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#literally a wall full of his art

kakusu-shipping · 2 years

Note

🏛 Koro sensei!!!!!

🏛️- How do you decorate your house?

LOTS of nerdy things, you'll find all sorts of stray plushies, figures, random anime merch and games all over the place. We like to keep the couch comfy so a lot of stuffed animals and plushies will find their home there.

We're both collectors and have a bit of a hoarding problem, so when we get into a new special interest, we stock up on EVERYTHING for it! Even the silly stuff, like a Moomin sippy cup, or a My Hero Academia slow cooker. There's also stickers on almost any flat surface, including the walls. Our landlord hates us.

Speaking of our land lord hating us, we have a Student photo wall!! A collection of achievements we pin directly to the wall honoring the alumni of class 3-E! Everything from the graduation photos, news paper clippings, online reviews, big even photos, and more! Koro-Sensei could fill the entire apartment with praise if left to his own devices, so I unfortunately have to be the one to reel him in on what's big enough to go on the wall.

We also have PRIDE FLAGS of course! We hang the typical Rainbow and a Trans flag on our balcony, but we also have them sprinkled all throughout the apartment. A pan flag over the door way, an Agender flag in the pen cup, an Ace flag over the bed, a Genderfluid flag hanging off the book self. Stickers, again, everywhere as well.

Finally, we have cat decor. I've said this before but Koro-Sensei is OBSESSED with having a cat, so we do have a little cat house on our bookself, a cat tower in the bedroom and office, cat shelves around in high places... The problem being we don't have a cat, and will never have a cat. Our apartment doesn't allow pets, for one. And for two, cats don't like Koro-Sensei. He's too... mucus-y. It's depressing for him, really.

#Emile's Arts #Thankyou for asking #Koro-Sensei #I've wanted to talk about Koro-Sensei's unused cat decor for a YEAR now #And the student wall it means the world to me #Still drawing rooms because I refuse to go back to working on anatomy dkjfkjgkfsd #I really like imagining the space I'd share with Koro-Sensei #And how much our landlord would hate us for sure #I am POSITIVE putting stickers on your wall voids your lease #But it's worth it honestly #The amount of holes we've put in the student wall in to be looked passed for the good of our students #The living room is the only organized room mind you #The bedroom is almost always a mess of barrows and misplaced clothes and an unmade bed with plushies #The kitchen sink is always empty because I refuse to have dirty dishes I hate a full sink #but nothing else is neat nothing it put in the cabinets right and the microwave door is always open #Koro is a bit of a slob in his own house but he'll clean up if I ask him too #Otherwise there'd be cup noodle containers literally everywhere #Our space........... man.... I love thinking about that actually.....#Get me in a relationship where we can have an our space.....#Dammit Zayne you got me all sappy thinking about our space

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thebibliosphere · 7 months

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A friend gifted me Gotham Knights on Steam after I expressed a vague interest in it. I believe my exact words were, "The color of the cover art is very cyberpunk bisexual, and I love that for them."

A lot of key smashing ensued, followed by, "No, wait, you have to play it, you have to. Don't ask why. You'll know when you see it."

After spending a substantial few hours with my new dopamine generator, zipping around Gotham as various different heroes, grappling my way across the skyline, and driving my motorbike into walls (sorry, random Gothamites.) I got to the part of the story where Dick Grayson is seen drinking from a bisexual-themed Bludhaven mug (WE WANTS IT, PRECIOUS, WE NEEDS IT), followed by Babs posting a gossip article in the literal batfam group chat (I have no idea when she actually sent it, I keep forgetting to check the chat lmao) where Dick fully leans into being Bruce's son by being the biggest, sluttiest fuckboy imaginable when the male interviewer asks Dick if he has a "type" then describes the way Dick drops his voice to an "intimate purr, his gaze for me and me alone" followed by the most bisexual response ever which can be summarized as "People are gorgeous. All of them. Why restrict myself to an archetype when the world is full of beauty?"

And can I just say, as a slutty, slutty bisexual *chef kiss* love that for him. That and all the nude photoshoot offers he seems to be getting lmao.

Combine that with the interactions where Tim talks to the batfam about his boyfriend, asking for relationship advice (Babs telling Tim she's hopeless with guys, so to ask Dick instead), Dick suggesting Robin and Nightwing should go to Gotham Pride in costume so people know the batman are firmly in camp LGBTQ+ (followed up by an email between Babs and Jayson where they talk about wanting to go to Pride to support Tim so he'll know they're proud of him), the rainbow flags in the living room, and the trans, bi, pan and I think non-binary flag (need to check, might be demisexual) bike color options, I can honestly say I'm having a lot of fun careering round Gotham like the most terrifyingly competent, backflipping, Solo Pride Parade that's ever swung out of the skyline to dropkick a cop into oncoming traffic.

#batfam #gotham knights #gotham knights game #this game is like playing crackfic #crackfic with the occasional bit of pure soul-destroying angst #it's quite clunky and a bit grindy #but as a character-driven gremlin I'm having the time of my life just fucking around and falling off buildings

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deadghosy · 2 months

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Can you do more Hazbin Hotel x enderman reader? I'm obsessed with it. I love the idea.

Credit to the person who made the art, this is just how I imagine Enderman!reader to look like as a human. 🦆✨

MORE HAZBIN HOTEL X ENDERMAN! READER IMAGINES/HEACANNONS

imagine how reader is when they get pissed…they would just straight up punching shit just like the Enderman hits you in Minecraft 😭

I Imagine Charlie trying to make you do a eye contest with Alastor only for you to start tweaking and punch Alastor into a wall as Alastor only gives up a thumbs up while you sweatdrop putting on your blindfold as you try to pull out Alastor from the wall

I headcannon reader to always pat everyone’s head when they are at their full height. But at 6’5 they just pat their back like “good job buddy😐✨”

Imagine Lucifer and you wearing matching shirts that say, “if lost return to big boy” as your shirt says “I lost big boy”

Headcannon that Angel is your cuddle buddy because he likes how your arm is basically a pillow for you. And husk is your second cuddle buddy because of his fur and you like to pet him.

I imagine Angel trying to make you wear pink only for it to turn black when it fits your body. Angel gave you a “🤨 are you fuckin serious?” Look as you just shrugged with a “😐” face. I mean shit, if it fits. It fits.

I headcannon Enderman!Reader’s suit to be like the art but instead of those black things on it. It’s just slight purple sparkles on it to represent the purple pixels around them.

But definitely their second fit is a black vest and a white dress shirt with black slacks and black dress shoes. 🤨☝🏾 W FIT YOU GOTTA ADMIT!

Yk how Angel made that Snapchat post about you and you got death threats? Yeah well Valentino was the reason as he got mad that Angel “wasn’t paying” you as you were just working on the hotel

I imagine Enderman! Reader to be black coded just like how the art is above as the reader’s hair is always in dreads, cornrows, and twists. But never in an Afro state as it takes time to get the hair nice and soft (coming from a black writer….it literally takes an hour…)

I imagine you once teleported during your cuddle session between husk and angel. They were so confused they even searched your room only to find out you teleported on the top roof of the hotel during your sleep.

I imagine Valentino at least trying to ambush you to see why Angel is so happy to come to the hotel to see you again. Only for you to teleport out of his view every second. And the moth dude is like “shit! He’s onto me…” but really you are just bored asf and need some fresh air from the hotel air.

I can see nifty just minding her business when you lifted her up and croaked softly petting her head and sitting her down.

I headcannon Enderman! Reader’s room to be built from those block in the end so reader can feel the presence of his home in the hotel💗🦆

I imagine Velvette actually getting able to like post you on her fashion account as a mysterious person with your blindfolded looks. The girls dig for guys who seem mysterious.

Imagine Lucifer and you making each other building hobbies, like he makes you build him a duck as he makes you a sleeping mask just incase you don’t want to stare at someone’s face without your blindfold.

Headcannon on how fat nuggets like to cuddle against reader’s legs as reader was making a bed for fat nuggets to have a heater installed if the pig is cold.

Like…bro IMAGINE READER BENG SO PISSED THEY SUMMON THE MOTHER OF ALL…THE GUARDIAN OF THE END…THE ENDER DRAGONNN (dun x3 dramatically) maybe they would summon that during the battle between the angels and absolutely destroy their asses

I headcannon Angel once seen your mouth glowing purple when you unhinged your jaw to screech. He definitely asked before checking out your mouth which he could see in the back was glowing.

Since I headcannon enderman! Reader is black coded. They have a bonnet that was shipped from Velvette as they put it on and felt more comfortable sleeping ‼️💗

Who would be the first one to respond to you calling them: Lucifer, Charlie, Angel dust, husk, nifty, Alastor. And specifically in that order 🦆

I headcannon for Vox to try to always have you on his night show so he can show off his new “guest” being a new specie of demons.

I imagine sinners asking what ring (7 deadly sins) you came from and you are just like. “The end….i came from the end..” and now they are more confused than you when they asked where you came from

I headcannon reader’s nickemame is like, “ENDY, tall one, handsome, [actual nickname], weirdo, cutie, dad, fucker, bestie.” You can imagine who called you who which is kinda obvious…

I imagine Adam to make a lot jokes about you saying how freaky you are and how weird you are for not liking eye contact without your blindfold as you just stand there like “what’s for dinner…😐”

I can see you showing the egg boiz a picture of a ender dragon egg making them think they can have someone like them but also just like you

I can see you just standing there as everyone argues in the court because Charlie wanted you there since you don’t seem like a demon or angel. She tried to get answers but no one knew what you were.

Imagine modern au! Angel dust and you do tiktoks….because Angel dust forced you to be in his tiktoks as the others just watch trying to enjoy their summer vacation

I can see Adam hating how you aren’t pressed about what he says about you as you just stand there ignoring him.

Imagine you being sick and everyone stopping to make sure you are okay. (except for Alastor as he knows you will be better soon) Like the whole crew just starts to baby you and try to fix things you can fix but only fail.

Imagine reader with a baby ender dragon as a pet as reader whistle for the dragon to land on their shoulder or appear more bigger for it to protect you and the crew

I headcannon reader’s singing voice to sound decent with a little bit of deepness in it to mask out some things.

I imagine your full form if you were a demon or angel obviously an ender dragon lol 🦆

Imagine Pentious just pure on slithering around your body as you just sit down after a rough day of complaining by residents and their rooms.

I headcannon Lucifer to get on your shoulders to feel bigger for fun which make it seem so cartoony as one has a derpy smile while the other has a thumbs up and a “😐” face just staring blankly into people’s soul

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nysrage · 3 months

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okay walk wit me sis.. 😌

make it fit connie.. or like fake sympathy condescending connie while y’all fucking.. FUCK I LOVE THAT SHIT.. 😩

ouu girl i’m walking! lemme see if i can get it to slight jog tho!

connie wasn’t oblivious to the fact he had a big ass dick. no, not at all. he’d spent most of his late high school and early college years figuring out where’d he’d fit on the inch chain as he liked to call it. most girls not being able to handle it or wouldn’t even attempt to tame it once they saw the monster that lay behind his sweats. many of his friends making fun of him that he didn’t get pussy but in reality, no one was bold enough to take it for him. not until he got his hands on you.

the girl at his university know for her unique street art. from the city and a splitting image of a bratz doll, who was never scared of a challenge felt she was ready to tame everything in life even her above averaged boyfriend.

that is until she found herself atop of him, positioned in reverse cowgirl to give her a man a view he’d never forget. thighs burning from riding dick splitting her open as she sank down a few inches onto him. “f-fuck i can’ttt .” finding herself scurrying back up to the tip, running the longtime lovin’ he was giving you. “thought you wanted it mamí? let papí give it to you.” connie teased, long thick dick hitting every stop imaginable inside of you. “s’too much!” you whined.

