabi your bowls before squeezing his way in between the two of you. Dabi’s hand flies to the back of Jin’s head, scolding him for separating the two of you. It makes you giggle again. You think they act like brothers, maybe. It makes you happy to see Dabi interacting with someone without keeping his guard up. He’s only ever been that way with you.

Dabi eventually lets Jin stay where he is, shut down by the argument that you were, in fact, about to make out on the couch and that Jin is letting you stay with him on your “True Romance crime-fueled road trip” as he put it.

You don’t talk about it. You find that you don’t have to when Dabi tries to explain, and Jin shuts him up by putting some colorful cartoon on tv and telling him that he’ll take the both of you in no matter what you’ve done. Dabi lets it go.

And it’s nice, sitting there with them, eating colorful cereal and mindlessly watching tv. It feels normal, a place where you and Dabi don’t have to keep moving, don’t have to be constantly looking over your shoulders or wondering where you’ll go next. A life that stands still.

It’ll all be worth it, you think.

🏷 @imkumichan @dellappatca @twochainsandrollies @courtneypaigemartin @skrp @kellyyween @kinjuutsu @ribbitrawr @merxes @hoe-biscus @holysmokesitsboo @solrosfroken @shipper-kitty13 @kaccatus @gloomiigloom @kiwifujin @ratju1ce @rinatdusk @ricciolocurl @tokyoslight @starkdemigodninja @sizeklink @hlo-kty @anotherlovelyruin @ilovdabi @hazukyo

join the taglist here!

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

heaven’s here, it’s right where you’re standing | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

“Well, what if…” you trail off like you’re thinking over whatever idea you have in your head, “what if I do anything you want for the whole day?”

“Anything?” He questions. You knew he’d be interested. You nod your head.

“Anything.” You confirm.

“All day? Until midnight?”

“Yep.” You nod, running your hand through his hair.

“Deal.” He nods against you. You chuckle and return to your book.

Notes: I don’t think I like this!! Idk idk!!! It’s a little ooc, but like I just think Dabi is super in love with you u know?? Like idk I think he’s very soft especially when it’s just you two and you’ve been together for a while!! This is just a short thing for him because I love him<3 thanks for reading!! (title from slow dancing by aly & aj)

Warnings: f!reader, 18+, minors DNI, Reader wears a dress, there’s smut but it’s very brief like not a lot of detail, somnophillia

Words: 2.1k

“What do you want for your birthday?” 

Dabi didn’t know how you even knew his birthday was coming up. He had to have told you ages ago when you started dating, and your giant freakish brain stored that information for you for almost a whole year so you could attack him with it. His birthday? Dabi hadn’t celebrated his birthday in years, and even then it wasn’t like they were any good. His childhood birthdays were always awkward. They forced his mom and dad to stay in the same room for longer than an hour, which made everyone uncomfortable. Here’s your cake. It tastes like cardboard. Here’s a gift you’re not gonna use. Thanks, dad. 

“My birthday?” He asks, his hands running up your thighs. When you threw a leg over his lap on the couch to straddle him, he thought you were gonna shove your tongue down his throat, not ask him about his birthday. 

“Mhm.” You nod your head, looking at him for an answer. He furrows his brows as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck. 

“I don’t want anything.” He shrugs. It’s your turn to furrow your brows. A pout forms on your lips before you speak. 

“Nothing?” You ask, “nothing in the whole world?” 

Sure, Dabi wanted a few things. He wanted his father dead, for one. He wanted to see his mom. He wanted the heroes to pay for the society they’ve created and the systems they continue to uphold. He wants the criterion version of the 1977 film Opening night to add to his growing collection of dvd's. He wants chocolate-covered strawberries. 

“I don’t celebrate my birthday. It’s just another year.” He says. Another pout graces your lips, and he wants to kiss it off, but he knows you’ll just get mad at him for cutting the conversation short. 

“Yeah! You made it another year! Isn’t that something to celebrate?” You try, but he’s not buying it. 

“Is it?” He asks. It’s teasing, but it still makes you sad. Of course, it’s something to celebrate. If there was one thing you knew about your boyfriend, it was that he was a survivor. He had been through hell and back, and the fact that he had made it this far was enough to make you proud. 

“Yes!” You stress, “it is.” 

“Oh? How come?” He asks, and this time you know he’s teasing you. He just wants to hear you tell him you love him, wants you to tell him how brave you think he is, how happy you are to have him. But you won’t give him the satisfaction, at least not until his birthday. 

“Shut up.” You roll your eyes, sliding off of his lap, “figure out what you want for your birthday. If you don’t want a gift, at least tell me if you want to order dinner from someplace in particular.” 

And with that, you disappear down the hallway, leaving Dabi with thoughts about his fucking birthday.

…

You hadn’t bothered him about it until the night before. 

“You never told me what you wanted for your birthday.” You whispered. The two of you had gotten ready for bed. You were sat up in bed reading the book you had been trying to get through while he lied on your stomach. 

“I already told you I don’t celebrate it.” He says, placing a kiss to the exposed skin from where your shirt has risen. 

“Well, what if…” you trail off like you’re thinking over whatever idea you have in your head, “what if I do anything you want for the whole day?” 

“Anything?” He questions. You knew he’d be interested. You nod your head. 

“Anything.” You confirm. 

“All day? Until midnight?” 

“Yep.” You nod, running your hand through his hair. 

“Deal.” He nods against you. You chuckle and return to your book. 

The two of you stay like that for a while, Dabi breathing soundly against your abdomen. You feel him yawn against you, and you start to feel a little drowsy yourself. You place your book on the table by your bed and look down at him, only to find him looking up at you already. 

“I want you to wake me up with a blowjob.” He tells you. You can’t help it, but you burst out laughing. It wasn’t an odd request, certainly not one he hadn’t made before, but you were happy to see that he was actually interested in his big day now. “Well if you’re just gonna make fun of me—“ 

“No! No, baby, I’m not making fun of you.” You shift so that you’re both lying down next to each other, his arms wrapped around your waist. You place a kiss to his neck, trailing up to his jaw, your lips finding his before speaking, “If you want to wake up to a blowjob, then I’m gonna give you a blowjob!”

“Okay well, can you not make me hard right now?” He asks, jerking his hips towards yours so you feel how he’s grown a little hard from talking about it. 

“Sorry. Can't help you with that until tomorrow.” You giggle, pressing a quick kiss to his lips and turning around in the bed, “goodnight!”

…

You do, in fact, wake him up with head the next morning. It doesn’t take long for him to wake up, and it takes even less time before his legs are shaking and you're pulling whines and moans from his lips. He cums down your throat and then kisses you immediately afterward. You tell him happy birthday and even though he rolls his eyes at you and pushes you off of him, a wide smile is plastered across his face as he does it. 

He follows you when you walk to the bathroom. He watches you wash your face and moisturize. He goes after you, using the products that you both found worked best on his skin, simple ingredients, no dye, no scents. He’s found that it’s easier to take care of himself when you’re around. You make him want to. 

“Brush my teeth for me.” He tells you after patting his face dry. Your eyes widen, looking at him through the mirror. 

“What? You just want to be babied, don’t you?” You tease. 

“You said anything I want, princess.” He reminds you. You roll your eyes, but you secretly think it's cute. Was that weird? Thinking it was cute to brush your boyfriend's teeth for him? 

You run his toothbrush under warm water and load it with the toothpaste. He opens his mouth with an ‘ah’ and you get to work. It’s a little awkward, and you can’t stop giggling, but you manage to do it. He spits in the sink and washes his mouth with water before turning to you. 

“Okay, your turn.” He tells you. You raise your eyebrows.

“Me?” You ask incredulously. He nods.

“Well, yeah.” He shrugs, running your toothbrush under water and applying the toothpaste. 

“You’re such a little weirdo.” You tell him, but you let him do it anyway. He holds your chin gently in one hand while he works on your teeth. It’s hard not to smile while he does it, but you make it through. You spit and wash your mouth out, and stand up to face him.

“Show me.” He tells you, and you beam for him, showing off your polished teeth and he does the same for you. It’s all very domestic, and a little strange. He kisses you deeply after.

He’s in your closet next. He wants to dress you up nice and pretty for him. You would rather wear something comfortable, but you grin and bear it 'cause you love him. He shuffles through the racks of clothes and chooses some black babydoll dress you didn’t even know you had. He throws white thigh highs at where you’re sitting on the bed, and you pick them up to examine them.

“These don’t fit me.” You tell him, throwing them back.

“Yes, they do.”

“No, they don’t. My thighs spill over.” You tell him. He grins. 

“Yeah, that’s why I chose them.” He chooses the baby blue lace underwear set you bought to match his eyes, and the two of you get dressed for the day. 

“Will you do that smudgy thing with your eyeliner?” He asks you, sitting on the edge of the tub while you apply a bit of makeup. You shake your head, smiling.

“Sure, Dabi.” You apply your blush and get to work on your eyes. Touya has always liked watching you put on your makeup. You didn’t wear it all of the time, but he liked watching you skillfully apply it whenever you did. He liked that there was a routine, one that he knew by heart now. 

“And no lipstick.” He tells you, “Or the one that doesn’t get all messy, you know? The stain or whatever.”

“Why?” You ask him, even though you think you can guess the answer. 

“As much as I like smudging your lipstick,” He starts, “Your lips are going to be permanently attached to mine today.”

“You’re so corny.” You roll your eyes at his poor excuse for flirting. He blows you a kiss through the mirror, and you continue your makeup.

“What do you want for breakfast?” You ask him, dabbing your lip stain on. “Or I guess it’s lunch now.”

“Cake.” He says, simply. You turn around to stare at him.

“Cake? You don’t want, like, actual food?” You question. He shakes his head. 

“Nope. I want cake all day. And I want to watch Bande a Part,” which is the only Godard movie you can stand, '' and I want to lay in your lap while you play with my hair. And that’s what I want for my birthday.”

“Well, I guess I can manage that.” You smile, “I’ll have to go get the ingredients for a cake though.”

You’ve finished your makeup, leaving him in the bathroom to slip on a pair of shoes and grab your bag.

He follows you out with a pout on his face, sitting at the edge of the bed. 

“Don’t go.” He commands, taking your hands and pulling you close to him. You look down at his face, eyebrows furrowed with a frown on his face.

“How am I supposed to make a cake with no ingredients, Dabi?” You ask him, placing a hand on top of his head. 

“Order them or something. I don’t care.” He shrugs. “Don’t want anyone lookin’ at you, though.”

He leans down and places a soft kiss to the fat of your thigh. You feel your face heat up at the action, smiling down at him. 

“Oh really?”

“Mhm. I’d lock you up if I could, you know?” His hands run up the sides of your thighs, slipping underneath your dress. He plays with the band of your panties, his fingers running over your hips. “Then you’d be all mine.”

“I am all yours.” You manage to say before he slips his fingers down the front of your underwear. They’re burned from your hips in an instant, and you’re being flipped over, your back hitting the mattress underneath you. 

He licks one long strip up your slit before devouring you completely. With a bruising grip on your hips, Dabi brings you over the edge more times than you can count. When you’re completely overstimulated and begging for a break, he distances himself from your sex and gives you a sloppy kiss, your slick still fresh on his face.

The rest of the day is a bit of a blur after that. It’s Dabi’s hands all over you. It’s stripped naked on the living room couch. It’s falling asleep during his pretentious French films. He makes good on his promise, placing kisses against your lips whenever he gets the chance. You lounge around in your underwear, and you don’t put the thigh high’s back on, even when he begs you to. You slow dance in the living room. You fuck in the kitchen. You take care of him all day, and he lets you.

When evening rolls around, his cake is delivered to your door. Dabi answers it in nothing but his boxers and your bruises and scratches littering his unmarked skin. He gives the delivery man a hefty tip and brings the cake to the kitchen. It’s girlishly decorated, yellow frosting and pink roses, ribbons of buttercream on the edges. You find a couple of birthday candles in a junk drawer and light them. He blows them out and makes a wish (one that asks for a happy ending for both of you). You share the rich cake together, eating from the container without cutting it into slices. 

It’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

🔖 @peachyuuji

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #dabi x y/n #dabi x you #dabi smut #dabi fluff #bnha x reader #bnha smut #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

there was nothing in the world that I ever wanted more (than to feel you deep in my heart) | Katsuki Bakugou

There is no way that Bakugou Katsuki, the same boy you had been in love with since your first year at UA, is telling you he loved you in Kaminari’s messy room during a New Year’s Eve party.

Notes: Happy new year everyone!! I hope 2022 is a great year for all of you!! This is a little Drabble inspired by when Harry met sally, and I wrote it cause I was listening to Haley Blais’ Auld Lang Syne cover. Hope u enjoy it!!! <3 (title from pictures of you by the cure)

Warnings: None

Words: 1.1k

You can’t believe him. Honestly you can’t. After years of friendship, Katsuki decides to spring this on you now, on New Year’s Eve.

You stand in the middle of Kaminari’s room, your champagne glass in one hand, and your best friend in front of you.

“I love you.” Katsuki speaks, his voice firm, completely sure. You grin widely.

“Aw, I love you too, Kacchan!” You giggle, surprised at your friend’s sudden burst of affection.

“No. No you-“ he lets out one irritated breath through his nostrils and speaks again, “I love you. I’m in love with you.”

You’re shocked at first. How could this was the same boy it took a whole year to befriend, the same boy who had told you since you met that he didn’t have time for relationships?

There is no way that Bakugou Katsuki, the same boy you had been in love with since your first year at UA, is telling you he loved you in Kaminari’s messy room during a New Year’s Eve party.

“Are you drunk?” You ask him. He frowns.

“You know I’m not.” He answers. You do, in fact, know he isn’t. Katsuki hates champagne, which is what mainly occupies the kitchen fridge other than some cheap beer and seltzers. He also hates not having a clear head, especially around groups of people, so of course Katsuki isn’t drunk.

“You sick?” You ask, holding the back of your hand up to his forehead. He scoffs and pulls your hand down from his head, intertwining your fingers. You look down at your hands, surprised at the gesture and comforted by his thumb running over your knuckles.

“Cut that shit out. You heard me.” He says. “What’s going through that pretty little head of yours? Get on with it.”

“Get on with it?” You scoff, pulling your hand away, “You don’t just confess to a girl out of nowhere like that, Katsuki.”

“I just did.” He quips. You shake your head.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that? I’ve spent years pining over you! Years listening to you completely reject the idea of relationships altogether!” You huff, “which is fine! That’s your choice, but you don’t get to confess to me after I spent all of forever trying to get over you!”

“Princess—“ he starts, the nickname you like so much rolling off his tongue easily. It sounds different now that you know how he feels, and you turn away, not wanting to dwell on it too much

“No! I’m not doing this tonight.” You protest, walking towards the door and turning the handle. You swing the door open, entering the living room, noticing that most of the guests have moved to the balcony the closer it gets to midnight.

You should be happy. You should be ecstatic. But you had a plan. You were going to ring in the new year without your feelings for Katsuki distracting you. It had taken years for you to get to a place where your crush on him wasn’t completely overwhelming, and now that’s completely ruined.

But he loved you. Bakugou Katsuki loved you. You had been dreaming of this since you saw him take the villain bots down during the entrance exam. And he was there, surrounded by Kaminari’s dirty laundry, but he was there and he loved you.

“You are doing this tonight!” You hear his voice from behind you. His fingers wrap around your wrist, spinning you around to face him, “I have been agonizing over your dumb ass for years! You drive me crazy! I’m not waiting any longer! We’re doing this tonight.”

“You have?” Your voice goes soft. You couldn’t believe that he had ever agonized over anyone in his life.

“Yes.” He sighs. He takes a step towards you then.

“Why?” You question. You watch him chuckle and throw his head back like he can’t believe that you don’t know.

“Why? Because no matter how hard I try, and believe me, I’ve really, really tried, I can’t get you out of my head.” He begins, “You’re persistent, and stubborn as fuck, and that’s the only reason you got as close to me as you did in the first place. But I love that about you now. I love how your nose scrunches you when you laugh. I love watching you kick ass when we’re on patrol. I love that you don’t let me get away with being an asshole. I love you. I don’t care that you’re trying to get over me. I never want you to get over me. I fuckin’ love you.”

“Goddammit, Katsuki.” You cry, crossing your arms in front of you. He takes another step forward, and pulls your arms away from yourself. You can hear your friends begin to count down outside, signaling the beginning of the new year.

“Tell me. If you want me to walk away, I will, but you love me too. You do.” He says, placing his hands on your hips. He says it like he’s trying to convince himself, like he needs to reassure himself that you do, even though you’ve just told him you spent the last few years loving him.

“They’re counting down.” You point out, trying to change the subject.

“Tell me.” He commands. You can hear your friends counting from ten now, and you know you won’t be ringing in the new year with them, not when Katsuki is looking at you like this.

“I do. I love you. You know I do.” You tell him, and it’s all he needs to hear before he presses his lips against yours.

You had never been kissed on New Years before. You spent the last couple of years with your friends, most of whom were taken, and you never wanted to kiss anyone but Katsuki.

Now you’re glad you never did.

His lips are soft on yours. You can hear your friends screaming outside, blowing party horns and laughing with each other. Auld Lang Syne blasts from the speakers, and you run your hands though Katsuki’s hair.

You’d expected him to be more rough. You always thought his kisses would be bruising, but Katsuki holds your face in his hands like you’re made of glass. His mouth moves over yours, and it’s you who slips your tongue into his mouth first. When you pull back, his face is flushed and his lips are swollen. You don’t know if you’d ever seen your best friend look so content.

“You know, I never knew what the fuck this song was about.” He says, listening to the the old New Year’s Eve tune on the radio. You shake your head, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“You don’t know? It’s about old friends.”

🔖: @sugarbkg (hope u enjoy<3)

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bakugou katsuki x female reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

forever is the sweetest con | spike spiegel

“I had it handled.” He says. You look at him in disbelief, standing up from the bed and walking across the room. He follows behind you, taking your wrist in his hand and spinning you around. You snap.

“Handled?” You cry. “Handled? You left me!”

“I’m here now! Doesn’t that count for something?” He argues, even though he doesn’t really believe it. He knows it doesn’t count, knows there’s nothing he could do to take back what he did to you. He left you behind, his best friend, the one person who truly understood him all for some woman who did the exact same to him.

Spike knows he doesn’t deserve you, but he’s looking down at you, and you have this look in your eyes that he doesn’t quite know how to read until your gaze flickers to his lips.

notes: ahhhh okay so this was written for @cyancherub‘s back from the dead collab which was so so cool to be a part of!! I’ve been working on this for a while and have been really nervous to write Spike but it's finally done and here! You can listen to the playlist I made for it here if you want to!! thanks for reading<3

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit content, violence, injury, blood, death (not Spike or reader), angst, a bit of pain play, facesitting, multiple orgasms, Spike picks reader up

words: 8.5k

Many knew Spike Spiegel as a feared member of the Red Dragon syndicate, someone who was possibly next in line to be the leader, but you knew him as your best friend. 

Maybe it was wrong of you to be so close to a man who belonged to the same syndicate that kept a huge debt over your father’s head, but you never claimed to be morally sound. 

And besides, it wasn’t like you’d ever be able to resist Spike if you tried, seeing as you were completely and utterly in love with him. 

Vicious despises the bar that you work in. It’s meant to be a place for business, a place that keeps them out of the watchful eye of cops and enemy syndicates, but most of the men treat it like a playground. Clouded with smoke, the smell of cheap beer and cologne wafts through the air.

You watch Spike play Pool from across the room, swindling different syndicate members out of their money, game after game. He’s relaxed, his favorite bomber jacket hanging from his shoulders and an everpresent smirk playing on his lips. Vicious sits at the bar and keeps an eye on him, his face stuck in a glare, one that’s become permanent after talk of Spike’s future as a possible leader of the Dragons.  

Spike shoots an 8-ball into one of the corner pockets, and the men surrounding the table erupt in a fit of cheers and defeated groans. He collects the money from their bets and strolls to the bar, taking a seat next to his partner and knocking his knuckles on the bar to get your attention. 

Looking up from your anatomy textbook, you smile at the man. His face softens at the sight of you before Vicious mutters something to him, bringing his attention back. You make Spike a drink and slide it across the bar. He mutters a thanks, sweetheart before going back to his conversation. You don’t hear what Spike says to him, but Vicious stands from his stool and storms out of the bar.

“That guy needs to loosen up,” Spike grumbles, resting his head on his hand as he stares at you. You don’t look up from your textbook as you speak. 

“You probably provoked him.” You shrug, turning the page. You hear him scoff. 

“You’re supposed to be on my side, here.” He says, which makes you giggle. 

“I’m always on your side, Spike.” You smile. Your eyes finally move from the page up to him, but he’s already looking at the beautiful blonde woman entering the bar with Vicious. With another knock on the bar, Spike gets your attention. 

“Who’s that?” He questions, pointing his chin in her direction. You look at him, puzzled. Surely, he knew who Julia was.

