#bite sized palette
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-ˋˏ 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 + 𝐚𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐰 𝟐 ˎˊ
𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 + 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐞
— characters: jake sully, tonowari, tsu’tey.
— warnings: eighteen plus only content, minors do not interact. link is included with the scenarios, viewers discretion is advised.
jake sully:
breeding grounds: “baby, fuck.“ it takes one last thrust to send him over the edge, filling your cunt up with his hot cum and coating it all over your inner walls. your quiet moans tie closely with his, the warmth of his semen leaking out down your inner thighs. “mm, be a doll ‘nd let daddy see his pussy.” pulling out, he looks down at his work, admiring it. he couldn’t wait to do the same thing to you all over again.
stomach bulging: being deep inside you was an understatement, he was reaching out for your heart. god, your soul was touched by his dick. “s’big, jake!” you cry out, gripping at the sheets. he’s slamming into you from behind, keeping pressure at the center of your abdomen, feeling his cock slide in and out of you through your skin.
kitty licks: after a long day, all jake wants is to taste you. so you let him have at it. “just relax f’me, bubba..” he whispers into your ear before trailing kisses down your body, his breath hitching at the front of your pussy. “i’ll take good care of you, just need you to lay on your back ‘nd listen to me, okay?”
tonowari:
missing days: “been s’fuckin’ long,” he let out a low groan against your lips, rocking into you slowly. his cock thrusted deeper into you as his hips sped up, earning a soft cry from you. “missed you s’much, daddy.. missed you s’much.” you mewl, cupping his cheeks. “always want you all the time.”
mirror backshots: dim lights and erotic reflections, featuring a taste of his cock. you wouldn’t believe how much wari truly loves that mirror; making you look at your own reflection as you take him as deep as he could thrust, eyes all teary with saliva sliding down the sides of your mouth. his favourite look of you was a mess.
size difference: tonowari = big strong man with huge arms. his use for them? throwing you around like a ragdoll and fucking you against every surface he could possibly think of. “w-wari, mhmm..” you feel him slip in and out of you, his arms tangling within yours to pull you forcefully backwards. him towering over your sprawled out body and covering you like a shadow. “what was that, girl? go faster? i can do that for you.”
tsu’tey:
titty worship: riding him ‘til dawn and not making it back ‘til both of you have cum. sounds like a great idea, doesn’t it? with your titty in his mouth, it’s no secret how much he loves sucking on them, especially when you’re on top riding him. biting a mouthful and watching as you only fuck him faster.
face down: “‘m sorry, tey!” you managed to babble out through your sobs, letting your tears fall freely down the palettes of your cheeks. “shut up, stupid girl.” there was no stopping his cock from drilling into you, the frustration pulling him through further. your cries of pleasure were silenced as he pushed your face deeper between the pillows, masking them. “shut up and take it!”
soft aftercare: even after sex, tsu’tey still treats you with all his love; caressing your face, peppering kisses all over your neck, and holding your body close to his. there was nothing left in you to touch him like before, you just wanted to love on him. those sexual needs were relieved, it was time to settle down for a long night of cuddling and words of reassurance.
#atwow visuals#avatar#avatar the way of water#avatar 2009#avatar 2022#avatar way of water#avatar smut#avatar x reader#jake sully#jake sully smut#jake sully x reader#jake sully x you#tonowari#tonowari smut#tonowari x reader#tonowari x you#tsu’tey#tsu’tey smut#tsu’tey x reader#long post
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💳💳💳 take all my money but pleeeeease write more about dirty big boy Lee who wants to give you his son because that small drabble had me sweatin already😮💨
Ask and thee shall receive!
Breeding Bitch
18+ MINORS DNI
(I do not own any photos, Credits to original owners)
Uhhh so this is fucking….maybe the warnings would describe this a bit better hehe 👀.
Pairing: Lee Bodecker x Reader
Warnings: Dark Lee!, LEE BODECKER!!, Dub/Non-Con Themes, Unestablished Age Gap but there is definitely one (Reader 20s, Lee late 30s/40s), Cheating (it's Lee), Teeny Size Kink if you squint, Names: Darlin, Good Girl, Baby, Slut, Bitch, Whore, Heifer, Girl. Handcuffing, Good ole Gaslighting, Degradation, Gagging, Dirty Talk, Cervix Abuse, Voyeurism? (Your father is in the next room), He uses the fact that your Pa is so close to his advantage, Mentions of Breeding, actually Breeding, Alcohol (Again, It’s Lee), Marking, Biting, Slapping, Bleeding (from yer cooch), Spitting, Daddy Kink, Rough P in V, Threats (Lee threatens your teeth), Dacryphilia, Panty Stuffing, Absolutely zero aftercare— if I’ve missed anymore, especially in a story like this one, please lemme know!!
DO NOT PROGRESS IF ANY WARNING(s) TRIGGER YOU PLEASE!!
Word Count: 1.2k
This is a doozy. I’ll put a lil palette cleanse at the end for you my loves ♥️
“Augh shit you’re fucking tight” Lee growls above you, cock head pushed uncomfortably against your cervix, your hands cuffed above your head and your panties in your mouth.
You would never admit this to anyone. The almost nightly occurrences of Lee ending up in your little cottage on the hill, his pants round his ankles and his cock wherever he so chose.
It was his wife’s fault, he’d told you; she was sick, old and unable to give him what he wanted. That’s why when you moved into town, bright-eyed and innocent, he had to have you.
His head rolled with his eyes, a strained groan flowing from his lips as his tummy jiggled softly at the tightening of his core.
“Never get over a tight little pussy like this” You whined as he pushed further, sheathing his dick fully inside you.
What would your daddy say if he saw you like this, legs spread akimbo for a married man, the Sheriff no less? Your hands pulled against the cuffs attached to the headboard, the rhythmic clanging had Lee’s eyes shooting open.
“Hey now! Darlin” a huge hand smoothed over your metal clasped wrists before running down your arm to your left breast, he squeezed firmly.
“You wouldn’t want your daddy waking up now would you?” that fucking smirk, the dark look in his eyes— he had you, right where he wanted— the reminder of your feeble old Pa in the next room keeping you tamed, Lee didn’t care about him finding out about your little secret, he’d fuck you right in front of him, but he knew it would keep you pliant for him.
You stopped, hands hanging painfully from the cuffs.
“Good girl, knew you’d come around…now you let me breed this little cunt, loosen up a bit, enjoy it” The brandy on his breath had you queasy as it mixed with his residual cologne. His thick lips peppered marks all over your breast, tongue licking the flesh before biting down with a force that had your toes curling and you crying out into the cotton of your panties.
“Oh don’t be dramatic” he chuckled, slapping the reddened mark lightly. He groaned as he pulled his length out slowly, letting you feel each inch run over the stretched flesh of your heat until his cock head fell from you in a sickly squelch, his precum mixed with your blood.
“God baby, you’re fucking soaked…you like me doing this to you? Course you do you fucking slut” Lee gleams wickedly before launching a huge glob of spit over your clit and his head, his thick fingers circling your clit once, twice and then rubbing the saliva over himself.
He keeps your head still, forcing you to look at him as he pushes in again, making you watch as his dark eyes swim with amusement at your pathetic little whimpers.
“Mmmn…you know, if I didn’t have to do this, I’d feel bad for your stupid little face” Lee laughs, slapping his fingers against your cheek mockingly.
His patience had worn thin, you were lucky enough to get this much prep from him but he was over it now— the growing itch to fill your fertile little hole with his cum becoming too overwhelming.
He slams in, hitting your already abused cervix painfully. His pace is brutal, the only thing stopping the headboard from clattering off the wall being the pillow he’d so ‘generously’ placed between them.
“Oh shit! you fucking little breeding bitch, ahh I ain’t ever had a pussy this tight… fucking made for me, wasn’t it? Yeah, it fucking was” Lee rambles, as he usually does. You could do nothing but take whatever he was giving you, you wouldn’t dare fight back— did you even want to at this point? He had you all cock drunk, stupid little baby so you were.
“Mmm, baby you like this” Lee spoke assertively, punctuating each word with a hard thrust “Push me away as much as you want but at the end of the day you’re still gonna take my load happily… I mean look” he laughs as he pushes your legs from his wide shoulders, they fall open on their own. “You fucking hold yourself open for my spunk, you fucking want this, you need it… you want my son ya little slut”
The quick yank of your panties from your mouth made you gag slightly, the drool that had gathered falling from the corner of your mouth and into your tresses of hair. It amused Lee, watching you stare off into that little space you ran to, unable to control your body— you let him fuck you however he wante— no, however you needed.
Lee’s hand clasped around your face painfully, his thumb hooking behind your teeth “fucking answer me whore, or I’ll pull these out” a firm tug to your lower jaw warned you before he spat again, the hot liquid falling right on your tongue.
“I want this… wan you! Want your baby! Please Lee gimme your baby” you wailed, no longer caring about your volume.
“Good little slut, always begging for daddy ain’t you? You take this fucking baby, you take everything I give you” Lee’s pace stuttered, only for a second, but it told you everything you needed to know and you were disgusted at the way your body pled for it. The way your back arched, your pussy squeezing and frantic cries fell from your lips as your orgasm slammed into you like a train.
“Oh shit! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Lee practically screamed as he sank himself into one last time, releasing spurt after spurt of his thick, hot, cream against your bruised womb entrance. You don’t know how long his dick sat in your throbbing canal, only falling from you once he was fully soft.
“God, who’d I fucking bless to get a little heifer like you hmm?” He spoke eventually, kissing your cheek, allowing his tongue to poke out and lap at the salty tears falling freely from your big sad eyes.
“Don’t look so fucking upset at this, it’s a good thing, you’re being used for something great…I know girls that would have their panties round their ankles in no time if I let them” He chuckled while standing, fingers gripping your discarded undergarments to wipe along his cock, gathering his cum, and your slick; which had a tinge of red from the tear in your fragile skin he caused by stretching you out.
Once he deemed himself clean enough, he ran the panties through the mess pouring from your core.
“This won’t do, you’re supposed to keep it in” He tutted before pushing the soaked material into your stretched hole, his fingers stuffing the scratchy fabric into you carelessly. He made quick work of the cuffs digging painfully into your wrists, placing a quick peck over each dark mark around them.
“Tomorrow, I don’t want none of this fighting bullcrap you hear? No panties, no bra, no attitude— just you, alright girl?” He pushed your cheeks together, puckering your lips in the process.
You knew that what you said to him wouldn’t matter, he’d take you all the same so you just nodded like you would every single time his cerulean stare flickered over your much smaller structure.
“Atta girl” His lips grazed over your own, and then like a ghost, he was gone, leaving you to sob in a pile of your own mess.
-
I’m so sorry for him, he’s not usually like this, I promise he’s a nice guy 😔 🚩
Here’s your payment~
#lee bodecker x female reader#lee bodecker x you#lee bodecker#lee bodecker x reader#lee bodecker fanfiction#lee bodecker x y/n#sheriff Bodecker#Lee bodecker smut#the devil all the time#sebastian stan characters#asks
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Sentient Ooze is a little fold-up zine (I think it is riso-printed?) about…you guessed it, the sentient ooze. The writing is brief, a short run-down of the creature’s features, history and strategies. The art features a limited palette that spotlights fluorescent pink. I love it. This is bite-sized RPG art-zining at its best.
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hi! i'm currently taking a stab at a short comic for the first time and i was wondering — if you're willing to share — what goes into the “base” of your projects? your creative notes have been a HUGE help in pinpointing things i might want to outline in my own work before i actually start making the project, but i'm still incredibly curious about the initial work and planning that goes into the making of yours. love your art!
hello anon! first of all, congratulations on starting on a comic! I hope you find it very fulfilling, and a great learning experience. To answer this ask, I'm going to use bite of winter as the main example for my work process.
Text: More often than not, I start with the entire textual part of the comic finalised. This is kind of obvious, considering my comics are entirely built around it serving as a sort of narration substitute, but it stays true for comics that are just dialogue as well. Speech bubbles will always take up more space than you think. It's good to have all the dialogue finalised before you start so you can accommodate them in the thumbnailing process.
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Thumbnails: I make thumbnails for all my comics so that I can, at a glance, see if things are cohesive. I'll often spend a lot of time at this stage, since it's also the part where I wrack my brain for smart things I can do compositionally (sometimes I go into comics knowing what sort of smart things I want to do e.g the comparison between the open grave + the empty bed was the entire inspiration behind making shallow grave).
Thumbnails are always quick and dirty for me. I know my own brain, so I always just do the bare minimum and know I'll be able to interpret it later. Here are the thumbnails I made for bite of winter.
note: the bright blue border on all the 'pages' is just to indicated where i should try to keep my panels.
it's extremely shitty but it's decipherable to me, and the whole point of thumbnail is that you're hopefully saving yourself time in the future by getting all this planning out now.
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3. Colour: Colour blocks are how I plan out how a comic's colour scheme should look as a cohesive package. Although I didn't used to do this for comics, I do it now ever since I wasted around 8 hours on patchwork canary just fiddling with the colours (ugh).
I'll usually go into a project knowing what kind of tone I want to convey with it, which gives me a launchpad for what kind of colour scheme I'd like. For instance, RED, one of my best comics, only uses three colours (black, white and red) and that limited colour palette enhances the message behind it. I think it wouldn't be nearly as impactful if it was all standardly coloured - having that contrast pushes Red's impact as a significant character in the narrative by making her pop on the page.
In a similar vein, almost all of the sunset's emotional complexity gets expressed through its colour palette of red, blue and yellow.
Even though it might be more conventionally coloured with shading and whatnot, the choices behind making certain scenes darker/lighter and etc really sells the story more in my opinion.
These are the colour thumbnails I made for bite of winter. It's incredibly rough, but at a glance you can tell the comic doesn't have any particular page that is jarring or pulls you out of it.
As one more note: I'd advise doing all thumbnailing/colour-blocking at a much smaller size than the actual page is going to be. It keeps you from obsessing over fine details, and encourages you to just block in shapes and colours really quickly.
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that's all from me for now. I hope this helped, and I wish you luck on your project. Pace yourself! Comics are more work than people ever say they are, and it's good to just take your time and enjoy the process.
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Fooled Around and Fell in Love.
Machi Komacine x F Reader.
Warnings: Mild not SFW implications.
Word count: 1k.
Music blasts out of your phone’s speaker at a questionable quality. The bathroom’s acoustics perfectly contain the soundwaves as if it were a dimension entirely outside of reality. Nothing in exists besides Machi, you, and your eyeshadow palette that fits expertly in your hand.
Certain divots contain pigment that is more worn than others. Machi notes the colors that you must favor the most. A glimmering champagne color, soft pink, and nude pigments which range from light to dark. When you tap the eyeshadow brush on the side of the palette, fairy dust cascades, catching the fading light you swore you’d replace months ago. She makes a mental note to pick up a lightbulb and to it herself.
You’re close enough to breathe in each other's air.
She smells your perfume, delicate and fruity, dutifully dabbed onto your inner wrist and exposed neck. Barely faded love bites litter your skin from previous passionate exploits. You never try to erase the proof of her existence she leaves on you. When it comes to definitive proof that Machi actually inhabits this world, you’re the closest she gets. You turn a specter from Meteor City into a tangible being — made from flesh and blood.