“too much..?” connie chuckled, grabbing ahold of your hips and taking a good look your tight two toned pussy wrapped around him. slick dribbling down his dick as you started to fill that emptiness inside you. “nah i think my good girl can take a lil more..” sinking deeper into that clamping hole of yours, moaning at the pressure of him slowly filling you up and sitting you down on his dick. “shittt.” relaxing your body as your walls loosening with warm slick and pulsing as you adjusted to his size. slowly molding to his curvature, filling you deliciously. connie knew it just took a lil work for you to get where you needed to be. “mhm, keep opening that pussy f’me, you right there mamí.”

giving you a final deep thrust that left your soft ass flush against his pelvis, leaving stomach full and mind in sex crazed haze. “fuck this pussy s’good.” groaning as he bounced you up and down his dick, removing his hands once he felt he set a steady pace for you. Inching your hips and down slowly trying your best to take every single inch. Connie landing a rough slap to your ass that left your body jolting from the stinging pleasure. “go down on it princesa, don’t be lazy.”

“thought you said you could take it.”

ass ripppling like waves as he met your hips and fucked himself up into you focused on that pretty pussy sucking every inch of him deeper than he’s ever felt before. nails digging at his thighs for dear life as your body bounced above his, “your so fucking deep” whine barely audible above the loud gushing of your pussy let him know that it’d take every inch happily. “s’ too muchhh! con—” fucking you down on him harder as he reached the spongey spot within that always started the waterworks. “awe that’s all you can take mamí..?” voice rough and full of feigned sympathy as he held up your ass mid air and fucked up into you hard, taking his pounding like a champ and meeting his rough thrusts. A smile creeping on connie’s face once you start riding out the literal high your body was about to reach.

“and you whining it too much, pussy the perfect fit for papí.”

#nys works.ᐟ ᥫ᭡#black writers #aot x black!reader #aot smut #aot x chubby reader #aot x black reader #aot connie x black reader #aot connie x black!reader #aot connie springer #aot connie #connie springer smut #connie springer x black reader smut #connie springer x black reader #connie smut #connie x black y/n #connie x black!reader #connie x black reader #connie x black reader smut #connie x

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vivwritesfics · 2 months

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Jester Stole His Thorny Crown

Chapter One

He never had a choice in his life. His dreams were nothing more that that. Dreams. But then he met a lounge singer at his brother club and everything changed.

Mafia!Au

1.2K

Warnings: drugs (not taken), gun violence

Series Masterlist

This wasn't his job. It was beneath him, usually a job for his inexperienced little brother. But Arthur was at home, being looked after by their maman as he nursed a non-fatal gunshot wound.

Charles was pissed as he drove through the streets of Monaco. This was Arthur's job, not his. If he had listened to Charles and Lorenzo, and hadn't run in with guns (quite literally) blazing, they wouldn't be in this position.

The people of Monaco knew about the people who, essentially owned them. They had a royal family, but they didn't have as much Power as the Leclercs. As soon as they saw the black Ferrari SF90 Stradale, they knew to get out of the way.

On this day, the only thing stopping Charles from driving into everybody in his way was his love for his precious car. As soon as he had checked through the clubs, he was going to go to his mamans house and murder Arthur.

Charles parked his car. Well, parked is a term used loosely. He stopped the car wherever he wanted and every other driver on the roads of Monaco had to work around him. This was maybe one of the best demonstrations of power that the Leclerc family had.

When Charles walked into the first club, the twenty six year old was reminded of why he hated it so much. He had loved it when he was a fresh faced eighteen year old, receiving his first assignment from his father.

But now this was Arthurs job, appointed by Lorenzo. He had taken over as head of the family when they lost their father, just a year after Charles had received his first assignment.

The family didn't handle it well. The Leclerc's had almost started a full on war with the Gasly family of France. But Pascale, the matriarch, kept them in check.

The club was disgusting. It was the middle of the day so it was empty, aside from the club manager. The floor was covered in cups and bottles and odd sticky patches that that Charles was sure to avoid. There was the odd condom on the floor; Charles turned his nose up at that.

He checked the books, make sure the money was in order. He swapped out the cash in the safe for the drugs that the club sold. "Get this shithole cleaned up," he commanded the club manager and left.

The second club was much the same. He inspected the books and swapped the money in the safe for the drugs. This club was somehow dirtier than the first one. Several of the stall doors in the bathroom had been kicked in (Charles wasn't happy about leaving money for such things).

The third club Charles knew it be Arthurs favourite.

It wasn't a night club, more like a lounge. The lighting was low, with tables covering the floor. Comfortable, cosy booths lined the walls and the tables in the middle of the of the floor looked equally as comfortable. The art on the wall was tasteful and the air didn't stink like beer and piss.

Soft piano music greeted him and Charles realised why this was Arthurs favourite club. It felt legit.

Charles looked to the piano on the stage at the back of the club. There was a spotlight pointed towards it, illuminating the instrument and the girl playing it. As he approached, Charles watched her fingers dance across the keys. The tune was soft and melodic, not something that he recognised.

She seemed to be the only person in the club. "One second, Arthur!" She called, not looking up from her piano.

Charles stopped short. "I'm sorry?" He called and the piano music stopped. "Are you always familiar with my brother?"

Her eyes were wide as she stood and closed the lid of her grand piano. "Shit," she hissed, but Charles still heard it. "I'm so sorry, Mr Leclerc. I was expecting your brother."

Charles stepped onto the stage. His presence alone was terrifying, a far cry from Arthur, who treated the pianist like an old friend. She couldn't stop her knees from buckling as he approached. "He got shot," Charles said as he sat at the piano. "He'll be back in action soon."

He lifted the lid of the piano and pressed a key. As a boy Chalres had loved the piano. His father had encouraged him to play, but he hadn't touched a piano since Hervé dad passed. Even now, he couldn't bring himself to play more than a few notes.

"Are you the manager here?" Charles asked, again shutting the piano lid. She shook her head, eyes looked towards the bar while he continued to stare at her. "You shouldn't be in here, then."

She sucked in a breath. The gun in his waistband had become apparent the moment he sat at the piano. "Uhm, Arthur gave me a key so that I could come in and practice," she said as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

Charles let out something of a controlled huff and stood from the piano. He headed past the stage, to where the office was, and instantly began searching through the desk for the books.

The pianist followed him. "You shouldn't be in here," he said and pulled out the papers he needed. She was still standing in the doorway as he checked through it. "Seriously, get out."

"I'm sorry," she said, still leaning against the door frame. "I just... is Arthur okay?"

Charles stared at her for a moment before nodding his head, but he didn't look happy. "A minor gunshot wound," he said. "He's sleeping on our mouths couch at the moment."

Letting out a relieved breath, she walked away from the back office, allowing Charles to swap the money in the safe for drugs.

When he returned to the main floor, the piano was empty. The lid was open, but the pianist wasn't there. Charles didn't check for where she was.

He sat himself at the piano and pressed three keys in a specific tune. It was all so familiar to him, flooding back to him. It had been so long, but it was natural. It was right.

The pianist, Y/N, was at the bar, getting herself a glass of water. The moment she saw Charles walk to the piano she stopped and watched.

He was hesitant at first, allowing himself to get used to the keys. But it didn't take very long for him to get comfortable. Soon enough he was playing like it was the only thing he knew today.

It wasn't perfect, it was barely good, but it was full of heart and soul. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him as he sped up slightly, getting more and more comfortable. There was nothing in the world but him and the music.

Finishing up the song Charles sucked in and rolled his shoulders. He looked around the club, looked at the empty tables, at the art on the wall and at the bar.

He narrowed his eyes as he stood up and walked over. "Were you watching me?" He demanded and she quickly shook her head, looking down at the glass of water in her hands.

"Don't," he barked and marched out of the club.

Permanent taglist: @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @minkyungseokie @formulaal @darleneslane @andydrysdalerogers @hrts4scarr @llando4norris

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animehideout · 5 months

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Jobs JJK Men Would Have In Real Life ( IMO ) Part II.

check part I here.

Toji Fushiguro: Martial Arts Trainer.

• A display of traditional weapons arranged on his walls.

• He carries within himself a quiet confidence, a power.

• He helps people get stronger, to be able to stand for themselves and fight back.

• Ruthless when it's about training especially in combats.

• Very strict mentor.

Choso: Private Chef.

• His passion for cooking started when he cooks for his brothers. He cherishes family and appreciates it when a family is gathered around the table eating and sharing stories together.

• Enjoys cooking different dishes, adding flavors, seasoning, mixing ingredients..

• Loves to try different international dishes and not limited to local flavours.

• The cooking apron suits him well.

• Loves to prepare very sweet desserts for his younger brother Yuji.

Gojo Satoru: Actor.

• Money Money Money.

• This man knows he's gorgeous, for that he needs to show it to the whole world.

• He posseses the ability to embody, transform into different personalities/ characters. His blue eyes are canvas of emotions.

• Steals all the light on the red carpet. Literally the center of attention with his strong etheral elegance.

Ryomen Sukuna: A Mafia Boss.

• This man is a menace.

• Exudes an air of authority, dominance and power wherever he goes.

• Radiates a magnetic charisma that forces others to respect and submit for him.

• Not forgiving at all. Vile, villainous and sadistic,would kill his enemies in a heart beat.

• The most wealthy, respected and intimidating mafia boss in the underworld.

• Strong cigarettes and alcohol scent mixed with perfume.

Itadori Yuji: Athlete.

• Very fit with a perfect toned body.

• Enjoys healthy food full of protein.

• Follows a strict diet and strict daily schedule.

• Very neat and tidy.

• Determined to win. Has loads of medals hanging in his room.

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bambi-slxt · 6 days

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sick!chris:

✨a concept✨

he literally thinks he's on the verge of death.

"i can see...the light..."

"you have a cold."

"the angels are singing so sweetly..."

"do you want this soup or not?"

"gimme."

he never wants you to be outside of his six-foot radius.

cuddles like a motherfucker.

"you're gonna get me sick too, don't breathe on me."

"i will open-mouth cough on you if that means you'll stay the night."

"for someone so ill, you seem to have full grasp of your sarcastic capabilities."

"i'm not being sarcastic." hacks up a lung in your face

for all his sass and snark, he's very loving, more so than usual due to his lowered energy levels.

"i'm home baby how are-"

"i wrote you a love letter!"

"that's so cute honey, i-"

"also did you know you're the prettiest thing i've ever seen in my entire life? like you look like art from like a museum or something, like those fancy paintings or sculptures of the goddesses from ancient times."

"...i don't know if i'm crying because i'm sick too or because that was so sweet but regardless let's go watch Bluey in bed yeah?"

bounces off the walls with glee

"you're supposed to be bedridden you little-"

#christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo fanfic fluff #bambi slxt #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo fluff #sturniolo #sturniolos #the sturniolo triplets #the sturniolos #bambi yaps

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ryker-writes · 1 year

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TWST characters as parents (Staff)

Crowley:

proud bird dad

literally he is so proud of anything you do and will share your achievements with the rest of the staff

he also has a box of things that you've completed/given to him

childhood artwork, cards you've made, old gifts you've given to him, your first assignment and test, and even some of your old stuffed animals from when you were a kid

he also has a thick photo album full of pictures of you growing up

the kind of parent who takes so many photos

he looks through that photo album a lot to look back on the precious memories

the box and the photo albums are protected using magic

he will cry is something happens to them

pretty sure he lives at the school so you grew up at NRC

you know the entire layout of the school, visited every dorm, and even met all the ghosts

the ghosts all love you

they watch over you when Crowley and the other staff are busy

naturally you become a student of NRC when you're old enough

and once again, Crowley is so proud of you at orientation

he's taking photos as you walk up to the magic mirror and get assigned a dorm

he's so happy no matter what dorm you end up in

and if you want to change dorms, say no more it's already done

he's a little bit protective

loves when you make friends

he already knows if they're generally good people because he has their student files

it's a bit different if you have a romantic relationship tho

he's scared and will look into your partner more

will express his worries, but not to you

the other staff members hear it

"my child is growing up too fast!"

if you get involved with any of the overblots he is terrified and hovers around you afterwards

other students have mixed feelings about you

some will want to be on your good side because you're close with the headmage

others will be cautious of you because they worry if they offend you then they'll get expelled

and some (Azul) may try to take advantage of you

he's also painfully supportive

if you play any sports at NRC he has set up a cheering squad for you and you alone

also probably going to ask you to help him with his work

"won't you help your dear loving and hardworking father?"