“Is that a joke?” You wonder aloud as he turns back to you. His lips pull into a smirk as he speaks. 

“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re still my best girl.” He tells you, tapping a finger under your chin. There had always been something in the space between you and Spike, something unspoken, something you’d never dare to address. He makes your heart race and your stomach turn, but he’s your best friend first, and until he’s done with the syndicate and you’ve made your way through med school, neither of you are ready for that to turn into more. 

“That’s Julia.” You tell him, though you still aren’t completely sure if he’s messing with you or not. It was common knowledge that Vicious had started seeing her recently. You’d even seen her come into the bar a few times, so how was it possible that Spike didn’t know who she was?

He turns back around in his stool as he straightens out his bomber jacket and runs a hand through his messy green mop. He tests her name out. “Julia.”

You watch him make his way from the bar to Vicious and Julia, and you don’t bother to call him back to warn him. You can see realization hit him, his eyes flickering between the two as Vicious’ frown deepens. Julia, however, looks utterly intrigued with Spike. Something passes between the two of them when their eyes meet. You can feel it from across the room. 

And you know that whatever lies in the space between you and Spike no longer matters.

You don’t remember what life was like before Spike, but you’re starting to think it was a little something like your days now.

That day at the bar changed everything. You were seeing less and less of him, but it wasn’t the first instance that Spike had been distant because of his job. It was, however, the first time Spike had been distant because of a girl.

Spike walks into the bar on a Wednesday night, the place almost completely empty on a weekday. You fill the glass of a regular customer as your best friend makes his way to you. He takes a seat and knocks on the bar, his head resting in his hands as he waits for you to notice.

“Long time, no see.” You speak with a soft smile. It’s only been a few months, but things are already different between the two of you.

“Been busy.” He shrugs. His nonchalance makes something burn in your stomach, anger bubbling inside you at his lack of care for your friendship, but you push all of that away. He’s here now, and that’s all that matters. 

“Yeah? With what?” You question, even though you know exactly what he’s been busy with. Spike looks down at the bar, rapping his knuckles on the surface before looking back up at you with an unreadable expression on his face. You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, “What? What is it? Why do you look so guilty?”

“I think,” He begins, “I’m seeing Julia.”

You snort, “You think you are?”

“I know–” He says. He closes his eyes in frustration and shakes his head like he’s trying to shake something from his brain. “I am. I am seeing Julia.”

It hurts to hear it. If you’re being completely honest, it feels like he’s reached inside of your chest, crushed it between two hands, and left it here to rot. But you don’t want to be dramatic, so instead. you speak. “I know. I mean, I figured as much.”

“Uh-huh.” Spike nods slowly, suspicious of your words, “What are you thinking?”

He talks like you’re a wild animal, like you’ll lean over and take a bite from his neck if he’s not careful with his words. It irritates you, how suspicious he is of you. You aren’t fragile. You aren’t going to break over the idea of him loving someone else, at least not in front of him. And you certainly aren’t going to be the one to address what lies between you. 

“I’m thinking that if you’re happy, then I’m happy.” You say because it’s the truth. You’d much rather Spike be happy with you, but if Julia is who he wants, then what makes you think you can stop that?

“And that’s it?” He questions, his guard still visibly up, much to your dismay. 

“That’s it.” You confirm. You smile, trying to put him at ease. You don’t want him to be afraid of your reaction, but it at the very least tells you that he knows that for the past couple of years, there definitely was something going on between the two of you, no matter how hard you both tried to ignore it. 

After that, things slowly went back to normal. While you weren’t seeing Spike as much as you used to, he still came to see you when he could. About a month after revealing his relationship with Julia to you, you catch Spike climbing through the window of your apartment above the bar at three a.m. 

It wasn’t the first time Spike had climbed through your window, choosing to sneak in that way instead of dealing with your father who deemed him a bad influence immediately after meeting him. And even though Spike had done this time and time again, it was his first time visiting you like this after seeing Julia.

You jolt awake at the sound of your best friend stealthily rolling through your open window and into your dark bedroom. You turn around in your bed to look at him and feel your heart flutter at the sight of him, the action so familiar and warm. 

“Spike?” You ask groggily, voice rough from sleep. Sitting up in bed, you rub your eyes, adjusting to the darkness. He says nothing as he sits on the bed across from you. There isn’t enough light to see the expression on his face, but you hear him sigh. 

“I’m leaving the syndicate.” He speaks. You feel as if the air has been knocked from your lungs at his words. A pit forms in your stomach as you realize what he’s just said. 

“What are you talking about?” You manage to ask, even though your voice shakes as you do. “What happened?”

“I’m leaving.” He says. “With Julia.”

And it breaks your heart to hear. It breaks your heart to know that he would risk his life to love her, but not you.

“You’ll be killed.” You urge. No one leaves the Dragons unless it’s to die, and you know that if Spike tries, you’ll never see him again. 

“I won't.” He shakes his head. “I won’t. She’s meeting me at the cemetery by her place. I have a distraction planned, so we can get out of here before they notice we’re gone.”

“And what about–” You start to ask before cutting yourself off. What about us?

You look down at your lap, embarrassed by your thoughts. Spike’s hand comes up to cup your cheek. He moves your face to look at him, though he’s still difficult to see in the darkness of your room. 

“You?” He asks like he knows that’s what you’re thinking. “You are going to finish medical school. You’re gonna get a residency at a hospital somewhere far away from here, and pay off your father’s debts. And I’m going to see you again. I can promise you that much. It might not be anytime soon, but I won’t forget you.”

You’re crying now, feeling the tears stream down your face as you listen to him speak. He rubs a thumb underneath your eye, catching what falls there. You know how this ends. It’s the last time you’ll ever see him. 

“I love you, Spike.” It’s the first time you’ve ever said it to him. That’s what lies between you: love. 

“I love you, too.” He nods. It’s also the first time he’s ever said it to you. It’s the first time he’s ever said it to anyone. You can’t see anything but the reflection of the moon that shines through your window in his eyes. Your hand finds his, resting over where he cups your face, and you struggle to hold the moment close to your heart. 

Spike stands. He places a soft kiss to your forehead, and he leaves out the window like he always has. 

Only this time, he’s not coming back.

Hours later as you open up the bar, Vicious and a swarm of Red Dragons storm through the door. You watch from behind the bar as they tear the place apart. Men look in corners and behind the bar, in the restrooms, at the back of the building. A group of men rush up the stairs that lead up to your apartment, and when you think of your father, you move to follow. 

Vicious is fast, though, and you’re pushed up against the wall of liquor behind the bar, his katana dangerously close to the soft flesh of your neck. 

“Where is he?” He asks. You struggle in his hold before he presses the blade closer. 

“I don’t know.” You breathe, trying to stay still. The blade is pushed harder into you, sharp enough to break the skin from the pressure. You wince, and he grins.

“I just need to know where they’ve gone.” He speaks, his voice sending chills down your spine. “If you can tell me that, I’ll let you live.”

“Vicious, I don’t know. He didn't tell me anything.” You try to lie, but it’s clear that he doesn’t believe you. He says your name as a warning as he moves even closer to you. “Don’t you think I would! Don’t you think if I knew where he was, I would tell you? He broke my heart too, you know. He chose her. He left. All I want is for my father to be free from you.”

You hope the lie is convincing enough. You can see him analyze you, the gears turning in his head as he wonders if he can trust your words or not. You speak again, hoping to prove yourself.

“Spike had a choice–” You say. “and he chose her. I’m not going to protect him. I don’t know where he is.”

He looks you up and down before releasing you. “We’re done here.”

One of the men at the base of the stairs commands the rest in your apartment to return, you let out a sigh of relief. A man comes down the stairs behind the group, wiping blood from his sword with a cloth.

“The man is dead, sir.” He tells Vicious, motioning his head up the stairs. Your body moves forward on its own before Vicious captures you in his hold once more. 

“Wait!” You yell, trying to force your way out of his hold. A strangled scream gets caught in your through. Vicious moves to push you back against the wall of alcohol, bottles falling to the floor as he does. He moves his Katana to the side of your neck, dragging the blade slowly against the flesh, creating a large gash there. You bring your hand up to put pressure on the wound. Vicious smirks.

“Consider your life spared.” He says. He moves closer to whisper in your ear. “Be gone by midnight.”

You fall to your knees as he lets go of you, and you hear the men leave the bar. Staring at the spilled liquor and broken glass on the floor, dread fills your stomach.

You stand in the bathroom of your apartment, stitching up your neck as your father lays in a pool of his own blood on your kitchen floor, and this time, you can’t call Spike. 

…

You’re  always on the move, living one bounty to the next. If you’re lucky, you can find a hotel cheap enough to stay in for a few nights, but you spend most of your nights on your small aircraft. It’s a piece of shit, but it’s your baby, the first ship you ever bought with your last bit of woolongs after leaving 

Bounty hunting is hell. The things you have to go through for a couple of bucks isn’t nearly enough to make it worth it. Freedom, however, the freedom is worth it. 

The bounty you’re chasing is a small fry, to say the least. Caught on a couple of accounts of threat and fraud, you know he won’t be difficult to take in. Last seen on Ganymede with a large beard as a disguise, he’s incredibly easy to find

You had been following him for blocks, watching him walk into a record store, then a grocery store, seemingly unaware that he was going to jail in just a few moments. 

You pull your mask up around your face as you approach, something you always did while hunting a bounty. 

You spot the man again as he turns down an alley. You sneak around the building, hoping to catch him off guard once he comes out the other end of the alley. You stand against the wall of the old building, your gun pressed to your chest. Letting out a deep breath, you turn the corner quickly, pointing your gun in the direction of the bounty.

Only, he’s not alone

“What the hell?” Standing there with an air of nonchalance, is Spike Spiegel, one arm holding his gun up to the bounty, who stands between the two of you.

“Sorry, sweetheart. You’re too late.” He tells you, completely unaware of who you are.

You’re surprised to see the man you believed to be dead, but mostly you’re angry.

“I’ve been following him for thirty blocks! He’s mine.” You say. For a moment, you think maybe Spike recognizes you, noticing a flash of confusion in his eyes before he recovers.

“Not my problem. I was here first.” He says, shrugging. Amid the argument, your bounty tries to run, turning towards you, and trying to push his way past you. Anticipating his move, you move to pack a punch straight to his gut and kick your knee into his groin for good measure. He falls to the floor instantly.

“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere.” You tell the man lying on the floor, before looking back up at Spike. You can’t lose the bounty, so the only thing you know to do is fight. You push a kick up towards Spike, who blocks it easily. 

“I’m not fighting you for him. He’s mine.” He tells you, but he doesn’t notice your left hook moving towards his jaw. He’s taken back, bringing his hand up to his now bloodied lip, “Fine.”

He advances towards you, aiming for your stomach, but you’re quick to dodge his hit. You bring your leg up again to kick, and this time Spike catches it in the air, pulling it so that you fall onto your back. 

He moves fast, straddling you to keep you down. Spike reaches for his pair of handcuffs, but you don’t let him get the chance. You knee him between his legs, causing him to yelp in pain. 

It gives you enough time to push all your weight onto him, holding his hands up over his head and pinning him against the gravel. Spike recovers quickly, wrapping his legs around your waist, and changing your position so he’s back on top. You let out a breath, exhausted from the exchange.

“Can I take you to dinner?” He flirts playfully, looking you up and down. It reminds you of your past and you can’t fight the smile that threatens to cross your face. 

“I see you haven’t changed much.” You tell him. You figure there’s no point in fighting. Spike had always been stronger than you, and you weren’t going to win this fight. You watch his face scrunch into confusion as he brings his hand up to pull your mask down. He jumps back in surprise, pulling his body off of yours.

He yells your name in surprise as you stand up. Dusting yourself off, you extend a hand to him to help him off the ground. 

“I see you’re back from the dead.” You say, your voice a little bitter. 

“How-” He starts, running his hand through his unruly hair, “What are you doing chasing bounties?”

“Seriously?” You ask, with a hand on your hip, “I’m not telling you shit until you explain how you’re alive.”

“I-” He begins, but he stops himself. Despite the fact that you were most likely going to resist, Spike pulls your body into a tight hug, feeling you relax at the contact.

“Goddamn, you.” You say, your face buried in his neck. You don’t want to be hugging him. You want to be angry, and you want an explanation. 

But this is Spike. You’ve never been able to stay mad at him before, and even though you’re still angry, more than anything, you’re happy to see him.

“Where are you staying?” He asks you, pulling away, but keeping his arms around you to ensure that you’re real. 

“Here and there.” You shrug, earning a concerned look from Spike, “On my ship.”

“You have a ship?” He asks.

“Yeah, a small MONO zipcraft.” You tell him, watching his face drop.

“You can’t live on a zipcraft.” He deadpans.

“Actually, I can.” You say. He stares at you for a moment. “I’m staying at this shitty hotel, though, for now.”

He looks you up and down, thinking long and hard before he speaks again.

“Can I see it?”

…

You were right, the hotel is shitty. 

You sit on the bed with one leg tucked underneath you. It’s the only place for you to sit, seeing as there’s no other furniture besides a bedside table. He sits across from you, and you try not to think about how familiar this feels. 

Spotting the crumpled pack of cigarettes in Spike’s jacket pocket, you reach over to take them, placing a stick between your lips.

“So,” You begin as Spike leans over to light your cigarette. “start explaining.”

“Since when do you smoke?” He asks, watching you exhale. The smoke looks pretty as you blow it from your lips, he thinks, his ears growing red at the sight. 

“Stop deflecting.” You order.

“There’s not much to say.” He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “I faked my death. I thought she would meet me there, but she didn’t. I was stupid. I trusted her. What more is there to say?” 

“How about ‘I’m sorry I faked my death and didn’t tell you.’” You suggest. He frowns.

“I told you we were leaving. You knew I wasn’t dead.” He tries to defend himself. 

“You told me you were leaving the syndicate. I knew what that meant. Trying to do that’s as good as dying.” You tell him, anger bubbling in your gut. 

“I had it handled.” He says. You look at him in disbelief, standing up from the bed and walking across the room. He follows behind you, taking your wrist in his hand and spinning you around. You snap. 

“Handled?” You cry. “Handled? You left me!”

“I’m here now! Doesn’t that count for something?” He argues, even though he doesn’t really believe it. He knows it doesn’t count, knows there’s nothing he could do to take back what he did to you. He left you behind, his best friend, the one person who truly understood him all for some woman who did the exact same to him. 

Spike knows he doesn’t deserve you, but he’s looking down at you, and you have this look in your eyes that he doesn’t quite know how to read until your gaze flickers to his lips.

And so he kisses you, harsh and messy, teeth grazing your lip and licking into your mouth, years of hunger finally satiated. You fist his button-up with your hands, trying to bring him impossibly closer. It’s nothing like you thought your first kiss with him would be, and it’s not how Spike wants to kiss you, but it’s all he’s got.

His fingers leave indents in the flesh of your hips as he urges you up into his arms, your legs hooking around his torso as he walks you to the bed. You’re thrown onto the worn-out mattress, and Spike looms over you, taking you all in. 

It’s you. You’re here, really here, and not in some dream he’s waiting to wake up from. You’re flesh and bone under his hands under his lips. He leaves marks on your skin, sinks his teeth into muscle. You’re everywhere, the scent of you, your voice like his favorite old earth record. It’s almost too much for him, the reality of his desire for you, the feelings in his chest that he so carefully kept locked up have spilled out and over your bodies in a matter of seconds. 

And Spike knows he can’t handle it, any of it, not you or him, or how Julia still lingers in the back of his mind like he’s some kind of traitor for loving you. 

So, he lays there with you, and he waits until your breath has become steady, and he slips out the door. 

…

Only, Spike can’t stay away, not after everything, not after he’s had you.

And if the universe didn’t want you to be together, then the Bebop wouldn��t have broken down on Ganymede in need of a part that won’t arrive for a few more days. 

At least, that’s what Spike tells himself. He’s never believed in any kind of otherworldly interference, no belief in fate or destiny, but he does believe in you, something real, absolute, with evidence in the form of the bruises that litter his neck and chest. 

So he spends his last couple of woolongs on breakfast for the two of you, and he knocks on your hotel door.

The door swings open, and he’s met with your face pulled into an angry pout. You’re dressed for the day, jacket pulled over your shoulders like you have somewhere to be, but he can still see the evidence of the night before on your neck. You take one look at him and close the door on him, turning the lock and adjusting the chain on the door. 

Spike’s brows pull into a frown at your behavior. He clumsily pushes the two coffee cups and the bag of pastries he’s brought with him into one arm and bangs on the shoddy door with his other. 

“Hey!” He yells through the door. “The hell are you doing?”

“Go away, Spike!” Your voice sounds on the other side of the door. Your voice is close enough so he knows that you’re pressed up against it. 

“Open the door.” He commands from his side, calling your name. 

“No!” You call. “I’m done letting you in, not when you’re just gonna keep leaving.”

He sighs on the other side of the door, leaning his back against it. “I was getting breakfast.”

He tries to defend himself, hoping you’ll believe his lie. He’s surprised to feel the door move from behind him, his body stumbling through the door of your hotel as he tries to keep the cups in his arm from spilling. He finds his footing and stands up straight, setting your breakfast on the bedside table and shutting your door with one arm. 

“Do you think I’m stupid?” You ask him, arms crossed over your chest. Spike shakes his head and pulls his cigarettes from his breast pocket. He lights one up and talks around it. 

“What are you talking about?” He asks, taking a step forward. You scoff at him, fed up with his insistence on playing innocent.

“I’m talking about last night!” You hiss. “What–you sneak out in the middle of the night like I’m no one and come back in the morning with cheap coffee like you did nothing wrong? That was your plan?”

“Basically.” Spike mumbles. He’s looking anywhere but you, inhaling more of his cigarette than oxygen. 

“Just get out. Fuck off.” You throw your hands up, turning around to walk away. “I don’t care anymore.”

“Can we just–” Spike sighs. “–talk?”

“What do you wanna talk about, Spike?” You question, urging him to speak, “Huh? What’s there to talk about?”

“This. Us. You and me.” He tries, crossing the room in long strides. You shake your head in disbelief. 

“There is no ‘us’.” You argue.

“There is.” He barks. And finally, you’ve had enough. You’re done protecting him from the truth, and you want him to hurt. 

“Do you know what happened after you left me?” You ask. “Vicious paid me a visit. He threatened me and killed my father, all ‘cause you wanted to fall in love.”

Your words are said with venom, cutting through him like a knife. He physically flinches as you tell him, and you move your head to bare your neck to him. 

He takes a step forward and hesitantly brings a hand up to your neck. When you show no sign of protest, he runs a thumb over the scar that Vicious left behind. He’s not sure how he missed it before, the night that he’d touched every inch of you, committing it to memory. 

“He did this?” Spike asks, his voice ripe with anger. You nod.

“He let me live.” You tell him. “I don’t know why he did it, even told me to get out of there by midnight.”

“He told you to leave?” He questions, his hand still caressing your neck. “Why would he do that? Why wouldn’t he just kill you?”

“I don’t know, Spike.” You snap, pulling away from his hand. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does–” He says. “It does matter. It happened because of me.”

“I know.” Your words silence him. You look down at the ground and then up at him again. Spike thinks he’ll see anger in your eyes, but they’re just sad, so sad. “You left, and I needed you.”

“I’m sorry–I’m so sorry.” He says, choking on the words. He takes a step forward as you take a step back. He feels the ash of his cigarette burn his fingers in his other hand, the stick now nothing but the filter. He drops it onto the dirty hotel carpet, not caring to pick it up as he steps forward once more. You eye the butt on the ground before looking back up at him. 

“You’re a dick.” You say because it’s true.

“It’s already a mess.” He says, trying to keep his voice steady. 

“I can’t stand you.”

“That's not true.” He shakes his head, finally moving to stand in front of you. 

“I wish it was.” You let out a breath, staring at your feet. You bring your hand up to the marks around your neck. “You’re all over me. I hate seeing it. I hate looking in the mirror.”

And it breaks him, the thought that you hate the evidence of him on your skin when he’s so proud to wear you. He loves the scratches down his back, the marks across his neck and chest, how they ache. It’s real. It’s real. It’s real. 

“Come here.” He whispers. You shake your head.

“No.” Your voice shakes, your arms wrapped around your abdomen like you’re protecting yourself

Spike reaches an arm out, wraps his hand around your wrist, and pulls you forward. “Come here.”

You stand in front of him, looking anywhere but in his mismatched eyes. Spike thumbs the buttons of his shirt, pulling the front of it open. He takes your hand and brings it to his chest. You hesitate above his skin before you make contact. He guides your fingers across the marks. He’s asking you to feel him, asking you if he’s as real to you as you are to him. 

Your fingers pause over a bruise before you press into his skin. Spike gasps at the pain, and you finally look up into his eyes. He moves your hand again, ghosting over the next before you sink the tips of two fingers into the bruise in the dip of his collarbone. He hisses, wrapping his hand around your wrist in a tight grip. 