You procure a pocket-sized mirror. “Well? Do you like?”
Machi studies her reflection for a moment, then her attention is back on you. “Yeah.”
“You barely looked,” you huff, scrunching your nose in indignation. Machi fights her lip’s urge to quirk up. “I’ll have you know that I’m a high-in-demand makeup artist, famed worldwide. I expect a minimum of three words praising my ingenuity.”
“It looks good.”
You throw your head back and groan. “The three word limit was a suggestion, not a hard rule.”
“And I followed it.”
Every time Machi prepares to enter your apartment, she resolves to tease you less.
Every time this tenet is put to the test, she fails.
“That’s it! I’ll be upping your charge as recompense for my wounded heart.”
She raises an eyebrow. “This was going to cost me? How much?”
You press a manicured finger to your cheek, painted the shade of Machi’s hair by the woman herself. According to you, her hands are far more steady than yours, making her an ideal candidate for the job. She never complained at a chance to feel your soft skin against hers. Unmarred by crime, clean from shedding rivers of crimson as deep as the Styx.
“Three, no, five kisses,” you insist. “It’s up to ten now.”
… Machi has no idea how you say these things without a hint of shame.
She leans forward, begrudgingly, as if the payment were a burden and not a delight.
You put a premature end to the process by hovering your finger near her parted lips. “Not yet. I don’t want to get my gloss on your lips, matte suits you better.”
Machi’s knuckles turn white from how harshly she grips the edge of the sink’s countertop. If she applied any more pressure, it’d crumble into a pitiful avalanche. Despite the restraint she’s exerting, her visage betrays nothing, giving the impression that she’d unmoved. In reality, she wants nothing more than to mix the pigment of your lips, forming a shade that’s uniquely you.
“Awe, babe, are you grumpy?” The knowing lilt in your voice makes her heart flutter.
“Just get on with it already,” Machi grumbles. The tips of her ears feel warm.
You give a dorky salute and an enthusiastic sir yes sir!
You run the brush’s tip over her smoothly, as a painter would on their canvas.
Her heart beats in a staccato rhythm.
Thump, thump, thump.
You move on to her next eye, utilizing the same care, precision, and expertise. More adrenaline pumps through her veins than in the thick of a heist. Her body gives into your thrall without a fight. You are the sun she orbits around, allowing her to experience seasons she never thought were meant for her. Winter’s biting chill of loneliness when you’re apart. Spring’s budding affections that blossom one after the other. Summer’s hot passion which leaves you both sweaty and satisfied. Then autumn’s relaxed tenure, refreshing in its briskness.
You didn’t just unlock the world for her, you’ve shown her the entire universe.
“Aaaaand voila,” you announce. When her eyes readjust to being open, she sees a sight so priceless, not even a thief would have the heart to steal it — your bright smile.
She twists her head to use the mirror behind her. “You did a good job.”
Her words are light, like bubbles rising to the top of a champagne glass.
Machi hears you grumble something about needing to buy her a thesaurus, but, nonetheless, you contentedly put your eyeliner away, humming to the current song on your playlist. You leech off her music subscription (your words, not hers), but she doesn’t mind. There’s something comforting about seeing what song or podcast you’re listening to when she’s continents away.
“Hey.”
“Hm?”
“I like it,” Machi says. Then, she swoops in to press a chaste kiss against your cheek. Unbeknownst to her, the resulting lipstick stain will remain for the rest of the night. “Thanks.”
The look you give her can only be described as lovestruck. “W-Well, having such a pretty model certainly helps.”
Your little stutter makes her crack a closed-mouth smile.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
After a moment of staring wordlessly at one another, your posture straightens, realization etching onto your features.
“I almost forgot! Eyelash curler and then mascara. I’ll let you do that part though. Applying mascara on others is tricky. I don’t want your eyelashes to look like spider legs.”
Quietly, she clears her throat. If only you knew.
“... Right. Wouldn’t want that.”
#machi makes me feel emotions previously unfelt#machi x reader#machi komacine x reader#hxh x reader#hunter x hunter x reader#reader insert#my stuff
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i love it when i hear you breathing, i hope to god you’re never leaving
characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks
genre: smut and angst
notes: aaaah oh my gosh!!! i can’t believe this series is finally finished! this is the third and final part of my tag you’re it series. thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me and this series throughout these two years; you all mean the world to me and i hope you enjoy this final piece! as always, please heed the warnings below and stay safe!! | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez
part one | part two | part three
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, toxic relationships, drug use and abuse, overdosing, hospitals, blood, verbal fights, daddy kink, minimal prep, size kink/size difference, degradation/dumbification with a dose of praise, rough sex, biting/marking, dacryphilia, a hint of mindbreak
words: 14.9k
synopsis:
What is real? What is right? Does it exist in concrete terms, or is it some sort of continuum? Is it easily sorted and separated, like pans of paint on a palette, or is it all muddled and bleeding together, like strands of paint in a glass jar, irrevocably intertwined as they dissipate in the water and impossible to separate in any way, colour of the tainted water morphing depending on the angle the light hits it at?
Does it even matter at all, when your brother is in the hospital and your boyfriend, no matter how implicitly or explicitly, had a hand in putting him there?
It’s been three weeks since yours and Keigo’s accidental meeting on the track, three weeks since you’ve been meeting privately, behind Dabi’s back, three weeks that you’ve gotten absolutely nowhere in terms of any sort of ‘plan’.
It isn’t either of your faults, you think. Your time spent together is incredibly limited, which makes it incredibly precious, and neither of you particularly want to spend it discussing the difficult stuff—your brother’s addiction, and how to deal with it.
“I can buy my own food, you know,” Keigo jokes as you sit down across from him, crosslegged, knees bumping against his own.
“I know you can,” you say as you hand him a small bento, stuffed to the brim with rice and yakitori. “But you don’t.”
“Well—”
“And you don’t make your lunches, either,” you continue dryly. “I bet you haven’t made a single lunch for yourself since I moved out.”
“I mean—”
“Buying lunches from the convenience store doesn’t count,” you add, and Keigo has the decency to look sheepish, huffing out a soft chuckle as he regards you wearily through his lashes, a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck.
“You know me too well, songbird.”
“I’d hope so, I’ve only known you my entire life.”
Another laugh tickles his throat, this time sweeter, gentler, and his gaze softens a little, fondness melting his ire, a dirty finger reaching out to caress your cheek. Your head tilts instinctively, nuzzling into his touch, and his smile spreads, eyes crinkling at the corners.
You know you must talk about all of that difficult stuff eventually, can feel it all piling up at the back of your consciousness, growing larger and larger, heavier and heavier, as it slowly encroaches on the future, but it’s been so long since you’ve just been able to sit together.
It’s been so long since you’ve been afforded the luxury of just basking in each other’s presence, of just enjoying each other’s company, of just existing together that it now feels as though you must cherish every single moment, unwilling to waste even a second on something so unpleasant, so complicated and full of pain.
What used to be so regular, so routine for the both of you has now become something to be coveted and protected, each of you reluctant to break the delicate peace thinly glazing something hard.
“Thank you for this,” Keigo says as he looks down at the box in his palms. “It looks delicious.”
“It’s not much,” you shrug as you tug open your own lunch box, eyes focused on your actions and avoiding his own. “But it’s better than nothing.”
“It’s perfect, and I love it,” Keigo says warmly, his hand on your thigh prompting your gaze to his. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” you murmur as you place a hand over his, a small grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I’m glad you like it. I mean, it is your favourite, after all.”
“It is,” Keigo nods before craning his neck a little, peering into your lap. “And, uh, what’s in yours?”
You can’t help the fond little snort that barrels up your throat as you look down at your own lunch, a crude version of one of those picturesque bento boxes you’d find on Pinterest, the seaweed faces all muffed up, the heart-shaped rice balls lumpy and uneven, the small medley of vegetables messy and overflowing.
“Dabi made it,” you respond softly, still smiling down at the food, index finger tracing the plastic edge of the container. “They always look ugly, but they taste surprisingly good. He tries his best to make them look cute, but…”
“He’s too rough.”
“He doesn’t know how,” you correct. “But it doesn’t matter, I love them all the same.”
Keigo hums to himself, chopsticks clicking together before they dive into rice. “And he makes those for you every day?”
“Every single day. Even when he’s running late.”
“That’s…Uh, that’s really thoughtful of him,” Keigo chuckles a little, the sound drenched in incredulity, head tilting slightly. “Honestly, I’m surprised.”
“You don’t give him enough credit,” you say lightly, attempting to keep accusation from seeping into your voice.
Keigo scoffs at that, eyes rolling with a shake of his head. Yeah, sure, he doesn’t give the guy who emotionally manipulates his baby sister and dangles drugs in front of his face like he’s some sort of fucking dog ‘enough credit’.
“I’m serious,” you continue, an edge sharpening your voice. “He does a lot for me, Keigo.”
“I’m not saying he doesn’t.”
“Really? Because that look in your eyes is telling me otherwise.”
“Look,” Keigo sighs, eyes closing briefly with the slow exhale of breath. “I don’t want to fight with you. Not here, not now. Let’s just…Can we talk about something else?”
Silence rings in the air, dense as it weights the atmosphere, and Keigo’s tongue sucks on his teeth as he waits, a desperate attempt to keep his criticisms safe in his throat.
It isn’t like he doesn’t recognize all that Dabi does for you; he does. He sees it, even it if makes his chest burn and his eyes sting and his heart ache, even if he wishes he didn’t. He can’t exactly deny that Dabi takes good care of you—in some respects, at least.
But that doesn’t negate all of the bad Dabi commits, too.
That doesn’t negate the fact that he’s a criminal, that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s highly and convincingly conniving, that doesn’t negate the fact that, while Dabi may take good care of you, Keigo takes great care of you.
“Yeah,” you say quietly, after a few moments of tense contemplation, chopsticks poking idly at your meal. “Yeah, sure.”
Reticence saturates your features, eyes forlorn and despondent as they watch your motions with idle disinterest, and guilt unfurls deep in the pit of Keigo’s stomach, thick and sticky like tar as it seeps through his tissues, encasing the surrounding organs in its suffocating embrace.
Swallowing thickly, Keigo pushes forward.
“Uh, so. How are your classes going? Are you sure you can be skipping class like this every week?”
“Oh, sure,” you shrug, eyes still downcast. “I’m ahead in this class. Actually, I’m ahead in all of my classes. Um, I’m doing better than I ever have been before.”
“You are?” Keigo asks, eyes wide, and it’s hard for him to stifle the notes of surprise ringing high in his voice.
“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Dabi really keeps on top of my schoolwork. I study every single night, all of my readings are done on time, I start all of my assignments early…” you trail off, chewing on the end of one of your chopsticks. “There isn’t really much else to do while—”
A frown laced with concern tugs at Keigo’s lips, his forehead wrinkling as he observes you carefully. “While what?”
“I—While Dabi works.”
“Works,” Keigo repeats slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And what exactly does that entail?”
“I thought you didn’t want to talk about him.”
“Well now I do.”
“Keigo, please—”
“Does he take you out with him?”
“No!” you shake your head vehemently, voice glassy and thin. “He leaves me with Jin most of the time,” you say, defensive. “Jin is a friend—he owns the convenience store at the base of Dabi’s building, and, uh…”
“Go on.”
“And he takes me to The League a lot.”
“The diner?”
“Yeah, they…I mean, they have meetings there, and stuff,” you say slowly, unsure of how much you should reveal to Keigo, of how much you’re allowed to reveal to Keigo. “And so I—I just do my work while they do all that.”
“They?”
“His friends.”
“And what about your friends? Do you ever hang out with them anymore?”
“His friends are my friends,” you respond dutifully, though there’s genuine warmth in your tone, a sweet little smile cracking through the hard dejection coating your face.
“Songbird…” he begins slowly, eyebrows pushed together and forehead creased with concern, and you can hear it, can hear him gearing up to deliver one of his signature Big Brother Lectures, one of his I’m-Older-and-I-Know-Better speeches, piercing stare overflowing with worry dipped in disapproval.
“Look, it’s fine,” you say dismissively, a distinct note of protection ringing clear in your voice. “It isn’t like I really had any friends before anyway, not when I was too busy—”
Too busy taking care of you.
You kill the rest of the sentence before it can reach your tongue, but it doesn’t matter. He already knows exactly what you were going to say.
And he already knows you’re exactly right.
✰ ✰ ✰
The time to broach the topic finally comes during the next week, after the two of you have cleaned out your simple bentos for the day, when you can no longer keep it locked up anymore, can no longer continue with this pretty facade no matter how nice it is, the winter wind whistling down the desolate subway tunnel, long forgotten beneath the grounds of the university.
“Let me check you into a program, or something,” you beg, beseeching eyes rapidly scanning his features, little fingers digging into his biceps, flexing in your fervour. “Let me help make you better! I want nothing more, Kei-nii, I swear.”
“I can’t go into treatment, songbird,” he responds, desperately trying to rid his voice of that frustrated tremor, to keep his voice even and calm. “You know I can’t. The moment they catch wind of my addiction, my scholarship is gone—”
“So!”
“—Along with all of the opportunities that had come with it,” he continues, eyes hard.
“Well I mean, can’t they cover it up or something?” You cry, distraught. “Your coaches, or the crooked sponsors who already know, the ones who keep this secret for you?”
Dryly, Keigo shoots you a glare. “It’ll be very difficult to cover up a sudden prolonged absence.”
Begrudgingly, he has a point.
“Well what, then?” you ask, whole body deflating, leaning against him in your defeat. “What’s our plan? You said we’d make one—to beat this, to make it all better, to make it all right again, but—”
“I’ll do it on my own,” he says resolutely, and his voice is so strong, so sure that you can’t help but believe him. “Okay? I’ll take a week—next week—and I’ll throw it all away. Flush it, pour it down the sink, do whatever I can to get rid of it for good, and then I’ll weather the withdrawal.”
“Really?” you gasp out, both hands clutching his arm in their excitement, wide eyes shining with potent hope as they search his face. “You—You’ll be okay doing it alone?”
“Yeah, songbird, really,” a thumb swipes across your cheek, eyes liquid amber as they gaze at you. “I can do it. For you.”
“For you, too,” you remind gently, Dabi’s words ringing out clearly against the walls of your skull. He has to want to get better for himself, baby, or it’ll never work. No one else can do it for him.
“Yeah, for me, too.”
And, for a moment, it appears as though he has done it. Two weeks later, he looks better, sounds better, feels better, curls shimmering bright and gold, cheeks rosy and full of health, muscles beginning to swell as they regain strength, twining themselves protectively around his sharp bones.
You’re so elated by his apparent success, so in awe of it all, that you insist the two of you tell Dabi right away, desperate to share the good news with your boyfriend.
But it isn’t a good idea, Keigo tells you. Not now, not yet.
“Dabi has to see it for himself—Dabi needs proof. Telling him prematurely not only outs our little meetings here, but I can almost guarantee it’ll be met with a hefty dose of doubt.”