when breaks come up he will give you the choice to stay at NRC or go on vacation with him

even if you say no to going with him he will try to convince you

he calls it parent child bonding

while other students may say he's not a very good headmage, he thinks he's great

he doesn't mind what the other students say, but if you were to say it...

he may start to consider that he's not as good as he thinks

what would really make him realize they were right was if you somehow overblotted

if you did overblot, he's full on crying and heartbroken

of course he's going to save you from the overblot

but afterwards he's going to just hug you and cry

he can be a bit of an overbearing father at times, but it's because he loves you

Crewel:

a more strict but loving father

he absolutely loves raising you

he calls you his pup

unlike Crowley, he won't keep a million photos of you or collect your first assignments or anything

but he is proud of the things you do

if you present him with some art you made or something cool you did he will be proud

the type of dad to keep your art on the wall

he also will spoil you

like you won't even know how much he spoils you

you'll be happy just to get a new coat and it's actually one of the best brands that costs so much money

his motto is "Only the best for my little pup"

this motto perseveres throughout your life

when you attend NRC, he's super proud no matter what dorm you end up in

when you attend school is when the slightly more strict side of him shows itself

he wants you to pass all your classes and will help you study

you might not get many breaks until he's sure you understand the concept and know how to do it

of course he's not as strict with you as he is with other students

they might not even get breaks

he will push you to get good grades but he always knows when he starts to push too far and will stop himself

if he accidentally does push you to hard he will apologize and try to make it up to you

Crewel is a bit of a protective dad

he pays attention to what his students are like so when you mention your friends he already knows them

he doesn't mind as long as they're good people

if you're in a romantic relationship he's a bit more protective

remember that motto I mentioned earlier? yeah that comes into play here

he thinks you deserve the best and will not tolerate your partner giving you anything less

he can be very critical of your partner and you may have to tell him to back off

he may also give your partner more work in class than other students

Crewel likes to make sure that you're dressed well and will tidy up your appearance when he sees something out of place

Trein:

very loving father

he already has daughters so you aren't an only child

you know how he treats Lucius? you get similar treatment

he is a doting cat dad and a doting dad

he spends a lot of time with you and your siblings as you grow up

he never wants to miss any part of your life

also will hang your artwork on the wall

he'll even bring some to his classroom and hang them up there

he will go on and on about you to his students if they ask

some may do this to get out of doing classwork

they find out later that they still get the assignment but now they have no explanation of how to do it

he's very proud whenever you complete assignments or get good grades

and he's very proud when you finally get to go to NRC

he won't really mind whatever dorm you get into

but he will worry if it's Savanaclaw

students in that dorm are more prone to fights so he's worried

like Crewel, he's a bit of a protective dad

he will slightly judge your friend choice depending on who they are but won't interfere with anything

unless they get you in trouble, then he'll say something

if you're in a romantic relationship, he will silently judge them too

will also be more strict towards your partner in his class

he will not tolerate them slacking off in any way

well...he doesn't tolerate anyone slacking off in his class but even more so your partner

when you're in his class, he is much more relaxed with you

while he won't let you sleep you can still get away with spacing out or not paying attention

you also get Lucius' attention while you're in the class

most students find the cat annoying and Lucius will glare at them, but Lucius loves you!

he'll lay on your lap during class and purr very loudly

whoever sits next to you may be nervous not to disturb the cat

whenever Trein and Lucius get separated he gets really panicked

unless he knows Lucius is with you

you're the only one he trusts with Lucius

Lucius himself is protective of you

if anyone gets too close for the cat's liking, he may scratch them

while Trein is more passive aggressive with his protectiveness, Lucius is more outwardly disapproving

Vargas:

proud dad #4

he's unashamed to be your biggest fan

no matter what you're doing or where you go he's cheering you on

he probably has you playing at least one sport growing up

wants you to be super fit and active

and he'll also feed you all sorts of healthy foods

he wants to be your role model so bad

he just wants to hear you say even once "I want to be just like you Dad"

if he does hear it, he's fallen to his knees and overwhelmed with emotion

he won't cry, but he comes close

super proud when you become a student of NRC

he doesn't really mind what dorm you get in, but he secretly hopes it's Savanaclaw

Savanaclaw is the most athletic dorm

no matter what dorm you end up in, he is cheering as soon as the magic mirror says it

Crowley has to tell him to calm down

he's not a protective dad

he encourages you to make friends and doesn't mind them at all

he doesn't mind when you have a romantic partner either

in fact if you introduced them he would simply hug them and get straight to bonding

your father has now stolen your partner for bonding time

where did they go and how long will they be gone? nobody knows

when they do come back Vargas will say he's part of the family now

when you're in his class, he already expects you to participate and stay fit

so he's not as worried about you as he is for other students

if you play any sports in school, he is coming to all your games and cheering for you

he will be the cheerleader

he's over there with pom-poms and everything

Sam:

you are such a spoiled child

like really anything you want, you got it

and I do mean anything

he has connections so he can get ahold of anything

you are his special little imp

he treasures the little artwork you make as a kid

it's the one thing he won't sell

he often trains you on how to run the store

so even though you may be small, he may still have you work in the shop

he won't have you do anything too big of course

but little by little you learn more about how to work and run the shop and you get to bond with him too!

but people are more likely to come again and buy things when there's a cute child

so having you there is also a business strategy

he's such a fun dad tho

he loves to play with you a lot and will generally do anything you think is fun together

he's happy when you finally become a student at NRC and it doesn't bother him which dorm you end up in

though if he had to choose he would say Octavinelle because they got the business strategies

he's not a protective dad either

he encourages you to make all sorts of friends

he even encourages you to make friends on the other side but never specifies beyond that

he doesn't mind if you have a partner either

they shouldn't expect a discount unless they are really good to you

speaking of discounts

you don't have to pay for things while you're at the school

he gives them to you for free

but he will ask if you want to help him out at the shop sometime

some students may try to get close to you so they can get more discounts (Ruggie)

and some may try to get close to you so they can get some of those business connections (Azul)

Sam hopes that in the future, you may be able to take on ownership of the shop

it's been in the family for a long time so he hopes he can pass it on to you

you have a while before that tho

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suzukiblu · 6 months

Text

Day five of fic NaNoWriMo; obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

The Superboy problem is a problem, but it's a backburner problem. There isn't really much Tim can do about it, after all. Bruce isn't gonna accept "hey so I know secret identities and maintaining the Bat-mystique and everything but could you just like . . . take in an extremely high-profile teenage superhero with no vested interest in maintaining any kind of secret identity of his own, maybe?" as a plan. Tim needs something better. Something more functional. And also something Kon will actually go for.

And there's just no way that Tim can just walk up to a notoriously independent and proud and defensive teammate who barely considers him an acquaintance and say "do you want an apartment and monthly living expenses and maybe also an allowance, no strings attached?"

That would be weird, definitely.

Like. Very definitely.

Tim's still tempted to try it, mind. It's not like he couldn't afford it, with a little bit of abuse of his trust fund and a lot of lying to his dad. And really, would that even be an abuse? If helping his teammate live his fucking life outside of a fucking lab counts as an abuse . . .

Well, maybe he really will move up his supervillain timeline, that's all.

But it's a backburner problem, still, and Tim isn't actually thinking about it at all when his best chance to solve it pops up. What Tim is doing is suffering through a field trip to a Metropolis art museum, because the school board is full of cowards and thinks sending his grade to an outside-Gotham museum will decrease the chances of said field trip being interrupted by a museum robbery.

Obviously it will, but come on, they're from Gotham. Like they can't handle a museum robbery.

Also all the art here is pretentious. Like, in obnoxious Metropolis-type ways.

If Tim has to look at one more stylized interpretation of the sun reflecting on a skyscraper while a "subtle" caped figure flies by in the background, he will actually choke. Like literally, actually choke.

Get one original thought. Please. Someone. Anyone.

(No, the stylized interpretations of the moon reflecting on a Gothic building while a subtle caped figure looms among the gargoyles are not equally uncreative, thank you very much. At least duplicating Gotham architecture involves some actual artistry beyond "paint a few straight lines and add a lens flare".)

Tim takes some half-assed notes about the boringly generic exhibit they're here to see and then goes looking for literally anything more interesting than said exhibit. There's got to be some photography somewhere in this place, right? Or at least some loaner art that somebody outside of Metropolis put together before Superman's public debut. Or something.

He ends up in the ancient Mesopotamian exhibit mostly by trying to avoid people and, unfortunately, immediately runs straight into a magical artifact. He doesn't actually know it's magic at the time, but the assholes who are about to blow in an outside wall in pursuit of it sure do.

Tim, unfortunately oblivious to phenomenal cosmic power in clay form, thinks it looks kind of like a cute little toy goat and is just grateful it isn't another skyscraper.

Then the wall gets blown in.

"The school board deserves this," Tim mutters, closing his notebook and sticking it back in his bag because sure, why not. This might as well happen.

Ugh.

The very obvious thieves rush in through the gap in the wall. A few people scream–Tim assumes to be polite, since this is already the most unimpressive museum robbery he's seen in months–and the civilians scatter as the guards rush forward. Tim wonders why anyone's even bothering, given that this is Metropolis. What, are they worried the thieves aren't gonna validate their parking for them?

Seriously, Tim knows all the robbery statistics in this city. Even when Superman doesn't show up, the injury and fatality rates are shockingly low. It's statistically more dangerous to go for a walk in Gotham Park mid-afternoon than it is to be present for an armed robbery in Metropolis.

Which is funny, considering the people doing armed robberies in Metropolis come armed for Superman.

Look, Tim doesn't understand the statistics, he just records them.

The thieves tie up the guards first, which seems like a waste of time to Tim when time is of the essence but probably will be for the best if they get pinned down in the gallery, he supposes. Then again, that'd likely end up in a hostage situation anyway, so why worry about containing a couple of unarmed guards over saving thirty seconds when you're doing a smash and grab?

Seems inefficient to him, considering.

He keeps assessing the situation and taking mental notes as he ushers various classmates and museum-goers towards comparative safety, since a successful supervillain timeline requires appropriate research and development. And also, Metropolis-based criminals should know how to work around Superman, at least in theory, so it's best to keep an eye on what does and doesn't work for them.

Not for any specific reason, obviously.

Definitely not.

One of the thieves goes for the little clay goat, smashing its glass display case with their armored elbow, and only then do the museum alarms start screaming. Seems like a stupid design choice when an exploding wall doesn't set them off, but whatever, at least there are alarms.

Honestly, if it were him, Tim would have a silent alarm and a secondary alarm set to a specifically Superman-discernable frequency, though he's sure Superman would get sick of that quick in non-life-threatening situations, so maybe there are local regulations about that or something, who knows. He should look into that, actually. Or just play something annoying on a frequency normal human hearing can’t discern and see what happens, if nothing else.

They make sonic fences to keep dogs in and teenagers out, don't they? Same theory.

The thieves are all yelling orders to each other and arguing; no clear chain of command and a poorly-established plan, Tim notes. Most of the civilians are clear or behind cover, so if he just–

Right, Tim remembers belatedly as one of the thieves makes a grab for him. He's currently wearing civilian wear, isn't he.

That probably means he needs to let this incredibly clumsy grab work, doesn't it, he reflects resignedly. Definitely it does, actually.

Ugh.

Tim, dubiously, lets the thief grab him and debates how upset he's supposed to look about this situation. A Gothamite can't look too freaked out over a Metropolis criminal, obviously; he'd never live it down at school. Seriously, is this guy even armed, he–

Ah, never mind. Definitely armed.

And an idiot with no concept of trigger safety, judging by the way he's holding the gun he's currently jamming into Tim's temple.

Great. Just great.

What does this moron even think he's doing, anyway? The guards are all tied up, as far as he knows there's no superheroes on scene, and nobody's actually trying to stop them. If he accidentally murders a civilian right now, they're all going to be in way, way worse trouble than just stealing a little clay goat would entail.