“You wanna hurt me?” He questions. “That’s what you want?”

“I should.” You whisper. He nods.

“You should.” He guides your hand to the next mark, something dark right the left side of his chest. You feel the skin underneath your fingers before you splay your hand out against him and push. You push until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he stumbles back against the mattress. You stand above him, your body in between his legs as he looks up at you.

“You’ll leave again.” You tell him. He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you down so you’re straddling him.

“I won’t.” He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. You want to believe those words as much as he thinks he does, but you know he will. He’ll sneak out in the middle of the night, just like he always does. 

Still, you close your eyes anyways. You let yourself move closer. You let him kiss you.

Nothing’s been resolved. Spike still has this pit in his stomach over what happened to you after he left. You don’t know if you’ll ever forgive him. And Julia looms over the two of you like a dark cloud.

But then Spike speaks.

“Baby.” He coos against your lips. He presses his own to yours, brief and chaste before pulling back to look at you. “I won’t.”

“Promise?” You ask, staring at him, but he doesn’t answer. He just surges forward and captures your lips in his. 

He kisses you the way he’s always wanted to, the way you deserve. He’s soft and slow, his tongue slipping against your own, his teeth grazing your bottom lip. He pulls away, eyes darting over your face and taking in your lust-blown eyes, your kiss-swollen lips. He groans and buries his face in your neck, licking a long stripe up your neck, placing gentle kisses over the marks he left before.

Spike grips your hips in his large hands and grinds you down on his growing bulge. You gasp, throwing your head back and giving Spike even more room to drag his lips along the skin. His movements are nothing like they were before, the slow thrust of his hips up into yours, teasing you through layers of fabric as he sucks on your neck. 

You pull away and lean down for a kiss, swirling your tongue against his as you run your fingers through his messy hair. He groans when you tug on it and you feel him smile against your lips. You press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his cheek and his jaw. You move your lips down to his neck, and his head falls back. He’s panting, moving your hips over him as you lick over the bruises on his skin.

You lean down and suck the marked skin, and Spike moans. You continue to suck and nip at his flesh, running your hands through his hair, over his shoulders, and down his chest. You pull away and kiss him again, unbuttoning what’s left of his shirt as you ghost your fingers over his lower stomach. Spike pulls away from the kiss, looking into your eyes as you hook your fingers under the waistband of his pants. 

You stand up, pulling your jacket off of your shoulders. You let him pull your shirt up over your head, and undo the button of your jeans to pull them down. You move to lower yourself to your knees, but he stops you, his hands pulling you forward, back over to straddle his hips. The thin cotton of your panties is the only thing separating your sopping cunt from his dark pants, and you’re sure if you continued to grind against him, you’d leave a trace of yourself behind. 

“Come here.” He rasps, laying himself back onto the bed. His hands hook underneath your thighs, urging you farther up his body. “Up.”

You stop when he pulls you up to his chest, staring down at him, hesitant to do what he’s asking, even though there’s excitement bubbling in your stomach. His hands caress the back of your thighs and he grins up at you, beckoning you forward with a tilt of his chin. “S’okay, c’mon.”

You let him guide you farther up his body, pulling your knees over his shoulders so you can straddle his face. Leaning back, you look down at him, running a hand through his hair, enjoying the lovesick look in his eyes before he’s even tasted you. Spike’s arm curls over your thigh, bringing his fingers to your sex, rubbing a circle over your clit through your panties. It makes you buck your hips, moving forward so that you’re not even inches away from his mouth. 

You can feel his breath on your pussy through the fabric, and you look down at Spike in anticipation. He stares up at you, silently asking for permission. You push the hair that falls over his forehead back and nod, a shaky breath escaping you. 

Spike grips your thighs, pushing you down onto his face. He licks you through your panties, the fabric clinging to you, and you whine at the feeling. “So wet for me.”

The movement of his lips against your cunt causes you to clench around nothing, and Spike presses his lips to you again, moving his tongue against you like there’s nothing between his tongue and your cunt. Unconsciously moving your hips, you grip his hair in one hand.

“S-Spike! Need to feel you.” You pant from above him. You can feel him smile against you before he hooks a finger under your panties and pulls them to the side, sticky strings of your arousal clinging to the fabric as he pulls it away. He wraps his arms around your legs once more and spreads your puffy folds with his fingers. He wastes no time pushing his face against your bare cunt, his tongue licking over you in long teasing stripes. 

You move your hips, grinding on his face with your fingers tangled in his hair. Spike groans as he licks and sucks, bucking his hips up into nothing. You drive him crazy, the look in your eyes as you watch him, the slight sheen that clings to your skin under the shitty hotel light, how his fingers press into the flesh of your thighs, your hips, your breasts. 

“Spike!” You cry out his name, grinding your hips harder against his face. He licks over your clit in circles, wrapping his lips around the swollen bud and helping you move your hips, his hands digging into your skin enough to hurt. “I’m gonna–ah–I’m so close!”

“Please.” You hear Spike, only he’s muffled underneath you as he tastes you. “Please, please, fuck! Please come for me.”

Spike pulls you even closer, licking and sucking over your slick cunt, the tightness in his pants becoming almost unbearable as your moans fill the room. You let him move your hips over his face, legs shaking on either side of him as you come, crying out his name while he continues to lap up your arousal. He licks one long stripe from your entrance to your clit, causing you to jolt at the overstimulation before he lets go of your hips and allows you to move away from him. Catching your breath, you move off of Spike staring down at him.

He’s a complete mess, his shirt unbuttoned against his gleaming chest, his already disheveled hair even more tangled than before. But what really catches your attention is how your slick glistens against his chin and lips, how his eyes are half-lidded and clouded with lust as he looks at you. He brings a hand up, curling around the back of your neck and pulling you down to capture your lips. You groan against his mouth as his tongue slips past your lips, licking over yours, the bittersweet taste of your cunt lingering on his lips. 

“Could taste you for hours.” He mumbles against your lips, squeezing the back of your neck. His words make you blush and you pull away to look at him, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. You give him another kiss, peppering more down his neck.

“Think you have too many clothes on.” You mutter as Spike sits up and allows you to push his shirt from his shoulders. 

“I think you’re right.” He agrees. Standing up from the bed, Spike shuffles out of his pants. He crawls over you on the bed, and you bring your hand down to stroke him. He kisses you, groaning into your mouth as you touch him. He pulls away, his eyes blown wide with lust as he stares down at you. “Look at you. Look at you.”

“Spike.” You say his name, pulling your hand away from his cock. You hold his head in both hands, his eyes staring into yours as he waits for you to speak. “I’ve wanted this for a really, really long time.”

He kisses you. “Me too.”

“Yeah?” You question because you want to hear him say it. 

“‘Course.” He breathes, placing a tender kiss to your cheek. He drags his lips against your jaw. “Course I have. Always.”

“But–” You know you shouldn’t bring her up, but you hate how she remains an ever-present thought in your mind, even as he’s here with you instead of her. Spike doesn’t let you finish, anyways, capturing your lips in a slow, longing kiss. 

“Just you.” He murmurs against your lips. He brings a hand down between the two of you, fisting his cock in his hand and running the head through the glistening folds of your cunt. “Only you.”

You gasp at the feeling of him grinding against you, wrapping your legs around his torso and your arms around his neck. You bury your face against his neck and moan. “Fuck!”

“Baby. My baby.” He coos as he kisses down your neck, placing wet kisses there and tasting the salt of your sweat against your skin. He leans down, capturing one of your pebbled nipples between his lips. You arch your back at the sensation, and he gropes your other breast in his hand, rolling your bud between two fingers. You whine as he continues to kiss over your breasts, moving your hips to try and soothe the ache between your legs. 

“Spike!” You cry, running your hands through his hair. “Spike, please!”

He pulls away from your chest, reaching his hand down between your bodies, drawing slow circles around your clit. “Please what, baby?”

“Please, uh–” You moan as he slips a finger into your entrance. “Fuck me! Please, fuck me, Spike!”

“Aw,” He coos, fucking his middle finger in and out of you. “It’s not enough? Need more?”

“More!” You cry, bucking your hips against his hand. He chuckles as he looks down at you, moving his hand from between your legs to hold himself up over you. “Please!”

“Love it when you beg for me.” He mutters before kissing you, pushing the head of his cock through your opening. You whine at the stretch, still so tight even after what he’s done to prepare you. You arch your back against the mattress, Spike pushing his way inside as your heels dig into his lower back. 

“Feels–mmm–feels so good!” You whine. Spike pants against your ear, pulling his hips back and slamming back inside of you. The both of you cry out, Spike thrusting his hips against your own. 

“Look at you.” Spike breathes, still moving in and out of you. “So beautiful. So fucking perfect, and you’re all mine.”

And he’s right. You’re his. You’ve always been his, even if you can’t call him yours.

“Please!” You beg, though you aren't sure what for. “Please, please, please!”

You meet his thrusts with your hips, nails scratching down his back as he grinds into you. You move your hands from his back, up his chest and towards his neck. He looks into your eyes as you run your fingers over the marks you left, moaning with you as he fucks you. You press your thumbs into the marks on either side of his neck, and he groans.

“Fuck!” He cries, quickening his thrusts and chasing his high. “You’re so–fuck–such a goddamn sadist.”

He leans down and captures your lips in a kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth as he slows his hips. He fucks you deep and slow, hitting the spot inside of you that makes you moan against him. Your orgasm washes over you without warning, causing you to cry out his name and throw your head back against the bed. 

“Can you–” He grunts, feeling the way you clench around him. “Think you can give me another?”

“Can’t!” You cry as he continues to move in and out of you. The overstimulation is almost too much, but you keep him locked against you with your legs around his waist. 

“C’mon. You can, baby. One more. One more for me.” He begs, bringing a hand between the two of you and pressing his fingers to your clit. “I’m so close.”

“Spike!” You whine, moving your hips with his as he draws tight circles around your clit. “I-I’m gonna–”

“Me too!” He groans, his movements becoming quicker and sloppier as he approaches his orgasm. 

Your second orgasm hits just as hard as your first, and Spike’s follows soon after. Warmth fills your insides as he continues to thrust into your abused cunt. He pants against your neck, leaving kisses against your skin as he pulls out of you. He rolls over, lying on his back as the two of you catch your breath. 

You move to stand, pulling his shirt over your body and tip-toeing to the bathroom. Once you’re done inside, you return to the bed, where Spike has pulled his boxers and pants back on, though still unbuttoned. He lays on the bed, cigarette hanging from his fingers as he watches you. 

“Are you trying to kill me?” He questions, his eyes moving over the way you look in his button-down, which you haven’t bothered to button up. You giggle, crawling onto the bed. Spike holds an arm out for you, and you take your place against his chest, taking the cigarette from his hand and bringing it to your lips. You blow the smoke out against his face and smile. 

He pets the top of your head with his hand as he looks down at you. “You tired?”

You nod against him, placing the cigarette in his hands and nuzzling his chest. He puts it out on the bedside table, and this time you don’t scold him.

Spike watches you close your eyes, waits for your breath to become steady, and he falls asleep.

…

Spike wakes up to the sound of humming. 

He forces his eyes open, adjusting to the light in the room. He groans, running a hand over his face as he stretches his limbs out against the bed. He spots you sitting on the ledge of the window, blowing smoke from your cigarette through the opening. It’s still dark outside. Your face is illuminated only by the lights of Ganymede and the cherry of the cigarette. He thinks you’re beautiful. 

He reaches over to the table, pulling his own cigarette from his crumpled pack and lighting it. He stands from the bed, spotting his shirt at the end of the bed and tugging it on, making his way to your side of the room. You turn your head to him and smile.

He leans down to kiss you before leaning against the other edge of the window. “Got tired of my shirt?”

“You’ll need it later.” You shrug, looking down at what you changed into. He chuckles. 

“Yeah. Much later.” He says, running a hand up your bare calf where it rests on the ledge. “It’s not even morning.”

You look down at your lit cigarette, a sad smile spreading across your face. You brush him off with a shrug of your shoulder. 

“Hey.” He calls. You look up at him, and he tilts his head to one side. “What’s going on?”

“You know we can’t–this won’t work.” You tell him, even though it kills you to, even though the words burn like an iron in your throat as you say them. 

“What are you talking about?” Spike laughs, but you’re serious.

“This.” You say, motioning between the two of you. “Us.”

“Why not?” He asks, standing up straight. 

“You’ll leave.” You say because you know he will. He always does. 

“Then come with me.” His words make you jerk your head towards him in surprise. “Yeah. Come with me.”

“No.” You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes as you do. 

“Why not?” Spike snaps, slamming his hand against the wall next to the window. Your eyes widen at his sudden anger. 

“Because!” You cry. “You don’t want me! Not when you still love her!”

“I don’t love her.” He denies. “She left me.”

“You left me!” You argue. “You left me, and I still love you.”

“Hey.” He speaks, his voice soft as he steps closer to you. “Baby.”

“Don’t.” You whisper, looking out the window. 

“Look at me.” He begs. “Please, look at me.”

You turn your head towards him, your eyes darting over his face.

“I–” He begins to speak, but you rush forward and cover his mouth with your hand.

“Shhh.” You hush him. “Look, I can’t–we can’t be together when you still love someone else.”

“I don’t–” He tries to speak again, but you interrupt him once more.

“You do.” You tell him. “And that’s okay, but there’s no chance we’ll make it while you do.”

“So what? That’s it? I just leave, again, and find you when I’m ‘ready’? No! Fuck that!” He argues. 

“Yes!” You cry, pointing your cigarette in his direction. “That’s exactly what you do! You go and figure your shit out, and then come back for me.

“But you’re–you’re here, now. Right now. You–I had you.” His voice cracks as he stares at you.

“Spike, you always had me.” You tell him, standing up from the ledge and moving to stand in front of him. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours and sighing. 

“Okay. Fine. Fuckin’–” He sighs. He doesn’t want to accept it, leaving you again, but you’re right. There’s too much baggage, too many loose ends he still needs to tie up before he can give you what you deserve. He lets out a breath, shaking his head. You’re scared he’ll try to fight it, that you’ll have to reject him over and over, that he’ll wear you down enough to say yes and leave with him. But he doesn’t. “Fine.”

He cups your cheeks in his hands and leans forward to kiss you. 

It’s a goodbye kiss, or a see you later kiss as you’ve dubbed it inside of your head, hope still swelling in your chest at the possibility that he’ll come back. Spike pours everything he has into it, every feeling he’s kept bottled up for years, everything he can’t say conveyed in one kiss. 

When he pulls away, you reach a hand up and cover his left eye with your palm. 

“That’s my fake eye.” He tells you. 

You nod. “I know.”

“It’s the one that sees the past.” 

“Can you still see me?” You question. His lips pull into a smile. 

“Sure can.” He brings his hand up to cover your own. 

“You’ll come back?” You question, even though you know the answer. Spike pulls your hand from his eye and kisses the inside of your wrist, the action gentle, tender. You want to remember it forever. 

“I always do.” He leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, before throwing his jacket over his shoulder and disappearing through your door.

#spike spiegel x reader #spike spiegel x y/n #spike spiegel x female reader #spike spiegel smut #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

i’m bright baby blue falling into you | Gojo Satoru

“Just…feels impossible that you’ve been this close and I never noticed.” He says. “I’m kind of kicking myself over it.”

“Over not noticing me?” You giggle. “What’s so special about me?”

You don’t ask expecting an answer. The alcohol in your system loosens you up, helps you speak your mind in ways you would while sober. But he answers anyway.

“Well, for starters,” He begins, moving his thumb over your cheek, “you make me–uh–kinda nervous.”

“Nervous? You get nervous?” You question, your eyes wide with surprise.

“Hard to believe, right?” He grins, “It’s a good kind of nervous. I haven’t felt it before, but I like it.”

notes: I’ve been working on this for weeks now and I’m still not entirely sure if I like it, but I cannot physically work on it anymore. So here it is! (title from favorite color by Carly rae Jepsen)

warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, explicit content, fluff, angst, smut, college au, Gojo and Geto are home from college, Gojo picks reader up, ambiguous/open ending

words: 6.5k

News of their arrival spread quickly. Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, resident golden boys in the seaside town you grew up in, had materialized seemingly overnight to the gossiping members of your small town. 

You, however, had been woken up in the middle of the night to deafening bass traveling down your street and pulling into the vacant house across the street. 

You watch the boys jump out of Geto’s obnoxiously large Jeep, peaking your head through your blinds as they stumble to the door, their laughter echoing in the street. The sight of Gojo’s ivory hair in the moonlight has your breath caught in your throat.

You couldn’t fall asleep after that.

…

“Hello! Are you listening?” You’re broken from your trance as Utahime’s fingers fall into your line of sight, manicured nails snapping in front of your face as she catches your attention. “You weren’t!”

“Sorry, what did you say?” You question, because there’s no point in pretending to know what she was talking about. You stand behind the bar of the diner, bodies moving around you as they deal with the lunch rush. You fill cups up at the soda fountain as she speaks. 

“I said,” She begins, dragging the word out in a snide manner, “that idiot just walked in.”

You almost spill the drink in your hand at her words. There was only one man Utahime reserved this particular tone of voice for.

You turn around to watch the men walk through the diner, Gojo in a white billowy shirt and his signature round sunglasses. He waves and greets the people he recognizes, followed by Geto, hands shoved in his pockets and his hair in a loose bun on his head. Their hair is damp and a little sandy from the ocean, skin slightly tanned from their time in the sun. They’re beautiful, and everyone knows it from the way they can’t keep their eyes off them. 

When Gojo turns around, lowers his glasses, and sets his eyes on you, he speaks, “Can we sit anywhere?”

You nod your head quickly, not trusting your voice to come out stable. Gojo looks you up and down, notices the way you play with the bracelet on your left wrist and avert your eyes as quickly as you can. He chuckles softly and mutters a thank you before leading Geto to a booth. You let out a sigh of relief as Utahime hits the back of her hand against your arm. 

“No. No, no, no.” She shakes her head at you, “Please tell me you don’t still have that stupid crush on him.”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.” You shrug, placing the sodas you were filling on a tray and set them down at the table you were waiting on. When you make your way back to her, she stops you. 

“But it’s Gojo.” She shivers, “You only like him cause you don’t know him.”

You shrug your shoulders. She’s probably right. You had only ever talked to him in passing in high school, the two of you sharing a few of the same classes and mutual friends. You knew practically nothing about him, but you were just as mesmerized by him as everyone else was, and not even a few years of distance had been able to change that. 

The next couple of weeks, the boys were everywhere. They came into the dinner, they went on jogs in the morning past your house, they blasted loud music as they drove down the streets of your small town. 

You don’t remember them ever being this unavoidable. And it didn’t help that their favorite table in the dinner was a booth in your section, one that you forced Utahime to take every time they came in. 

However, tonight, there was no avoiding Gojo as he saunters through the door of the diner and plops down at the counter, a sigh escaping his lips. You and a few other girls are working, but the diner is practically empty, save for a few stragglers here and there. And since you’re the only one working the counter, you have to take his order. 

“Can I get a–uh–slice of cherry pie?” He asks as you write the order down, “Oh! With a scoop of ice cream on top.”

“Sure.” You nod, smiling at him, before moving to the kitchen to make his dessert. You try to calm your heartbeat down as you scoop vanilla ice cream onto his heated pie. 

Gojo sits at the counter, his head in one hand and his sunglasses on the counter beside him. He seems distant, his eyes focused on the coffee machine behind the counter, something clearly on his mind. 

“Are you, um, are you okay?” You question, setting his pie down in front of him. Bright baby blues flicker up to you, a smile stretched across his face, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’m good, sweetheart.” He tells you. You look at him, eyes suspicious as you scan his face. Gojo doesn’t know how you know, but you see right through him. “Don’t believe me?”

“Not at all.” You shake your head with a chuckle, “But you don’t have to tell me. I was just…”

“You were just…” He teases with a grin. 

“Being nosy.” You admit, lowering your head in mock shame. 

“Ah, it’s alright.” He waves his hand in front of him, picking his fork up and digging into his pie.

“In my defense, you weren’t hiding it all that well.” You tell him with a shrug. His eyes flicker up to you, and he raises his eyebrow. You think he might tell you off, reprimand you for putting your nose in places it doesn’t belong, but instead he laughs. 

“Do you wanna sit with me?”

“I’m working.” You tell him, but it’s not really an excuse. He turns to look at the diner, completely vacant now as you’re approaching closing. 

“C’mon.” He says, urging you towards him with a tilt of his chin. You think it over for a moment, before nodding your head at him.

“Alright.” You accept, making your way around the counter to sit with him. You take a seat in the stool next to him. He pushes his pie your way, an extra fork in his hand, questioning if you’d like to share, but you decline. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

“How do you know something happened?” He deflects, taking a bite of his pie, the ice cream on top already melting into a puddle on top of the dessert.

“Did you ask me to sit with you just to mess with me?” You raise an eyebrow. He looks at you, a smirk gracing his lips as he moves closer to you. 