Eyes lidded with carelessness, Keigo mimics Dabi, doing a surprisingly good job, his voice flat and apathetic, his stare bored and jaded.
“Yeah, sure, he’s clean for now. But will he be clean in a week from now? A month from now? A year from now?” Keigo shakes his head. “Dabi needs to see that I’m truly doing this, that I’m dedicated to doing this.”
You suppose that makes sense. And you don’t ever want to do anything to put your niisan in danger.
But you, God, you’re so proud of him, so proud of the progress you think he’s made, so proud of the commitment he’s displaying.
Maybe Dabi will finally allow the two of you to start meeting again, as soon as he sees the dedication Keigo has to getting better, you’re chattering on animatedly one afternoon, head resting dreamily on your big brother’s shoulder.
Maybe, Keigo shrugs.
Maybe not.
Because while Keigo is getting better, and slow progress is better than no progress, he isn’t exactly as clean as you think he is, and Dabi knows it all the same.
He masks it well, he thinks. The plan you had concocted together had been to choose a week where Keigo would finally quit, cold turkey, no assistance at all (because he adamantly refused it), and stay home ‘sick’ as the withdrawal took it’s vicious toll on his body.
And he did, for the most part. He did go through withdrawal, he did stay clean for a moment or two, but he didn’t stop shooting, hasn’t stopped shooting; not technically, not entirely.
He’s just shooting way less now, the dosage only a smidge of what his body was accustomed to. It barely gets him high, barely makes him feel anything at all—nothing more than a tingling, wispy warmth reminiscent of that unparalleled bliss he loved so much—but it’s better than nothing at all.
Dabi had been intrigued, impressed, it had seemed, by Keigo’s sudden urge to cut down drastically.
“What’s up with you?” he finally asks, the third time they meet after Keigo’s so-called ‘purge’, the reduced dosage held securely in his rough hand.
“What d’ya mean?” Keigo murmurs distractedly as he cards through the money in his wallet, counting it under his breath.
“You know exactly what I mean,” Dabi snorts, shuffling the small packets in his palm, accentuating his words.
“Oh,” Keigo glances up, fingers stilling. “Uh, just trying to quit, that’s all.”
“Quit?” Dabi blinks in shock or surprise, Keigo can’t be sure which. Sapphire rakes over his body, slow and methodical, a smile slithering across his face as his gaze drifts back to Keigo’s. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” Keigo swallows, desperate to keep his voice calm. “I—I’m trying to do it slowly. Lower the dosage until my body doesn’t need it anymore.”
“You know, that’s not really how it works,” Dabi begins, suspicion bleeding into his voice, eyes narrowing as he regards Keigo with a sweeping gaze, fingers curling into a protective fist over the drugs. “Besides, that’s a slippery fucking slope, Keigo. Sure, you’re doing it now, but what happens when something triggers you, huh? What happens when you suddenly need a higher dose, just today, just this once, because you’re stressed, or sad, or whatever the fuck it is. Hmm? You need to have self-restraint made of platinum to quit in this fashion.”
Shrugging, Keigo looks away. “Yeah, well, I’m trying this first. If this doesn’t work, I’ll try something else.”
And he hates the way his words quiver slightly, hates the way his voice rings tinny and high with lies, with terror.
Tilting his head, Dabi hums, eyes performing another full-body scan of Keigo. “And why the sudden change of heart?”
“What?”
“Why now? Why are you unexpectedly deciding to quit now, instead of after all those instances of your sister begging you to quit; after I told you to quit how many times? What changed?”
Keigo’s palms prickle with sweat, and his hands ball into tight fists, a desperate attempt to halt the tingling, fingers flexing as they unfurl again.
“I—I miss her,” he manages to stutter out, blowing the confession from his mouth in a gust of breath. “And I, uh, I want to do this for her. Your combined pleads took a little while to set in, I guess,” he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling at the thin skin, feigning contemplation. “But I hear what you’ve both been saying now, loud and clear, and I’ve decided you’re right.”
“Really?” And although the question sounds genuine, something sharp and dangerous glints in Dabi’s gaze; piercing, penetrative. “Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
He can tell Dabi doesn’t buy it for a fucking second, eyes attempting to dissect Keigo’s mind, to pry apart the tangle of tissue and neurons and synapses and peer inside for the truth.
But he can’t.
“Alright,” he says slowly, the word soaked in incredulity, as he exchanges powder for paper. “Good luck, then.
“Thanks,” Keigo says flatly, already beginning to back away, inching towards his car. “And uh, hey, don’t tell my sister.”
Dabi’s eyebrows push together, forehead wrinkled with confusion. “The fuck? Why not?”
“Because I want it to be a surprise, you know, when I’m fully clean. I don’t want her to know anything until I’ve made it.”
Dabi stares at him for a moment, another one of those invasive, assessing looks where he attempts to decipher Keigo through his expressions alone,
It’s only after Dabi’s car is long gone that Keigo can breathe normally again, heart abandoning its venture to shatter his ribs and flatten his lungs. His head drops in relief as the tension in his neck ebbs, his forehead pressed tight to the steering wheel.
He’s safe; for now, at least. He knows Dabi isn’t at risk of discovering yours and Keigo’s secret meetings, because you wouldn’t dare tell him and risk upsetting him—or, worse, getting yourself and your brother into some serious trouble—and he knows Dabi won’t tell you about Keigo continuing to purchase drugs from him, because you don’t ask—won’t ask, have no reason to ask, have no reason not to trust in your big brother’s truths—and Keigo trusts, for some inexplicable reason, that Dabi will not tell you about their questionable conversation today, not until he figures out what’s really going on, anyway.
And, sure, Keigo feels guilty lying to you, misleading you in such a manner, but it isn’t like he plans to keep this up forever. Besides, he’s nearly clean anyway, isn’t he? He may not be there in it’s entirety yet, but he is doing better and progress is progress, even if it isn’t as much progress as you’re giving him credit for. He will quit eventually, he swears it. He will kick the habit, permanently, he knows it.
He just needs a little more time.
✰ ✰ ✰
It’s always the most inconspicuous things that do it, that set something off, that give something away, that indicate that something isn’t quite right.
The question comes late one night, after you’ve both finished cleaning up the small kitchenette, as Dabi’s putting away Tupperware containers.
It’s asked innocuously enough, imbued with a touch of genuine curiosity, voice muffled by the cabinet his head is currently buried in.
“Where the hell are all our bento boxes disappearing off to?”
“Uh,” you blink, mind taking a moment to register the question, the shock—and stupidity—of you’re failing to realize that this might be a red flag numbing your brain. “What?”
“Our bento boxes?” Dabi repeats as he stands, turning to face you, eyes performing a singular sweep across your face. “We’ve gotta be missing like, half of them now.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Dabi scoffs. “I bought them specially for you. They weren’t fuckin’ cheap, and I know how many I bought.”
“Oh,” you say dumbly, chest beginning to tingle with adrenaline. “I—I don’t know, Daddy, I didn’t even realize we had any missing. Maybe I left some in your car?”
“Pretty sure I would’ve noticed dirty containers in my car if there were any,” he retorts dryly.
“Um,” you hum, desperate to keep your expression from giving you away—to keep your mouth from trembling and eyes from widening—features scrunching in mock thought. “Well, then maybe I left some at school! I’ll check with each of my profs throughout the week and see if they remember finding any.”
Skepticism shines bright and blue in his narrowed eyes, stare steadily holding your own. It feels as though he’s trying to dissect you with his eyes as his sole tool, to tear the skin from your face and split your skull and peer inside, searching for the answer he’s looking for, searching for the truth.
“This isn’t like you, princess,” he says slowly, each word a deliberate thought, handpicked. “You aren’t usually forgetful. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” you respond instantly, the word barely more than a huff of breath. “Nothing, I just—Maybe I’m just stressed, you know? Midterms are coming up and all that, so…”
“There’s been a lot of maybes peppered throughout your sentences today. Is there anything you know for certain?”
You know he can tell, can see it shimmering in your eyes, gaping and alert; can see it wavering in your smile, artificial and stretched too tight across your cheeks.
A lie.
“Hmm?” he presses.
Shoulders raising in a defeated shrug, you shake your head, sucking on your tongue. He scrutinizes you for another moment more, sapphire performing one final sweep across your features, slow and thorough, before he nods to himself—just once, a sharp and short motion—and turns away.
If there’s anything he knows for certain, it’s that you’re hiding something. The only question is what.
✰ ✰ ✰
“Are you sure this is really necessary?” Tomura’s asking as he exhales steady streams of smoke from his nostrils, regarding Dabi blankly through the haze, crimson eyes watching through lidded lashes while Dabi paces the length of his car—back and forth, back and forth, a restless panther waiting and ready to strike—in the dimly lit diner parking lot.
“Yes,” Dabi snaps. “They’re both acting too weird; it’s too much of a coincidence.”
“It’s missing bento containers and a guy who’s cutting down on his drug use, actually. It’s entirely plausible the two have absolutely no connection to each other whatsoever.”
“You don’t get it,” Dabi nearly snarls, stride halted to whip around and face his friend. “Alright? You didn’t see the two of them, their eyes…There was something odd, wrong, in their eyes. And their voices, too. They sounded, I dunno, fake.” False. Off. Tinny and artificial and quivering ever-so-slightly with the restraint of hiding something.
“Are you…Did you take something?”
“You know I don’t do that anymore,” Dabi seethes.
“Yeah, yeah, right, but I just thought…” Tomura trails off, shrugging, the cashmere of his sweater catching on the brick wall behind him. “Dunno. Thought the stress might be getting to you, or something. Thought a few lines might take the edge off, maybe, but you know how coke can make you paranoid—”
“I’m not high, Tomura. I haven’t been high since—”
“Yeah, I know,” Tomura rolls his eyes. “But you’re acting a little weird, that’s all. Agitated. Jumpy. Could’ve been a possibility, whatever.” Flicking at the cigarette resting on his knuckle, Tomura disregards the idea, tendrils of smoke curling delicately in the air between them. “I still don’t see the correlation between these events, though.”
“You don’t need to see the correlation, for fuck’s sake,” Dabi finally explodes, throwing his arms in the air. “You only need to help me.”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do,” Tomura warns, something sharp slashing through ruby irises. “You may be my best friend and all, but I’m still technically your fucking boss.”
“Your dad is my fucking boss, actually,” Dabi corrects, smugness temporarily melting his frustration, an eyebrow raised in playful challenge. “But details don’t matter, this has nothing to do with work. This is simply one friend asking another friend for a favour.”
Running his tongue along the front of his teeth, Tomura stares at the man in front of him, contemplating. After a moment, he pushes himself up from his slouching position, a resigned sigh heavy on his chest.
“Alright, fine. But when this turns out to be nothing, I get to tease you for being a fucking lunatic.”
It won’t be nothing. Dabi can feel it in his soul.
And, as always, he was right.
“That fucking bitch!” Dabi screams when Tomura delivers the news outside of one of his father’s warehouses, features screwing into a wince as his best friend’s fist collides with the closest car window, glass shattering upon impact. “I knew it! I knew she was hiding something from me!”
Dabi’s had enlisted in Tomura to tail you for roughly five days now, documenting every single thing you do from the moment you arrive on campus to the moment Dabi—or one of Dabi’s friends—picks you up.
And on the following Tuesday, this Tuesday, he hit the fucking jackpot.
“How dare she! After all I’ve done for her, you know? After everything I’ve done for her and that good-for-nothing pathetic brother of hers…” Dabi shakes his head, tufts of ink bouncing violently with the motion before sharp teeth pull a cigarette free from a weathered cardboard carton, the corners worn and fraying. “And this is how they repay me? By sneaking around behind my back and fucking lying to my face about it? By disobeying the most important rule I’ve set?”
Scarlet oozes from his knuckles, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. His skin sparkles as unsteady hands pat his body in search of an opening, microscopic shards of glass still embedded in his skin. Trembling fingers pull a silver Zippo free from his pocket and whip it open, thumb missing the flint wheel twice, a growled curse rumbling in his throat.
“I can’t fucking believe it,” Tomura says as he sits perched on the hood of his parked Maybach, a burger in his lap and grease shining on his fingers. A nod of his head motions for Dabi to come closer, soft palms cupping Dabi’s blood streaked hand and igniting the Zippo with ease, steadying the flame as Dabi leans in to torch his cigarette. “You were right. I can’t fucking believe it.”
“Of course I was fucking right!” Dabi roars through a dense shroud of smoke.
“So, now what?” Tomura asks as he nibbles on his burger bun. “What do we do?”
“Oh, it’s a we now, is it?”
“Would you rather it not be a we?”
“No,” Dabi responds through a begrudging frown. “Your help is valuable.”
“Thank you.”
“Honestly, I should fucking kill him for everything he’s done, for such disrespect,” Dabi seethes, nostrils flaring, that tense fury unable to hide the distinct crack at the end of his words. “I should bash his fucking skull against a brick wall.”
“Sure,” Tomura says easily, examining a piece of wavy lettuce before pulling it free and throwing it to the dirt floor. “He deserves to be dead. But what would she think? How would she react?”
“She’d be better off if he just wasn’t in her life anymore.”
“Maybe,” Tomura agrees. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she’ll never forgive you if you kill her big brother.”
“I could make it look like an accident,” Dabi says.
“You could try,” Tomura corrects. “But you know just as well as I do that staging accidental deaths is no easy feat.”
“He’s a fucking junkie,” Dabi says, as if this is obviously the answer to all of his problems. “Slip some fentanyl in his smack and bam! Dead within minutes.”
“She’d know it was you.”
“How?”
Tomura sighs, index finger rubbing at one of his eyes.
“Dabi, for as well as you know her, she knows you, too. Do you really think you could look her straight in the eye at her brother’s funeral and tell her you didn’t have a hand in it? While she’s sobbing over the man you despise so much, the man who has caused her so much suffering—who still causes her so much suffering—do you honestly believe your eyes or your voice won’t betray you?”
A growl rattles his ribs, facial features crunched together in a tight glower. Holding his blazing stare with ease, Tomura raises an eyebrow in question, smugness tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Fine, fuck,” Dabi finally erupts with an exasperated gasp, viciously turning away from his best friend and raking both hands through his hair, nails audibly scraping against his scalp as his fingers curl, tugging at the roots.
“Well then, what, huh?” he’s asking as he spins back around, voice straining under desperation, sapphire frantic as it searches Tomura’s face for an answer. “What? Because I’m all out of fucking ideas.”
“Threatening him might work.”
Dabi shakes his head. “I’ve tried that. I even took away his most precious possession. Nothing seems to get through this motherfucker’s head.”
“Well, not quite.”
“What?”
“Not quite. You haven’t truly taken away his most precious possession, have you?”
“Heroin?”
“Yeah, cut him off or something. He told you he was trying to quit, didn’t he? That he was on the way, or whatever. Why don’t you help give him an extra push?”
“And if he goes to find it somewhere else?” Dabi questions.
“My father will know,” Tomura’s lips curl up into a sinister smile, crimson eyes practically glowing. “And so will we.”