Tim resists the urge to point that out since there is, again, a gun to his head right now and the person holding it there is in fact a moron with no concept of trigger safety. Not an ideal time to start a conversation, especially not to criticize said moron.

It's tempting, just again, not ideal.

"The fuck are you doing?!" one of the thieves yells to the one going to a really unnecessary amount of effort to drag Tim along. "You were supposed to grab a little kid for the hostage!"

"There's no little kids, Mark!" the thief holding Tim protests petulantly. "I'm doing my best here, man!"

"No names, asshole!" the apparent "Mark" yells back at him.

Tim is pretty sure these thieves are just not very good at crime in general. Or possibly just not very good at anything at all.

He starts calculating the best place to "trip" out of this guy's arms and "accidentally" elbow him in the dick–off-camera, obviously, he doesn't want to leave any footage for anyone to review later–and pretends to be a good little hostage in the meantime, if not a particularly cowed one. Again: Gothamite. He can't actually let it look like a Metropolis criminal did anything worse than mildly annoy him.

Okay, maybe like, Lex Luthor or Brainiac could get a Gothamite past "mildly annoyed", but not a half-assed handful of petty thieves with a shitty plan and an even shittier exit strategy. They would've been better off running in, grabbing what they wanted, and then just scattering; even Superman can't be everywhere at once, especially if the thieves all blended into the crowd or had a couple of getaway cars waiting or something similar. Multiple targets, it'd be easy for him to miss the right one until it was too late.

That would require actual skill and planning and genuine forethought, though, which are very clearly not things this crew has bothered with either developing in themselves or outsourcing to someone competent.

Tim is going to be so fucking embarrassed if he dies to a low-level Metropolis criminal's craptastic trigger discipline. At least the Joker got Jason. There was a plan and actual malicious intent there, and also intentional targeting of specifically him. Tim has apparently just been tagged as "person who looks easiest to hold hostage", which he guesses he could take as a good sign for his acting abilities but honestly is more likely just this guy being a fucking dumbass with less brains than a mummified limpet.

God, imagine what his classmates would put in the yearbook if he died on a Metropolis field trip, too. Actually, no, never mind, he doesn't even want to think about it. Too fucking mortifying a possibility.

The thief drags Tim closer to suitable "tripping" territory, Tim debates how hard he can elbow him and still claim it was accidental, and somebody says, "Are you fucking serious, man?"

Somebody, specifically, is Kon. He's standing in the middle of the hole in the wall in the full leather jacket and S-shield combo, hands on his hips and expression exasperated. Tim has a weird, irrational moment of thinking he actually recognizes him and wants to know how he fucked up this bad, but Kon's eyeing the thieves, not him.

"You know I'm gonna get blamed for this, right," Kon says, gesturing meaningfully at the smashed-in wall. "I always get blamed for the property damage."

"Back off or I'll shoot!" the thief holding Tim yells, jamming the barrel of his gun annoyingly hard into his temple.

"Does 'faster than a speeding bullet' mean nothing to you people?" Kon asks, tilting his head just enough to make it obvious that he's rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Superman is faster than a speeding bullet," another thief snaps. "Not you, you shitty little poser."

"I mean, you could try testing me and then get attempted murder on your crime bingo cards for absolutely zero reason," Kon suggests conversationally, smirking in amusement. "Security cameras still running in here?"

Tim guesses he's saved, technically, but this definitely means he can never tell Young Justice his secret identity, because if Kon recognizes him he will never, ever let him live this down.

Also, everybody at school is going to give him so much shit for getting saved by a Super.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young justice #young just us #rinfic #long post #wip: obligatory sugar baby kon

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waywardducks · 8 months

Text

Incorrect bat family quotes but as things me and my sibling have done/said.

Jason: *just trying to read* *feels an eery presence just watching him.*

Damien and Tim: *both just starting at him*

Jason: Yes? Can I help you?

Tim: Slushies

Jason: okay?

Damien: Take us to them.

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Dick: *Chilling in his bed*

Cass: *very slowly opening the door to his room*

Both: *just stare at each other for an uncomfortable amount of time*

Dick: Please, child. What is it? I can't handle this suspense.

Cass: *quietly* I have a pool party today…

Dick: okay? I'm glad for you.

Cass: …

Cass: Can you go buy me tampons?

Dick:

Dick: Of fucking course I can go buy you tampons! *already jumping out of bed* What size?

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Damien: *angry, slamming doors, punching walls, screaming at everyone*

Tim: Autism is one hell of a bitch

Dick: Tim, no

Jason: No, no, he's got a point. We really should get him checked out.

Damien: I CAN HEAR YOU

*he was diagnosed with autism the following month*

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Stephaine: *putting makeup on Cass* almost done!

Tim: we need to hurry, the movie is starting soon

Stephanie: It's fine, we have plenty of time, now let me do your makeup.

Dick: What are y'all doing? Why is everything… pink?

Cass: We are going to watch Barbie

Dick: Can I come?

Steph: Nah it's girls night?

Dick: Then why is Tim going?

Steph: He's one of the girls, obviously.

Tim: Yeah, obviously.

Dick: *crying* I wanna be one of the girls too

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Bruce: Hey, Tim

Tim: Yeah? What's up?

Bruce: Remember how you're therapist mention she thought you might have ASD?

Tim: Yeah, she said she wasn't %100 percent sure on it though.

Bruce: Well she just sent me a document confirming your diagnosis.

Tim:

Dick: Woah dude! Congrats on the tism!

Jason: Welcome to the spectrum little bro!

Damien: Is Dick the only one that isn't ASD?

Dick: *is sad bc he's left out of the club again*

- ✨✨✨✨✨✨

Dick, Tim, Jason and Damien: *driving down the road at 4 in the morning, blasting fnaf songs at full volume* IVE GOT NO TIME!! I've GOT NO TIME TO LIVE

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

Tim: Jason. I'm bi

Jason: Okay

Tim: Okay? That's all you have to say?

Jason: damn Tim, tf you want be to say? Sorry?

Tim: No! I just thought-

Jason: If you have boy problems go to Dick. He's the one with the most experience in that field.

Dick: Hey! I resent that!

Jason: Oh please, you can call yourself straight all you want but you and both know you've what kinda person you were when you first became Nightwing.

Dick: I wasn't gay Jason I was a slut its different.

Jason: sure, okay.

-✨✨✨✨✨✨

I'm gonna make this a series lmao. Being in a house with 6 kids gives you a lot of stories.

Also, yes, 3 of my younger siblings are officially diagnosed with autism. (Damien and my sister are literally the same person. I have so many headcanons about it, it's not even funny. She even has the same insane art skills, I'm terrified of how fast she learned to do things I've been in school for years to learn)

#stephanie brown #batman #bruce wayne #tim drake #dick grayson #dc comics #jason todd #cassandra cain #duke thomas #incorrect batfamily quotes #batfam #nightwing #red hood #red robin #robin

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ghostbeam · 1 year

Text

swore i could feel you through the walls | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Dabi knows that he can’t leave you now. You belong to him, and he belongs to you, and the stars knew before either of you did. And Dabi can’t argue with fate, or destiny, or pure dumb luck, not that he wants to. He pulls your comforter up over his body. He’ll be here when you come home to him. In a place made for staying, Dabi thinks he will.

Notes: hiiiiii so this is an idea that has been bouncing around my head for like. Literal years ajsjsjsjs It’s always kind of been more of a horror idea and then I fanficified it and now it’s this! This was kind of a process and I rewrote and replanned and went over this over and over again but I think it is at a place that I am mildly happy with. It’s a completely ridiculous idea and I’m honestly a little insecure about it but fuck it!! Thanks for reading hope u enjoy<3 (title from Chinese satellite by Phoebe bridgers) listen to the playlist here!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, f!reader, explicit content, yandere!dabi, stalking, Dabi hides in readers house without her knowledge, some paranoia, psychological abuse, slight yandere!reader, mentions of somnophillia but no actual instances of it, violence, non-consensual voyeurism (Dabi watches reader masturbate), unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, marking, biting (shoulder, neck), painplay, one mention of carving names into skin with no instance of it, mentions of blood (reader bites dabi’s neck and draws blood), use of good girl, mutual obsession

Words: 9.3k

He can’t breathe.

Dabi runs from the low-ranked hero, surprisingly fast on his tail as the distance between the two becomes smaller and smaller. With his lungs burning, his skin irritated from quirk use, and the lack of help from his peers, Dabi realizes that he needs to find a way to lose the ice quirk user that is quickly gaining on him.

Turning down a narrow alleyway, he’s disappointed to find that it’s a dead end. He pauses to catch his breath, keeping himself tucked tightly against the shadowy wall. Dabi surveys his surroundings, finding nothing but garbage before he looks up. He’s against an apartment building, he realizes, looking at the lights in the windows above him.

All windows are lit except one.

Dabi doesn’t have the time to wonder about the owner, shaking his head and forcing himself up the fire escape, preparing himself to use his quirk if it comes down to it. He breaks the lock on the darkened window and shuffles inside. He falls over a stack of books that sits underneath the window, freezing on the floor as he listens for any movement throughout the walls. When he hears nothing, he stands from the floor and closes the window, creeping down the hall in search of the other rooms. There’s one bathroom and a bedroom with no one inside, and relief rushes over Dabi as he feels his shoulders relax.

Assuming you won’t be home for a while, Dabi makes his way back to the main room, turns the light on, and heads for the kitchen. He looks through your fridge for something to eat, pulling out a Tupperware of leftovers that he heats in the microwave. As he waits for the seconds to pass, he looks around the apartment.

It sets in, then, how lived in the place is, shelves full of books, records and DVDs, art and photos against the walls, leaving almost no space for the blankness underneath. The kitchen is pink, he realizes, looking around and eyeing the various knickknacks shaped like mushrooms or kittens, unique magnets hang a mess of papers on the fridge beside post-it notes of reminders.

He wants to hate it. It’s a complete mess, chaotic even, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s intrigued now. He ignores the beeping of the microwave and steps away from the kitchen, observing the various pictures on the walls. It’s not difficult to find the owner of the apartment, the face showing up in a multitude of snapshots. Your face.

As he looks at the walls, he finds himself stuck on you, the curve of your jaw, your lips, your eyes. You make his heart beat in his chest, excitement bubbling at the realization that he is standing in your home, in your space, right in the middle of your entire life.

You’re beautiful. He feels his stomach drop.

The more he explores, the more he seems to like you. The Sargent print on your wall, the Rilke in your bookshelf, the numerous albums in your collection that he knows nothing about. He flips through the pages of your books, smiling at your annotations, the ink between the pages, and the tiny star you draw next to your favorite passages. He runs his fingers across the words over and over again, committing them to memory, the need to love the things you love burning in his chest.

It’s not enough, he realizes, looking through just this room. He stalks down the hallway and turns the light to your bedroom on. And oh, how content he feels in here, a room clearly much more personal than the one out there. It’s a bit of a mess, with clothes on the floor and the bed like you’d changed out of many different outfits before leaving. The full-length mirror against your wall is peppered with postcards and pictures from magazines and those same post-it notes: call mom, pay the phone bill, need more cotton pads. So, you’re forgetful. Dabi smiles at the knowledge.

There are string lights of stars hanging on your ceiling and lamps in the shape of flowers on your bedside table. Your bed is unmade and you have sheets with scatters of constellations on them. Your affinity for stars makes him smile, one more thing he’s found in common with you.

It shocks him how interested he is in you, in all of the things that make up your little life. But the more he explores, the more he’s sure you’re made for him.

He looks through your closet, through your dresser, stuck rummaging through your underwear drawer. Every set of lingerie you have is some variation of blue, and Dabi can’t help but feel as though it’s for him. It’s all for him, your things, you. Fate, or the universe, or luck itself is on his side. He pockets a pair of panties that closely resembles his eyes before turning to your desk. More post-it notes are stuck to the surface, and there’s a notebook that he reaches for before your wall catches his eye. There are more photos, haphazardly taped up and not at all as organized as your living room, but he can tell they’re important to you: family photos, people he recognizes from films, rock singers, and—him.