“Is that such a bad thing?” He counters, his eyes lingering on your lips for a moment. You back up, stumbling off the stool. 

“If you’re just gonna–” You begin, but he cuts you off. 

“I got stood up.” He says. You look at him, his head resting in the palm of his hand as he stares at you. He doesn’t look sad, doesn’t even look particularly upset, not anything like he did when he entered the diner. You pause. 

“Someone stood you up?” You ask.

“Yep.” He shrugs. 

“Someone stood you up?” You question again in disbelief. 

“What do you mean, me?” He chuckles. You look down at your shoes before looking up at him again. 

“Well, you know.” You shrug. He’s Gojo Satoru. He’s not someone you stand up. He grins. 

“Tell me.”

“You’re fishing.” You huff, sitting down in the stool again. He laughs, throwing his head back. You cross your arms and sit them on the counter, turning away from him. 

“Aw, c’mon sweetheart. ‘M just teasing.” He coos, placing a finger underneath your chin and turning your face to look at him. Startled by your sudden closeness and his foreign affection, you clear your throat, pulling your chin from his hand. “How’d you know who I am?”

“Everyone knows who you are.” You tell him.

“Yeah, but how do you know?”

“Well, we–uh–we went to high school together.” You explain. You watch Gojo’s eyes widen at your words. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, and you nod. “No. No way I’d forget a pretty girl like you.”

You turn away from him then, flustered at his words. A smile creeps upon your lips that you don’t want him to see. 

“Did I know you? Did we talk?” He asks you, leaning forward again. One thing you’ve learned about Gojo in the short encounter you’ve had with him is that he doesn’t understand the concept of personal space. You wish it bothered you more. 

“No.” You shake your head, even though you had talked multiple times before. You had a mutual friend in Utahime, and you had considered Shoko a friend back in high school, too. Gojo wasn’t even really an acquaintance, but he had spoken to you a few times during your years in school, but you don’t want to make him feel worse than he already does. 

“Oh,” He sighs, placing a hand over his chest, “good. Could you imagine? What an asshole.”

You giggle, a hand covering your mouth over a joke that only you understand. He smiles at you, flicking your forehead. “Are you busy this weekend?”

“I work Friday.” You tell him, your heart pounding in your chest over the question. 

“Suguru’s throwing a party on Saturday.” He tells you, standing from his stool and fishing for a few dollars in his wallet. You hadn’t noticed before, but his plate is clean, and you can’t recall seeing him finish it. “You should come. You can bring Utahime. I know she works with you.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You shake your head, “I’m not really a fan of parties. I get weird around crowds.”

It was half true. You were weird around crowds, but the truth was, you had never been to a party. With a lack of close friends in high school, and the tragedy that was your parents’ deaths after high school, you hadn’t had any time to experience much of anything. There was no way your first party would be one that Gojo Satoru invited you to.

“C’mon. It’ll be fun.” He pleads. “Promise I’ll take good care of you.”

“Maybe.” You shrug, though you have no intention of showing up. He grins, leaving a few bills on the counter, before turning to leave the diner. 

“Then I’ll see you this weekend!” He calls, walking backwards and pushing the door open with his hip. 

“I said maybe!” You tell him, but he waves you off, and he’s gone in an instant. 

That night, as you look across the street, you know that you are without a doubt ending up at that party.

…

You walk into the party, hand in hand, with Utahime to ensure neither of you would get lost as you arrive. Heavy bass floods the speakers, the music loud enough to feel the vibration in your chest. Utahime leads you through the crowd, weaving your bodies in between free space. You watch her turn to you, rolling her eyes and yelling something, but you can’t hear her over the music. 

She stops in front of you, and you have to catch yourself before you run into the back of her. Peaking over her shoulder, you spot the object of her annoyance. 

Gojo stands behind a ping pong table, the small white ball in his hand and a pretty girl on his arm. You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach at the sight of them, but you can’t help but be a little jealous. You feel Utahime tug on your arm and pull you with her, but not before you catch Gojo’s eyes from behind his signature frames.

You follow Utahime to the kitchen, where she makes the two of you a drink. She’s ranting about something you aren’t paying attention to as she pours vodka into a plastic cup. You mentally kick yourself for getting your hopes up. Gojo was just lonely and sad the night he came into the diner. He wasn’t actually interested in you.

Utahime turns to you, handing you the cup, and you watch her face contort into indignation as she looks over your shoulder. “What do you want?”

“What? Can’t I say hi?” His voice startles you, makes you jump from how close he is. You turn around to look at him, his face just inches from yours, causing you to back away. He smiles, “Hi.”

“Hi.” You say sheepishly, though you aren’t sure if he hears it due to the music in the room. He at least reads the words on your lips as his smile grows wider. 

“Leave her alone.” Utahime takes your wrist in her hand and pulls you to her side. “Didn’t Shoko come into town today? Where is she?”

“Dunno.” He shrugs, his voice raised above the music, “Probably outside.”

“Come on.” She turns to you, interlocking your fingers and pulling you past Gojo. You turn to say goodbye, but he takes your other hand and pulls you back, strong enough to pull you away from Utahime and into him.

“You go.” Gojo tells her, “She can stay.”

You aren’t sure how you feel about Gojo making that decision for you, but his hands are on your hips, and his voice is in your ear, and you aren’t sure you even care anymore. 

“She doesn’t want to stay with you.” Utahime sets her hands on her hips, eyes flickering between the two of you. 

“Don’t you?” He asks, looking down at you. You look between the two of them. Utahime eyes you expectantly, but you shrug your shoulders.

“I’ll catch up later.” You yell over the music. She gives you a mock look of betrayal before turning and leaving the two of you in the kitchen. You know she’s not actually mad at you, having known about your crush on Gojo for years, but you do feel a little bad for ditching your friend over some guy. 

“I can’t believe you’re friends with her.” He chuckles from behind you. You turn around in his arms and frown at him.

“I like her!” You defend. Utahime had her moments, but she was your friend. She stuck by you when you needed her to, and she never made you feel bad about not getting out of town when you had the chance.

“She’s uptight.” He tells you, leaning down to your height. 

“So am I.” You speak, crossing your arms over your chest. He grins, shaking his head at you. 

“You’re not.” He says, “You think you are, but you aren’t. There’s more to it than that.”

“You don’t even know me.” You tell him, feeling uneasy at how easily he reads you.

“I’d like to, though.” He shrugs, “Will you let me?”

You aren’t sure how you feel about that question. Could you ever really let him in? You’d never done it before, and you aren’t sure that Gojo Satoru is the best person to start with. But you let him drag you to the beer pong table, and you let him hold you in his arms, and you let him pull you onto the dance floor. You even let him pull you out the door to take you home. 

With his hand in yours, Gojo pulls you towards Geto’s Jeep, and you giggle, tugging on his arm. He turns to look at you, and you shake your head at him. 

“Walk me home.” You say, nodding your head in the direction of your house across the street. You watch him turn to your house, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion before landing on you. 

“That’s your house?” He asks. You nod and pull him with you across the street. Gojo drags his feet behind you, his thoughts going a mile a minute. “You live across from my best friend? Have you always lived here?”

“Yep.” You nod. “Lived here my whole life.”

“You’ve lived here your whole life, and I’ve never once seen you before?” He stops the two of you in the middle of the street, his hands on your upper arms, holding you in place. You let out a giggle at his surprise. His hands move from your arms, running up your neck and cradling your face. “That’s…impossible.”

“Why’s it impossible?” You question, leaning closer to him. Gojo’s breath catches in his throat, suddenly feeling timid. With your bright eyes on him, he can feel his heart beating in his chest, aware of the way it pounds when you’re near.

“Just…feels impossible that you’ve been this close and I never noticed.” He says. “I’m kind of kicking myself over it.”

“Over not noticing me?” You giggle. “What’s so special about me?”

You don’t ask expecting an answer. The alcohol in your system loosens you up, helps you speak your mind in ways you would while sober. But he answers anyway. 

“Well, for starters,” He begins, moving his thumb over your cheek, “you make me–uh–kinda nervous.”

“Nervous? You get nervous?” You question, your eyes wide with surprise.

“Hard to believe, right?” He grins, “It’s a good kind of nervous. I haven’t felt it before, but I like it.”

You smile at his words, taking a small step towards him. You aren’t normally so bold, and you aren’t sure you would have made the first move in any other situation, but Gojo makes you feel brave. You lean forward, eyeing his lips before flicking back up to his crystal eyes.

“Can I-” You begin, but Gojo’s lips cut you off. An arm curls around your waist, pulling you into him as his lips move against yours. His lips are soft, and his hand is gentle where it cups your face. You rest your hands on his shoulders, unsure what to do with them as you let him lead the kiss. He pulls away with a smile, pecking your lips once more before pulling away completely. 

“Don’t ask next time.” He breathes. His forehead rests against yours, and you’d roll your eyes at him if you could do anything but think about the kiss. 

Gojo watches you walk away from him, making your way to your front door. When you turn around and give him a timid wave after unlocking your door, he feels his heart swell. The feelings you invoke in him are unfamiliar, but he doesn’t want to dwell on it. All he knows is that he’s happy around you, and that’s enough for now.

…

Summer with Gojo Satoru is early mornings on the beach as you watch him surf while the sun rises. It’s late nights at the diner where he eats his slice of cherry pie and waits for you to get off. It’s horror movies at the drive in and candy passed between tongues. It’s days spent in your room, wrapped up in one another, hidden from the rest of the world.

He sits with you on your couch, one arm thrown over your shoulders and holding you close to him as the two of you watch some reality show. He makes jokes here and there, watches the show like it’s a sports game instead of a dating competition. 

After an episode ends, he presses a kiss to you temple and then speaks, “It’s Shoko’s last week here.”

Shoko came to town later than the boys, and she had to leave early. While the two of them had a few more weeks left, she had to go back to school for early-start classes. You nod against his chest.

“Are you guys gonna do something before she goes?” You ask him, moving your head to look up at him. 

“We wanna have a beach day tomorrow.” He tells you. “She’s been busy, hasn’t had time to relax.”

“Oh, that sounds like fun.” You smile, turning your attention back to the tv where a new episode has started. 

“Do you wanna come with us?” He asks you. 

“No, that’s okay. I don’t wanna intrude.” You shake your head. Satoru sighs beside you.

“You’re not intruding. I want you there.” He moves your head with a large hand on your scalp so that you're looking up at him again.

You know that it’s nice of him to ask, but you like that it’s been a summer of just the two of you. You liked Geto and Shoko, in fact, you considered Shoko a friend, but you were selfish. You liked having Satoru all to yourself. 

“Are you sure?” You ask him, hoping that he’d change his mind, notice your hesitance and tell you that you don’t have to go. Instead he grins at you and pulls you closer, I’m sure, baby falling from his lips as he kisses you. 

And that’s how you end up on the beach in the heat of the day, lying on a towel next to Shoko while the boys play a very competitive game of volleyball. Satoru looks like a god as he moves over the sand. The sun shines down onto him, catching on his pearlescent hair and his chiseled abs. You try not to ogle him as he plays, but it’s proving to be a challenge when he looks as good as he does.

Shoko smokes a cigarette beside you, large sunglasses and a straw hat on her head as she looks out at the waves. You’ve always found Shoko so effortlessly cool, someone you had been nervous around before getting to know her. She was a good friend, someone you knew you could rely on if you needed to. 

Sitting there on the sand with her, her billowy white shirt hanging from her frame, blowing in the wind behind her, you suddenly feel regret at focusing so much on Satoru. 

The boys interrupt your thoughts as Satoru plops down beside you , kicking sand onto your towel and on the book you held in your hands. He leans down for a kiss, but you push him away, dusting the sand off your things before scooting over to let him sit with you. He throws an arm around you and places a wet kiss to your cheek. 

“You two make me sick.” Shoko says, but her voice is fond, and her eyes are soft as she looks at the two of you. 

“Don’t be jealous.” Satoru huffs, tucking your head into his chest. 

“She’s happy for you, ‘Toru. Don’t worry.” Geto chimes in, flicking the side of Shoko’s head. You giggle at their antics, suddenly unsure why you were ever worried about hanging out with them. You’re more than happy to see both Satoru and his friends. 

You had been consumed by anxiety before you arrived, scared of spending more than just a few minutes in passing with his friends like you always had. But if Satoru had done anything for you in the last couple of months, it was help you crawl out of your shell. 

Sure, you spent most of your days inside your house or with each other, but you were much more open to new things than you had been before meeting him. Satoru made you want to act on your desires, ignore all of the logic you’d followed before and do the things you wanted to do, no matter the consequences, which mostly applied to your relationship with him.

A part of you is terrified of what you have with him. You’re falling for him, and falling hard, and every bone in your body wants to run. But when he looks at you, really looks at you like no one else ever has, you know you can’t.

“Satoru told me he had no idea you lived across the street from me.” Geto tells you, laughing at his friend. “I couldn’t believe it! He was over practically every day and never knew!”

“Hey! I already feel like an idiot for not noticing! No need to make it worse.” Satoru whines, hiding his face in your shoulders. Shoko begins to laugh, too.

“You didn’t know? I knew that. How could you not know?” She laughs, pulling her sunglasses off of her face. 

“You two were friends! You actually talked to each other! I didn’t even know her!” He defends, which causes his two friends to laugh even harder. 

“You’re such an ass! You did too know her! We all had classes together!” Shoko explains. You hear Gojo gasp beside you. 

“Baby!” He cries, “You said we never talked!”

“You seemed so upset that you hadn’t noticed me before.” You say, cupping his cheek with one hand, “It’s fine. You notice me now.”

“How did you manage to make this embarrassing situation cute?” Geto asks with a roll of his eyes. He falls backwards onto the towel underneath him, folding his hands behind his head and basking in the sunlight. 

“‘Cause she’s cute.” Satoru answers, placing a kiss to your lips before standing up. He takes your hand and pulls you up with him, before wrapping his arms around you and hoisting you up, so your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you. You squeal at the sudden action, and he laughs as he turns around and jogs with you towards the ocean. You can hear Geto and Shoko laugh at the two of you as he makes his way to the water.

“‘Toru, no!” You cry, hiding your face in his neck, “I’m still–I still have my clothes on!”

“Should’ve thought about that before you lied, baby!” He taunts as his feet hit the water. He trudges through the waves, the water rising higher and higher the farther he walks. 

“Please, please, please! I’m sorry!” You whine, hugging him tighter. He places a harsh slap to your behind and chuckles at your reaction. 

He drops you a moment later, your body falling into the shocking cold of the water. Your jean shorts and cropped t-shirt are completely soaked, and Satoru laughs at you from above. You throw your leg out, kicking the back of his knees, causing him to fall into the water with him. You splash him, trying to back away from him, but he finds your ankle underneath the water and pulls you close. He holds your hands behind your back and rests his forehead against yours. You struggle in his arms, but there’s no real fight to get out. 

You surge forward and capture his lips with your own, giggling into his mouth as the water moves around you. He pulls you over his lap, hands resting on your hips as his lips press against yours. The feeling of wet skin on skin leaves you breathless as the kiss deepens. 

You pull away from him, suddenly remembering where the two of you are. He leans forward, kissing you once more before pulling away. He looks into your eyes, the both of you catching your breath against one another. He looks out towards his friends, who are whispering about something on the beach. He gives you another look, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. 

“You ready to go home?” He asks.

…

Geto drops the two of you off at your house, and you run inside, rushing to the shower to wash the day from your body. After your shower, you change into one of the t-shirts that Satoru left at your house. You don’t bother with pants, since the two of you are getting into bed. Satoru enters the bathroom after you, but not before peeking at your bare legs as you walk to the bed. You pull the covers back and settle in as you hear the shower turn on. You scroll through your phone while you wait for Satoru to be done in the bathroom. 

The door opens to reveal a shirtless Satoru, plaid pajama pants hanging from his hips, as he towels his hair dry. You peak at him from behind your phone, turning it off and setting it on the table. You open up the covers for him and he slides in easily, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him. He tucks your head into his shoulder and takes a deep breath in. He smells like your shampoo, and it makes you feel a little giddy. 

“Satoru.” You whisper against his neck. He lets you pull away enough to look into his eyes, but he keeps you close. “Thanks for bringing me today.”

“‘Course, baby.” He smiles, “It was fun.”

He presses a soft kiss to your lips, and before he can think to pull away, you deepen the kiss. His hands grip your hips as you slip your tongue into his mouth. He hoists you over him so that you straddle his waist, your sex inches from his own. 

You rise from his lips, pulling his shirt over your head before leaning down to kiss him again. Satoru groans into your mouth as he gropes your chest, pinching your nipples and coaxing whines form your throat. You grind your hips over him, feeling him grow harder beneath his pants. You break the kiss, looking into his eyes. You like how undone he looks beneath you, just from a little bit of kissing. 

“‘Toru, I wanna–can we–” You begin, but you’re too flustered to ask. 

“You wanna what, baby?” He coos with a thrust of his hips, “Want me to fuck you?”

“Please.” You whine, moving your hips with him. He smiles and flips the two of you so he’s on top of you. He kisses you deeply, sliding his tongue over yours and tasting the saltwater on your lips. Bringing a hand in between the two of you, he dips his hand into your underwear, running his fingers through your folds.

“So wet already.” He mutters against your lips. “Thinking about me?”

“I’m always thinking about you.” You admit, grinding against his fingers. Satoru ignores how your admission makes his stomach flip, kissing you again to distract himself. He pulls his pants down, freeing his cock and fisting it as he lines it up with your entrance. 

He pushes into you slowly, allowing you to adjust to his size. He coos down at you as he does, calls you sweet names and tells you how good you’re being for him. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he bottoms out inside of you.

His thrusts are slow, almost painfully so. He fucks you like he loves you, and you might believe that he does. He takes his time, your pleasure building with each stroke. He kisses you slowly, sucking your tongue into his mouth and playing with your nipples. You feel him everywhere.

“I’m gonna–ah–gonna cum!” You cry as his hips roll into yours. He places kisses up your neck all the way to your lips. Your hands are wrapped around his neck, your fingers pulling at the hair at the base of his neck. 

“Cum for me, baby.” He moans, feeling his own release approaching. You move your hips, meeting his thrusts, your clit catching on his pelvis as he moves. You cry out his name when you cum, throwing your head back against the bed and riding out your high with him. His orgasm follows soon after, pulling out of you as he paints your stomach white. 

You look down at the mess, too tired to care as Satoru leaves to get a towel. When he returns, he cleans you up and pulls you into him, this time, tucking his head into your shoulder. The two of you lie together as you play with his drying hair, your bare bodies pressed against each other. You don’t know why you speak, but you do. 

“What happens when you go back to school?” He freezes in your arms as the question he’s been dreading falls from your lips.

“What do you mean?” He asks, trying to keep his voice steady. His face is still in your shoulder, his breath hot against your neck. 

“Like, when happens to, um, to us?” You question, and you suddenly wish you had never said anything. Satoru rolls away from you, laying on his back and staring at the ceiling. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Do we have to know?”

“I’d like to.” You whisper, feeling him grow more and more distant the more you speak. “I’m not like you. I can’t just wait and see what happens.”

“Why not?”

“I need structure. I need reassurance. I can’t just sit here and wonder if you're ever gonna talk to me again after you leave.” You sit up, covering yourself with your sheet. He sighs from beside you. “Did I waste three months on something that’s not gonna last?”

“Waste? Waste? You call that a waste?” He cries, sitting up from your bed. You watch as he swings his legs over the side and pulls his pajama pants on. 

“If nothing comes of it, then yes. I’d call it a waste.” You don’t know why you keep talking. You’re scared, and you’re angry, and at this point you just want to make him feel the way you did when he said he didn’t know about the two of you. 

Satoru feels his heart break at your words. You had been the best thing to happen to him in years, and now you were calling it a waste? Even if the two of you never talked after this, even if you became strangers, Satoru would still consider you someone he loved, even if he never admits it to you. 

“Of course you would. It’s not a good enough answer for you? What do you want me to say?” He spits.

You want him to say that he loves you. You want him to tell you that you make him happy. You want him to tell you that he feels the same way that you do.

“You’re an asshole.” You mutter, defeated. 

“Oh, I’m an asshole cause I can’t live up to your expectations?” He fumes. “You’re so fucking uptight. By your standards, no one’s ever gonna satisfy you!”

“Yeah, well, you certainly don’t!” You hiss, angrily tugging his shirt back over your head to cover yourself up. A smug smile crosses his face. 

“You sure, princess?” He quips, “Last I checked, you were screaming my name.”

“Is that what this is?” You question, “You got what you wanted, so now you wanna be a dick to me. Don’t worry, Satoru, I won’t go falling in love with you.”

“And thank god for that!” He barks. Your eyes widen, heart sinking at the realization that he had never actually wanted you. 

“Get out.” You mutter. Your voice is low, calm. It scares him with how calm you are until you begin to yell. “Get out! Get the fuck out! I never want to see you again!”