✰ ✰ ✰
Dabi doesn’t go home. Dabi can’t go home; not like this, not with the way his heart rages against his ribs and singes his chest, not without losing his entire fucking mind on you and spoiling his whole plan.
Instead, he pays Keigo a much-needed visit.
The terror-tinged surprise that saturates Keigo’s features when Dabi turns up on the other side of his front door is almost laughable—in fact, Dabi’s sure he would laugh if his insides weren’t boiling in his own rage—Keigo’s body gone loose and pliant in its shock, making it exceptionally easy for Dabi to wrap a hand around his bicep and yank him through the doorway of that godforsaken house.
“Get in the car,” he’s saying as he shoves Keigo towards the Eldorado, buckles of his boots jingling daintily as his heels collide with concrete.
“What?” Keigo asks as he stumbles to a stop, the question nothing more than an incredulous huff of breath.
“Get in the car,” Dabi repeats, slow, calm, cold, stare holding Keigo’s over the roof of the car. “Or I will put you in the fucking car.”
The drive isn’t long—maybe a mere twenty minutes or so—but it’s to an area of the city that Keigo has never visited before; an area with cracked asphalt and orange caps littering the dead grass, an areas with sun-washed plastic slides and rusted swing chains; untended, uncared for, and forgotten.
Rocks pop beneath the tires of the Eldorado as Dabi pulls into what might have been, once upon a time, a park, the lot full of faded concrete with peeling white paint and thorny weeds sprouting up through the fragmented cement, the field an unruly tangle of jade with a chain link fence that leads to nowhere.
“Get out,” Dabi instructs. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Using his teeth to pull a cigarette free from a veiny cardboard box, Dabi begins to stroll along the warped fence, Keigo starting a little in his haste to catch up to him. The sharp twinge of metal slicing against metal as Dabi whips his Zippo open makes Keigo cringe, the harsh sound piercing the thick atmosphere.
“So,” Dabi finally says, puffing the word out with a heavy cloud of smoke. “I know what you’ve been doing.”
Frowning, Keigo blinks at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion. “What are you—”
“Don’t play fucking dumb with me, Keigo. Not today. I don’t have the patience.”
The sentence, while flat, has an edge of warning to it, complemented by Dabi’s look of caution, thrown at Keigo through the side of his eye.
Chest deflating, Keigo slumps forward, head hung shamefully between his shoulders. “How’d you find out?”
“Does it matter?” Dabi stops suddenly, turning to face him. His tone is bored, almost indifferent in a way, but Keigo can see it: that restrained anger, wavering sapphire flames burning bright in his eyes.
Lips pressed together, Keigo holds his blazing stare, waiting for him to continue.
“Surely you must’ve known I’d find out eventually,” Dabi laughs a little, and it’s cruel, mean, mocking. “Surely you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep such a secret from me for very long.”
Maybe Keigo did. Maybe, on some deeply subconscious level, Keigo knew this would happen, knew this would be the end result no matter which way they tried to spin it, because it’s the only result it could’ve ever ended with.
Maybe not. Maybe Keigo was foolish—he has always had a streak of dreamer in him, after all—maybe Keigo was hopeful, desperate, that this would all somehow work out in the end, that the power of your love and your hope and your sheer, steadfast belief in him would enable him to magically quit, to kick the habit forever without any assistance or hard work at all—and everything would go back to normal.
He answers with a shrug, expression saturated in a sort of ambivalent confusion, and Dabi’s nostrils twitch.
“Fucking look at me.”
With a flexing jaw, Keigo’s head lifts slowly, his stare nearly dead, exhausted, but there are cinders of anger, frustration, maybe even hatred smoldering in those golden eyes, flaring as they meet the flames licking along Dabi’s pupils.
They’re extinguished almost as quickly as they’re ignited, though, weak flickers snuffed out by the smug smirk on Dabi’s face, and his features sag under the weight of dismal weariness.
“Just...Whatever you do, don’t hurt her, alright? It wasn’t her fault.”
His voice is quiet, resigned, though it isn’t enough to mask the delicate tremor sewn into his words—something full of defeated fury, of disquieted frustration as Dabi comes stomping through his life with his big black boots and crushes it all to dust, burns it all to ash, breaks it all again, because that’s what he’s best at.
“Hurt her?” Dabi’s voice raises in sincere surprise. “You know I’d never.”
“I don’t mean physically,” Keigo clarifies, topaz solidifying in his eyes; hard, gleaming.
“You don’t need to worry about that,” Dabi dismisses with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Because she isn’t going to know about this at all.”
“What?” Keigo spits, eyes narrowing with sharp suspicion. “What are you—”
“Because you and I,” Dabi continues, speaking over Keigo, voice clear and strong. “Are going to make a deal.”
Blood turns to ice in his veins, frost lacquering his bones, and Keigo’s body freezes, the hinges of his jaw creaking as he forces the word from his tongue.
“A-A deal?” Keigo pants out, breath trembling slightly.
“That’s right.”
Something vicious glints in Dabi’s eye—something sharp and dangerous, half-submerged in sapphire—and his mouth stretches into an abnormally large smile, spread so deep and tight across his face it looks as though it’s been carved into his cheeks.
A gust of wind tangles in the bare branches of a nearby tree, bark knocking together, and Keigo shudders, the breeze like a million little pinpricks piercing his clammy skin.
“You want to get clean, right? I mean, you’re trying to get clean, aren’t you? On the way to being completely sober and all that; that’s what you told me, is it not?”
“Yes,” Keigo says slowly, cautiously, as if the letters are navigating a field of landmines, one wrong intonation and he could trigger a fucking explosion.
“I’m going to help you.”
Dabi’s voice has suddenly turned amicable, as if it’s been shocked back to life from the indifferent, bland anger it contained only moments ago, now vibrant with this control, gleeful with this power.
“Help me?”
“I’ll allow you to keep seeing your sister on one condition,” Dabi pauses, and Keigo’s too petrified to ask, rooted in place, breath held stagnant in his lungs. “From this day forward, you will never take another drug for as long as you live.”
And, just like that, Keigo’s whole world, teetering precariously on the point of a needle, comes toppling down.
“One single slip-up, one teeny, tiny mistake—one shot, one snort, one swallow and I can promise you, you will never see your baby sister again.”
Frantic topaz flies across Dabi’s face, rapid as it searches his expression for any indication that this isn’t real, isn’t true, isn’t happening. His thoughts flow in hasty conjunction with his gaze, frenzied brain working desperately to figure out an immediate loophole.
His breath is coming faster now, short, sharp, uneven huffs shoved from his mouth as panic claws up his throat. No. No. This can’t be happening right now—there’s no way this is happening right now, because he’s not ready yet. He’s not ready to give it up yet, not ready to face reality without it yet, the thought of his addiction being prematurely ripped from his palms inspiring another bout of thick dread to course through his veins, drenching any remaining flickers of anger.
Keigo tries to tell Dabi this, to explain that this is all happening too quickly, too suddenly, that he needs more time, just a little more time, he swears—but his voice whimpers in his throat, sentiments rendered nothing more than pathetic squeaks of breath.
“If I find out you’ve purchased even one tenth of a fucking milligram of any narcotic I swear to the good Lord himself, I will take your sister so fucking far from this country that she won’t even know where the fuck she is. Do I make myself clear?” Dabi pauses, allowing Keigo a moment to respond with a mechanical nod.
“And I will find out, Keigo,” blue eyes shimmer with mirth, that sharp glint practically glowing now, so strikingly brilliant Keigo has to look away, a malicious laugh rattling around in Dabi’s mouth. “I own this fucking city now.”
✰ ✰ ✰
The front door swings open with a vigorous flourish, the fork between your fingers slipping from your grasp and clattering against the warped hardwood floor.
“Gosh, Daddy,” you breathe, a palm pressed to your racing heart, a hesitant smile tugging at your lips. “You scared me!”
He says nothing as he stalks towards you, a large grin stretched tightly across his face, sapphire eyes shimmering in the low light, irises seeming to swirl with something akin to delight, darkened with delirium.
“What’re you—”
Calloused hands seize your face the moment they’re close enough, slim fingers hooked behind the hinges of your jaw as they drag you toward their owner. Sharp teeth suck your bottom lip between their edges, sinking into your soft flesh and keeping it captive as Dabi’s tongue caresses it in slow, fat strokes.
Copper floods your mouth, the strength of the bite forcing a squeal from your throat into his, Dabi’s tongue dipping into the warm heat to soak up your blood—to stain his own flesh with it, to suck it in and swallow it down, to keep it inside of him; a small piece of you, infused in thick sticky crimson that seeps through his tissues and into his soul.
“Hi, princess,” he breathes as his forehead presses tightly to your own, eyes so brilliant and bright with exhilaration it’s almost as if they’re glowing.
“Hi,” you can’t help but laugh a little around the greeting, your gaze searching his face in happy confusion as your arms twine around his neck, pulling your body closer to his.
Breathy little giggles laced with mania waft across your face as his palms find your ass, fingers flexing against the supple flesh before he’s hefting you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, ankles hooked and heels digging into the dips at the base of his spine.
And then, he begins.
It’s almost elegant, the way he twirls your clinging bodies around the tiny kitchen to whatever invisible, silent tune is playing within the walls of his skull—something that you are not privy to, something that has him feeling elated—narrowly missing the corners of cabinets and the edges of counters as he goes, movements fluid and effortless.
But it doesn’t matter that you can’t hear the melody, the song in his head supplemented by your intertwined laughter, the sweetest music either of you could ever ask for, notes full of amusement and affection as it encases your conjoined forms, blanketing the atmosphere and filling it with the warmth of love.
The front door is still hanging open, dull yellow light from the hallway spilling into Dabi’s small apartment and alighting it with a hazy glow.
“Dabi, Dabi, the door!” you’re laughing out as he whirls toward it, skillfully using the ball of his foot to kick it shut as he ends his performance with a graceful spin and slots you up against the surface, trapping you between the cool metal and his body.
“What has gotten into you?” you’re asking as your chests heave together, eyes searching his face for any indication of an answer, residual amusement still tinging your words.
“I love you, that’s all,” he responds simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I love you, and I’m happy you’re mine.”
“I am happy to be yours,” you say softly, a hand moving to brush a strand of ink out of his eye.
“Good,” he whispers, nose nudging yours slightly. “That’s exactly how it should be.”
The claim is sealed with his lips, over and over as they stamp their claim across your flesh using broken blood vessels and thick saliva.
His teeth are ruthless as they mar your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, leaving superficial splices across your soft skin, little slashes that weep blood. His lips are gentle as they kiss the blood away, murmuring affirmations of love into the wounds, strokes of scarlet staining his flesh.
Calloused hands explore the curves and contours of your body—the notches of your spine and the ridges of your shoulders, the swell of your breasts and the bends of your tummy, rough fingers dipping between your dress and your skin to tug at the material.
Daddy can’t wait but it seems, neither can you.
“I need you, baby,” he nearly whines, pet name cracking in desperation. “I need you, I need you right now.”
“Take me,” you’re gasping, little hands pawing at his clothing, trying to pull him closer. “Take me, take me, I’m yours!”
“Get my cock out,” he’s demanding, your hands moving to obey before the order has fully left his lips.
It’s difficult, in the position that you’re in, to wiggle your hands down to his belt and pick away at the buckle, flakes of cracked white leather collecting under your nails as you claw at it.
But you succeed, of course, because you will always succeed when it’s him who’s asking, silver buckle clanking heavily as it hangs open and limp. A hiss of air rushes down your throat as one of your nails chips on the brass button of his jeans, but the injury doesn’t hinder you in the slightest, avid to please.
“Good girl,” Dabi’s purring as your dainty hand wraps around the base of his cock and finally pulls it free from the confines of his clothing. The simple praise inspires a dreamy little giggle, and you gaze at him, eyes lidded with lust and love, giving his cock a gentle squeeze before pumping it twice.
“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, cobalt fading to navy as he crushes his lips to yours again.
It’s like he can’t get enough of you, like he’s been starved for you—your tongue and your attention and your cunt—for an eternity, calloused hands graceless as they ruck up your dress, fabric bunching around your hips. Removing your panties is deemed too time consuming, as is his usual method of tearing them to pieces, deft fingers shoving their way between your tightly pressed bodies to push the soaked lace aside, revealing your cute little hole.
It’s all so much, his tongue on your neck and his teeth in your flesh and his cock bumping against your ill-prepared hole, the whimpers spilling from his lips as his hips nudge forward with pathetic precursory mini-thrusts, the smoky sweet scent of smoldering hickory and spicy nicotine that’s invading your nose and mouth and lungs and brain like some sort of parasitic addiction: a haze that consumes your mind and body and soul, a haze you endlessly crave more of.
Everything aches as his cock splits you open, sensitive skin ripping while his cock carves itself into you.
“Da-Daddy,” you wail, head falling forward to bury your face in his shoulder, little fingers twisting in the tufts of hair at the base of his skull. “It’s—It’s so big!”
“Shh, shh,” he hushes you, but you can hear it, the sadistic smile in his voice, laced with a sick kind of pride. “Daddy’s almost in, you can take it for him, can’t you?”
You can, of course you can, he knows you can.
Usually, he shoves the whole thing in with one single thrust, hard and fast. But today he chooses to take his time, all of his previous urgency seemingly pacified the moment the head of his cock is inside of you, Dabi opting to savour every fucking inch as he pushes into your cunt, slow and steady.
It only prolongs the pain, fissured flesh tearing itself open more and more with each leisurely second that passes, and your head falls forward, face smushed tightly into his neck, the sweetest little whimpers spilling from your throat.
Tears burn your eyes as he finally bottoms out, heavy balls pressed flush to your bottom, your raw hole fluttering a little in pain, sending tiny stinging spears shooting through your gut.
“Look at that, huh? Such a good little whore for her Daddy, aren’t you?” he practically purrs, breath sweltering against your damp skin. “Crying like a little baby and acting like she can’t take it, when she fucking loves to take it,” he tsks, almost as if he’s admonishing you for such behaviour.
“Daddy,” you whine, the world garbled with spit, tears clinging to your lashes. A dull throb roots itself deep at the core of your body, beating in erratic rhythm with your heart.
“Go on,” he breathes as his hips begin to draw back torturously slow, tender cunt aching with the motion as his shaft grinds against the micro-cuts, velvet feeling as rough as sandpaper. “Tell me. Be honest, and tell me how much you love to take my cock.”
And despite how much it fucking hurts, his words inspire a small, dim spark in the pit of your stomach, veins beginning to tingle gently.
“I—I love to take your cock,”
“How much?”
The question is growled out through clenched teeth as he rams back into you with such force that it sends your body skidding up the door, head bouncing against the surface with the motion.
“So much!” you cry out instantly, eyes shut tight and face screwed up in pain. “So much, so so so much, Da-Daddy, I—”
“Open your eyes, princess,” he orders softly, your lids lifting to reveal brilliant sapphire gazing back at you, tremoring with excitement, with the power coursing through his veins, your Daddy already high and heady on the control he holds over you as you instantly obey. “Daddy wants you to look at him when you tell him how much you love taking his cock.”
Crystal teardrops roll down your cheeks, thick trails of salt water sparkling in their wake. Your nose twitches in your effort to calm down, to stop crying, a hitched affirmative stuttering in your throat.