Dabi is on your wall.

The photo is one that went viral a couple of months back when he got into an altercation with one of the top ten heroes. He remembers the fight well because of how large his flames grew, and the damage that he did to the surrounding area, to the people, to the hero he was up against. He’s stood with his arms out in front of him, neon flames emanating from his palms as the moment in battle is frozen in time forever on your wall. You printed it out on photo paper and everything. He plucks it from its spot and turns it over. Your handwriting with his name and a heart is scrawled on the blank space. He runs a thumb over the heart, feeling his face warm up.

This isn't a mistake. You know who he is, and you’re a fan, not just of the photo itself, but of him. He wonders if you’re one of those weirdos he’s seen online with accounts dedicated to him, one of the anonymous boxes that engage in discussions about his quirk and identity, losers grasping at any detail they can that might bring them closer to the truth, or just to him in general.

But the more he thinks about it, the more excited he gets, thinking about you saving blurry pictures of his fights to your phone, watching youtube videos of him with shitty quality, and tweeting about him with stupid little emojis. He wonders if you dream of him, if you think of him while touching yourself, or if you fantasize about silly things like being a villain’s girlfriend. He likes thinking of you like this, just as obsessed with him as he’s becoming with you.

Dabi doesn’t care what it’s called: divine intervention, cosmic love, soulmates. All are true; none capture how this feels.

Your laptop is password protected and his name doesn’t work when he tries, so he moves on from your bedroom. Entering your bathroom, he looks through your medicine cabinet, analyzing your meds and products as he searches for every bit of information he can. He looks at the lipstick that sits on the counter and debates putting it on in the form of an indirect kiss but decides to pocket it instead. He sprays each and every one of your perfumes, deciding which is his favorite, and throwing the one he dislikes out the window he came through, watching it shatter against the cement.

He pulls back the shower curtain and begins to strip, turning the water on and letting the heat hit his worn-out body. He hasn’t felt water pressure this good in years. He uses your shampoo, your conditioner, your rose-scented soap, even though it’s sure to irritate his scars. He uses everything he can to be close to you, to smell like you, to have any piece of you even though you’re not here.

When he’s done, he lays in your bed, against the sheets that you occupy every night except tonight, and stares up at the string lights above him. He picks up the stuffed bear with angel wings that sits against one of your pillows, caressing the ears between two fingers. He thinks about you, about the things he doesn’t know, details you don’t have plastered to your walls or hidden between pages of poetry books. He wants to know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, how you’d look undone beneath him.

He can finally breathe.

…

The keys to your apartment chime against your door as you move to unlock it, hoards of keychains rattling against each other as you push the heavy door open. It slams shut behind you and you toss your keys onto the kitchen counter, hauling your suitcase behind you. The familiar pang of loneliness hits you immediately as you look out over your crowded apartment.

“I’m home.” You mutter softly, running your fingers over the plush fabric of your couch.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself with books and posters and comfortable shag carpets, you still feel the same each time you come home to emptiness.

You roll your suitcase to your bedroom, deciding that unpacking is a job for the you of the future while the you of the present deserves to sink into the couch and watch tv. Your unmade bed catches your eye and you wonder if you’d forgotten to tidy up before you left to visit your mother. You don’t dwell on it, dragging your tired body to your couch and turning on your television. You flip through multiple channels before a name on the news catches your attention: Dabi.

Your obsession with the cremation villain seemingly happened overnight. The League of Villains had intrigued you due to their mission to dismantle hero society, a cause that resonated with you as a quirkless citizen. When Dabi joined the group, you were immediately interested in the aloof and mysterious fire quirk-user. You never stood a chance. You spent hours on message boards, gathering any and all information on the group as you could in order to feel closer to him. Your adoration never made much sense to those you talked to online with the lack of information available about the man. But as the League grew in popularity, details about Dabi became far more accessible to the general public. His true identity remained a mystery but two things you were certain of: his quirk came with a drawback in the form of his own body and fire got him excited.

And now, the news anchor on your television was relaying the news that he had been seen around your neighborhood and still hadn’t been found. You feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest, excitement bubbling up as you think about the prospect of catching a glimpse of him in real life. Realistically, you know there’s no way that Dabi stuck around here, understanding the risks of staying in one place for too long as a wanted criminal, but the thought makes your stomach flip. You lean back against your couch, clutching the remote in one hand and letting out an excited giggle. For a moment, you’re grateful for the emptiness of your apartment, your embarrassing display of excitement only witnessed by you and you alone.

You spend a few hours on LOV fan accounts and forums, hoping to find out any more details about the news, but most people online say it’s not worth looking into. Much like you thought, Dabi was most likely far away from your place by now.

Finding nothing, you stand up from your couch, stretching your arms above your head as you make your way to your bathroom. You turn on the shower and allow it to heat up as you find something to sleep in. When you return, you strip and step into the shower. Your mind wanders toward thoughts of Dabi as you stand underneath the water. You’re disappointed. The one weekend you leave town, the love of your life visits your building. The endless push and pull is frustrating.

It’s something that’s happened to you time and time again, coming across the aftermath of an attack, or arriving somewhere that Dabi was rumored to have been seen. You keep missing him by mere seconds, and this is no different, though you aren’t exactly sure what you would do if you ever got a chance.

After finishing up, you step out of the shower, take a towel from the hook on the wall and dry yourself off. You change into your clothes and reach towards your medicine cabinet before pausing. Drawn in the steam on the mirror is a heart. You stare at it, examining it closely. Had you drawn on the mirror the last time you showered? When was the last time you cleaned the mirror? You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a loud bang coming from your living room.

Without thinking, you rush towards the sound, spotting the door to your hallway closet slamming shut. You freeze where you stand at the end of the hallway, weighing your options before deciding you don’t have much time to think about it. Bolting to your kitchen, you pick up a large knife from its block, before carefully making your way back to your closet. With the knife in one hand, you turn the knob to the door, pulling it open in a hurry and holding the blade in front of you. You’re met with nothing but your own things, coats, and dresses that you never wear, a closet full of items left unused. Even when you push through the racks of clothes, you find nothing.

Relief washes over you at the knowledge that you are in fact here alone. You lower the knife, allowing yourself to breathe as you calm down. You stare down at the weapon in your hand, scoffing.

“What was I going to do with this?” You speak out loud. Even if somebody was in your home, could you really defend yourself? You’re quirkless, you aren’t trained in any sort of self-defense, and you’re not even sure you’d have the guts to actually stab someone. You shake your head, walking to your kitchen to put it back.

You retreat to your bedroom, pulling back the covers of your unmade bed, clutching your bear in one arm, and staring up at the ceiling.

Inside of your hallway closet, up against the wall, Dabi’s shoulders relax. He imagines you with your knife outside of the door, the scared expression on your face, one he could only see from in between your coat and the wall. Your eyebrows pinched up and your eyes wide, your bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. He takes pride in being the reason for that look. He pulls away from the wall, carefully sliding out of the closet and shutting the door behind him. He looks down the hallway, toward the door that you’ve left ajar. He wants to sneak in, watch your chest rise and fall, caress your cheek, and feel you lean into his touch, but he knows you're more than likely awake, still shaken up from his antics.

He’ll be back tomorrow, anyway.

…

The encounters continue into the rest of the week. Doors creak open and things fall from shelves. You hear noises late into the night and find more hearts left on reflective surfaces, your mirrors, your television, your windows.

With no sign of another living thing inside of your home with you, the only explanation you have left to give yourself is something paranormal, even if you aren’t sure of it yourself.

And besides, you kind of like the idea of living with a ghost. This one seems to be in love with you.

On top of all of the hearts, your ghost has knocked off books of love poems from your bookshelves, blasted Linger by The Cranberries from your speakers, and flipped through television channels to land on one playing In the Mood for Love. And when you fall asleep at night, just as you can feel yourself crossing the boundary between sleep and awake, you swear you can feel your bed dip beside you.

You don’t hate it, and you aren’t scared, and sometimes it is comforting to know that you aren’t as alone as you always believed you would be.

Dabi watches you most days. He watches you nap on your couch and laugh at your cell phone. He watches you parade around your home in nothing but your underwear and a t-shirt. He watches you concentrate on the novels you like to read, where a crease forms between your eyebrows as your eyes fly across the page. He watches you talk to yourself about anything and everything, about work, about television shows you enjoy, about him.

He likes that you’re a complete mess in the morning, that you can barely keep yourself upright, let alone keep your eyes open while you brush your teeth. He likes that you spray the perfume he decided was his favorite all that time ago before you leave for the day. He likes that you sometimes switch between multiple different albums before settling on the one you like. He likes to watch you dance to them. He likes that he’s never heard of them before. He likes you.

You’re a natural result of loneliness, much like he is. But where you filled your void with material things, stuff, Dabi left his empty and allowed it to grow. He would have thought it was foolish, the idea of filling that hole in him with anything other than anger and hurt, thoughts of revenge. Had he not fallen for you, maybe he would have hated you. The two had always felt so similar.

You’re happy with him here, he notices, much happier than you had been that first night. You talk to him, your ghost. You ask him about the shows you watch, his opinion on your favorite albums, what shoes to wear to work. He’s a part of your life through knocks on the walls and highlighted lines in between the pages of your books and soft touches in the middle of the night.

Dabi holds it all close to his Molotov heart and hopes that the ruin is worth it.

…

You fall asleep almost immediately, exhausted from your busy day, one spent without your ghost. Dabi sneaks in late, caught up with league business for the past couple of days, and he misses you.

He stares at your sleeping form against the night sky that is your sheets. He feels himself relax at the sight of you, realizing just how much it affects him to be away from you for too long. He takes his boots off at your bedroom door and walks in long strides toward you. He cups your cheek in one hand, running his thumb along your cheekbone, smiling at how you subconsciously lean into his touch.

Dabi moves to the other side of your bed, sliding in beside you. He does nothing but stare at the back of your head for a few minutes, gathering the courage to reach out and touch. He wants to hold you. He wants to do more than just lay beside you and listen to you breathe.

He runs a hand up your arm, dragging his fingers against your skin. He wraps an arm around your midsection and pulls flush against his chest, feeling your body relax in his hold. He sneaks a hand up your sleep shirt and thumbs over the soft flesh of your stomach. Your hair smells like lavender shampoo, and it makes him nostalgic for that first night.

A sudden sinking feeling settles in his stomach as he breathes you in, the guilt of barging into your life and bothering you to the point of delusion makes Dabi feel ill. You’re important to him now in a much deeper way than you were at the beginning. He doesn’t want to hurt you, at least not like this.

“Dabi…” Your voice is soft, starry with sleep. He freezes against you. Your voice comes again, “Dabi.”

“It’s me, baby.” He whispers against your ear, unsure of just how awake you are.

“You’re so warm…Dabi…” You trail off, dragging the last syllable of his name. Your voice is so soft, breathy as you talk through sleep. He can feel his pants tighten at the sound from your lips. Fuck. He can’t stay here, not when you sound so sweet.

He could fuck you. He wants to. He’s not even sure you’d wake up. He’d pull pretty little moans from your throat, slotting himself between your thighs and sliding into you. You’d already be wet for him, and he’d watch your hands ball into little fists in your sleep. You’d chant his name like a prayer. He’d come deep inside of you and leave you to wake up the next morning with the evidence between your legs.

But he does not fuck you. He places a kiss to the side of your neck and pulls away from you despite the whine you let out as he detaches his body from yours. He leaves with every intention of never coming back. His ruin might be worth it, but yours isn’t.

…

The lack of paranormal activity in your home is alarming, which is something you never thought you’d ever think about. Your ghost has been gone for weeks, and you’re afraid that you may have made it all up in your head.

This possibility is one you dread, mainly because it has everything to do with your own sanity. If you had been imagining each event, drawing hearts in your mirrors, underlining passages in your books, and forgetting about it, you know that something has gone completely wrong. And you can’t blame it on anything outside of yourself.

The idea that you’ve been pushed this far, that your own loneliness has you creating imaginary instances of a haunting, terrifies you. What terrifies you more is that you miss him and that you’re alone again.