You throw a couple of pillows at him to emphasize your point, but he doesn’t need to be told twice. 

Gojo leaves your house barefoot and shirtless. He walks across the street and crawls into his bed, and he doesn’t leave it for weeks. 

…

Summer without Gojo Satoru is days that feel like months. It’s long hours at the diner while you watch the door just in case he happens to walk in. He never does. It’s tears on the bathroom floor when you find one of his shirts in your hamper. It’s hours of the same song over and over again while you stare up at your bedroom ceiling. It’s your friends, and his friends, calling you multiple times in a row to ask you the same question. It’s Utahime telling you in passing that she told you so. It’s days spent in front of your window, staring across the street and wondering if he feels the same. He does.

No matter how many times your friends tell the two of you how upset you are, how absolutely inconsolable the two of you are without each other, there’s no pushing it. It has to be your choice. You have to want to see each other, want to apologize, want to finally figure out what’s going to happen when he leaves. 

And for weeks, neither of you want that. 

That is until you see the light in Satoru’s room turn on for the first time in weeks. And something inside of you clicks. 

You pull on a pair of sweats, and one of his old hoodies that you kept. You slip your feet into a pair of sneakers, and you make your way to your front door. You don’t know that across the street, Satoru is doing the same. He’s changing out of the pajamas he’s been wearing for days and making his way out of Geto’s house all because he’s tired of being scared.

You’re both surprised to see each other, both stood at the end of the driveway of your respective houses. You look him up and down, annoyed that he can still look so good in so much pain. He looks at you, and all he can think is how much he’s missed you. The two of you walk towards each other, meeting in the middle of the street. 

You don’t look at him, tears already building in your eyes as you look down at your shoes. He says your name, his voice caught in his throat as he does. You take a deep breath before finally meeting his eyes, the blue bright and glassy with tears. You don’t say anything, but you take a step closer. 

Gojo reaches out, taking your hand in his and interlocking your fingers. “I’m sorry.”

His voice is barely above a whisper as he speaks. He’s afraid that if he speaks any louder, he’ll break down. You shake your head, a tear falling from your eye as you cup his face in your hand.

“Me too.” You nod, “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I was so scared.”

“You were scared? I was scared.” He tells you. “You make me go all stupid. I feel like I’m melting when I stand next to you. I’ve never–fuck–I’ve never felt that before. Ever.”

“Why didn’t you–why couldn’t you just say that?” You ask. But he couldn’t. Admitting that you were a weakness to him is like ripping his heart out of his chest, placing it in your hands and hoping that you don’t crush it in between your fingers. 

“I’m saying it now.” He shrugs. You figure that it’s your turn to confess something, so you speak up. 

“I don’t want you to leave.” You say. “It’s selfish of me, and I shouldn’t even tell you that, but that’s how I feel.”

He sighs, “I don’t want to leave either.”

“So where does that leave us?” You question. He looks at you, an unreadable expression on his face. He wraps his arms around you, and pulls you into him. You bury your face in his chest and let out a deep breath, feeling relaxed in his arms. 

“I don’t know.” He says. 

🏷 @kinjuutsu @gojobunny @lady-lauren @peachyuuji @cellophanes-princess @levylovegood @nightparades

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x female reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

We’ll bet on forever but we both know the spread | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

“Hey, look at me.” He takes your chin in between his fingers to keep your eyes on him, “You can’t–don’t do that again, alright? I don’t know what I would do if you–”

He pauses, feeling himself choked up over the thought of losing you. It’s only been a couple of months, but you’ve become like a lifeline to him. He couldn’t live without you. He wouldn’t.

“If I?” You question, mostly because you want to hear him say it. You want him to tell you that he needs you, because no one ever has before, because you need him too.

“If you left me.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper.

You rest your forehead against his, “I’ll never leave you, baby. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Notes: this is the first chapter to my new series I’ve been working on! It’s heavily inspired by the lovers on the run trope and films like True Romance and Natural Born Killers. This first chapter isn’t all that heavy, but future chapters will include more graphic scenes than this one does. So please read the warnings before reading!! (Title from runnin’ outta luck by alex cameron) playlist for the series here!

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, f!reader, dark content, explicit content, unprotected sex, sex in a field:/, codependent relationships, physical abuse, violence, guns, blood, murder, someone is shot but it’s not described (not reader or Dabi)

Words: 7.7k

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt. 3

You’d never seen anyone love anything the way your dad loved his car. A 1970’s Dodge Challenger RT convertible, his prized possession, his pride and joy, not even second to you, his own daughter. You always thought it was stupid, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t grateful for your dad’s unhealthy obsession. After all, it led you to him. 

It’s hot outside, but your dad still insists he drives with the top down, even though there’s sweat above your lip and your hair is a mess by the time you make it to the auto shop. He’s out of the car before you even get a chance to fix all of the things the wind messed up, locks the car so you have to awkwardly jump over the door. You walk behind him like you always do, like you’re supposed to, and when he enters the auto shop, he doesn’t hold the door open for you. 

You zone out for most of the conversation between your father and the man at the front of the shop, opting to look around the inside of the tiny office and down at your shoes, clicking your heels back and forth out of boredom. You hear your dad say something about an oil change, but you pay no attention after that, their words becoming a mess of background gibberish as you look around you. You turn your head, noticing the large glass window that peeks into the garage, lines of cars with men working under the hoods, hands stained with grease, and hair matted to their foreheads. 

Your eyes find him immediately, the man covered in messy tattoos over scars, hair inky black except for the hints of white that show at his roots. He has piercings in his ears and snakebites, studs underneath his bottom lip. He’s already looking at you when your eyes meet, a charming smirk gracing his lips as he looks you up and down. You watch him raise a hand and wave with greasy fingers. You turn and look away, feeling flustered at the attention. Your dad calls for you, already walking out the door. You take one last look at the man in the garage and then follow your dad outside.

Your steps are slow as you leave, getting lost in your thoughts, so you don’t hear him call for you, instead feeling the way his fingers wrap around your arm and pull you away harshly. You wrench your arm out of his hands and rub over the marks he’s left, turning back around to see the man gazing in your direction. You’re a little embarrassed, unhappy that he saw how your dad grabbed you without a second thought. You don’t like anyone knowing about how he treats you, and neither does he. 

You walk with him to the diner down the street, never speaking unless spoken to, and only thinking of the pretty tattooed man from the garage. You slide into the booth, you order your food, and you eat all while thinking of him. He was too far to see the name stitched into the right side of his shirt, but you think it might start with a ‘D’. Thinking back to him, you wonder about the scars that litter his arms and face, the tissue lightened and pink, which lets you know they’re years old. His tattoos are messy, none coherent or making sense in relation to one another. He’s intriguing and he’s gorgeous, and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted anything more in your entire life. 

At the shop, Dabi thinks about you, too, trailing behind your old man, hands behind your back, and curious eyes darting around the office. He liked your hair. He liked your legs. And he liked that cute little skirt you were wearing. When you looked up at him, Dabi felt the air get knocked out of him, opting to cover his surprise with a smirk and a wave, hoping you couldn’t see his heart beating out of his chest. He stood at the entrance of the garage, watching you walk down the street behind your dad. When he saw him grab you with white knuckles, Dabi thought he’d take you far away from here someday. 

The oil change takes no time, and it’s done by the time you and your dad get back. He tells you to wait by the car while he goes into the office, and you watch Dabi from where you lean on the hood. He glances at you twice before he strolls over to you, a rag tossed over his shoulder to wipe his hands with. 

“This your car, sweetheart?” He asks you as he walks. He comes to stand in front of you, tall and lanky as he towers over you. You shake your head at him and try to calm the beating of your heart.

“It’s my dad’s.” You tell him, though you wish you could say it was yours since he seems to be so interested. His eyes flicker to the car behind you before resting on you once more, brilliant baby blues that make you feel a little lost. 

“Shame.” He shrugs, leaning over to knock on the hood once. He leans back and grins, “Suits you real well.”

“You think so?” You question, looking at the car and then down at your shoes.

“Pretty thing like you? Oh yeah.” He flirts, and your breath gets caught in your throat. You look up at him, a satisfied smile on his lips as you struggle with what to say next. 

“Shut up.” You speak because you don’t really have anything to say to that. You’ve never been any good with compliments, but it wasn’t like you got them regularly anyway. You smile at the ground, unable to hide your delight with his comment. 

“I’m Dabi.” He says, holding a greasy hand out for you to shake. Your eyes fall onto the darkness covering his fingers before looking back up at him. You don’t want to be rude, and if he had left his hand out for a moment longer, you’re sure you would have shaken it, oil and all. He notices right away, rubbing his hand down the front of his work shirt even though he has a towel hanging over his shoulder. He holds it out again, grease lingers under his nails and in between his fingers, but you shake his hand anyway. You tell him your name. 

“Do you like movies?” He asks you, though you aren’t sure why he brings it up out of nowhere. 

“Sure, who doesn’t like movies?” 

“Lots of people, I’m sure.” He shrugs, then he grins, a glint of something you can't place in his eye, “How about scary movies?”

“I love scary movies!” It’s almost embarrassing how you light up at the mention of them, but Dabi thinks it’s cute. 

“Yeah?” He asks, and you nod excitedly. It takes everything in him not to reach a hand out and pinch your cheek between two fingers, but he refrains, “You ever go to the theater downtown? The one that plays those old black and white movies?”

“No, never.” You shake your head. You didn’t even know there was a theater that played black and white movies in your small town. It made you feel a little self-conscious, kind of uncool. 

“You wanna go with me?” He questions. You can’t see it, but Dabi is nervous. His palms are sweaty, and he’s sure that if you listened close enough you could hear how rapidly his heart was beating. 

“What, like a date?” Your eyes are wide, surprised that he was even asking you. You hadn’t been asked out since high school, and you weren’t sure why a man like him was asking you out.

“Yeah, babydoll. Like a date.” He grins. The pet name makes you wring your hands in front of you and look at the ground. Dabi takes note of the way it flusters you and pushes it to the back of his mind for later. 

“Okay. Sure.” You nod at him, giving him a pretty smile. You dig your way through the bag on your shoulder, pulling out a pen and taking his hand in yours. It’s your turn to be confident, so you hold his forearm in your hand and write your phone number with large strokes over his skin. 

Your dad walks out of the shop’s door as you finish writing your number down. Your pen is in your bag, and Dabi’s arm is behind his back before your dad can see. He walks in angry steps, muttering something about overcharging as he walks to the driver’s seat. 

“Fine car you got here, sir.” Dabi tells him, but he isn’t looking at the car. Your dad glances up at him, eyebrows furrowed as he looks him up and down. 

“Yeah, I know.” He responds gruffly, ducking into the car. Dabi opens the door for you and winks, mouthing I’ll call you as he closes the door for you. Your father speeds off without a word, and the only way to describe how you feel as Dabi gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror is: hungry.

…

The doorbell rings as you examine yourself in your full-length mirror. You’d been agonizing for hours about what to wear, how to do your makeup, how you’d style your hair. Your room was a mess of clothing, trying on outfit after outfit until you were satisfied. You’re wearing your prettiest dress and your favorite shoes, and no lipstick, just in case he decides to kiss you. You tiptoe down the hall, careful not to wake your father who’s passed out on the couch with a beer in his hand. It wasn’t that you weren’t allowed to go out, you were a grown woman after all, but you just didn’t want to deal with the drunken questions he’d bother Dabi with. And you figured your father wouldn’t like him anyway.

When you open the door, Dabi stands there clad in a worn leather jacket and an old t-shirt with the logo of a band you don’t recognize. His collarbones peek out from underneath his shirt, and you push away all thoughts of running your lips along them. You hear him whistle, breaking you from your trance, and your eyes find his. 

“Wow.” He breathes, “Look at you.”

You look down at the ground, bashful. You’re still unsure how to take his compliments, but you know they make you feel nice. You spot a handful of white daisies in his right hand, and you point at them before speaking. 

“Are those for me?” You ask him. He brings them up between the two of you, and you notice how the roots are still attached. You giggle, taking them from his hands.

“Yeah.” He nods, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Did you steal these from someone’s lawn?” You ask, running your fingers over the dirt-clotted roots. 

“What? ‘Course not.” He scoffs, looking anywhere but your eyes. You tell him to wait while you run to your room to put the flowers up. In the time that you’re gone, Dabi surveys the inside of your house. He doesn’t do much but peek his head in the door and look around, but it’s enough for him to spot your deadbeat father passed out on the couch. He rolls his eyes, scoffing at the man, feeling the anger bubble up in his chest over how he grabbed you the other day. 

When you return from your room, Dabi takes your hand in his and intertwines your fingers. You lock the door behind you, and he leads you away from your house, letting you know that you’d be walking to the theater. He tells you he’s fixing up a ‘73 mustang, and once he gets it working he’ll take you for a ride. But for now, you have to walk. 

“So…” You trail off, hoping to prompt Dabi to speak, or maybe jumpstart your own brain into thinking of something to ask him. He turns to look down at you, signature smirk pulling at his lips.

“So?” He questions, clearly not letting you get out of starting the conversation. You hoped that maybe he’d talk first, ask you a question or tell you about his day, but he doesn’t. You roll your eyes and nudge him with your arm.

“Tell me about yourself.” You ask him. Then, pondering for a moment about what to ask him, you speak, “What’s your family like?”

“My family?” He scoffs, amused by your question, “You want to know about my family?”

“Sure, what’s wrong with that!” You defend. He chuckles lowly before answering. 

“No mom. No dad. Don’t talk to my siblings.” He tells you, shrugging his shoulders, “That stuff doesn’t matter anyway.”

“Sorry.” You say, upset that you asked him. Your date had just started and you just ruined everything. You didn’t want to bring up any old wounds. You just wanted to get to know him. Family was a normal thing to ask about on a date, right? Feeling self-conscious, you apologize again. “I didn’t know.”

“No way you could’ve, babydoll.” He tells you, pulling you closer to him. He takes your other hand in his, holding them both by his side. With your fingers intertwined on either side of you, you force yourself to look up at him. “S’not your fault.”

“But I–” You begin, but he cuts you off, taking your cheeks in between his fingers in one hand.

“But nothin’.” He says, voice firm but not mean. He releases your face and then places a soft kiss to your forehead before slinging an arm over your shoulders and continuing to lead you to the theater. The sun sets overhead as the two of you walk. You reach up to intertwine your finger with the ring-clad hand that’s been thrown over your shoulder. 

“Okay, maybe I shouldn’t ask the questions anymore.” You let out a nervous giggle. “Your turn.”

“My turn?” He asks, placing an exaggerated hand on his chest. “My turn. Okay.”

His questions are significantly better than yours. Dabi knows what he’s talking about. He gives off an air of effortlessness that you find yourself envying as you talk to him. He asks about your interests, about your dreams. He asks you about where you’re from, asks you how old you are, what you’re doing stuck in a small town like this. You tell him that your dad keeps you here, that he’s controlling, won’t let you get a job or make any of your own money, and you don’t want to argue with him. You don’t tell him all of the details. 

Dabi is interesting, cool. He’s from some big city miles and miles away from your small town, left home when he was sixteen all on his own. He told you that he met a good friend when he first left, a kid around his age with ivory hair and chronically dry skin. Tomura Shigaraki was a rich kid with too much money and a father he hated (a little like Dabi himself, though he doesn’t tell you that). He tells you how he met Tomura while he was getting picked on and kicked their asses for him. He had no choice but to repay him with a place to stay, though if you asked Tomura about it, his story would sound drastically different. 

Dabi left Tomura when he turned eighteen. He’d gotten messed up in some bad shit with some bad people a few towns over, and he met a man who’d saved his life. He told you that he was bleeding out in an alley when Jin found him, took him inside, and nursed him back to health. He didn’t stay with him long, but Dabi had always felt indebted to him. 

Next was Giran, an older man who taught him everything he knew about cars. He lived in the town over, the one with actual chain restaurants and more than one department store. Giran took Dabi in, treated him like the son he never had. Dabi smoked his first cigarette with Giran, got his first tattoo with him, fixed up his first car with him. 

“And what happened?” You ask him. You wonder why he’d leave such good men behind, why he wouldn’t stay somewhere he’d always have someone looking out for him. 

“I’m not meant to stay in one place.” He shrugs. “Gotta keep moving. You understand it, right?”

“What do you mean?” You question. 

“Well, do you wanna live here your whole life?” He asks you. You shake your head immediately. Stay there, holed up in your father’s shitty house, taking care of him until he dies of alcohol poisoning? No, you couldn’t live here your whole life. 

“Course not.” You tell him. Dabi pulls you closer to him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“See? You’re like me.” He nods, “I’ll get you outta here one day.”

“You will?” You look up at him, pausing your steps. It was a big promise for a man you’d just met. You thought it was a little presumptuous of him to assume you’d leave with him one day, but then again, you probably would. You’d leave with him right now if he asked. 

“Sure. I’ll take you with me next time I go.” He says. You think about it for a moment. You should say no. You shouldn’t agree to something like that to a man you don’t know, no matter how charming he seems to be. 

“How long have you been here?” You ask. 

“Not long. Might have to wait a while.” He tells you. “S’that okay?”

You don’t say anything yet, thinking it over in your head. You could wait, you think. It would give you more time with him, more time to get to know him, make sure he’s not a murderer or something awful. You look up at him, his eyes hopeful as he awaits your answer. 

“That’s okay.” You agree. He grins, wide and joyful, petting over your head once before leaning down and placing a messy kiss to your cheek. He takes your hand in his once more, and the two of you walk to the theater. 

Dabi buys your ticket, buys you popcorn and candy, shares a large cherry vanilla coke with you. Some gory thing plays on the silver screen, something about the resurrection of a goddess, something from the ’60s that you’ve never seen. You can’t focus on it much, anyway, not when Dabi’s pulling your legs over his lap and resting his hand on your thigh, high enough to ride your skirt up a little. You think he might try something. You’re the only two in the theater besides the man falling asleep in the back, so he could easily slide his hand up even further if he wanted to. You wouldn’t even have to be that quiet. But he never does. He just keeps his hand there, enjoying how it makes you squirm, how you press your thighs together and shift your body as if he can’t tell he’s got you all worked up. 

When the movie ends, Dabi leads you out of the theater, one arm over your shoulder. It’s dark outside, past midnight, and there’s virtually no one on the streets. 

“Were you scared?” He asks you, pulling you closer to him. 

“Scared?” You scoff, “Don’t insult me.”

“You were scared.” He teases. He leans down to speak in your ear, close enough that his lips drag along it as he does, “You were practically trembling in my lap.”

“I–I wasn’t!” You protest, pushing him away and walking further ahead. You hear him bark out a laugh from behind you, his boots heavy on the pavement as he jogs after you. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, his head buried in your neck.

“M'just teasing, baby.” He says, kissing your shoulder. You’re surprised by how comfortable he is touching you like this. You’re surprised by how comfortable you are, how much you like it, how much you hate when he’s not wrapped around you like this. 

He spins you around in his arms, the two of you standing in the middle of the street where you ran off to after his teasing. His face is illuminated by the streetlight, his snakebites catching the light. His hands move from your waist to your face, one hand cupping your jaw as the other rests at the back of your neck. 

“You’re being mean.” You pout. His thumb runs over your cheek. He moves his other hand from your neck up to your face, bringing his thumb between your eyebrows and smoothing the crease of your frown. He snakes both of his arms around your waist and rests his forehead against yours. 

“M’not mean.” He chuckles, “Just messing with you.”

But you don’t care anymore, not about the teasing. Dabi’s all around you, and he’s so close, and all you can think about is what his lips would feel like against yours. Something tells you he’s thinking the same. He nudges his nose against yours and you let out a shaky breath. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispers, hot breath fanning against your lips. You swallow thickly. 

“I might be bad at it.” You whisper. You hadn’t been with anyone since high school, and even that relationship lasted a few weeks at most. You weren’t all that experienced, and you wanted to be good for Dabi. 

“You’ve never kissed anyone?” He asks. He tries to hide the surprise in his voice, but you can still tell he’s taken back. 

“It’s just…been a while.” You tell him, pulling your face away from him as you do. He brings one hand up to rest underneath your chin, bringing you closer once more. 

“I won’t care if you’re bad.” He shakes his head at you. 

“Well–um–you can kiss me then.” You say. He pulls your face closer to his, his hand careful underneath your jaw as your lips meet. He’s gentle with you, moving his lips over yours as he eases you into the kiss, making it easy for you to keep up with his movements. It’s sweet for a first kiss, and when he pulls away he kisses your cheek and your jaw as giggles bubble from your lips. 

“Was I any good?” You ask, a little insecure. 

“Dunno, maybe we should try again.” He speaks before capturing your lips again. He kisses you deeper this time, his tongue slips into your mouth, gliding against your own. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. Your hands grip the collar of his jacket, pulling him even closer to you. You kiss him until your lungs burn, until your lips are swollen and your knees are weak.