His hips are pulling back again, unhurried in their movement as his bright gaze sears into your face, eyes unblinking and alight with twisted excitement.
“I love—I love taking your cock so much, Daddy, it—Ah!” you manage to hiccup out just as his hips slam forward again. With gritted teeth, your eyes close briefly and breathe out, slow and controlled, your throat stinging as you stubbornly swallow the tremble in your voice, a steely breathiness replacing it. “It’s my favourite thing to do, Daddy, wanna take your cock every day for the rest of my life, Daddy.”
“Christ,” he exhales, the curse infused with an airy chuckle, lips spreading into a grin, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you. “You’re so perfect, baby,”
Something warm and bright blossoms in your chest, ribs swelling with it.
“Jus’ wanna be good for you, Daddy,”
He laughs again, eyes darkening, something sinister glinting in his smile. “We both know that’s a lie,” he grunts as his hips rock again. “But that’s okay, because Daddy loves his perfect little brat so much. Besides,” he whispers, voice dropped to a smooth murmur as his lips caress your ear. “Brats are a helluva lot more fun than good girls, anyway.”
You aren’t given a moment to respond as his hips begin to piston, hard and fast and sudden, any answer to his remark morphing into a loud whine in your chest.
The pain has mostly faded now, any residual shocks promptly chased by flares of pleasure, cunt growing wetter and wetter with each drag of his cock.
Your chins slide against one another, slicked with thick saliva, and his front tooth catches on your bottom lip, hard enough to nick the flesh. Blood oozes from the wound instantly, but Dabi is sure not to waste a single drop, the tip of his tongue running along the fine line of scarlet and lapping it up.
Your mouth, licked raw and sliced up, doesn’t even hurt anymore, small cuts and bruised flesh buzzing as Dabi crushes his mouth to yours again, exhaling copper-tinged breath onto your tongue.
It’s all so potent, so intoxicating, so desperate as you gasp, viciously sucking air from his lungs into your own, gulping down his essence and holding it against your heart—bright and burning and blue, full of him—protected by a cage of ivory.
Your nails rip into his flesh through the thin cotton of his shirt, starved for him as they gorge on his shoulders, fingers digging deeper and deeper into the muscles with each ruthless piston of his hips.
He loves it, too, that thin, almost delicate streak of masochism that runs through his soul shimmering in the dim light as your vying hands force a deep groan from his chest, the sound vibrating in your mouth, rattling your teeth.
It’s so good, he’s so good, and you want more, because too much is never, and will never, be enough.
“More, Daddy, more, more!”
“My greedy fucking girl,” he pants, pupils cavernous and carnivorous as they devour your precious little expressions; the way your nose scrunches and eyes roll white and mouth hangs open, emitting sugary sweet sounds in hot little huffs of air. “So needy, huh? So fucking desperate for Daddy’s cock and Daddy’s cum, aren’t you?”
“S’all I want, Daddy,” you nearly sob, head nodding stupidly to accentuate your point. “S’all I ever want,”
“That’s all, yeah? That’s all that’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, isn’t it?”
“Jus’ wanna be your perfect lil slut, Da-Daddy!”
“Cum on my cock, then,” he demands, pace never slowing. “Show Daddy how good you are and cum on his cock.”
Each pump of his hips, each brush of his cockhead against that spot sends more sparks coursing through your body, little flares of ecstasy collecting in the crevices of your body and igniting a satisfying inferno that spreads through your veins, blood fizzing as it rushes through your body, alighting every nerve until it reaches the apex of your thighs, and then you’re obeying his order, cunt convulsing as you gush heat all over his thick cock, his title shattering on your tongue, shards melting into gasps of air.
The blaze has spread to your brain now, tissues melting to goo as the flames lick the walls of your skull, extreme pleasure the most potent shot of novocaine to your brain, everything gone numb, dumb, under its influence.
“Tell me,” he nearly whimpers, breathy voice fading into growl as it cuts through the thick haze. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You!” you cry instantly, the word fragmenting as he pounds into you. “You, you, Daddy, I belong to you, wouldn’t want to be anyone else’s, ever.”
“Mine,” he snarls, the word imbued with such brutal possessiveness it stings your skin, his eyes shining bright with the elation of owning something so special, with the comforting knowledge that it is yours and yours only. “Forever.”
“For eternity,” you mewl out, head nodding in quick little motions.
“You’re goddamn right,“ he rasps, hips starting to stutter. “Your cunt, your tits, your entire fucking body, it’s all—ah, Christ—it’s all mine. You belong to me.”
The proclamation is spit into your mouth just as his cock throbs, pumping you full of thick cum. Your thighs tighten around his waist, squeezing him closer, as if you’re trying to wring every last drop from his body, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
A soft whimper vibrates in your throat the moment he begins to pull out of you, and Dabi laughs again, murmuring out pacifying remarks doused with condescension as he pushes back into your sopping cunt, carrying you toward the bed.
With grace and fluidity, he manages to maneuver your knotted bodies under the fluffy comforter, keeping his cock from slipping out of you even an inch. A sweet little hum of contentment spills from your lips as you snuggle into his neck, riding on the tails of a giggle, the precious sound seeping into his skin.
It sends a shock of warmth through his system, your intoxicating happiness like bubbles of sunshine in his blood, and he emits his own hum, deep and vibrating against your temple as he allows the clutches of unconsciousness close in around him, because you’re his, you’re his, you’re his.
Forever.
✰ ✰ ✰
The early evening wind is cold but gentle as it plays with the hem of his shirt and the ends of his hair, softly caressing his bare skin as it passes. A shiver slithers up his spine, chills erupting across his flesh, and Keigo hugs his arms tighter, desperate to retain as much body heat as physically possible.
I’ll be surprised if you can keep up with this for more than a week or so, Dabi had hollered out the open window of his car as he backed out of the parking lot, voice overlaying the growling of the Eldorado. Go ahead, prove me wrong! Show me your pathetically weak self-restraint isn’t as pathetic as I think it is.
And then he was gone, leaving Keigo standing alone in the steadily setting sun, strokes of fuchsia tingeing his gold curls.
The walk home should’ve been sobering, Dabi’s threats and promises bouncing off the walls of his skull, their direness reverberating in Keigo’s very bones. The walk home should’ve scared him enough to quit for good, forever, used needles bestrewn across the dry, sickly yellow grass like some sort of cliché omen, men with bruised eyes and scabbed skin staring as he passed them, unbeknownst to the fact that he’s exactly like them, that he could be them, one day.
And it did. It did scare him.
But not enough. Not in the right way.
It starts with a small, almost tender tingle beneath his skin, something birthed in his chest, in his soul, maybe, complemented by the anxious fluttering of his heart and the haphazard racing of his thoughts.
It grows as they do, becomes bigger, stronger, fiercer, almost voracious in it’s need to be sated as it eats through the blood in his veins, as the tingles turn to itches turn to pricks—sharp, desperate, painful.
By the time he arrives home it’s bigger than he is; a dark, suffocating cloud that enshrouds his form, zaps of lightning striking his skin, urging him to act, to soothe the sting they leave behind.
He knows it’s dumb, even as he’s doing it. He knows Dabi will find out, knows Dabi’s words were not merely empty threats, knows Dabi can and will follow through on his promises.
He knows this threatens everything. He knows.
And there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.
Because this has grown out of control. This has engulfed him in its sickly sweet embrace, has invaded every single nook and dip and crevice in his body and filled it with an insatiable longing for poison, has overridden all of his thoughts and all of his feelings, all of his judgements and all of his impulses and corrupted his very sense of right and wrong, of permanent consequence; eaten through it like some sort of toxic acid and left emptiness in it’s place.
Emptiness that needs to be filled.
Just once more.
Just once more, he promises himself, fingers trembling as they scroll through his contacts, looking fruitlessly for someone Dabi might not know. Just once more, and then that’s it, he swears to it. Just once more, and then he’ll kick the habit for good, he promises.
He just needs it just once more; needs to feel that comforting rush of warmth embrace his veins and twine through his blood, his nerves, his tissues and bones and organs until he’s drowning in it, a sick, sweet paradise that’s all for him, that’s all his.
Just once more he needs to feel the safety of his lover as it bursts through his system, a feeling of euphoria, of pure bliss that saturates every bit of him until it’s all he is, until it’s all that matters.
It takes too long, whole body quivering with desire by the time Keigo secures a reliable supplier after fishing through a chain of people, the sun long gone below the horizon, his only source of light leaking from one sad lamp in the corner of his living room, pooling around the base in a greyish-yellow puddle.
Chisaki is the guy’s name, a friend had informed Keigo. He’s got good shit, but it’s gonna cost you.
Keigo’s never heard of him before, and in his hunger fuelled haze of addiction he can only hope this means Dabi hasn’t heard of him either. He knows he’s wrong, knows Dabi knows everyone in this fucking city by now, but he continues to hope anyway, as if the very act itself will somehow change the outcome.
In the moment, though, it doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter that Dabi will inevitably find out, probably sooner rather than later. It doesn’t matter that this next fix may cost him you, permanently snatched form his grasp and whisked away to a secret land. It doesn’t matter that this could be the singular most fucked up mistake he’ll ever make in his life.
It doesn’t matter, because his true love is on it’s way, and it’s going to make everything alright again, even if only for a few hours.
✰ ✰ ✰
Tomura would be lying if he said the call that comes a mere few hours after Dabi’s supposed meeting with Keigo is surprising.
In a way, Tomura wishes it was.
It isn’t from him directly, and Tomura’s sure Keigo truly has no idea just how far reaching his—and now Dabi’s—drug empire reaches.
Tomura’s also sure Dabi warned Keigo of doing this exact thing and, just as they had predicted, Keigo hadn’t heeded that warning nearly as seriously as he should have.
It’s a request from one of their men stationed all the way on the other side of the city, a man Keigo must’ve played a torturous game of broken telephone to contact, a man reporting an order of two grams of China white to the good part of the city, the safe part of the city, the rich part of the city.
“This isn’t within my jurisdiction; I don’t even know how this guy got my number,” he says nervously, and Tomura can almost hear him fidgeting. “So I was wondering—I mean, should I do the delivery myself? Or do you have some other guy who’s a little closer? Not that I mind,” the man rushes to assure, and Tomura chuckles.
“Don’t worry about delivery. I’ve got just the person in mind,” he promises the man before hanging up.
Normally, Tomura would never handle a delivery himself, but this is a special case.
“Dabi, he broke,” Tomura’s saying as he climbs into his Maybach, phone held tightly between his ear and his shoulder, keys jingling in his palm. “Two grams of China white.”
“Fucking pathetic,” Dabi spits, though Tomura can hear the faint notes of disappointment cracking in his voice.
“We knew it would happen,” Tomura shrugs. “We knew he wasn’t strong enough.”
“You’re doing the delivery yourself?” Dabi asks, voice high with surprise.
“Yeah, I…” Tomura trails off, chewing on his cheek. “I have a bad feeling.”
Dabi snorts. “A bad feeling? Since when are you superstitious? Since when do you give a fuck about any of our junkies—no, sorry, clients—at all?”
“Shut up,” Tomura snaps, and Dabi snickers. “Just have the shit ready, and don’t let her see.”
“Hit a nerve, did I? You goin’ soft for my girl?”
Tomura hangs up in response.
He can’t exactly explain it—or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it—but something thick and ominous has been sinking in his stomach since he first received that call; something heavy and toxic and full of sticky ink, something that feels very, very wrong.
Tomura isn’t stupid, and Dabi isn’t, either. Two grams is way too much smack for an addict that’s been cutting back as drastically as Keigo has been.
He hopes Keigo isn’t dumb enough to shoot it all at once, but he knows the way addiction roots itself in the mind, warping the brain into something illogical, something incomprehensible, something that craves only one thing and nothing else, no matter the cost.
He knows the way addicts work, the way addicts think, and the way these thought patterns are amplified by emotional triggers.
And as much as he’d never admit it, there is a tiny part of him buried deep within his soul that wished Dabi had refused the offer; that hoped that Dabi would go back on his word, decide this wasn’t worth it, that they’d get through to Keigo in a different, less dangerous way.
But he couldn’t have been more wrong.
✰ ✰ ✰
Despite the fact that it’s where every ounce of his smack has come from, Keigo Takami doesn’t know the name Shigaraki.
He’s heard you mention a man named Tomura in passing every once in a while—nothing more than a sentence or two, about how he picks you up on the days Dabi can’t, about how he shares your penchant for sugar—but he has no idea what the man looks like, or what his last name is, or the legacy said last name carries.
So when Tomura Shigaraki shows up on his front doorstep with a palm full of pure China white, Keigo is none the wiser.
It doesn’t seem to matter that this man is very clearly not the man he spoke to on the phone, not the man he nearly lost his mind attempting to chase down.
All that matters is that he’s got drugs, and he’s here.
Finally.
A smooth palm trembles as it shoves money into Tomura’s waiting hands, fingers eager and vying to have that powdery ecstasy between them.
Keigo doesn’t even care that Tomura doesn’t leave immediately after receiving payment—barely notices the man standing near his front door, watching with soured disgust as Keigo frantically readies his paraphernalia.
And that sinking feeling, full of heavy ink and acid, finally takes root in Tomura’s stomach as he watches Keigo pile a tiny mountain of heroin on his blackened, warped spoon, trembling hands careful not to spill even a single granule on his denim-clad thigh.
“Uh,” Tomura begins, unsure how to proceed, voice painfully flat. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”
“Nah,” Keigo mumbles past the rubber held between his tightly clenched teeth, not even bothering to spare Tomura a glance, hyper-focused on his actions. “This is what I always shoot.”
Tomura’s tongue is too slow, words fading to ghosts on his tongue, unable to trigger Keigo’s rational memory at all. Because then that brownish liquid is sinking into his veins, and his head is falling backwards, mouth hung open in pure bliss, and he’s gone.
✰ ✰ ✰
It would be a lie if Dabi said that he didn’t expect some sort of update call within the next few hours.
It would also be a lie if Dabi said he expected it to be from the Goddamn hospital.
It isn’t exactly surprising that Keigo had chosen to put you down as his next of kin instead of your adoptive parents—his own flesh and blood, his only flesh and blood, his precious baby sister.
Vibrations quiver gently though the mattress, a low whine of protest slipping from your lips as you grope around with halfhearted interest for your phone, buried within the ridges of Dabi’s comforter.
The bright light of the screen outshines the small flickering television a few feet away and your lids squint in retaliation, vision temporarily blurred and face scrunched with concentration as you attempt to make out the bleary letters written across the top.
The hospital.
The words give you a jolt of pure adrenaline, whole body shooting up suddenly despite your sore muscles aching in protest, tingling adrenaline eating through the fatigue like an urgent corrosive, alighting your limbs, alerting your mind.
“Who is it?” Dabi asks with sleepy disinterest, gaze never leaving the television, slim fingers still tracing mindless patterns on your bare skin.
“The hospital,” you breathe, voice sounding faint and far away even though you can feel it distinctly vibrating within your chest.