But you can’t think about it, or you know you’ll go insane, more so than you possibly already are. So you bury yourself in fuzzy blankets, and you play sad albums on your speaker, and you scroll through the same forums that comfort you in times like these.

You know it’s pathetic, pining for someone who doesn’t know you exist, someone completely and wholly evil for all you know. A man you aren’t even sure has a heart.

You think yours may be enough for the both of you, though.

Darkness falls over your living room in what feels like a matter of minutes, though you know it’s been hours since you first picked up your phone. Your record player has been playing the same scratchy hum that signifies the end of one side of an album. You lift your eyes from your phone screen to one of your living room windows, the one with the drawn heart in the bottom corner that you can’t bring yourself to clean off. You let your phone fall to your chest as you stare up at your ceiling and sigh.

Your heart is a greedy, hungry thing and your mind is a tool to feed it. Through daydreams and delusion, through want, want, want. You can hide from the isolation for a while, but the pain always catches up. And tonight it hurts.

You fall onto your bed with a thud, and your phone drops beside you. There’s a dull ache underneath your skin, one all too familiar and unwanted by you. Why had he left you? His absence haunts you more than his presence ever did.

Your phone buzzes against your sheets, a notification from one of the discussion sites you frequent lights up the screen, the subject being Dabi and the recent sightings in the city. The ache subsides.

It’s a video of him, maybe the clearest one you’ve ever seen. He’s alone, and he’s talking to someone, or a bunch of someones, other villains. You can’t make out the words, but you can tell they’re not pretty by the way the men start to close in on him. The smile that crosses Dabi’s face is razor sharp, deadly, reaching up to his crazed eyes. You gasp when he knocks his head against one of the men’s noses. Another one punches him square in the jaw for it, and he stumbles back, touching a finger to the seam in his face. Dabi isn’t a fighter, not with his fists at least, and you’re wondering why he’s letting them get away with this. He goes to punch one of them but misses, and while he’s distracted by his own move, one of the men sends a kick to his stomach. You hear him groan before laughing, his head hanging low as he clutches the place he was hit.

You feel hot suddenly, touching your face with your palm. You watch Dabi raise his head slowly, his laugh low and maniacal and unbelievably sexy. He licks the corner of his mouth before his hands spark with blue flames. He hurls his fire toward the men without a second thought, and that’s when the video ends. You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding against your chest. You squeeze your thighs together as you restart the video.

It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, watching him grin at these men, holding their life in his hands. You like watching him do more than just wield his quirk, watching his head crack against the man’s nose, watching his fist fly through the air. Something has to be wrong with you, you’re sure of it, but you can’t focus on anything but Dabi and his hands. The way that they’d feel against your skin, how they’d feel in your mouth, how they’d feel pressing your hips into your mattress. You slide your hand down your body and underneath the band of your sleep shorts. You’re already wet.

Dabi climbs through your window, the one branded with his fingerprinted heart, the window that allowed him into your life all those weeks ago. Your lights are off, and he can’t see your figure asleep on the couch in the darkness, so you must be asleep.

He promised himself he wouldn’t come back, promised you he wouldn’t. But it hurts without you, and the ache grows, the wanting. The fucking wanting.

He tried to bury it like he does everything else, tried to burn it to ash, drink it to death, beat it out of him. He’d let those guys get in a couple of good punches tonight just to feel something. Nothing works.

But you do.

He takes careful steps down the hallway when he hears your voice. He freezes. You’re moaning. He feels his breath catch in his chest. Of all of the days spent watching you, Dabi has never seen you like this. Desperate, aching, calling his name.

He watches you through your cracked door, spread out on your bed with your phone clutched tightly in one hand. You’re no longer watching whatever was on your screen, but you’ve left it playing as you arch against your bed.

“Dabi…” You mewl. He has to grab the door frame to keep himself steady at the sound. “W-want it.”

Fuck. How could he possibly leave you now? He palms himself through his jeans, watching you bring yourself closer and closer to the edge. He’s so hard that he might pass out. The puffs of air that fall from your lips as your legs shake have him holding back a groan. It isn’t until your noises become quiet that he realizes just what you’re watching.

The sound of his own laugh echoes through the speaker on your phone, and he’s surprised by the pained moan that falls from your lips at the sound.

It’s him. You’re watching him. Dabi holds back a groan. He’s careful to free himself from his pants without a sound, not that you would notice. You’re far too gone to acknowledge him right now. He could probably let out the noises that beg to be free of his throat, but he doesn’t risk it. He can’t do anything that could stop him from watching you come for him.

Your hand is obstructed by your sleep shorts, and the same can be said for the hand that has now discarded your phone onto the pillow beside your head and reached underneath your shirt to pinch one of your pert nipples. You’re close now, and so is he, barely able to keep his breathing steady as he strokes his hand against his cock.

He’d give anything to barge in now, pull you toward the edge of the bed, and sink into you without a care in the world. He wants to feel you tight around him, wants to kiss your neck and bite your skin and leave traces of himself everywhere. He wants to show you that you’re his, confirm what you’ve always known.

But instead he watches you writhe against your bed with his name falling from your lips. “Dabi–fuck! Gonna–”

You come with a loud cry, hips twitching a way that has Dabi cursing under his breath. He spills into his hand immediately after, reaching for your wall to hold himself up as he tries to keep quiet. But when his hand meets the hard surface of the wall, it collapses out from underneath, realization dawning on him that he’s pushed your bedroom door shut with a harsh slam.

At the sound of your door, you jolt up from your bed, the ecstasy of your orgasm quickly wearing off as you freeze. You listen for any other noises, and when you hear nothing, you slowly creep from your bed. Looking around your bedroom for some kind of weapon to protect yourself, you feel yourself growing panicked when you realize you have nothing. You tiptoe to your bedroom door, pushing your ear against the surface to listen to any sign of life on the other side. You hear nothing.

With your heart beating out of your chest, you slowly pull the door open, sticking your head out and looking down your dark hallway. There’s nobody there, and you wonder if this was yet another paranormal encounter after weeks of nothing.

A sinking feeling in your gut tells you that there’s nothing paranormal at all about your experiences.

You walk back to your bed in a daze, tucking yourself back under the covers and staring out your bedroom window. The video of Dabi continues to play on your phone, and you make no move to shut it off. You fall asleep to the sound, his crazed laughter somehow comforting to you in this moment.

The sinking feeling doesn’t leave you the next morning, and there’s no sign of another human in your apartment as you check all of your windows and doors. It all makes you feel uneasy, the creeping suspicion that it’s all in your head. You’re completely alone. You have no one to confide in, and even if you did, you’re sure they’d think you're insane or an idiot for allowing any of it to go on for so long without question.

You have no clue what to do or where to start, but you want whatever it is, ghost or not, gone.

…

The idea is ridiculous. You know that.

You know, standing in your living room with the ouija board you’ve just purchased sitting on your coffee table, that you are being completely ridiculous.

“If this works, then great. Then ghosts are real.” You speak aloud to nothing. “Then I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.”

Your eyes flitter to the bottle of raspberry wine you bought on your way home, something you know is sweet and easy to drink quickly. You’ll finish the bottle in no time. You reach for it, pouring a good amount into your glass and taking a large gulp. You hold the glass to your chest, breathing in and shivering at the cool sensation against your skin. The board sits on the table, and you let out a chuckle of disbelief.

Dabi stares at you from the darkness of your hallway. He’s been in your home since before you arrived with your children’s game and your sugary wine. You’ve been on edge for days, and Dabi knows he has everything to do with it. Still, he watches you quietly, taking in the last moments of invisibility before he has to tell you.

You’re still staring at the board. You take another gulp of your wine and look out of the window that he climbed through. The strap of your spaghetti strap tank top is falling down. He thinks of the painting that hangs on your wall. You’re Sargent’s Madame X. He’s going to ruin your life.

“They sell those things in toy stores, you know.” He finally speaks. It all happens in slow motion: the quick jolt of your shoulders in surprise at the sound, your glass falling to the floor and shattering against your carpet, the scream that falls from your lips.

Then suddenly, you’re looking at him, and he is looking at you, and your hand is frozen in mid-air like the glass is still in your hand. He looks down at the mess, “Shame. That ugly carpet was kind of growing on me.”

“Dabi…” Realization dawns on your face as you say his name. He looks up at you again, before turning his attention back to the mess on your carpet. He holds an arm out and beckons you toward him.

“C’mere. You’ll cut yourself.” He tells you. You don’t move. He watches your chest rise and fall, frozen where you stand, unable to think about anything other than getting away. He watches your eyes flicker to your front door.

It happens quickly, nothing like before, climbing over your couch and rushing as fast as you can toward your escape. He almost loses you, tripping over his feet as he reaches for you. You barely touch the handle before his arm wraps around your waist in a tight grip. You’re both panting, his breath hot against your ear.

“What? You aren’t excited to see me?” He questions. It’s not like he expected you to accept him with open arms, but he didn’t think you’d run from him.

“It was you?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. How are you meant to feel about any of this? It’s what you wanted, right? All the times you missed each other, all those days spent disappointed that you weren’t just a little earlier or a little later. And here he is, in your home, with you, with his arms wrapped around you, no less. And you want to run? What bothers you the most is that you aren’t as scared as you should be.

“Your ghost?” He questions with humor in his words. You feel his grip tighten around you before he speaks again. “Are you disappointed?”

His voice is much softer than he intended it to be, nervousness finding its way through the mask of carelessness he so carefully hides behind. It calms your nerves, the idea that he’s just as unsure of this as you are.

“I’m scared.” You admit.

“Of me?”

“I don’t know yet.” You say. He loosens his grip, arms falling to his sides as he lets you go. You step away quickly, turning to look at him while keeping a good amount of distance between the two of you.

“I’m not–I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” He speaks, holding his hands up. “I would never–”

“Why?” Looking at him, standing in your kitchen, his hands up in surrender, his eyes pleading, Dabi is just a man. You know this, you’ve always known this. It’s why your obsession with him is as strong as it is because, underneath all of the flames, he’s alone just like you are.

“Because you’re mine.” He sighs because he knows he must sound insane, and his answer doesn’t seem to soothe the worried look on your face. “And you know it. You do, because I’m on your fucking walls, and you stalk me like a little weirdo on your phone. You–you’re made for me.”

“Made for you?” You ask incredulously as if this isn’t the exact moment you’ve been fantasizing about since the first time you ever laid eyes on the flame user.

“Look, I didn’t think any of it was real, none of that soulmate shit people make up so that they have something to hold onto. But, fuck, I had never felt the way I did when I climbed through your window that night.” He speaks frantically like he’s trying to convince you, prove to you that what he’s saying is the truth. “You saved me, and you don’t even know it.”

You soften, “I saved you?”

“None of this would've happened if things had gone a little differently that night. I wouldn’t know you, and you could go back to your normal life with your pictures and your books and your forums, but it didn’t so I’m here. And isn’t that something?”

“I’m just…confused.” You explain. “You’re you, and I’m sure you’ve gathered by now how embarrassingly obsessed with you I am–”

“I think it’s cute.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Why?” He questions, leaning forward. “Does it get you all hot and bothered like that night with the video of me getting my ass kicked? That was cause of you, by the way.”

“You have to understand how fucked this is. You get that, right?” You aren’t afraid anymore. You’re angry, a little hurt, but most of all excited. Made for him. He’s probably right.

“Yeah?” He questions, taking another step. You do back away, but he continues to follow you. “I think you like it. I think your life was so goddamn boring before me, so lonely. My little tricks made you so happy, baby.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, because he’s right, and you hate it. His hand comes up to hold your jaw with one hand, his fingers pressing into your skin ever so slightly.��

“C’mon…” He tuts, leaning down to your height, “You used to be so sweet for me, snuggling up to me while you slept. You can’t hide from me. I know everything about you. And those feelings that you have for me don’t change in a matter of minutes just because I did something fucked up. I’m a villain, sweetheart, and you know it.”

“So what?” You ask. “You’re in love with me or something?”