“Think you need some more practice.” He mutters against your lips before kissing you again. His hands are all over you, around your waist and in your hair. You rest your hands at his hips, underneath his shirt, earning a groan from Dabi. 

He pulls away, stopping himself before he can take things any further. As he walks you home, the two of you steal kisses from each other on the street. You’re a mess of swollen lips and ruffled clothes, hearts beating out of your chest and breaths heavy as you make it to your front porch. He kisses you against your door, lips hungry against yours like he might never kiss you again. 

“Can I see you again?” He asks, pulling away from you. You bring him down for another kiss, smiling against him.

“God, yes.” You tell him, throwing your pride out the window. You know you should play hard to get, make him beg for you, keep him on his toes, but you can’t. 

“When?” He questions, soft lips dancing down your jaw. 

“Whenever you want.” You tell him, kissing him one last time, before opening your front door and slipping inside. 

...

He asks you to be his girl the very next day when you visit him at the garage. You accept excitedly, jumping into his arms on your porch. The next couple of weeks are a blur, spending almost every day together. He takes you out for pancakes in the middle of the night at the twenty-four-hour diner in town. He takes you on more movie dates where he impresses you with all the things he knows about them. You visit him at work where he lures you into secret makeouts in the back seat of someone else’s car. You don’t know how he manages to make your small-town life feel exciting, but he does. 

You’re happy with him, and for a moment you think that nothing could ruin it for you, but there’s always something that manages to get in the way in the form of your father. 

Your dad didn’t take the news very well, came home storming into your bedroom, pulling you up from your bed with an iron grip on your arm. One of the guys at the bar had told him about you and Dabi, how he’d seen the two of you running around town together. Your father had never been a good man. He’d always resented you and your mom, claiming that the two of you had ruined his life, as if it was ever going anywhere but the living room couch. But she had left you behind, left you to fend for yourself against a man who hated you, a man you had to learn to live with. 

To say that he was angry was an understatement. You had never been called so many awful names in your life, all because you had a boyfriend. By the time he was done hurling insults at you and digging his fingers into your shoulders as he yelled, he made you promise not to see Dabi again. 

You let all of his calls go to voicemail, unprepared to tell him about what happened, and you didn’t want to risk your father finding out. Because you could handle him angry, but you didn’t want to see what he would do if you disobeyed.

But Dabi is nothing if not persistent, and he shows up that night with a soft knock on your window. Your eyes widen at the sight of him on the other side of the glass. You get up from your bed and open the window, watching how he stealthily climbs through without making a sound. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, moving behind him to close the door. 

“I’m–you didn’t answer my calls. I was fucking worried!” He bellows, and you rush towards him to cover his mouth with your hand. You shush him, pushing him by the shoulders to your bed, leaving him there and listening through your bedroom door to make sure your dad hadn’t heard. “Did I–did I do something?”

His voice sounds so defeated when he says it, and you feel your heart shatter at the sound. You’re in front of him in an instant, holding his face in your hands as you look down at him. Though Dabi tried to look mean, harsh edges, leather and tattoos, there was something soft on the inside, something warm, almost delicate, something he had only ever shown to you. Usually, seeing him vulnerable made you feel special, but now Dabi was broken underneath you and it was all your fault.

“I’m sorry.” You tell him, choking on the words. You shake your head, tears welling up in your eyes, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t–it wasn’t because of you. My dad was so angry, and I just couldn’t see you. Not yet.”

“Your dad? He found out?” He asks. He lets out a relieved sigh before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you down to straddle his lap. You nod at him, apologizing once more. “Don’t, baby. You didn’t–it wasn’t your fault.”

“I knew you’d be mad and I didn’t–” You try to explain, but he shushes you. He shakes his head and wraps his arms tighter around your waist. 

“M’not mad at you, though.” He tells you, placing a kiss to your lips once. “That bastard on the other hand.” 

“It’s okay. It’s fine. He just needs to calm down, has to get used to it.” You explain. You can tell he’s getting angry, but he’s holding back for you. 

Dabi is angry. There’s nothing he’d like to do more than walk down the hall to your father’s bedroom and bash his brains in. But he wouldn’t do that, not unless you asked him to. 

“Hey, look at me.” He takes your chin in between his fingers to keep your eyes on him, “You can’t–don’t do that again, alright? I don’t know what I would do if you–”

He pauses, feeling himself choked up over the thought of losing you. It’s only been a couple of months, but you’ve become like a lifeline to him. He couldn’t live without you. He wouldn’t. 

“If I?” You question, mostly because you want to hear him say it. You want him to tell you that he needs you, because no one ever has before, because you need him too. 

“If you left me.” He says, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You rest your forehead against his, “I’ll never leave you, baby. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Hey.” He whispers, cupping your cheeks in his hands, “Let’s go somewhere, yeah? I’ll take you out on a midnight date. There’s a car at the garage that had to stay overnight. We can go anywhere you want.”

You know it’s probably a bad idea, leaving in the middle of the night, unsure if your dad would check on you at some point and find your bedroom empty. But you don’t care. You had spent the first day in months without Dabi, and you couldn’t think of one thing that would be worse than having to go through it again. So when Dabi holds a hand out for you and helps you climb through your window, you take it. 

The walk to the garage is short and silent, the two of you happy to be near each other again. You wrap yourself around one of his arms and intertwine your fingers, not letting go once the whole time. When you make it to the garage, Dabi steals the keys off the hook in the office and drives the car out of the dirt parking lot. He stops at his place, where you wait in the car, exiting with a blanket, a bottle of wine, and a couple of boxes of fireworks. It wasn’t the first time Dabi had taken you out to light fireworks with him, even though he told you they were the entire reason that he had scars running over his body. It had always made you nervous, watching him light the explosives, how careless he was with them, how close he’d stand. But he was mesmerized by the fire, by the sparks that shot out, all done by his own hand. There was something beautiful about the way Dabi looked while watching fire, the crazed look in his eyes, how the light hit his cheekbones. You don’t think you could stop him if you tried. 

He drives you out to an empty field a few miles outside of town. You watch him from the car as he lays the blanket on the floor. Thinking back to your father, your hand wraps around the neck of the wine bottle that sits in the center console. Uncorking the half-empty wine bottle, you bring it to your lips and drink as if it were water. Dabi spots you from where he stands next to the blanket. He chuckles, rushing towards you and pulling the bottle from you. He watches a drip of crimson fall from your lips, reaching out to wipe it away. 

“Slow down, babydoll.” He tells you, patting the top of your head. You look up at him, watching how he drinks from the bottle, his head thrown back as he gulps. You crack a smile as he finishes, pulling away from the drink with a harsh shake of his head. He winks at you, “Gotta catch up.”

“Dabi.” You call to him as he moves to the back of the car, pulling boxes of fireworks out of the back seat. 

“Yeah, baby?” He asks, walking to the blanket with arms full of fireworks as he looks back at you, your legs hanging out of the car, sitting in the driver's seat.

“I love you.” You see him stumble, trip over his big black boots in the dirt at your words. He turns around fully, dropping the boxes in his arms and walking towards you. He drops to his knees in front of you, hands on your thighs as he searches your eyes for anything that tells him you don’t mean it. 

“Yeah?” He asks. You nod, a shaky breath escaping you, as a wide smile stretches across his face. He kisses you, lips rough against your own, pulling back once, twice, before speaking.

“I love you, too.” He says against your lips, kissing you again. “Love you s’much. You have no fuckin’ idea.”

You giggle as his arms wrap around you, pulling you from the car. You wrap your arms around his neck as he walks backward with you, kissing you as he does. He lets you down on the blanket, the fireworks and stargazing completely forgotten as his lips move against yours and his hands roam your body. 

You push his jacket from his shoulders, discarding it to the side in the dirt. Running your hands over his stomach underneath his shirt, Dabi pulls away from you, breath trembling at the feeling of your cold hands against his hot skin. You smile, pushing his shirt up and over his head. He kisses you again then drags his lips down your jaw, licks a long stripe up your neck that has you gasping in surprise.

He thumbs the bottom of your shirt, “Can I take this off?”

You nod and allow him to pull it over your head. He leans forward, placing hot open-mouthed kisses down your neck and over your breasts. His hand reaches behind you, unhooking your bra and tossing it to the side. He wraps his lips around one of your nipples, pinching the other between two fingers. 

Arching your back at the sensation, you let out a moan, tugging on his hair as you buck your hips up into his. You can feel him against your inner thigh, and you reach down between the two of you to palm him through his jeans. 

“I want–want–” You begin to say, but Dabi’s lips cut you off. His tongue swirls in your mouth as he grinds against your hand. 

“Want what, baby?” He coos, sucking a hickey into the side of your neck.

“Want you inside.” You whimper, resting your hand against your lower stomach. “Want your cock.”

He shushes you, kissing from your breast to your jaw, soft lips tickling your skin. “Not yet, princess. Wanna taste you first.”

He leans down to kiss you once more, thumbing the button of your shorts, before pulling away to look at you. You nod at him, urging him to continue. He kisses the tops of your breasts and the valley between them, kisses down your stomach. You lift your hips to allow him to pull your shorts down along with your underwear. He kisses each side of your hips, lowering himself to eye your sex. When he doesn’t move, you whine. 

“D–don’t stare.” You complain, cupping his face to bring his attention back to you. He grins, kissing the inside of your thighs. 

“Sorry, baby, you’re just so pretty.” He places another kiss to your other thigh, “Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen. And it’s all mine, right babydoll?”

“Mhm.” You nod at him, wiggling your hips as you become impatient. “All yours.”

Leaning forward, he licks a long stripe from your entrance to your clit. He starts slow, licking over your clit before wrapping his lips around it, sucking softly on the bud. You whine out in pleasure, running your fingers through his hair. As you tug on him, his movements become more frantic, his tongue licking up and down, moving in circles over your clit. 

He pulls little whines from your throat as he licks and sucks your pussy, tightening the coil inside of you with every swipe of his tongue. He brings his hand between your legs, spreading your lips as he fucks his tongue in and out of you. 

“D-Dabi!” You cry out, grinding against his face and pulling at the locks of hair at the top of his head, “I’m—”

“You close, baby?” He questions, stroking you with two fingers before sliding them inside. You gasp, arching your back at the intrusion. You nod your head at him, a moan escaping your lips. He bites the inside of your thigh before speaking. “I asked you a question, beautiful.” 

“Yes!” You cry, moving your hips as Dabi moves his fingers in and out of you, hitting inside of you just right. “God! Gonna—gonna come!” 

“Yeah?” He leans back down, licking over your clit as he fucks his fingers into you. You gasp.

“Uh huh. Wanna come for you!” You whine. You move against his face, chasing the pleasure. When he wraps his lips around your clit, moving his head back and forth, you cry out, cumming on his tongue. 

His face is a mess of your juices when he rises from between your thighs, and he pulls you up to kiss him. You can taste yourself on his tongue, on his lips and his teeth. He growls into your mouth, unbuckling his belt and pulling his pants down his legs. Moving forward, you push him down onto the blanket, straddling him, your thighs shaking from the mess he’s made between your legs.

“Let me.” You command, stroking him up and down. You grind over him, coating him in your slick and earning a groan from his lips. 

“Please, baby.” He begs, gripping your hips and leaving indents in the flesh there. “Need to fuck you, baby, please.” 

You finally sink down on him, taking him all in one go. The stretch is almost too much, almost uncomfortable, but you like how he fills you, how deep he reaches, how he feels against your walls. Dabi breathes heavily below you, trying not to thrust up into you to allow you to adjust to his size. You lean down to kiss him, sucking on his bottom lip as you grind up and down slowly. 

Dabi’s hands squeeze your hips, forcing you to move over him faster as your tongue licks into his mouth. You pull away from the kiss, moving so you can bounce yourself up and down his length. Leaning back, hands on his ankles for support, you let him thrust up into you.

“D-deep! So deep!” You cry, moving your hips against his. His hands move from your hips to your thighs, gripping them in his hands as he cries out your name. 

“Yeah? Like that?” He pants, thrusting his hips faster and faster. He’s so deep inside of you, hitting the same spot inside of you over and over again as you writhe in pleasure. “So gorgeous. So fucking pretty on top of me like this.” 

He brings a hand from your thigh to your pussy, moving his fingers over your clit. You throw your head back, eyes rolling back in pleasure. Leaning forward, placing your hands on his chest, you grind your hips over him. 

“I’m–ahhh–I’m close!” You whine, bouncing up and down to meet his thrusts. Sharp nails scratch at his chest, leaving stripes of long red marks on his skin. “Wanna come for you!” 

He hisses at the pain and takes your wrists in his hands, moving your arms so they’re behind your back. Holding you close, he moves his hips in quick thrusts up into you. “Tell me–tell me you love me! Tell me you’re mine.”

“Yours!” You cry out, grinding down on him, “All yours, Dabi. L-love you! I love you!”

“Fuck!” He lets go of your arms, gripping your hips once again, “Yeah, you do, baby. Love you!”

You let out a moan, but Dabi silences it with his lips. His fingers dig into the flesh at your hips, your stomach, your thighs. It feels like he might tear you apart, and you feel like you might let him.

“Come for me, beautiful!” He commands, feeling his own orgasm fastly approaching. He swipes his fingers over your clit in quick circles, groaning at the way your cunt clenches around him. “Come on my cock.”

“Want you—want you to come with me, Dabi!” You tell him, leaning forward and capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. His arms wrap around your waist, keeping you close to him as he thrusts up into you, your clit rubbing over his pelvis as he moves. His thrusts become sloppier as he approaches his orgasm, crying out your name as he fills you. You follow soon after, riding out your high as you bury your face in his shoulder, biting down and leaving a mark on the side of his neck. He lets out a groan at the pain, pulling you back by your hair and kissing you. 

“I love you.” He tells you, still catching his breath. He kisses you again, not caring how his lungs ache from the lack of air. He moves to lay you on your back, pulling out of you but staying close. 

“Love you.” Your murmur against his lips. He moves his lips against yours lazily, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip, taking it in between his teeth. 

“We should—” He places another kiss to your lips, “we should leave. Let’s leave tomorrow, first thing.” 

You pull away, placing your hands on his shoulders and searching his eyes. He feels insecure as soon as he says it, fear builds in the pit of his stomach as he awaits your answer. He had never felt this way about anyone before. He’d never wanted anyone like this. You consumed his every thought. In just a few weeks, you had become the center of Dabi’s world. It scared him how much you mattered to him, how you’d nestled yourself between his ribs, how you’d made yourself comfortable inside of his heart.

“You want to?” You ask him, nudging your nose against his. He nods with a smile, kissing you again. 

“I’d go right now if you asked.” He whispers, cupping your face and running his thumb over your cheek. You giggle. 

“Gotta pack some stuff.” You tell him, placing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “We’ll go in the morning.” 

He rests his lips against your forehead, nodding his head, “In the morning.” 

…

He gets a call from you hours after he drops you off. It’s well into the early hours of the morning, soft blue light pours through his bedroom window, the sun still hidden when he picks up the phone. You’re sobbing over the other line, babbling incoherently about something he doesn’t understand. All he knows is that he can hear pure pain in your voice, choked up as tears fall down your face. And when you utter the words he hit me, Dabi sees red. 

You sit on your front porch, your suitcase packed beside you as tears well up in your eyes. On the phone, you were told to stay, that he’d come to get you as soon as he could. He’s there in under ten minutes, which was fast for him being on foot. He’s panting and out of breath when he gets to you, dropping to his knees in front of you and cupping your face gently in his hands. 

He runs his thumb over the swelling that covers your eye and cheekbone, and you flinch, the flesh tender to the touch. He mutters an apology, petting over your head. His hands are shaking as he does, anger running through his veins. 

“Where the fuck is he?” He questions, his voice dangerous, a scary kind of calm that sends a chill down your spine. Your hands come up to wrap around his wrists, his hands still on your face. 

“He’s inside, but let’s just go!” You try to tell him, but he doesn’t listen. He rises from the ground, reaching behind his back, pulling a dark and shiny object from the waistband of his jeans. A Jericho 941 R weighs heavy in his hands, and your eyes widen at the sight. “What are you–what are you gonna do?”

It’s a stupid question, and you know that. You know exactly what he’s going to do. If the gun isn’t enough indication, the pure rage that comes off of him in waves tells you all that you need to know. He looks at you, bending down to your height once again, bringing a hand to your chin to keep your face steady. He studies you, looking for any ounce of protest in your eyes at what he’s about to do, but he finds nothing. There’s a glint of excitement in your eyes, something he’s sure you yourself aren't even aware of. 

“Gonna go paint a wall with your daddy’s brains, sweetheart.” He tells you, placing a soft kiss to your forehead before walking through your front door. 

You know you should probably do something to stop him. You should probably run after him, scream at him, drag him from the house, anything. But you can’t, and quite frankly you don’t want to. You’d suffered for years at the hands of your father. And as far as you were concerned, Dabi was doing you a favor, loving you with his gun, and doing it all for you with a smile.

When you hear a gunshot sound from behind the walls of your house, a weight is lifted off of your shoulders. You know it’s wrong to feel so relieved after such violence, but you can’t help but feel comforted by the raucous sound. And when Dabi exits your house with blood spattered across his face and neck, twirling your dad’s keys around his finger, you think he looks kind of cool. So cool. He holds a bloodied hand out to you, and you take it. 

You take it, and you don’t look back.

Series taglist here

#Dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #ghost.writes #ghost.fic #tw.dark content

[ghostbeam]

must be like the genesis of rhythm | Satoru Gojo

That’s when he sees it, the crack in your resolve, the flicker of truth in your eyes. That’s what you thought? That he liked you because you didn’t like him back? No, you liked him back. He knew you liked him back.

Gojo liked you because you were powerful, one of the most powerful sorcerers he’d ever met. He liked you because you didn’t take his shit, because you always had a comeback. You kept him on his toes when no one but Suguru was able to. You’re gorgeous, and you're funny, and–does he more than like you?

Notes: the Gojo brainrot is SO real rn. Cant stop thinking about this bastard of a man. I wrote this pretty quickly, but I hope it’s still good!! Thanks for reading!! Hope u enjoy<3 (title from hot knife by Fiona apple)

Warning: 18+, minors dni, unprotected sex, degradation, dacryphilia, breeding, gojo is pretty rough with u, he spanks you once

Words: 3.9k

He calls you princess as a joke because you’re anything but. You’re all hard edges and loud words. You’ve never been the kind of girl that’s rewarded with such a sickeningly sweet pet name like princess. He likes to use others too, sweetheart, honey, angel, baby. These are your favorite, but you would sooner fall off the face of the earth than admit it to anyone. 

You don't have to say that you like them, anyways. Satoru knows you like them by the way you spin the ring around your finger and avoid his gaze as you try to hide the unconscious smile that wants to spread across your face.  

You were never supposed to mean anything to him. You were so cute when he first met you, sitting next to Shoko on the first day of his second year. You were timid when he first met you, even though you tried to hide it. You’d be a good pet, that’s all. He thinks about you a lot, how shy you were all those years ago, and wonders what changed. 

You roll your eyes when you see him, walking up behind Shoko as she entered the cafe you two were meant to be meeting at, a cafe that Satoru was not invited to. You try not to seem startled by his arrival, playing like it didn’t affect you whether he was here or not. You stood up to hug Shoko, the woman being one of your closest friends since high school. You asked her how she was and exchanged quick niceties before Satoru was pulling you away and wrapping you in an unwanted hug. 

“Been a while, princess.” He says, his cheek pressed against the top of your head. Princess. Fucking princess. It’s enough to make your blood boil and your heart flip out of your chest. You wrench yourself out of the large man’s arms, sending Shoko a look and adjusting your skirt after being manhandled by him. 

“Satoru.” You nod, clearing your throat and sitting down in the chair next to your friend.

Satoru. You act so bothered by him, but you still call him by his first name. Satoru. It sounds fucking perfect coming from your pretty little mouth. If he had any say in the matter, if he had any control over who could and couldn’t say his name, you would be the only person on the planet allowed to use it. You’ve spoiled the sound from anyone else’s lips. 

“You’re always so cold, sweetheart.” He sighs, sitting down in the chair across from you and spreading his way too long legs across his seat. He’s wearing those stupid vintage sunglasses that always made you weak, and he’s got them pushed far enough down on his nose to allow you to see the smallest hint of ivory lashes and sky blue eyes. 

“That’s how people normally tend to act towards people who weren’t invited.” You shrug, before turning your attention to Shoko. She tells you about the high school, about her work, things she’s researching. Satoru tells you about his students, about Yuuji Itadori, who you’ve been kept updated on since you were told he was Sukuna’s vessel. He orders pastries for the three of you, most of which he eats himself. Shoko asks you about what you’re up to, about your missions, your life, the things you get up to when you’re not meeting her for lunch (it’s not much, honestly). It’s small talk. It’s polite. It’s exactly what you need when you live in a cursed world, one you're tasked with protecting. 

Things are good, easy. Shoko is a good buffer between you and Satoru. He won't go any farther than your stupid little pet names in front of her. He doesn't even touch you, not once (even though you find yourself wishing he would). Things are good until Shoko is called back into work for an emergency.