Your mouth has gone dry, like your tongue is a thick swab of cotton, soaking up all the saliva from the corners and crevices of your mouth.
“What?” Dabi says, but you don’t respond, everything feeling numb, muted, muffled as your thumb taps the ANSWER button.
And then, everything goes blank.
You barely remember saying hello. You barely remember responding to any of the nurses questions—about your brother, your relation to him, your identity. You only remember a single sentence with startling clarity, something that rings loud and lucid throughout your skull, bouncing off the thick walls of bone and reverberating endlessly.
“Your brother has overdosed on heroin.”
It’s so simple, so straightforward, and yet your mind can’t seem to comprehend it, can’t seem to deconstruct and absorb those six simple words.
And then, everything goes blank again, brainwaves flatlining, rushing blood a strong, steady ringing in your ears. You can feel your body going through the appropriate motions, can feel the expected questions bubbling up your throat and past your lips, frantic, urgent, leaving an unpleasant buzz on your tongue—Is he alive? Is he stable? Can you come see him?—but you have no control over them, consciousness curling in on itself as it attempts to create sense from the situation.
How could this be possible? Keigo had stopped, hadn’t he? At least, that’s what he had told you, what he had promised you…And you had been stupid enough to believe him.
Because you had wanted to believe him.
You had wanted it to be easy and effortless, clean and concise, void of all the pain and intricacies and work that usually comes with achieving such a feat.
You had wanted, so desperately, for it to be the truth, for everything to go back to normal, just like that, in a mere instant.
A block of disappointment, filled with shame and glazed with guilt, sinks heavy and sharp in your stomach. It cracks as it hits the pit, contents leaking into the bubbly acid and causing it to roil.
He lied to you.
But he isn’t fully to blame, either. You should’ve known better, a tickle at the back of your mind chides gently. You shouldn’t have taken it at face value. You should’ve pushed harder, done a shred of investigation yourself to verify his claims, asked for more concrete proof than the sheen in his hair and the glow in his cheeks.
But you hadn’t wanted to.
Because you had wanted it to all be better instantaneously. You had wanted Keigo to prove all of Dabi’s words wrong, had wanted Keigo to show Dabi how incredible your big brother is, how vivacious your big brother is, how he can always do what he sets his mind to, no matter what.
How utterly, devastatingly stupid you were.
“Hey!” Dabi’s voice, full of concern and garnished with a touch of fear, finally slices through the thick mist that has encrusted your brain. “What’s going on? Baby, please, talk to me, tell Daddy what’s wrong.”
“Did you know?”
The question is small, frail, nothing more than a wisp of breath, so fragile it’s as if a tone any louder would simply smash it to bits.
“What?” Dabi frowns, eyebrows drawn in confusion, sapphire rapidly searching your face as you stare dead over his shoulder, unblinking eyes focused on the drywall, those lithe fingers wrapped around your biceps flexing, blunt nails biting your flesh nothing more than a faint pressure, flesh gone numb.
“Did you know?”
The question is stronger now, harder now, firm with resolution and conviction. Finally, your gaze meet his, eyes blazing with a shield of watery glass, so fierce that he flinches a little, features crunching in irritation at his own surprised reaction a second later.
“Did I know what?”
“Did you know Keigo was still using?”
For a moment, it falls silent, the gears in Dabi’s head turning, whirring, clicking into place, his gaze methodically scanning your face, blazing in his scrutiny as his mind cards through all of his options, potential scenarios and possible outcomes, categorizing them in terms of likeliness.
Then he’s cold, hands dropping from your body, features hardened into that carefully crafted mask of incomprehensible passivity.
“Since when? Since you began meeting with him secretly, behind my back?” Dabi pauses, but your expression does not falter, stare solid as stone. “Yeah, I knew. Of course I fucking knew.”
Sapphire burns into your face and your molars grind together, glaring back at him just as fiercely. Viciousness brews in your chest, boiling as it singes your ribs.
“You know, I could’ve helped you,” Dabi continues, notes of accusation in his voice, “had you just told me what was going on instead of sneaking around like that.”
“Oh, don’t start. Don’t try to make this about you and how you feel left out. Don’t try to make me the bad guy.”
“And, so, what?” he shrugs, raising an eyebrow in mock question. “I’m the bad guy because I continued to supply your brother with exactly what he asked for without having even an inkling of the lies he had been feeding you? If you had just told me, we could’ve tag-teamed him. We could’ve beat him at his own game. We could’ve won! And then, maybe, none of this would’ve ever happened!”
“I couldn’t have told you, and you know it!” you cry, voice burning veraciously in your chest, words blistering your tongue. “You—You wouldn’t have helped, you would’ve put an end to everything straight away and locked me up like some sort of—some sort of prize, never letting me out of your sight for a fucking second ever again!”
“No, you are just assuming that,” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is help you—help you both. Do you—Do you really think I’d have reacted that way instead of offering to help?”
“Yeah! I do! I’m not the villain here!”
“Neither am I!” he roars, eyes alight with blue fire, surging forward to grasp your shoulders.
A surprised yelp hiccups past your lips and Dabi tugs you toward him roughly, your chest pressed to his as he leans over your face, so close your noses nearly bump together.
“Y’know, it isn’t my fault your brother’s a fucking junkie, alright?” His grip tightens, painting his fingertips into your flesh in splashes of blue and violet. “It isn’t my fault he lied to you, just like they always do, because it’s more important to him to keep heroin in his life than it is to keep you in his life. It isn’t my fault you just assumed the worst of me instead of being honest with me, coming to me, asking for help!”
“What else was I supposed to assume, Dabi?” your nose twitches with the threat of a sniffle, the ghost of a sob, and you exhale harshly, a feeble attempt to halt it. “How was I supposed to know any different, when this is the way you’ve been treating me?”
“Everything I’ve done—every single fucking thing—was done to protect you, I can promise you that. I love you more than anything in this world, can’t you see that?”
His voice fissures on the last word, breaking under the weight of authenticity, but you do not yield, holding steadfast as you force your next question from your mouth, slight tremors running through your words as your body trembles in his hands.
“If you love me more than anything then answer me honestly. Did you supply him with drugs tonight?” The sentence tapers off into a whisper, those tears that you had held so stubbornly behind your lashes finally spilling over, strolling down your cheeks in pairs.
The silence is stifling, your breath held stagnant in your lungs as you wait, vying eyes searching his face for any shreds of clues and finding nothing but truth.
“No,” he finally responds, but his voice is kinder, softer. “How could I, when I’ve been with you all night?”
“But they were your drugs, yes?”
“Sweetheart, every drug in this city is my drug,” he chuckles a little at your naivety. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t give them to him tonight. Besides, the amount he’d need to OD is more than what I’ve been selling him.”
“But…But you…”
Agony cracks your words into sharp shards that pierce your organs, and you cough around the pain, both palms pressed flat to your chest as you try and hold your body together.
What is the truth? Is there even a truth? One correct, indisputable answer?
“I don’t—I’m—I can’t—”
A dense blend of anguish and confusion drapes across your brain, burning holes through your thoughts and rendering them incomplete, incomprehensible, a tangle of half finished sentences.
Because none of this makes any sense anymore, trust and truth shattered to pieces, scattered among skepticism and deceit.
What is real? What is right? Does it exist in concrete terms, or is it some sort of continuum? Is it easily sorted and separated, like pans of paint on a palette, or is it all muddled and bleeding together, like strands of paint in a glass jar, irrevocably intertwined as they dissipate in the water and impossible to separate in any way, colour of the tainted water morphing depending on the angle the light hits it at?
Does it even matter at all, when your brother is in the hospital and your boyfriend, no matter how implicitly or explicitly, had a hand in putting him there?
It seems as though you can’t inhale enough air into your lungs, organs shrivelling up and rejecting the oxygen your broken, uneven gasps send rushing down your throat. Your body crumples in a heap on Dabi’s lap, and the air around him changes instantly, its suffocating heaviness eradicated as love dipped in guilt devours it.
Ferocious sobs slash through your chest, ribs creaking beneath their force as your whole form stutters, heavy sorrow weighting your heart. It aches, each dull pulse procuring another wave of spiked anguish, and you suck a hiss through your teeth, furling in further on yourself in a desperate attempt to quell the pain.
Gathering your limp body in his arms, Dabi hushes you gently, your tears seeming to have melted his hard exterior, dousing the flames raging in his eyes.
“Shh,” he murmurs, a palm rhythmically smoothing over your hair as you weep into his chest, little fingers scrabbling against his bare skin. “Shh, it’s alright, I’m here.”
His soothing voice calms the turmoil in your chest, his tender touches dimming the chaos in your skull, and you snuggle into him, seeking more of his solace.
“Listen to me,” he pulls back, taking your salt-sticky face between his palms. “I love you, you hear me? I love you, and all I want to do is protect you. From everything. I’m sorry that this has happened. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to keep you safe, I promise.”
A pause, a moment for his words to brand themselves into the tissues of your brain, steady sapphire boring into your face, bright with sincerity.
“Maybe I didn’t do the best job, or make the best choices, but they were all with your—with our—best intentions and interests in mind,” he continues, the edges of his voice rough, eroded by emotion. “I’m trying with all my might. I love you more than anything. We’re a team, right? Let’s solve this together. No more secrets, no more lies, from either of us. You don’t have to do this alone, not anymore.”
“Neither do you,” you mumble, words knotted in strings of spit.
He laughs, and it sounds wet, large hands cradling your head to his body again. “You’re right. Neither do I. So let’s make it better, together, okay? You and me, always.”
“You and me, always,” you repeat.
“Always, baby,” calloused fingers brush back strands of sweat-soaked hair from your forehead, lidded eyes watching his actions with fondness. “Now,” he whispers, a sad little smile on his face. “I think we have a hospital to visit.”
✰ ✰ ✰
The scent of Clorox burns your nose as you hurry down the dull white corridors, frantic eyes flying across each of the silver nameplates bolted to the wall outside each door until finally, you find the corresponding number the nurse had given you.
And although you knew the sight you were to be greeted with would hurt, you didn’t expect it to be quite so heart-wrenchingly gruesome.
Lilac encompasses his closed eyes, the tiny spider veins knotted across his eyelids a deep, sickening purple. Dried blood, well on it’s way to forming thick scabs, has pooled and oxidized in the lines of his lips, cracked open from dehydration.
Dim curls, matted with sweat and salt, stick to his forehead and his temples, their usual lively gold now dulled and void of their sheen. Sallow skin stretches across all his sharp edges—his knuckles and his wrists and his elbows and his collarbones—lacking that healthy, radiant glow Keigo had always seemed to emit before.
It’s hard to look at him like this, veins and nostrils hooked up to a tangle of clear tubes and whirring machines, the steady beep of his heart in direct juxtaposition to the erratic thumping of your own.
Nausea swells in your stomach, acidic bile burning up, up, up your esophagus, but you swallow against it, teeth clenched as your force a deep, calm breath out your nose.
“Is this the all-time-low you kept talking about?”
You don’t look at him as you speak, gaze still captivated by your feeble big brother, the question trembling with muted anger.
“Yeah,” Dabi says quietly. “This is it.“
This is it. This has to be it; there’s no where else for him to go from here, except into the ground—and that’s forever.
Your voice rouses Keigo, golden eyelashes fluttering open to reveal bloodshot topaz, filmy gaze taking a moment to clear before it focuses on you, recognition shocking clarity into his brain.
He exhales your name in a small, weak huff, fingers twitching against the threadbare bedspread, as if he yearns to reach out for you, to grab you and pull you towards him and never let go.
For a moment, you’re frozen in place, feet bolted to the floor, veins filled with something colder, sharper, than ice.
It’s Dabi who gives you the nudge you need, his gentle touch torching the frost coating your body and jumpstarting your limbs, finally allowing that familiar presence of your big brother draw you in, as it’s done so many times before.
And then you’re running to him, crossing the sterile room in a mere few strides and flinging yourself down on his hospital bed, arms latched tightly around his neck, face buried against his chest.
He’s saying something, you can feel his words vibrating against your cheek as his frail arms wrap around your waist, but it all sounds muffled to you, nothing more than a steady, hazy stream of his voice, sentiments drowning in your own ragged breaths and vicious sobs.
Those large hands skim across your form, patting and grabbing and kneading as if they can’t believe you’re here, as if they can’t believe you’re real, as if you’ll disappear from their grasp the moment they aren’t on you anymore.
His touch causes something to break, cracking wide open at the core of your soul, so deep, so dark you’re terrified it might swallow you whole. Your body crumples under the strain, curling into the warmth and comfort your big brother provides—that only your big brother can provide, that your big brother will always provide, no matter the circumstances.
Everything hurts, and you cling tighter to him, fingers twisting in his thin hospital gown as claws of despair shred your lungs and tear at your stomach, desperate to be felt, acknowledged, known.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Keigo croaks, his voice dense with spit. “It’s okay, it’s okay, niisan’s here, it’s okay.”
Those roaming hands clutch you tighter, pressing you close to his heart and promising to keep you together, to keep you whole as those talons threaten to rip you apart. Nothing can hurt you anymore—not here, not now, not with Keigo wrapped around you.
You aren’t sure how long you stay like this, cuddled up in your big brother’s arms as silent tears leak from your eyes, his lips pressing routine kisses to the crown of your head as you cry, but it’s long enough for Dabi to leave, smoke, and then return, the scent of nicotine twined around his body, his reentrance bringing a whiff of it with him.
Finally, you lift your head, swollen eyes blinking slow and sticky, Keigo rendered as nothing more than a wavering blur through through the thick tears coating your vision.
“You can’t...” you begin, words fading to ghosts in your throat, weighing heavy and bitter on your tongue. “This has to stop, Keigo. We can’t just...We can’t just sit around waiting and hope it gets better on it’s own. We need help. You need help.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice grating on his throat. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you’re murmuring out, pacifying palms rhythmically running over his matted curls, a fresh bout of tears shining in your eyes. “I’m just happy you’re alive, Keigo.”
“I should’ve never lied to you,” he whimpers, face screwed up as if the words are painful, barbed on his tongue. “I just—I wanted you—”
And, really, that’s it. He wanted you. He didn’t just want you to be proud of him, nor did he just want you to stop worrying so much. He wanted you, all of you, to himself again. He wanted you, safe and sound and at home, where you should’ve been all along, where you’ll always belong.
As it turns out, he’s just as selfish as Dabi.
“I know,” you whisper. “And I want you; I want you to get better, I want my big brother back.”
And it hurts to hear that, your voice so raw, so honest, cut open with a sharp razor as emotion spills out and washes over him in burning waves, his eyes glazing over as his bottom lip twitches.
“I miss you, Keigo. I miss all the things we used to do together, before this—this monster that you’re grappling with took root. I miss getting ice cream from that mom and pop shop a few streets over; I miss going for bike rides as the sun set, and I miss stargazing at the park after it sunk; I miss it all. Don’t you?”
The question cracks on your tongue, more tears dripping down your cheeks as your eyes search his face, begging him to see your sincerity, begging him to say yes, genuity written into the creases of your forehead.