You want to hear him say it. You want him to tell you it’s more than obsession, more than the excitement of scaring you.

“It’s not obvious?” He asks, releasing your jaw from his tight grip and running his thumb against your cheek to soothe you. “You ruin me.”

You shake your head, “Say it.”

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

It shouldn’t feel as romantic as it does. With him pushing your hips into your kitchen counter, his lips so soft against yours, you forget all of it. None of it matters to you, anyways. Maybe it’s the worst way for any of this to happen. Maybe it’s the only way.

He pulls away, watching your eyes flutter open, your lips swollen from his kiss. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and you’re touching his face without a hint of disgust. You’ve always been his. He surges forward, catching you off guard and pulling you into another kiss, this one much more hurried and desperate. You gasp when he presses into you, the growing bulge in his jeans hard against your thigh. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, earning a choked whine from your lips. You struggle to keep up with him, with his hands everywhere. You’re overwhelmed.

“Dabi, wait.” You speak for the split second that he pulls away. He shakes his head, kissing down your jaw as you try to catch your breath.

“Can’t.” He speaks in between kisses. “You’re–I need you. Please, please, I’m–”

You bring your hands to the sides of his face, pulling him away from your neck to look at you. “Dabi. Hey.”

“Hi.” He speaks, unable to resist the urge to press his lips to yours in a quick peck before pulling away again. It makes you smile, though, so he does it one more time. “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted me?”

“I think there is something very, very wrong with me.” You say because you have to acknowledge it, at the very least. You want him so bad it burns.

“Yeah, me too.” He kisses you again. “Made for me, remember?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “maybe I am.”

“You are.” He says against your lips. “You are, you are, you are.”

You’re in your bedroom before you have any time to think about it, your back against your sheets as Dabi hovers over you. He pauses, his frantic movements from moments ago now at a standstill as he stares down at you. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You speak without hesitance.

“Yeah?” He slots his hips in between yours, running a hand up the side of one of your thighs as you make room for him. “All mine, huh? Gonna let me keep you?”

“Uh huh.” You nod. “You can keep me.”

“Good.” He drags his lips down the column of your neck. “My girl’s so good for me, yeah?”

You’re unable to answer, though you don’t know if you’re supposed to. His hands move from your hips to your backside, grinding you against his length. You gasp, grasping his shoulders for stability as he sucks on your neck.

“Gotta mark you up, baby.” He speaks against your skin. He sucks your skin harshly, biting and nipping different areas of your neck. It’s a sensation you’ve never experienced, all your senses heightened at the knowledge that it’s him who’s touching you. “Show them who you belong to, show them you’re mine.”

“Please!” You whine, arching your back into him as he bites down, hard, on the juncture of your neck. You feel him smile against your skin, kissing over the bite. He begins to lower himself down your body, kissing down the valley of your breasts over your top. He pushes your shirt up as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your stomach.

“Maybe I’ll carve my name right here, yeah?” He questions, lips against your hip. “You can do the same to me.”

When his eyes flicker up to yours, you feel your breath catch in your throat. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, every silly little fantasy you’ve ever had come true. “You’d want that? My name?”

“Fuck, of course, I would.” He groans, pushing himself back up to eye level with you. His hands rest on the mattress on each side of your head, his eyes searching your face. “Want you all over me. I want you forever.”

You wrap your hands around the back of his neck and pull him down to you in a bruising kiss. Pushing at his chest, you hook your leg around his waist to switch positions, straddling his lap as your tongue swirls in his mouth. You pull away to look at him, his eyes blown wide with need. He’s so fucking beautiful. You want him forever, too.

You rise to a sitting position, Dabi’s hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as you stare down at him. You push his shirt up and he pulls it over his head in seconds. You run your hands over his chest and abdomen, feeling his scars and the staples that hold him together under your fingertips.

“I think I wanna mark you too.” You speak, leaning down to kiss him again. “Want you to be mine.”

“I am yours.” He speaks without hesitation. He sucks in a harsh breath when your lips meet the unscarred skin of the left side of his chest. You place soft kisses there before biting down. He cries out, bucking his hips up into yours. “I’ll give you–fuck–everything.”

You continue to leave marks over his skin, satisfied with the noises you're pulling from Dabi. You run your fingers over his hips lightly. You think you would like your name there. Dabi takes the hem of your shirt between his fingers, urging you to pull the fabric from your body. He rises from his position on the bed, running a hand up the length of your spine as he pulls you close. He kisses you once more, moving his hands to your hips to help you grind down on him.

Pulling away, he trails his lips down your neck, burying his face in your chest. He wraps his lips around your nipple, tweaking the other between his fingers as he looks up at you. You cry out, rapidly grinding against him. He continues to play with your chest, kissing you with fervor and groaning into your mouth.

“C’mere.” He speaks against your lips, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving to lay you down on the bed. He hovers over you, slowly pushing his hips against yours in a way that makes you cry out. “Gonna take care of you, okay?”

He slowly makes his way down your body, slipping his fingers underneath the band of your pants and pulling them down along with your underwear. You push your knees together, staring up at him as shakes his head.

“Don’t hide.” He commands softly, pulling your thighs apart. His tongue peaks through his lips for a moment before he speaks again. “Been thinking about this since that night. M’sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to slam the door.”

He runs his hands up your thighs, eyeing your sex as he lowers himself back down. You let out a breathy laugh, “you didn’t?”

“No.” He chuckles against the inside of your thigh, kissing your skin. “It was an accident.”

“Oh, my god.” You giggle, cut off by the feeling of his teeth sinking into your thigh. You gasp, trying to pull away, but his grip on you is tight. He kisses over the mark, eyes finding yours with a warning.

He licks a strip from your entrance to your clit, and you throw your head back, resting your hand on top of his head before he pulls back.

“Look at me.” He speaks, bringing one hand up to run a finger through your folds. You’re already a complete mess, and he feels pride in knowing he’s the reason. He’s always the reason. “Keep your eyes on me, or I’ll stop.”

You nod, wiggling your hips to urge him to continue. He chuckles softly at your desperation before burying his face between your legs again. His tongue runs along your folds in long slow strokes, your hips jolting at the stimulation. No research, or video, or fantasy you had about the man between your legs could have ever prepared you for what this feels like.

Your moans spur him on as he tastes you, the knowledge that he’s the reason for your pleasure more rewarding than anything else. He wraps his lips around your clit and you cry his name. You feel your orgasm building as he continues to lap up your juices, his grip on your thighs tight as he holds you open for him.

“Dabi! Dabi! I’m–” you let out a strangled moan as you grind your hips against his tongue, “fuck–coming! I’m coming.”

Your hips jolt at the pleasure, the feeling of his mouth still on your sex guiding you through your orgasm. He slows his strokes, running the flat of his tongue against you as you calm yourself. The movement of your hips slow as you watch Dabi still buried between your legs. You catch your breath as he tongues your cunt, cerulean eyes staring up at you as you twitch from the overstimulation. He pulls away from your sex with a wet smack, rising to capture your lips with his.

He pulls away, “call me Touya.”

“Huh?” You ask, chasing his lips again. He kisses you slow and deep, his tongue swirling against yours as he pushes his hips against yours. You groan against his mouth.

“Touya. It’s my name.” He says, placing soft kisses against your jaw. “My real name.”

Touya. His name is Touya. You know Dabi’s real name. You get to say his real name, keep that knowledge locked inside of your heart, a secret between the two of you. The reveal makes you feel closer to him, an equal exchange for all of the time he spent inside of your home without your knowledge, though you know it’s really not. You’ll take it, anyways.

“Where’d you go, baby?” He whispers against your lips. “Did the obsessed little freak inside you get excited?”

“Says you.” You scoff.

“Made for each other, right?” He speaks before kissing you again. The kiss is hungry, frantic as his lips consume yours. He fumbles with the studded belt around his waist, pulling away from you only to rid himself of his jeans.

His cock is hard against your entrance, the warmth of him overwhelming as he shifts his hips over yours. He runs his hands up the outside of your thighs, rough hands smoothing over your flesh while he kisses you again. You whimper against his lips, a silent plea for him to do more than grind against you.

“Shhh, let me–wanna remember this.” He wraps a hand around the base of his cock, running the head through your folds as you try to keep your breathing steady. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Touya leans down to kiss your neck, sucking over the already tender marks he left before, hoping to keep them there for longer, the evidence of him on your skin in the ache he leaves behind. You pant as he continues to grind his hips against yours, arching your back and pushing yourself closer to him as he continues his assault on your neck. Pulling away, he lines himself up with your entrance, staring down at you just inches away from your face.

“Kiss me.” He speaks. “Kiss me, please.”

When you kiss him, he sinks into you, swallowing your moans with his lips and slipping his tongue into your mouth as he stretches you. You catch your breath as he pulls away, adjusting to the size of him as he slowly pumps in and out of you.

“Touya.” You breathe, your hands running through his hair as he pushes into you deeper. A contented smile falls across his face as he feels you move your hips against his. “Feels–mm–good.”

“Yeah? Good. S’all I want. Just want you to feel good.” He says as his hips slowly begin to change pace. Maybe it’s the fact he spent weeks scaring you into delusion, or the fact that he can’t get the way you look when you come out of his head, but your pleasure has become his ultimate goal. He wants to watch you come undone again and again on his cock, disregarding his own needs as you're pushed over the edge over and over. He thinks he’d like you to use him, but for now, Touya wants to take care of you.

He speeds his pace up, gripping your hips in his rough hands as he pounds into you. He’s getting carried away, you realize, as his hold becomes bruising, his kiss, starved. It all feels so good with his hands all over you and his lips so desperate. He needs you and he doesn’t hide it, and with every action, Touya shows you just how much.

“It’s so much! Too much!” Not enough, you think. You cry out as he presses into you deep, pushing in and out of you with long slow strokes, his cock hitting just the spot that has you seeing stars. He groans, feeling you clench around him as he moves.

“Take it.” He commands, thrusting into you. “I know you can. You’re so–fuck–good for me.”

You whine, arching into him and pulling him down for another sloppy kiss. He can’t get enough of you, and you’re completely his. He’ll keep you. He’ll take you with him, make a little villain out of you, keep you nice and fucked out on his cock forever. All of his plans, his goals, the one thing he’s worked toward since becoming Dabi, now include you. You have a real role in his life, one that’s meant to stay, one that means forever.

You’re close. He can tell, and he feels himself being brought to the edge just as quickly as you are. His pace quickens as he thrusts in and out of you, bringing one hand to your lips, feeling you suck two fingers into your mouth before he reaches down between your bodies to play with your clit. You gasp, burying your face in his neck and biting down. You’ve drawn blood, Touya thinks, feeling the pain spread from the wound. He groans, thrusting harder and faster.

“Fuck, s-sorry!” You cry, though your words are hurried and jumbled.

“Don’t apologize, baby.” He tells you, panting above you. He runs his thumb against your bottom lip, a faint trace of blood smeared across the inside. He smiles, kissing you and reveling in the faint taste of copper. “You wanted to mark me.”

“Touya, I’m–hah–gonna come!” You cry, moving your hips against his frantically.

“I know, I know.” He coos, swiping his fingers over your puffy clit. “Come for me. Wanna see it.”

Your voice comes out loud and chokes, the end of his name dying on your lips as your hips jolt from the pleasure and your back arches against your sheets. Touya doesn’t stop thrusting, chasing his own orgasm as he watches your face contort in the same way it had before.

“Need to fill you up. Need to make you mine.” He groans, thrusting quickly.

“I’m yours, I’m yours. Please! I wanna feel it!” You whine. You feel him spill inside of you, warmth flooding your insides as he slows his pace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him against you. He kisses you again, tongues swirling against each other as he stills on top of you.

“Stay.” You breathe, pulling away from his lips and feeling his head fall against you.

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” He whispers through labored breath. “So don’t try.”

“Never. You said you’d keep me.” You remind him, feeling him smile against your skin. He rises from where he lays, staring down at you with nothing but adoration. You really are made for him. Cosmic love, divine intervention, soulmates. Touya should have known.