Leaving the two of you alone in an almost empty cafe. 

He’s so smug about it, looking at you over his stupid shades, pretty lips curls into a smirk. He lets his eyes wander the length of your body, how your legs look in that skirt, plush thighs pressed against your chair. When his eyes leave your body and find your own, he speaks. 

“C’mon. I’ll walk you to the train station.” He tells you. You nod and let him guide you out the door, one large hand on the small of your back. You pretend it’s innocent. You’ve always tried to pretend that Satoru’s touches are innocent. A hand on your thigh, an arm over your shoulder, his knuckles on your cheek. It’s never meant anything to him, you know that. So why should it mean anything to you?

You’re halfway to the station when he speaks.

“Princess.” His voice is teasing, playful. He just wants a reaction.

“Don’t call me that.” You tell him, but there’s no real bite behind it. You’ve learned, after years of dealing with his teasing, that it’s better to act indifferent. You’re learning to beat him at his own game.

“Angel?” He tries. You shake your head, still walking towards the station. 

“That either.” 

“Sweetheart?” You like this one. You don’t tell him that, though. 

“Nope.” You cross your arms in front of you.

“Baby.” His voice is low in your ear. You don’t know when he got so close, or when his hands found your hips, but you know you don’t want him to let go. You freeze, a shiver running down your back at the pet name, and you pray that he doesn’t notice. 

“I fucking hate you.” You spit, still not pulling away from him. He chuckles behind you. 

“No, you don’t.” You sigh, shoulders slumping forward. You think it over for a moment. What was the worst that could happen? He’d laugh in your face? Tell you that he was never serious, that it was all a joke? That you were just a game to him? At least he’d leave you alone then. 

“No,” You turn around, pushing his hands off of you and looking at him. Your hands come up to pull his sunglasses from his face, and you sigh once more, “I don’t. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Well, yes.” He’s surprised. In all the years that he’s known you, you have never once told him to his face that you were interested. Sure he watched you smile and wring your hands when he came onto you, watched the way he gave you chills if he got too close, but you had never once admitted that you wanted him back. 

“Is that how I’m gonna get you off my back, ‘Toru?” You question, “Tell you I’ve wanted you since the day you walked into class with those stupid bandages around your eyes? Tell you that I like it when you call me princess? That I think you're so pretty that it hurts my eyes?”

“You–” He tries to speak, but his mouth has gone dry from your confession. You slide your hands up his chest. When did you get so close?

“That’s what everyone else thinks, right? Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, the most wanted man in the world.” He’s speechless. He’s never seen you so confident or sure of yourself, not while you weren’t exercising a curse, “But isn’t that why you like me? Cause I’m not like everyone else?”

That’s when he sees it, the crack in your resolve, the flicker of truth in your eyes. That’s what you thought? That he liked you because you didn’t like him back? No, you liked him back. He knew you liked him back.

Gojo liked you because you were powerful, one of the most powerful sorcerers he’d ever met. He liked you because you didn’t take his shit, because you always had a comeback. You kept him on his toes when no one but Suguru was able to. You’re gorgeous, and you're funny, and–does he more than like you?

“You gonna answer me, handsome?” You ask him after you watched him get lost in his head. 

“I fucking knew you wanted me.” He mutters. He’s on you in an instant, even closer than before, if that was even possible. You’ve been pulled into an alley and pushed against a brick wall, while Satoru invades your mouth with his tongue. His hips grind into yours as he places bruising kisses down your neck.

“Wait,” You breathe between moans. You want to speak. You want to tell him to stop, to talk to you, but he feels so good, “W-wait!”

“No,” He growls into your mouth, “No more waiting.”

For a brief moment, your vision turns white, and you can’t feel Satoru against you anymore. In a blink, you’re no longer outside against a wall. Your eyes adjust from the brightness, and you see the ivory-haired man in front of you, giant open windows with a view from above behind him. 

“I hate when you do that.” You tell him. He chuckles, shaking his head, before your back in his arms. You’re in his bedroom, you notice. You don’t think you’ve ever been in here before. You can’t remember if you’ve ever been to his place before.

His hands find your waist again, sneaking their way underneath your sweater as he kisses you. He backs you up until the back of your knees hit his bed. You let out a loud squeak as you fall onto the bed, Leaning back onto the bed, you watch Satoru pull his shirt over his head. It’s not fair that he’s allowed to look like that and make your otherwise logical brain shut off at the sight of his v-line. 

“Satoru.” You speak as he tugs on your sweater. You let him pull it over your head, tossing it on the floor and hovering over you, “Shouldn’t we talk? I don’t think–”

“No.” He shakes his head, wrapping your legs around him, and flipping the two of you so that you’re sitting on his lap, “No talking. I don’t want to hear your voice unless it’s to scream my name.”

Fuck it. You didn’t care anymore. You didn’t care if he kicked you out and never talked to you anymore after all this was over, you just wanted him to make you feel good. 

“Do you understand?” He asks, holding your chin to get you to focus on him. You nodded. “Use your words, baby.”

“Thought you said no talking.” He chuckles darkly, a predatory grin falling over his face.

“Aw, you wanna be a brat?” He coos, “I don’t think you have it in you. You couldn’t handle it.”

“No?” You want to challenge him, but you wonder if he’s right. 

“No. You’re a good girl. You’re my good girl.” He tells you, hands running up your sides, and you whimper at his words, “See? You can’t even handle a bit of praise. Not an ounce of brat in you. You’d do anything if you knew I’d make you cum afterward.”

And he was right. God, he was right. You wanted to resist. You wanted to prove him wrong, to slap him, bite him, anything to show him that you wouldn’t sit there and take what he gave you. And maybe you would, one day. One day when your slick wasn’t slipping down your thighs and staining Satoru’s pants over a couple of kisses and pretty words. 

“Tell me.” He whispers against your ear. 

“Tell you what?”

“That you’re sorry.” He cups your cheek in one hand, looking into your eyes, a teasing pout on his lips.

“I’m sorry.” You push away your pride and let the words fall from your lips. He lifts one eyebrow. 

“For?”

“I’m sorry,” You take a breath, “For being a brat.”

“Because?” You furrow your eyebrows, unsure of what he wants you to say.

“Because I–” You stop short, still not following. He chuckles, placing a soft kiss against your jaw. 

“Because you’re a…” He trails off. You feel so stupid, letting him guide you like this, letting him put words in your mouth.

“Because I’m a good girl.” You whimper. He smiles approvingly, and you feel one of his arms reach behind you to undo your bra. It falls to the floor, your nipples pebbling from the cool air. He wraps his lips around one of them and slips his hand underneath your skirt, pressing his fingers to your cunt through your panties. You let out a loud moan, the sound echoing against the walls. 

“Whose good girl?” He asks, his hand slipping into your underwear, running his fingers through your folds and gathering your slick. Your head falls forward as his fingers circle your clit, and you whimper into his shoulder.

“Y-your good girl! Sato–nhh–Satoru’s good girl!” You cry as he slips two fingers into your dripping heat. You throw your head back, grinding against his fingers on his lap. Letting out another whine, you lean down to kiss him, slipping your tongue into his mouth as you bounce on his fingers. 

“Fuck yes, baby.” He murmurs against your lips, “Use me. Use my fingers to get off.”

“‘Toru!” You cry. He’s moving his fingers in and out of you as you push your hips against them, his fingers reaching places you’ve never been able to with your own hands. “Wanna cum! Wanna–can I cum, ‘Toru?”

You’re even better than he thought you would be, clenching around his fingers and asking to come. He didn’t even have to tell you. You knew your place. You belonged to him completely. 

“Yeah,” He breathes, kissing you passionately again, “You can cum angel. Cum for me.”

You grind your hips against his fingers a few more times before pleasure wracks your body and you cry out the name of that man who’s making you feel so good. You had never come that hard from just being fingered. When you come down from your high, your body goes limp against him, your head falling onto his shoulder. When he pulls his fingers out of you, your head rises to look at him. You watch him lick the arousal from his fingers, moaning around them as he stares right into your eyes. It’s completely obscene in a way that makes you wanna avert your eyes out of embarrassment, but you don't. Instead, you feel yourself growing wetter at the sight. 

“You taste amazing, princess. So sweet for me.” He tells you, placing kisses down your neck, “Wanna make you cry from my tongue, but not tonight. ‘M gonna die if I’m not inside you soon. You want it, baby?”

“Yes!” You cry, one harsh thrust of his hips underneath you lets you feel how hard he’s become.

“What do you want, princess?” He asks, moving his hips so that you’re grinding over his hardness.

“You know, Satoru, please!”

“How can I know if you won't tell me?” He’s starting to feel a little impatient now from how good you feel rubbing against him. If you feel this way through a couple of layers of clothes, then he can’t wait to be buried inside of you. 

“Fuck you.” You breathe, moving your hips with his. You can tell that he won't last long, that he won't make you wait much longer. If you stall enough, you won't have to say it, and you’ll have some control over this, “You know–”

A harsh smack interrupts you, pain ripples against your backside, tingling from the feeling of how Satoru spanked you. You gasp, surprised at the action, and his hand comes to rest around your neck. It’s less to cut your breathing off, and more to hold you in place. There’s no pressure, but it’s a warning. 

“I told you you’re no good at being a brat.” He growls, thrusting up once more, “Tell me what you need. Be good for me or I won’t let you cum. I’ll tie you up and make you watch me get myself off, and I won’t do anything to relieve the ache between your thighs. I’ll leave you here and go bury my cock in some other whore.”

You don’t want to cry, but you can't help the tears that fall down your face. You didn’t know if he was bluffing, but you didn’t want to find out. The possibility that he would go fuck some other girl because you wouldn’t behave hurt. 

“Aw, you don’t have to cry, angel.” He coos, squishing your cheeks between one hand, “You’ll only turn me on more.”

“Satoru!” You whine, pulling him even closer to you, “You can’t! You can’t leave me!”

“No?” He teases, his thumb tracing your lips, “Then tell me what you need.”

“Your cock! Need your cock! Need you to fuck me!” You cry, desperately moving your hips against his, “I’ll be good! I’ll be so good for you! ‘Toru’s good girl!”

He wants to tease you, tell you that it wasn't so hard to say it. He wants to make you wait for it a little longer, wants to swirl his tongue around yours, move your hips and get you real close to the edge, and maybe someday he will. But for now, Satoru flips you over, hikes your skirt up to your waist, rips your flimsy panties from your hips, and releases his cock from the prison of his jeans. 

He’s huge, so huge that you’re afraid he might not even fit. Had you ever thought that about someone you’d slept with before? No, of course, you haven’t, because Satoru wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met. You were sure that his being human was a mistake, because the more he made you feel good, the more your brain kept screaming at you that this was a god. 

He hovers over you, running the head of his cock through your folds, gathering your slick and his precum and coating himself in the mixture. You’re so sensitive from his teasing earlier that you’re afraid you might cum just from this. You don’t get a chance to find out, because Satoru starts bullying his way through your entrance. You were right. He barely fits. 

“Relax, princess.” He tells you, caressing one of the thighs you have wrapped around him, “You can take it. You want to be a good girl, right.”

“Yes!” You whine, trying to relax as he slowly pushes his way inside of you. You want to be good. You are good. You are.

You’re clamping down so hard around him. Satoru knows that it’s just to adjust to his size, but it’s driving him crazy. He tried to be nice, tried to go slow, but you’re not making it easy on him. 

“Breathe for me, baby.” He commands, and when you take a deep breath in, Satoru pushes forward completely and bottoms out. You cry out his name at the mixture of pleasure and pain from his harsh thrust. 

“Fuck!” Your fingers grip the sheets underneath him as you try to adjust to the intrusion, “You’re mean.”

“You love it.” He taunts, placing a kiss on your cheek.

Catching your breath, you feel his hand wipe away the tears that you didn’t know had been running down your face. That’s when he finally begins to move. His hand still cups your face as he moves his hips in and out of you slowly. It’s different from the way he had been treating you before, more tender, sweet, as if he hadn’t just threatened to fuck somebody else.

“You’re so–ah–big!” You whimper, moving your hips with his. He grins, baby blues meeting your eyes as he speeds his thrusts up.

“I know, baby. I know. You like how I stretch you out?” He moves his hand from his face down to one of your breasts, squeezing as he pumps in and out of you, “You ever been this full before?”

“Never!” You cry as he hits a spot inside you that has you arching your back.

“No, ‘course not.” He says, slowing his hips down to tease you, “Gonna ruin you. Gonna–ngh–ruin you for everyone else. You’ll never want anything else but my cock.”

“Satoru!” You cry his name out as his hips speed up again, his hands digging into your side, no doubt leaving bruises from his grip. 

“Gonna keep you. Gonna make you my good little cockslut.” He pants, bringing a hand down to press two fingers to your clit, “You won’t have to be anything but–fuck–but mine.”

“Yours!” You scream, your head hitting the bed as he draws tight circles around your clit. “‘M all yours! Satoru’s girl!”

“Fuck! Yes! My girl!” He grunts, his hips moving haphazardly as you feel him getting closer and closer to his release, “Fuck, you’re so tight. You’re clamping around me so well. You gonna cum, princess?”

“Yes! ‘Toru, I wanna cum. Please make me cum!” You plead, grinding your hips against his. He speeds his fingers up, swiping over your clit back and forth as he pistons his hips into you. Please, please, please, please, he hears you chant in his ear, your fingernails leaving scratches down his back. 

“Cum with me, angel. Cum on my cock.” He commands, feeling you tighten around him. You arch your back as you move your hips with his, feeling waves of pleasure rush over you from your orgasm. You don’t get any time to rest before Satoru is flipping you over on your stomach and forcing your head down into the mattress. He pushes back into you, pumping in and out of you quickly, chasing his own release. 

“Are you–ahh–are you gonna cum in me, ‘Toru?” You ask, your cheek pressed against the mattress with one hand holding you down in the middle of your back.

“Fuck, yes! Gonna cum inside!” He groans, his hips abusing your own, “Gonna breed this perfect little cunt.”

The movement of his hips brings you closer and closer to the edge, spurring on your second orgasm. You feel his thrusts get sloppier, and you bring your own hand down to play with your swollen clit. His hands grip your hips, and you crane your neck to watch him as his own orgasm hits him. Warmth fills your belly and you follow soon after from his thrusts and your fingers. He cries out your name as he cums, keeping your ass flush against his front, stilling inside of you. He leans forward, peppering kisses up the back of your neck, before pulling out of you completely. Before you can turn to lay down, his hands keep you in place, spreading your cheeks and watching his release drip from your abused pussy. It’s so dirty, the way he eyes it, the way his hands dig into your cheeks, mesmerized by the sight.

When he finally releases you, you flip on your back and watch as he walks to the restroom. You hear the water run for a moment, and he returns, gray sweats hanging loose on his hips and a damp towel in one hand. He cleans up your mess, discarding the towel in the bathroom, before coming back to lie with you. He gathers you up in his arms and holds you against his chest. You can hear his heartbeat and feel the way his chest rumbles as he speaks.

“Are you okay?” He questions, running a hand up your back. You nod into his chest. 

“Never fucking better, Satoru.” You answer him. He chuckles into the top of your head, placing a kiss to your forehead, “we’ll talk about it in the morning?” 

“Yeah.” He nods, “In the morning.” 

#gojo satoru x female reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #gojo x reader #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

the final terror is in your house somewhere | Katsuki Bakugou

You had to be smart about this. You were quirkless, alone, and in the hands of one of the strongest heroes in the world. Chances were that you wouldn’t be able to escape, and you were too afraid to see what happened if you tried. It could have been worse. At least you liked Katsuki.

And if you were being honest with yourself, you liked that he had chosen you.

Notes: please be kind!! Hope u enjoy!! :) (title from sober to death by car seat headrest)

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, yandere, manipulation, explicit content

Words: 3k

Katsuki’s house was large. 

He lived in a penthouse on one of the top floors of this big fancy building. You had woken up in a bedroom, your ankle chained to the post at the foot of the queen sized beg you were lying in. The first thing that you thought of when you awoke was what was the best course of action to get out of your current predicament.

That was when Katsuki opened the door.

Katsuki Bakugou, better known as Dynamight, Japan’s number 2 hero, was a regular customer at the tiny bookstore you worked at. You had grown to like the hero, liked that he was rough around the edges, liked that he tried to soften them when he spoke to you. You liked a lot about the hero, but you never expected for him to sit down at the foot of the unfamiliar bed you had woken up in and tell you that he loved you. 

“I love you.” He had said, “I love you, and I’m going to keep you. Until you love me back.”

What were you meant to say to that? No one had ever told you they loved you, let alone meant it. You had two steady boyfriends in your life, and you didn’t love either of them. How were you supposed to love a man who kidnapped you? 

“You’re going to keep me until I love you back?” You questioned, moving farther away from him on the bed. 

“That’s the idea.” He nodded. You couldn't believe how sure of himself he was. Like there was no possibility that you couldn’t love him. 

“And when I love you, I can leave?” You asked. Katsuki furrowed his eyebrows then, a little confused, and a little angry. 

“When you love me, we’ll have a relationship. We’ll belong to each other.” He declared. You thought for a moment.

You had to be smart about this. You were quirkless, alone, and in the hands of one of the strongest heroes in the world. Chances were that you wouldn’t be able to escape, and you were too afraid to see what happened if you tried. It could have been worse. At least you liked Katsuki. 

And if you were being honest with yourself, you liked that he had chosen you.

“Okay.” You nod. Katsuki raises an eyebrow at you, looking you up and down, trying to analyze you, see if you were lying. 

“Just like that?” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Just like that.” You shrug. “You wanna take care of me? You want to love me? Fine. I won’t stop you. But if you want to be loved this is one fucked up way of doing it, Bakugou.”

“You’re not gonna fight me on this? Not gonna try to jump out a window or bite me or...or whatever?” He asked you, not at all convinced. 

“Would you rather I did that?” You asked. It seemed exhausting. It wasn’t like you were being held in some creep’s basement. This was Bakugou. He liked romance novels and recommended ramen shops he liked, and he saved lives for a living. He was wealthy. He would provide for you. If sticking it out until you convinced him you loved him, or until you actually did love him, was all you had to do then so be it. 

“Course not.” He huffs. “There’s gotta be something. What is it?”

“I do have conditions.” You shrug. 

“There it is.” He shakes his head, “No conditions. You’re mine. You follow my rules.”

“Aren’t you mine too? Thought you wanted us to belong to each other.” You argue, thinking back to his confession earlier. 

“I’m not yours until you love me.” He tells you. His voice has softened considerably from when he spoke earlier. 

“They’re not bad conditions, Bakugou. I just want things like books and movies. I want to be able to walk around. And I don’t want to sleep in this room.” You explained before he could stop you. Though the room was nice, and clearly well kept, it was just too clinal for you. It was too clean, too proper, and not at all a place you could feel at home in.

“This is the only other room besides mine.” He tells you. You hope that his room looks at least a little lived in. 

“Then I’ll sleep with you.” You decide. You watch his neck and ears grow red, but the stoney expression on his face remains. 

“Books and movies, huh?” He ponders.

“And no chains.” You tell him, pulling at the chain on your ankle. 

“No chains.” He nods his head reluctantly, “And you call me Katsuki.”

And that was how it started. You were the perfect little prisoner. You cuddled up to him in bed, and you greeted him when he got home from work. You watched him cook in the kitchen, and you tended to his injuries if he ever came home with any. 

You spent your days on the couch or in your shared bedroom, reading the books that Katsuki bought you or catching up on shows you never had the chance to watch. When you got really bored, you would snoop around his home for secrets, but he didn’t seem to have any but you. You were the most important secret of all. 

On one particularly lonely day, you had waited for Katsuki to come home at the kitchen counter. You had spent most of the day thinking about him, excited for him to come home. You wondered if maybe it was the house, being stuck in here all day with only his presence to look forward to. Had you really fallen for him, or had you just gone stir crazy? 

You heard the front door open then, your skin erupting in goosebumps as you stood up from your place at the counter. You rushed for the door, jumping into his arms and wrapping all of your limbs around the hero. He let out a surprised grunt at your greeting, arms wrapping around your bottom to hold you up. 

“The fuck are you doing?” He asked you. You buried your face in his neck.

“Just missed you.” You shrugged. You heard him scoff near your ear. 

“Bullshit.” He spat. He was walking now, taking you to the living room. He plopped you down on the couch and moved to leave. You grabbed his hand to keep him with you. 

“What’s got you all grumpy?” You ask him. He snatched his hand back. 

“‘M not grumpy.” He growls. You stand up from the couch.

“You are too! I’m trying to love on you and you want nothing to do with me!” You tell him, bringing your hands up to his shoulders and pushing him down onto the couch. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, running a hand through his hair, exasperated. 

“I just told you what I’m doing.” You tell him, sitting yourself down in his lap.