His own tears, caught so artfully by his long lashes, finally break free from their confines, streaming in pairs across his hollowed face. Because, yeah, he does, he misses those moments more than anything in the world—because, really, nothing else matters more than those sweet little memories made with the one person he loves most, the one person he loves more than anything or anyone else.
Not even heroin.
“You can do it, Keigo. I know you can. You’re so—” A hiccup cuts you off but you swallow past it, powering on, voice thick with love, care, belief. “You’re so strong, niisan; you’re the strongest person I know, and you’re a hell of a long stronger than this addition, I’m absolutely sure of it.”
Both of his hands grip one of yours with such force it’s a marvel his sharp knuckles don’t slice right through the thin skin stretched tight and taut across them. You place your other hand atop his, dainty and gentle, thumb running across his flesh in soothing motions.
“I don’t want to watch you kill yourself slowly,” you tell him, resolution firm in your voice. “And I won’t. I won’t do it, niisan. Not anymore.”
Blood drains from his face at your statement, skin gone from sickly to ashen, and his body goes rigid, hands still as stone in your palms.
“Is this goodbye?”
“No,” Dabi cuts in before you can question him about what the heck that’s supposed to mean, coming to perch on the parallel edge of Keigo’s bed. “This is we’re here to help.”
That sentence should bring a rush of much-needed relief gushing through Keigo’s veins, loosening his tight muscles and unclenching his jaw and relieving the stress that has snuggled into his very soul. It should make him feel revitalized. It should make him feel elated.
But it doesn’t.
Because Dabi’s eyes are hard, and while his gaze is fiery, it holds no warmth, the flames of contempt blazing in his irises contradicting his flat words. A rough palm clamps itself over Keigo’s collarbone, a poor imitation of friendly, and Dabi leans forward.
“Make no mistake,” he murmurs in Keigo’s ear, just loud enough for him to hear, the force of his grip tightening to bone crushing. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for her. Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”
Keigo’s shock must be evident on his face, shining in his eyes and trembling on his lips, because Dabi smirks—a small quirk up of his lips, arrogant and self-satisfied—before he pulls back completely.
This is the second time Dabi has surprised him, in all of Keigo’s years of knowing him. This is the second time Dabi has proven to him that he is, in come capacity, capable of thinking about people other than himself—even if Keigo’s sure this decision isn’t entirely separate from Dabi’s own agenda.
And while Keigo still can’t convince himself that Dabi has your best interests in mind, it’s abundantly clear that he has some of your interests in mind, this singular action speaking volumes.
Because Dabi rarely, if ever, goes back on his word; it’s a well known fact at this point that his threats are never empty threats, always containing some sort of meaning, some sort of promise, and that thought sends spikes of ice shooting up Keigo’s spine.
If you notice the odd interaction between the two of them, you don’t say anything, a gentle squeeze bringing Keigo’s dumbfounded attention back to you.
“I have some news,” you begin softly, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I’m coming back home.”
That belated elation finally floods his veins, warm and tingling as it rushes through his body and eradicates all of the desolation Dabi had just instilled in him, a genuine smile breaking through the hard trepidation coating his face.
“And Dabi’s coming with me.”
The bright happiness that had blossomed in his blood dries up instantly, veins shrivelled and parched, panic and despair bolting through his body like sharp spears of lightning, and Keigo’s expression withers, face screwed up with a certain sourness before it droops, giving in, giving up, features weighted and grim as he nods his understanding.
“Compromise,” Dabi says, and while his voice is amicable enough, something sharp glints in his eyes, something sinister tugging at his lips.
Still, it’s something. It’s a start. And Keigo will take anything he can get.
Compromise. Compromise.
Keigo supposes he can live with that.
#dabi x reader#dabi smut#bnha smut#mha smut#todoroki touya x reader#todoroki touya smut#takami keigo x reader#tw:toxic relationship#tw:minimal prep#tw:drugs
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FINALLY!
SHE IS DONE!
Meet Twilight, my Sky/Night Hybird sona!
I am honestly really happy with how she turned out, especially after having such a difficult time drawing her wings
Her wing color palette was based off sunsets, because sky and night lol, and I am super happy about making that choice, she is very pretty to me🎉
☆~Mutations~☆
Now to discuss some of her features!
She has some mutations upon her for being a hybrid
The two easily noticable ones are that she has two pairs of ears, and a very short tail
The two pairs of ears were simply random chance, but she can hear just fine
Her stubby tail is a somewhat common mutation among hybrids, as not only do many have specific types of tails (ie barbs on SandWings and prehensile on RainWings), but also because different tribes have different lengths of tails, so sometimes hybrids end up with a shorter one
This gives Twilight some balance issues when it comes to flying and running, as the tail is used to help steer a dragon in both activities. So while she's faster than most dragon tribes at flight, she is not as fast as an average SkyWing
Her last mutation is that she is also smaller than most dragons, not reaching the average height of either NightWing or SkyWing, but she doesn't let that get her down
☆~Bio~☆
Now that her features are out, here is some bite sized info on her bio and such☆
Age: 21
Gender: Female, goes by she/her
Sexuality: Pan
Job: Librarian and Novelist in the Sky Kingdom
Powers: Strong fire breath, and an empath, for the moon just started to go down when she was hatching
Personality: Friendly, thoughtful, guilt ridden, optimistic, imaginative, kinda hot tempered, and introverted
☆~Last Sign Off~☆
For those who are interested, adopts will be arriving Wednesday or Thursday! I've kept an eye on the poll, and the results honestly surprised me hehehe
And that takes care of that! Thanks for reading, hope ya have a good day/night where ya are!
Take care🎉
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I want you to draw me like one of your French girls...💖
Oh my GOD. I don't know how many hours I spent on this, but I'm so happy with how it turned out! Color palette used:
(And yes, Asmo absolutely tells Delphi this after they watch the movie together.)
Taglist: @sassykattery @bite-sized-devil @sparkbeast20 @attic-club-sandwich @kyungjoon-do @flemmingbamse
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🔞 A CATCH-ALL HEADCANON & STUDY for Boothill's anatomical sexual traits, gender presentation, preferences and leanings. 🙏🏼 Please be aware that mature themes will be illustrated and discussed in detail below! 🔞
✧ PREFERENCES / KINKS
— Typically on top, but not always. Tends to be more dominant in bed as well but that does not mean he does not enjoy being dominated in return. The challenge and a bit of powerplay like this is actually quite fun to him.
— If he's the one receiving, cowgirl is one of his favored positions.
— Biting. A lot of biting. His teeth aren't just for show. Whosoever decides to join his bed will have to expect waking up with marks the next morning.
— No gag reflex whatsoever. 😌 He really enjoys giving oral as a result, just watch the teeth. But getting his partner to writhe under him? 11/10.
— Electro stim works really well on him in lieu of being a cyborg. This also goes for being hooked up to other machines, but that requires some trust.
— " Creampie " kink. Though his is wholly artificial, that will not stop him from filling a partner up ; and he can do so several times in a row, too.
— Tons of stamina, meaning he can go for quite a while. Not a one and done kind of guy, whether that is regarding himself or his bed partners.
✧ GENITALS / APPEARANCE
✧ VISUAL REFERENCES: DEFAULT | PENIS | VAGINA ✧
( these may be changed / adjusted as I find better examples )
As mentioned in a previous headcanon, he presents without visible genitalia by default. However, he is able to adjust his body as desired as a result of being a cyborg. While he is a cisgender man ( assigned sex matches with identity ), he expresses himself freely after being remade with a synthetic body. Beneath the unassuming plates of his lower regions, he can shift its appearance towards either resembling a functional penis or a vagina, though he tends to prefer the former. These genitals were created from a mixture of silicone and tech, providing him and his partners with stimulation. They suit his mechanical body and share its silver, obsidian and red palette. The red accents have embedded RGB, matching the rest of his frame. Boothill is able to modify design, size and functions as wanted, but will only do so to try out something new, on special occasions and / or if it is requested.
As a small lore addendum, Boothill didn't start out with them when he was remade with a cyborg body. It was a modification he sought out later on.
Some more specific details:
— A good 7 ½ inches length on his dick.
— His dick does have a mild vibration function.
— His pussy has some small bottom growth going on! 💕
— Pussy is self-lubricating with an artificial lubricant that is secreted.
#[ some of the visual references are very n.s.f.l / graphic!#you have been warned 😭#I may expand on this as I go but#this will probably be the only headcanon I post in this vein!#if I end up finding other stuff / making rando ooc posts about seggsual sunday shenanigans#I'll add them in here later on ]#* 𖥠 QUEUE.#* 𖥠 HEADCANON. & ⌜ go and tell that midnight rider‚ tell the rambler‚ the gambler‚ the back biter. ⌟
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goodness gracious 42. brb x oc
a/n: letting you all know next chapter will be smut. oKAY ?? OKAY.
check out the fic's playlist made by the sweet @wiipes !!
pairing: plus size!oc x rooster
warnings: fluff, Bradley is so whipped Indiana Jones is jealous
chapters:
1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/13/14/15/16/17/18/19/20/21/22/23/24/25/26/27/28/29/30/31/32/33/34/35/36/37/38/39/40/41
(pls let me know if you want to be added to the taglist!!)
taglist: @mirandastuckinthe80s @roosterschanelslut @wiipes @lcahwriter @shrimping-for-all @gretagerwigsmuse @frenchtoastix
@lizzie-rdj @fanboyluvr @atarmychick007 @comebacktoearthpls
@peachiicherries @mak-32 @lizziespidiepridie @roosterswifey @ollyoxenfrees @piceous21 @sqrlgrl22 @hofficoffi @lexhalstead3
@lorilane33 @legendarydreamersharkparty @luckyladycreator2 @emilybradshaw @j-6o @louisahale @leobabbyyy @kulicny
-
Beatrice hums softly as she waits for the doctor to come back, Evelyn waiting next to her with her legs crossed. Since she had to go during the morning on a Friday, Rooster would be at work and wouldn’t be able to join her, so she asked Evelyn to accompany her. Shells was busy helping Penny, meaning she couldn’t come either.
Her foot has gotten a lot better, she’s not even limping anymore and the throbbing has gotten minimal to the point she doesn’t even feel it that often. She hoped that it meant her ligaments were healing nicely, that there’d be no other issues and that she’d go back to normal soon enough.
The doctor returns with her new x-ray, holding up to give one look before turning to the brunette with a smile, “Well, your ligaments are fully healed.” Beatrice gasps happily, “But I’d still suggest you give yourself a few more days, maybe the rest of this week before you go back to work. We don’t want it to happen again.”
“Of course.” Beatrice says, looking down at her foot with a smile, finally it was over. She thanked the doctor as she walked out with Evelyn in tow, not being able to contain her excitement as the two were walking out of the hospital towards Evelyn’s car.
Beatrice giggled in pure glee, rolling her ankle in a circle while leaning on the passenger door, Evelyn watched with a little smile, “Careful, don’t want it to just snap again do you?”
“I can’t help it! I’m so happy I’m finally healed!!” she says with her eyes wide and shining, throwing her fists in the air before she enters the black SUV, closing her eyes in relief as she leans her head back against the seat, “Oh, I need to tell Roos!” she knew he wouldn’t be able to reply until he was on his lunch break, but she was too excited to not share the news with him.
Beatrice quickly typed him a message, telling him she was now okay and completely healed but the doctor still wanted her to keep the soaking and exercises. She also said that the only reason she got better so quickly was because of him, her cheeks reddening as she typed, biting her lower lip as the butterflies exploded inside of her body. She finished the message with an ‘i love you!’ and locked the phone to set it on her lap.
“Why don’t we have lunch together?” Beatrice asks suddenly, making her friend arch one eyebrow in her direction as she drives them away, “My treat!”
Evelyn just chuckles again, turning the wheel so they’d be out of the hospital parking lot, “You know I don’t mind having lunch, I won’t have to go back home until one, so, why not? Where do you want to go?”
“I was thinking of going to The Den.” she says softly, “You know? Revive memories.”
The Den was a diner/bar right in front of Northride, with the same red and blue palette of their college’s, where the students would usually go after exams or if they didn’t feel like buying stuff from the cafeteria. It had a variety of dishes, drinks and snacks, with the Northride Hyenas flag pinned right behind the wall wooden boards on the back of the bar.
“The Den?” Evelyn repeats with a laugh, “Wow, we haven’t been in that place for ages…but you know what, I won’t complain if you are paying us lunch.” she turns the car around so she’d follow the street up to Northride instead of taking Beatrice back to Rooster’s apartment.
Beatrice smiled as they neared their college street, the large pine trees that decorated the inside of Northride walls appearing in the distance, with the main building being the first thing they saw. A flag of the state of California and Northride’s Hyenas flapped with the wind on the flag pole close to the main gates and the light blue paint on the outer walls seemed more vibrant than the time they were there.
The main gates of Northride were open for the students to come and go, some of them crossing the street to enter The Den just like the two planned to do. Since Northride had a parking lot inside it’s premises, the parking lot to The Den itself was fairly empty for Evelyn’s car. As soon as she parked and the two stepped out, they looked back at their college leaning against the open car doors, “Seems so long since we graduated.” Evelyn mutters, “Longer than a year.”
“It does.” Beatrice smiles, looking at the university clock in the middle of the Northride square, a large white monolith type shape that stood as tall as the main towers in the back of the college area, “They fixed the clock. And added more electronic gates.” she gestures to the students pressing their cards to a sensor so the shiny metallic arms part of them to walk past.
“Took them long enough,” Evelyn says as she shuts the door, adjusting her jacket on her shoulders, “I think the moment we graduated they decided on getting more stuff. I wonder if the South Atelier got new doors too, I remember they were giving issues to everyone.” Evelyn and Beatrice walk up the red steps that lead to the open doors, looking inside only to be bombarded by memories of coming here every time after exams before going back to the dorms. It was still the very same as they remembered, nothing had changed.
Beatrice walked up their usual table, the one in the corner close to the windows that faced the main gates. The deal was whoever got out first from the exams had to stay at the table and keep an eye out when someone else left, saving the seats for them. The dark wood still had their initials engraved into it. Dropping her bag onto the seat alongside Evelyn’s, she noticed how the other students gave the two strange looks since they weren’t the usual people who’d come here.
But the brunette wasn’t deterred, she got up to stand besides Evelyn on the counter as they asked for their lunch. They asked for the same thing they’d often get whenever they got to The Den: a cheeseburger with extra pickles and green mayo for Evelyn and a grilled chicken sandwich with green chillies with a side of fries for Beatrice, both accompanied by two sodas that were so cold they had icicles on the rim.
Once they got back to their seats, Beatrice poured the cola inside her glass then looked up at Evelyn, blinked when she was looking over her shoulder, “What?”
“Some of the people here aren’t used to us,” she says, “They are staring.” the last sentence came out a bit louder, Bea looking back to see a group of students quickly moving their gaze away after they noticed they’ve been caught.
“It’s weird, they probably saw us at the volleyball game.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Evelyn says as she opens her lemon soda with a loud crack from the tab “To them we aren’t students so that’s enough to give us weird looks.” Unlike Shells who, if she was present, would go to the group’s table and question what the hell was their issue, Evelyn just commented and let it hang in the air, the group of students behind them just bowed their heads shamefully and kept eating their lunch in silence.