“Always.” He kisses your lips, your nose, both of your cheeks.

“Say it.” You command softly.

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #tw yandere #tw abuse

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kamotecue · 8 months

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enchanted ★ k. mccabe

pairing: katie mccabe x reader

summary: you met katie in the middle of a bar in north london, let’s just say you were enchanted to meet her.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

you sat on your bed watching as your best friend rummaged through your closet picking an outfit for you to wear at the bar tonight.

she literally persuaded you to come out, as you kept yourself busy with work. you were the only workaholic she known, buried in the cases you had. you were a lawyer, a darn good one at that.

you’ve only lost one case, in your three years of working as a lawyer. your thoughts were cut off as she waved a dark green satin high waist summer dress in front of your face.

“it looks nice.” you commented as she nodded, groaning as you weren’t paying attention.

“go shower and get changed, you’ll be dropping jaws.” elena, your best friend since childhood said, as you laughed.

as she handed you the dress, you went into the bathroom to shower. when you were done, you wore the dress as you fixed your appearance, brushing your hair pulling it in a nice braided bun. you only wore light makeup, as you weren’t a fan.

“let’s go?” elena asked as you gave her a nod, tossing her your car keys to which she perfectly caught. you both walked to the car, as she unlocked it you swiftly took a seat in the passenger’s side.

“i can’t believe you’re making me drive.” elena said, as you shrugged. you didn’t feel like driving, plus it’s the least she could do as she interrupted your plans on having a movie marathon as you didn’t have work the next day.

as elena pulled up to the bar, you were first to leave the car, followed by elena who just gave you a pointed look before putting your car keys in her pocket.

“honestly mate, you look a bit more excited than me.” she said, as you laughed.

“i don’t want to stay in a deadly vehicle.” you said, as elena snickered. she interlocked her arms with yours, as you both made your way inside the bar.

the moment you entered, you were greeted with a strong smell of alcohol. there were quite a few people, some were dancing, some were having a few glasses of beers/wine with their mates and some were just talking.

elena had pulled you to the front bar, ordering herself a margarita. as you looked at the bartender who gave you a soft smile waiting for your order.

“you look like you didn’t want to be dragged here.” she said, as you gave her a nod.

“my best friend wanted me to go out more, so here i am. can i have a strawberry daiquiri?” you asked, to which she nodded to.

“i’ll dance.” elena said, as you looked around the place, appreciating the architectural design and accidentally locking eyes with the irish full-back.

your eyes whispered, “have we met?”

her long-standing gaze met yours, and her eyes had this glint, wondering if you’ve met before or haven’t.

cross’ the room your silhouette

she stood there, her silhouette was reflected on the wall, laughing with her friends.

starts to make its way to me

katie, who’s name you haven’t learned yet decided enough and that it was time to approach you. so, at a leisurely place she made her way to you.

the playful conversation starts

“hi, i’m katie.” she said, as she stuck out her hand to which you gladly accepted.

“y/n” you said, as you removed your hand from hers.

“are you an artist, perhaps?” katie asked, as you shook your head, tilting it.

“could’ve sworn you were as you are so good at drawing me in.” she said, as you chuckled. the pick-up line was cute.

counter all your quick remarks

“could’ve sworn this was a bar.” you said, as katie furrowed her eyebrows.

“however, this must be a museum because you’re really a piece of art.” you continued, as katie laughed. her eyes shining, which made you softly smile.

like passing notes in secrecy

the whole time you two were together talking, it was like passing notes in secrecy, as it was only meant for you two. the cheesy pick-up lines, the getting to know each other, a few facts and things you both like and dislike. the skin ship you shared, as your shoulder brushed against hers, or the way you played with her hands, as you were quite introverted.

and it was enchanting to meet you.

sadly, it came to an end. as elena made her way to you, hammered enough that she staggered and landed on your lap.

“el, you’re absolutely hammered.” you said, as you tried fixing her posture. katie looked at you with a soft smile, in the time she’d known you, she found out you were a caring person.

“i’m sorry, katie but i’m afraid we have to end this here.” she nodded, but tapped you on the shoulder making you look at her.

“can i have your number?” she asked, as she pulled out her phone, and you agreed jotting your number down.

“see you again, y/n.” katie said, as you gave her a soft smile, nodding at her.

“however, can i kiss you before you go?” katie asked, leaving you stumbled to which you slowly nodded to. she grinned, as she gently pressed her lips against yours, and boy did it take your breath away.

#katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso one shot #arsenal wfc imagine

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girlreviews · 2 months

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Review #146: Parallel Lines, Blondie

Man oh man oh man. I love Blondie so much. I found this record in the Windsor Oxfam. I don’t remember exactly how old I was, but I remember what boyfriend was with me so that puts me between 15 and 18. Yeah, same guy. I actually don’t remember if he ended up getting his hands on this record or not. I think I still have it. Will rifle through my collection later to check.

Blondie was in the “being cool” wilderness for some absolutely crazy reason at that point, and nobody really gave a shit about them anymore. When I was 17 or 18 they were playing the Reading Hexagon which is honestly still just such an unbelievable insult I’m still annoyed about it. I’ll circle back to that.

Parallel Lines epitomizes the complete and total coolness and badassery of Debbie Harry. I have never wanted to be someone more than I wanted to be her. So much confidence. Such incredible cheekbones. Such commitment to art. No apologies. The voice of an angel one moment and snarling whimsical warnings, like, hey you, don’t fuck with me, the next. Always standing in front of all of those completely non-descript nobody dudes. Yeah they’re playing the music, but who cares, who are they? It’s all her. She is Blondie.

Can I pick a favorite? It opens with Hanging on the Telephone, in which she is really threatening to rip the phone clean off the wall. It might be that one. But we’ve also got the classic One Way Or Another, which needs no comment, and one of my actual favorites of all time, Heart of Glass which never fails to fuck me up, but like, it’s a god damn disco track? Like sure, yeah, let’s boogie away our heart break. And I did. And I have. And I will. And these are all SINGLES. We aren’t even discussing the actual album tracks yet. Just listen to it. Honorable mention goes to Sunday Girl, which I always really loved. It’s cute and it’s kind of sweet in a very teenage girl kind of way that worked for me since I was in fact, a teenage girl. Also, not on the official album release, but there was a version of that track where the latter half was sung entirely in French and I always really dug it.

Okay so circling back to the Hexagon. This is a weird story and I’m still not sure how I feel about it, to this day. As I said, Blondie were playing a show at the Hexagon. I was absolutely obsessed with them, and Debbie Harry. I was also 17 or 18 and spent every penny I had on going to shows, but those pennies were pretty limited. I worked as a waitress at the pub that was two doors down from my house. It was full of characters. One such character was a regular, he was in his late 40s, was very wealthy, didn’t drive, was single, and spent literally every bit of his spare time in that pub. Think on that. He paid a lot of attention to the various young women that worked there. Was he creepy? No not exactly. But did it make you uncomfortable? Yes it did. Because you never knew when he might make it weird. Everyone liked him well enough. One day out of the blue this guy presented me with five tickets to the Blondie show. I didn’t know what in the hell to say or whether to accept them. Or what it meant. Whether there were expectations attached to them. Whether it was okay to take them. I was uncomfortable. I was 17.

Here’s what happened. My Mom, who sort of knew him too, since he was always there, decided it was fine, because she wanted to go. But for it to be okay, she decided he also had to come. So we went, he came, and a few friends too. The thing is though, she never knew him like I did. I saw him every day. I saw him with the other girls that worked at the pub. I saw him drunk off his ass. I don’t know that I ever would have taken the tickets. Or if I did, I’m not sure I ever would have invited him. I feel a bit queasy about it to this day. I think in the end something really off-base happened one night between him and someone on staff and he got barred. That was usually the way it went with regulars who were there that often.

The other thing to note is that Blondie ended because Debbie Harry was with Chris Stein, who was literally dying of some rare autoimmune disease throughout their last tour. There were other factors at play, but essentially, they broke up because he was too sick and she stayed at his side and became his full-time carer. When he was well, he left her. They are, remarkably, still close friends to this day and still perform together. Just never forget that men are dogs, and that Blondie is and always will be Debbie Harry. I love her. To this day she looks better than I do in a mini skirt and I love that for her.

ETA: I checked and in fact, I do not still have Parallel Lines in my record collection, but I am quite confident it got lost when I moved back to the US. Also, I’m not 100% certain that show was at the Reading Hexagon. I just know it was a shitty venue not worthy of Blondie. This was 18 years ago. You get the idea.

#album review #music #music review #rolling stone top 500 #blondie #parallel lines #debbie harry

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raz-writes-the-thing · 4 months

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Unbidden (Doctor Who One-Shot)

Dark!Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader 18+ (no smut) / requests are open

Summary: The Doctor's gone too far this time.

Fic type: thriller/horror- please note there are descriptions of gore, violence and dark shit. no smut. I mean it, this is dark. Please heed the warnings.

DW: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 @yeethaw13 @complimentary-breadbasket @thekirbishow @stilestotherescue @madspads @catlynharper@merrilark @jaziona92 @yeehawbrothers @mochabonesblog @iguirisu (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You’re in shock. You must be. There’s no other explanation for the way you’re shrieking and laughing and crying all at the same time. You can’t even hear the noises coming out of your mouth- you’re just… distantly aware of the burn in your throat and the tears streaking through the grime and the muck and the blood on your cheeks.

It’s spotty. All over. All over you, all over him, all over the ground and the walls. Red, crimson Dalmatian patterns that in almost any other situation would look like a pretty art piece. It still was, you supposed.

And it was like he hadn’t even noticed your reaction, bringing the blade down over and over and over and over into the now corpses’ chest, blood splattering everywhere with every single movement he made. Each time the blade came down felt like a physical blow to your chest. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Gods, he must be twenty stabs in by now, there’s nothing left but a big gaping cavity that reminds you of something you’d see in a cheesy zombie movie where his ribcage and upper organs used to be. But this isn’t a two-bit movie full of laughs and cheap effects. This is real. You can smell it. You can smell the gore, the iron, the horror. You can fucking smell it. You didn’t realise stuff like this would smell.

It feels like an out-of-body experience as you tear your eyes away to look down at your hands. They’re shaking uncontrollably, and as he rips the blade out of the corpse again, another splatter of blood appears over your fingers along with a chunk of organ that could be anything from heart to lungs to a kidney. You can feel your eyes bulging. You still can’t hear anything. Not even a ringing in your ears or a bassy vibration. Not even the jack-rabbit pump of your heartbeat.

There’s just… nothing. You can’t hear anything right now.

Distantly, you’re aware of the Doctor slowing down and eventually coming to a halt, giving the corpse that had been a person some fucking semblance of peace, finally. Your gaze filters unbidden through your outstretched fingers to find him watching you, something dark and ravenous in his eyes that scares the absolute fucking shit out of you.

You stumble back and away from him when he makes a sudden move, blade dropping to the ground in a sticky clatter. He’s covered in blood. Head to fucking toe. His white button-up under his pretty suit is unsalvageable. It’s almost black with blood, and it sticks to him in a way that you shouldn’t be paying attention to right now. You’re pretty sure it might be your brain trying to focus on literally anything else but the reverse Pollock on the ground in front of you.

The Doctor is up and cornering you in seconds. You barely have a second to register it before you’re stumbling backwards and he’s pressing you into the wall. Your hearing comes back with painful clarity all at once, and the Doctor’s voice suddenly has sound to go with the movement of his lips.

“See what I do for you, love? Oh yes, all for you. You’re mine, darling, I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

You don’t mention how for a moment there you genuinely thought he was going to gut you, too. He’d probably like the sight of your organs slipping through your fingers, actually. He’d probably find it hot, and beat off over y- no, stop it.

He wouldn’t hurt you… right?

You circled his neck with your arms, feeling the drops of blood seep into your sweater and cling to your skin. He was still murmuring sweet nothings into your ear, and if you were elsewhere, you might actually find them comforting.

But all you managed to let sink in as your eyes watched the blood pool larger and larger around the body on the floor was that you were his.

And he would never, ever- let you go.

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