“No.” He pushes you off of him then, discarded beside him on the couch. “What? You think I’m gonna let you out just cause you give me a little hug? I’m not fucking stupid. I know what you’re doing.”

That stung. You missed him. He had been working late for a couple of weeks now, and the two of you hadn’t spent any time together. You were already in bed by the time he got home, and when he woke up to leave for work, you could barely keep your eyes open to say goodbye. Maybe it was fucked up, but you missed him. You wanted him home with you. 

“Just missed you.” You said, staring down at your lap, “That’s all. Didn’t mean to make you mad.”

You heard him sigh, before his arm wrapped around your waist and placed you into his lap once more. 

“You didn’t make me mad, baby.” He cooed, placing a finger under your chin to get you to look at him, “I’m sorry for raising my voice. I just...don’t get it.”

“Get what?” You question. Katsuki’s eyes move from yours down to your shoulders. You bring your hands up to his and force him to look at you again. “You can tell me anything, you know? All your dirty little secrets. It’s not like I have anyone to tell.”

This pulls a laugh out of him. He leans forward, his forehead resting on your shoulders.

“Why did you take to this so easily. Why didn’t you fight? You never complained once.” He begins, looking at you again, “It’s just harder for me to believe that you’re all in if there’s no change in you. If there's nothing to compare it to.”

“Do you want the truth?” You ask him. He nods.  

“Yeah, I want the truth.” He says. 

“I just...like you. If it had been anyone else, maybe I would have fought, or maybe I wouldn’t have. I don’t know. I just knew that there was probably no way for me to escape, and I probably would have hurt myself trying. I knew you before this, so I knew that you weren’t going to force me into anything.” You tell him, “And there was this part of me that liked that you wanted me. You told me that you were going to keep me until I loved you. I liked the idea of being kept. It sounds wrong, but it’s the truth.”

“All ‘cause you just like me?” He whispers, and you’re not sure why.

“Yeah.” You whisper back, “And maybe ‘cause I love you too.”

“Yeah?” His eyes widen, and you nod, your eyes flickering to his lips. You can feel his breath on your own, and you press your forehead to his, urging him to do something about your closeness. 

“Love you too.” He says, and then his lips are on yours. You had kissed him before. They were nice kisses. Kisses in the kitchen while he cooked dinner, kisses before bed, kisses while watching tv on the couch, but none of those had ever felt the way this one did. 

He slips his tongue into your mouth, and you gasp at the intrusion. Your kisses become more fervent, lapping at each other’s mouths, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. Before you know it your flipped onto your back, and he’s trailing hot opened mouth kisses down your neck. 

“Love you.” He says again, before placing another kiss to your chest, “Tell me. 

“L-love you.” It comes out all breathy because of how good his kisses feel, how good your body feels underneath him. “Want you.”

“I’m yours, baby.” He says, and then his mouth is back on yours. He wraps your legs around his waist, and then hoists you up off of the couch. He walks the two of you to the bedroom, and you place your own kisses on his neck. 

He’s gentle when he lays you down on the bed, kissing you wherever he can reach. You watch him pull his shirt over his head and your hands find his chest. He’s covered in scars from work, and you brush your fingers over some of them. His hands pull at your own shirt, revealing your bare breasts to him. 

He surges forward, his lips latching onto one of your nipples while he uses his hand to toy with the other. You moan at the sensation. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, running your fingers through his hair. He moves to the other nipple before trailing kisses down your stomach. His hands pull at your sleep shorts before he looks up at you.

“Can I?” He asks you. You nod at him.

“Please.” You beg, and your shorts and underwear are ripped from you in an instant. Katsuki pushes your legs apart and stares at your glistening folds.

“Fuck.” He breathes. He starts to kiss down your thighs, the stubble from his jaw tickling your skin and driving you crazy, “This all for me?”

“F-for you.” You nod, “All for you.”

Katsuki runs a finger through your wetness then, causing you to jump at the feeling. Then you feel his mouth on your sex. His tongue moves through your folds, lapping up your juices and coaxing whimpers from your throat. You bring your hand down to run your fingers through his hair, while your other hand grips the sheets below you. Your hips move with his mouth, chasing your release, and his fingers dig into your hips to still you. You feel his fingers inside you then, curling up inside you, hitting the spongy spot inside of you.

“Katsuki! Katsuki, gonna cum!” You cry, your cunt clenching around his fingers. You feel his lips on your clit, and then he sucks, willing you to come. He continues pumping his fingers in and out of you as you ride out your release. 

“So good for me.” He breathes. He pulls his fingers from you and holds them up, spreading them to see your slick stretch between his fingers, “Open.”

You open your mouth for him, sticking your tongue out, and Katsuki places his fingers on your tongue. You close your mouth around his digits, swirling your tongue around his fingers to lap up your own juices. 

“Fuck,” He curses, “You’re perfect. Need to be inside you.” 

He stands up to pull his sweats down his legs, his cock stiff against his abdomen. He crawls over you, kissing you again. It’s slower this time, your tongues moving against each other as he drags his head through your folds. The mix of your wetness and his pre allow him to slip into you easily, his hand cradling your face as his hips move with yours. 

“Feels so good, Suki.” You whine. He continues to move in and out of you slowly, wanting to savor this moment with you. “Never felt so full before.” 

“Yeah?” He asks as his lips trace your collarbone, “You’re so pretty like this, baby. Look like a fuckin’ angel.”

You clench around his cock at his sweet words and he chuckles. He whispers more praises into your neck as he fucks deeper into you. 

“Tell me your mine.” He brings his hand down between  your bodies, and places two fingers on your clit. 

“Ngh, I’m yours, Katsuki! Y-yours!” You buck your hips up into his, “Love you. Love--ahh, love you so much!”

“Love you too, angel.” He places a kiss under your ear, and then raises his head up to look into your eyes. “Gonna come soon.”

His hips continue to move against yours as his fingers circle your clit. Your back arches at the feeling of him so deep inside you. 

“Me too! Gonna cum! Gonna cum, Suki!” You cry, “Cum with me! Please, Katsuki! Want you to cum in me!” 

You bury your face in Katsuki’s neck and bite down on his neck hard as you come. Moments later you feel him release, warmth filling your core, as you scream into his neck. His hips still inside you, and you feel him soften before he pulls out. He rolls off of you to lie next to you, the two of you breathing heavily. 

“You did so good.” He tells you, leaning over to kiss you again, “So fucking good for me. Love you.”

You kiss him back, your arms around his neck and his chest pressed to yours. It's slow, almost lazy. Kissing for the sake of kissing. 

“Love you, Katsuki.” You tell him before sleep takes you. 

The next morning, you wake up to music playing softly from the kitchen. Pulling on one of Katsuki’s pajama shirts, you make your way to the kitchen. Katsuki is stood at the stove, his bare back to you as he flips something in a pan. You can’t help yourself as you rush over to him, jumping onto his back. He lets out a surprised gasp as his hands cup the underside of your thighs. 

“The fuck are you doing?” He asks you. His spatula has fallen to the floor in order to keep you up on his back. 

“Good morning.” You tell him, placing a kiss on the back of his neck. He moves backwards, placing you onto the counter, before turning around to look at you. You kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

“Morning, angel.” He grins. 

“Wanna go out today?” You ask him, hopeful about leaving the house for the first time in months. Katsuki snorts. 

“Go out?” He asks, his arms wrap around your waist and hold you tight against him.

“Yeah! Maybe we could go see that new horror movie-” You begin to tell him, but he cuts you off by pressing his lips against yours.

“Don’t think so. We’re staying here.” He tells you, squeezing your hip, and turning around to finish what he was doing at the stove.  

“Oh.” You say, “Maybe tomorrow? Or this weekend?” 

“Why do you wanna go out so bad? Thought you liked it here.” He says, his back still turned away from you. 

“I-I do, but I just thought. Well, you said-” 

“I said that we’d belong to each other. I said we’d have a relationship. I didn’t say you could leave.” He turns around. 

“I don’t want to leave. I just thought…” You trail off. You watch Katsuki’s face turn up into a grimace at your words. “It’s stupid. Never mind.”

His face softens and he walks towards you, holding your body against his. He places a hand on your head, petting the top of your head. 

“Stay.” He says. Your mind tells you that this should be formed as a question, like he’s supposed to beg, but it sounds like a command. “You can do that, can’t you, baby?”

He pulls away to look at you, searching your eyes for any apprehension. Your eyes flicker to the floor for a moment, your head swimming with ways to escape. When you look back up at him, his eyes look desperate rather than angry. 

That’s when you understand it. 

“I can do that.” You nod, resting your forehead against his, “I can stay.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #Bakugou Katsuki x y/n #bakugou katsuki x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #bakugou smut #tw yandere #tw manipulation #ghost.writes #ghost.fic

[ghostbeam]

you saw me start to believe for the first time | Katsuki Bakugou

“Bakugou.” You breathe. He lifts his head up. “I like you too.”

“That’s good.” He nods, then. You let out a laugh at his reaction. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” You nod, leaning in.

He tastes like the water from the lake and the celery he brought for the two of you. You think you might have moaned his name into his mouth, but the kiss is too good for you to dwell on that. When the two of you finally pull away from each other, you're blinded by a bright white light shining on the two of you.

Notes: I wrote this so fast. It’s super inspired by Mine by Taylor swift lmao. I have a whole playlist of her songs that remind me of Bakugou ummmmm yeah. It’s honestly super self indulgent. Hope u enjoy! Please be kind :) (title from mine by Taylor swift)

Warnings: female reader, some angst :)

Words: 2.5k

You usually hate closing. The winter months make the sun set sooner, makes the nights longer.The lack of daytime tells your brain that you should be home, even when you have at least an hour left at work. It’s always you, the cook, and maybe a few stragglers left in the restaurant by the time you have to close. 

You usually hate closing, but the attractive blond nursing a cup of coffee at the counter has made staying this late not so bad. 

He looks tired, you notice. You only heard him talk when he ordered the coffee in his hands, his voice gruff and a little drowsy. He’s wearing a sweatshirt over what looks to be a hero costume, so you assume he’s just gotten off patrol. Around closing, you make your way back over to him. 

“We’re closing in a few minutes. Is there anything else I can get you?” You ask him. When he looks up at you, his pretty red eyes look you up and down, before he shakes his head. 

“No thanks.” He says, reaching into his pocket to pay for the coffee. You turn around to leave, when he stops you, “Actually. Can I get your number?”

You pause. Had you heard that right? The guy you had been eyeing all night wanted your number. You almost couldn’t believe it. 

“You–what? Why?” You ask him. He chuckles. 

“Why? What kind of question is that?” He asks, “I think you’re cute. I wanna take you out.”

And even though your brain is screaming at you to say no. Even though a lifetime of failed relationships flashed through your mind, you give him your number. You don’t know why you ever bother with things like this when it never lasts, but you want to believe in the young hero at the counter. 

His name is Katsuki Bakugou, and he’s a pro hero working under the Endeavor agency. You learn a bit about him through texts, how he hopes to start an agency with his best friend, how he’s certain he’ll be the number one hero in the next few years, how he wants to take you hiking on your first date. 

So far there are no red flags. Bakugou is a gentleman. He’s attentive, and he seems genuinely interested in you, but if past relationships have taught you anything, it’s that the person you know now is never the same person when they leave you. 

…

“Why isn’t your door locked?” You hear Bakugou’s voice in your living room as he closes your door. You walk in, hopping on one foot as you put on the other hiking boot that you bought for this specific occasion. “That’s dangerous, you know.” 

“I just unlocked it when you texted me you were here.” You tell him, rolling your eyes a bit. Once you’ve stepped into your boots fully, you sit down in a chair to tie them, but Bakugou has beaten you to it. “Oh, um, thanks.”

“No problem.” He nods, and you turn away to try and hide the bashful expression that falls over your face.

“I don’t know how well this is going to go. I’m not really an athletic person.” You warn him.

“It’s really not that difficult.” He shrugs. He holds a hand out to you to help you from the chair. 

“Maybe to you, Mr. pro-hero, but I’m just a person!” You protest. He shakes his head at you. 

“I’m a person too, dumbass.” You grab the backpack you packed at your kitchen counter, following Bakugou out the door and locking it behind you.  

“A really strong person. Who fights villains.” You tell him. 

“We’ll I won’t argue with that.” He shrugs. 

Bakugou drives the two of you to a small mountain half an hour away from the city. The hike isn’t all that difficult, but you still get a good workout. You’re sweating by the time Bakugou takes you to a lake underneath a giant willow tree. 

“God, this is gorgeous.” You breathe. And it is. It’s just off the trail, not hidden at all. You can see the path from where you and Bakugou sit. He pulls out some food from his backpack, two sandwiches, some veggies, and two bottles of water. “This is the cutest thing ever.”

“Cute?” Bakugou asks, take aback by your choice of words. 

“Yeah. It’s cute. You packed us sandwiches like a mom.” You giggle. He sucks his teeth and nudges your shoulder with his own. 

“We just hiked a mile and a half. We need to eat.” He argues. You take a bite of your sandwich and lay your head on his shoulder.

“I’m just messing with you, Bakugou.” You tell him. “It’s just…nice. That’s all I’m saying. 

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive. I need to work on that, I guess.”

“You aren’t. You don’t. I like it.” You say, “I mean, it’s not–I mean I was teasing you, so I get it.”

You can’t believe how nervous he makes you sometimes.

“Yeah okay.” He smirks at you, and you turn your face away, embarrassed. 

The two of you eat your lunch, talking about this and that. He tells you about work, the villains he runs into, how he doesn’t get the missions he wants, how late night patrolling is his least favorite type of work. You tell him more about yourself. You tell him about your classes, about the customers that stick out to you at work, how working late is also your least favorite type of work. Bakugou is really easy to talk to, and that scares you. 

“Do you wanna go swimming?” You hear him ask beside you after the both of you have finished your food. Bakugou doesn’t know why he says it. He honestly just wanted to spend more time with you. 

“Swimming? Are you crazy?” You ask him, but he’s already standing up and pulling his shirt over his head. 

“Probably.” He says. You try not to stare at him too much, but you can’t take your eyes off of his pecks and his impossibly tiny waist. You feel your cheeks heat up. He looks down at you, holding his hand out, “C’mon.”

“Okay.” You nod, even though you know you shouldn’t. Even though it’s getting dark. Even though there’s a clear view of the two of you in your underwear from where people walk on the trail. 

The water is freezing, and you wish that you never gave into the pressure. But Bakugou was right there, and he was in his boxers, and there was no way that you were going to just leave him hanging like that. And if you were being completely honest with yourself, you like the risk. 

“You okay?” He asks you, swimming closer. 

“Just cold.” You tell him. Feeling bold, you set your hands on his shoulders. Bakugou’s hands find your hips.  

“I’m not usually this stupid.” He sighs, “Believe it or not, I’ve got a pretty good head on my shoulders.”

“I believe you.” You nod at him, “You brought baby carrots.”

“You just–I can’t think straight around you.” He confesses and drops his head on your shoulder. 

“Is that good or bad?” You ask. You’re too afraid to tell him that you feel the same way.

“I don’t know. I kinda just don’t wanna fuck this up.” His head is still buried in your shoulder. He doesn’t know why it’s so easy to tell you these things. It should be harder, considering how much he likes you, but you’re easy to talk to. It’s one of the reasons he can’t let you slip through his fingers. 

“Bakugou.” You breathe. He lifts his head up. “I like you too.”

“That’s good.” He nods, then. You let out a laugh at his reaction. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes.” You nod, leaning in. 

He tastes like the water from the lake and the celery he brought for the two of you. You think you might have moaned his name into his mouth, but the kiss is too good for you to dwell on that. When the two of you finally pull away from each other, you're blinded by a bright white light shining on the two of you. 

“What the hell are you kids doing?” The voice holding the flashlight calls out to the two of you. Bakugou pulls you from the water then, gathering your things and dragging you away from who you assumed to be a ranger of sorts.

“We’re so sorry!” You call out to the man, but Bakugou has the two of you halfway down the trail already. 

The two of you end up back in his car, still in your damp underwear, breathing heavily from all the running. And that was how you and Bakugou started dating. 

…

You and Katsuki have been together for two years, which is far longer than any relationship you had in the past. It was also the most serious relationship you’d ever had in your life. The two of you had things at each other’s apartments, a couple of drawers filled with your things, stuff in each other’s showers, the coffee creamer that you like. You were both saving up for a house together, which meant that Katsuki worked a lot more than he used to, and you hated it.

You thought it would be harder on him, being away from you for so long. In the past two years, Endeavor had started putting him on the missions he asked for. Katsuki began to move up in the charts and really make a name for himself. You were incredibly proud of him, but you wondered why he had no issue with leaving you for days at a time. 

“I’ve gotta stay late again tonight.” Katsuki’s voice comes through your phone, and you sigh, “I know. I know, baby. I’m sorry, but we’ve got a shit ton of paperwork from the bust today, and they want it finished tonight.”

He told you he’d be home on time tonight. You were already at his apartment. You were already waiting for your boyfriend to come home to you.  

“Yeah, okay, Katsuki.” You mutter. 

“Are you mad?” He asks. 

“Course not.” You try to mask the sadness in your voice, but Katsuki knows you better than anyone in the world, now.

“I’ll make it up to you.” He tries. 

“You always do.” You say, before hanging up the phone.

You fall asleep on the couch that night after a couple of glasses of wine, but the door to his apartment opening wakes you up. You listen to Katsuki take off his boots and try to be quiet as he strips himself of his gauntlents. You sit up, then.

“Baby, what are you doing up?” He asks. His voice is so soft that it almost makes you forget you were ever mad at him. 

“You woke me up.” You snap, standing up, pulling your blanket around your shoulders. 

“You’re mad.” He observes. 

“What gave it away?” You ask him, heading to the kitchen. 

“Probably the fact that you’re being a bitch.” He says. You snap your head his way. 

“Really?” You seethe. “I’m a bitch for missing my boyfriend?” 

“I didn’t mean that.” He sighs.

“You wouldn’t have said it, then.” 

“I say tons of things I don’t mean.” He argues, throwing his hands up in the air. 

“Yeah, like ‘I’ll be off work on time tonight.’” You bark. 

“You think I wanna work late? You think I like doing paperwork?” He walks towards you. 

“You sure seem like it.” You roll your eyes at him.

“What do you think I’m doing it for, huh? Don’t you want a house, a fucking life together?” He roars. 

“Do you?” You argue. You knew this would happen. You knew that at some point this would be all over. The good doesn’t last, and people always leave. 

 “Are you kidding? Of course, I do!” Katsuki’s voice cracks. “I don’t fucking get you. What do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I don’t want anything from you. Leave me the fuck alone.” You hiss, slipping your feet into your shoes at the door, and leaving. You don’t have any of your things, your purse, your keyes, but you don’t care. You’ll call someone to stay with for the night. You were too angry to stay with your boyfriend. 

Once you get out onto the sidewalk, you hear his voice a few yards behind you. He’s calling your name, a coat in his hands, jogging towards you. 

“The fuck is wrong with you?” He asks, “You’re gonna get sick!”

“Fuck off.” You grumble, turning around to walk away. 

“Stop it!” He growls. You turn back around to look at him.

“You stop it. Don’t drag this out. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just leave like the rest of them. Just tell me you don’t want me anymore, and leave.”

“Leave?” He breathes, “Why would I–I’m not fucking going anywhere. Are you stupid? I love you.”

“Katsuki.” You beg. 

“No. No, I’m never leaving you. Ever. This is it.” He cries. “I have been yours since you moaned my name in my mouth at the lake.”

“Katsuki.” You try again. He walks towards you, slinging your coat around your shoulders. 

“Shut up. Every time I look at you, it’s like I'm there. I’m freezing my ass off in a lake just to impress you. I know that this scares you. I know that you watched your parents’ relationship fall apart in front of you. But we’re not them. We’re not gonna make those mistakes.” He tells you. His hands are on your cheeks, and you can see both of your breaths in the cold. 

“You promise?” You ask him. 

“I promise, baby. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’d do anything for you.” He wipes a tear that’s fallen down your face, “I’ll take time off. I’ll talk to Endeavor. I promise.”

“I’m sorry.” You say, pulling away from him and wiping your tears, “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I’m just–I don’t know. I just love you so much. Like I have never loved anyone how I love you, and it scares the hell out of me. 

“You don’t have to be scared with me.” He rests his forehead against yours. 

“I know.” You whisper.

“We’ll figure it out. We will.” He promises. “I’m sure of it. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

“What about being number one?” You insist. 

“More than being number one.” He says, his lips pressed against your temple.

“More?” You pull away from him. He nods. 

“You’re the most important thing in the world to me. So can you please get your ass inside before you catch a cold?” He pulls your coat tighter around you.

“Okay.” You nod, “If!”

“If what?” He rolls his eyes. 

“If you kiss me.” You grin.

“Well, I can do that.” He smirks, leaning in. 

And Katsuki kisses you. 

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x female reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x y/n #bnha x reader #mha x reader #ghost.writes #ghost.fic