After that it was their turn to finally have lunch, the food still tasted the same and it brought wonderful memories of the time they all were at Northride. Eventually the conversation led onto Bradley and Beatrice was smiling from ear to ear, “He’s wonderful.” she says dreamily, dipping a fry on the green mayo on Evelyn’s side, “He’s…I don’t know, he’s just so amazing, Ev. He’s like…everything I wanted in a guy combined into this perfect mold.” that was beautifully created too, with dips and creases, “And he popped out. He’s so caring and so sweet.”
“I assume he’s letting you heal too, right?”
“He is, he’s been doing a wonderful job holding himself back.” she smiles, her cheeks warming up, “A very good job.” she wondered if she could do something for him, something to repay all that hard work and how much he’s been taking care of her. Well, she had some ideas in mind but not for right now. Beatrice hums as she recalls something, licking her lips of any sauce, “What about you and Jake? Did you two go out? You never replied to any of my messages.”
Evelyn slowly chewed her sandwich, dabbed her lips with a napkin and then sipped her soda once she swallowed. Meanwhile Beatrice just looked at her, waiting for a response but her friend’s only reply was ,”Yeah.”
Oh! First answer since she started asking! Beatrice waited with a smile for Eveyn to continue, looking from left to right when she only got silence. “...and?” her friend just stared at her, eyes still as she took another sip of her soda, “...how did it go?”
Evelyn sighs, dropping the glass to her left and crossing her arms on the table as she thought about it, “...well, it went okay.” she begins, “He took me out to dinner, we talked a little bit, he told me about his parents and his little sister and nephew back in Texas. He asked me what sort of things I liked and I told him that I loved true crime podcasts.”
Beatrice gasped, “You didn’t.”
“I did.” Evelyn hums with a small smile, “I really thought that’d scare him off but, he asked me what was about it that I liked so much and I told him I liked concluding that every serial killer that ever existed never needed any observations, almost all of them hated women.” she says, “He then asked what sort of movies I liked and I told him I liked horror movies, slasher movies and my favorite one was Hellraiser.”
Which to this day is something you’d never guess by looking at Evelyn. She was the only person that Beatrice knew who’d read Socrates while watching Halloween for the third time, all the while holding a glass of wine in her hand with a hydrating mask on. Not to mention she’s the only one who when bored decides to learn a new language, because she ‘felt like it’. “And what did he say?”
“He suggested we watch it together, since he never did." she says while chewing another piece of her burger, shrugging her shoulders, “I said fine, but we’re not watching at my place because I wasn’t going to give him my address…so he took me to his apartment, found the movie and we watched it. He…surprised me, I guess.” Evelyn’s voice softened just a bit, just the tiniest bit but it made Beatrice smile, “He…didn’t try anything. And he didn’t force anything…”
Beatrice had to hold her glass to her mouth in hopes it’d hide her smile, but she couldn’t help but feel happy that her friend seemed to be at ease with Jake. She knew he could be a bit of a jerk, but she didn’t think he was that bad and if he was interested in Evelyn besides everything, then he wasn’t all that bad.
“Then he took me home and…” Evelyn shrugs, “It wasn’t as bad.” she lifts her eyes to meet Beatrice’s green ones, “Don’t give me that look.”
“I’m not doing anything.” the brunette tries to say innocently, but there’s amusement in her voice when she speaks, “I just think it’s sweet he wants to know your interests, you know? Probably because he really wants to learn more about you.”
Evelyn just hums, unimpressed, looking out the window to where their college stood, the flags moving with the wind,”I also visited my parents.” she says suddenly and Beatrice has to cough quietly so she doesn’t choke on a piece of her sandwich, covering her mouth with a hand, “In the old house.”
“You did?” Evelyn nods, still looking to the side, “...how,how was it?”
Her friend hesitated, chewing on her lower lip as taps the soda can with a nail, creating a repetitive metallic sound that mixed in with the radio playing around them. “...it was…” the black haired woman tsks, tapping her nail faster, “It was interesting…I decided to pay them a visit and…they were happy to see me. I had lunch with them and then I had a long, long talk with both of them.” Beatrice just watches in silence, giving her friend a small smile so she could go on, “There were…tears and shouting but they um…they apologized to me.”
“Really??”
“Yep.”
“And how do you feel about it?”
Evelyn sighs again, leaning back on her seat with her arms crossed over her bust, “...relieved, I guess, I never thought this day would ever come, you know?” she shrugs to finish her sentence, licking her lips before continuing, “They also visited my apartment. Met their grandson, which my father hates. We had tea together and…it was fine, it was okay I guess.”
“I’m very happy for you Ev.” she truly was, reaching across the table to touch her friend’s elbow since her arms were crossed, “I really am, I’m glad things worked out well…and, will you see Jake again?”
Evelyn hesitates, squirming a bit on her seat and not meeting Beatrice’s eyes, “...I said I’ll call him, if I feel like it.” so that’s a yes. Beatrice just smiled more, clapping her hands happily much to her friend’s chagrin, but Evelyn rolled her eyes with a smile, telling the brunette to eat her food before it got cold.
After they were done Beatrice paid for it, as she said she would and looked down at her phone to check if Bradley received her message. He did, he was just as happy as she was to know she was okay.
Roos (12:12)
Well, we better celebrate the gorgeous. What do you say we go out?
Bea (12:29)
Sorry for the late reply! But yes!I’d love to! :) Where do you have in mind?
Roos (12:30)
It’s a surprise, gorgeous ;), just get dressed nicely and you’ll see.
Beatrice bit her lower lip with a smile, sending him a kissing emoji and an ‘i love you’ before she slid her phone inside her jeans. Dress up nicely, how nicely would that be? She didn’t bring any dresses…she’d have to go home for a short while and see what she could get. She hoped that Evelyn didn’t mind the short detour.
-
“Roos!” he hears her calling from the bathroom, applying her makeup, “Where exactly are you taking me? Last time you didn’t tell me where we were going we invaded a naval base!”
He laughs while putting on his watch, running his hands over the shirt with tiny yellow flowers before he covers part of it with a jacket, fixing the lapel while looking at himself in the mirror. He told her to use his ensuite while he used the other one down the hall, the surprise would be even better that way, “All I can say is our chances of getting arrested are minimal!”
“Roos!”
“I’m joking, gorgeous.” he laughs again, running his hands through his hair to wear the way he liked, then he walks out of the bathroom to wait for Beatrice in the living room. Jolene was sleepy after a day of walking around with Beatrice - who said that she wanted to make up for the lost time by taking Jolene around pretty much everywhere- huffing happily when he scratches the top of her head. He actually planned this date early in the week since he noticed her foot was already making progress, he thought that by today it’d be a hundred percent and it’d work for them to go out. It’d be really upsetting if he was wrong.
There was also because tomorrow he wanted to take her to the Hard Deck, after telling Penny Beatrice was healed, the woman suggested the two went there just to have another celebration with their friends. He knew Bea would love it. He hears the click of his bathroom light, being followed by her footsteps walking out of his room,running her hands through her hair.
“Oh, fuck me.” he says in a quiet breath, looking at Beatrice from head to toe in pure admiration. The jumpsuit she wore was a long sleeved dark green one, with a plunge neckline that showed her cleavage for his hungry eyes to stare all night long. Since the pants were flared she decided that instead of the usual heels she’d wear with it, she chose a pair of dark platform sneakers that would be a great substitute. The way Beatrice’s clothes looked on her body always made him go insane, especially when they clung to her curves like that, hiding nothing from his view.
Bea smiled,twirling to give him a full look of her outfit “How’s this?” she asks looking over her shoulder, “I didn’t want to wear a dress since it’s a bit colder but I haven’t worn this since I bought it so…”
Rooster pushes himself to his feet after spending too long looking at how the fabric clung to her ass exposing the perfect outline of her buttcheeks without being transparent, “Jesus Christ on a bike.” he murmurs, approaching her from behind so he could wrap his arms around her waist and bury his nose on her neck. Her lavender perfume immediately hit him once he did so, “You look perfect.” he says against her skin,pressing a trail of soft kisses up to her jawline, “You are making me want to give them a call and cancel the reservation.”
Beatrice blinks at that, “Reservation?” she questions, tilting her head to look at him but Rooster is too busy still kissing her neck, “Brad,” she tries, pulling her head back and then holding his cheek to make his eyes focus on her, “Brad, what reservation?”
As if he was snapped out of his stupor, the sandy haired pilot suddenly smiled and pressed his lips to her red ones, moaning happily against her mouth and pulling back with a smack, “It’s a surprise.” he whispers, giving her another peck and then giving a step backwards, still admiring her outfit with a low whistle, “My God you are the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
Beatrice’s cheeks heat up, but she smiles, fixing the thin strap of her purse over her shoulder while looking up at him, “Thank you…you don’t look so bad yourself.” Bradley could wear a suit like no other man could and it should be illegal how good he always looked. He pursed his lips with a smirk, dipping his head as if he was bowing, then offered his hand to hers to guide her out of the apartment. Jolene barely lifted her head when Beatrice said goodbye, just snuggled the blanket Rooster gave her and huffed sleepily.
As he led them towards the elevators, Beatrice took the time to check her reflection once the silver doors closed, fluffing her hair a bit more only to see his own eyes watching hers. She gave him a little smile over her shoulder, “What?”
Bradley leans his weight on the handrails, biting his lower lip with his eyes running all over her body, shaking his head almost invisibly, “You are going to drive me completely insane.” he tells her, whistling low yet again, “How can you be this fucking hot? You know I’m only a man.” he drags his eyes up to meet her own, even in the elevator light it was clear to see that his eyes got darker, offering her a smirk once he’s done talking.
Bea laughs breathily, moving her head away to play as if she’s still checking her reflection and not trying to hide how much her cheeks were burning right now. She cleared her throat, running her pinky finger on the sharp angle of her brown eyeliner, then turned towards him to see he was still leaning on the handrails, “Well, you know,” she shrugs, “Then that means I’m doing a good job.”
Rooster immediately sucks air through his teeth, “Are you going to fucking tease me all night?” he asks as soon as the doors open and they are in his building’s garage, their steps echoing as they walk to the Bronco. Beatrice gives him a look over the shoulder, smiles and then shrugs again, not saying anything else and making her pilot boyfriend feel like he’s about to snap. He runs his hand over his face, laughing to himself in disbelief, muttering a quiet ‘god damn it’ once they arrive at the blue truck.
Beatrice waits with a little smile as he unlocks it and then opens the passenger door for her, “Thank you.” she says, leaning up to gently peck his lips and giggling when he tries to follow her mouth once she breaks the kiss. He looks down at her red lips, following how she tapped the plump flesh, “Matte lipstick.”
From their first date. He inhaled deeply, dropping his head while he leans his arms on the open door, lifting his gaze with a smirk, “I made it show some skin before, I can do it again.” he purrs, pecking her lips quickly only to tilti his body backwards so he could walk around the car after closing the passenger door, marching to the driver’s seat. He gets inside the car and tosses another look her way, appreciating how gorgeous and beautiful she always looked no matter what.
Not to mention that with her foot completely healed she seemed a lot more animated, saying she even did her yoga that afternoon - without forcing her healed foot of course - after she took Jolene out on her walk.
Plus, he did say he’d pamper her while she was with him. What’s better than taking your girlfriend out for dinner?
“Are you going to tell me where we are going?”
“Hmmm…” he thinks to himself, “No.”
“Roos!”
He chuckles while driving out of the garage, just giving her an innocent shrug, “It’s a surprise, do you want me to spoil the surprise?” he asks while laughing, gesturing to the front of the car, “We’ll be there in a couple minutes. So you’ll get your answer.”
Beatrice tries to appear upset, but she can’t, she just rolls her eyes with a smile, “Oh, fine.” she crosses her arms then, the movement making her breasts squeeze together in a way he definitely saw by the corner of her eye, “I won’t ask about it then. I’ll just wait.”
“That’s my girl.” he coos, grabbing her hand to press a kiss on the back as he drives them away from his street. Beatrice noticed that they were getting to a very…opulent part that she’s only been by passing. She knew this street was where rich people and celebrities would come to have dinner or enjoy parties and the more she looked the more she noticed they were reaching a very known restaurant.
Her smaller hand grabbed his arm, “No.” she says in pure incredulity, the restaurant’s large strutcture getting clearer and clearer, “You are joking.”
“I’m not.” Bradley smiles, parking the car in front of the restaurant and walking out first to open her door, chuckling at her dumbfounded expression, looking at the gold and black details on the outside. This was not only one of the best Japanese restaurants around, it was also very expensive.
“...you know…” she begins, allowing him to guide her through the front doors as the valet takes the Bronco away, “...I had a chicken sandwich for lunch at my old college food joint.” she mumbles, still looking around in amazement, her mouth never closing. She doesn’t even hear the lady at the front ask for their names, she’s too busy looking at the japanese carps swimming on the large aquariums that surround the restaurant’s lower floor. Beatrice leans closer to the aquarium as she’s guided up the stairs, seeing a large orange,black and white carp swim lazily until she can't see it anymore.
She blinks in surprise when she notices they are on the second floor that oversees the tables below, the lady guiding them to a table that is directly connected to the railing, “Brad.” she whispers, squeezing his arm in hopes she’s talking low enough for him to hear, “You didn’t tell me we were coming to the Oda!”
“It’d ruin the surprise.” he whispers back with a smile, rubbing her chin, “Are you surprised?”
“I– yes?? But,” she looks around the other tables, these people were worth probably more money than her own house, “Brad, I-I I thought we were going to,I don’t know…somewhere that isn’t the Oda. You know? This place is so…expensive?? And I fear these people will think I’m stealing the cutlery.”
Bradley chuckles once they reach their table, thanking the woman and then turning towards Beatrice, “It’ll be fine, we’ll be okay.” he pulls back a chair for her, “Come on.”
Beatrice stands there awkwardly, then shuffles forward until she’s seated, still looking at the black and gold aesthetic that surrounds them. She immediately feels bad, how much money did Bradley spend on this? Just to celebrate her healed foot?? “Brad,” she says the minute he sits down, “Brad, why–you…I-I why this place?”
“Well,” he holds his fingers up,curling each one once he’s done explaining his reasons “It has great japanese food, we both like Japanese food and I felt like it’d be great for a date.”
“...Brad.” she lowers her eyebrows, looking around them and speaking quietly, “Brad, I love you, I do but having dinner at Oda is– I don’t even know? How did you even pull this up?”
He had a really cool godfather who knew literally everyone that could help him out, “I have my ways.” especially since the owner knew both his father and Mav from back in the Navy, meaning he was getting everything for free. The man was so happy he met Bradshaw’s son he made sure that he wouldn’t spend one single penny from his pocket. But Beatrice looked so worried, chewing her red lower lip while fidgeting with her hands, “Baby, hey…don’t worry.”
“I-I’m trying, I’ve never,” she tilts her head up where she sees that the aquarium was also on the ceiling, the carps swimming above her head “...been here before.”
“Me neither, it’s a first for both of us.” he reaches to grab her hand, bringing to kiss her knuckles comfortingly, “But I swear, it’s fine.” he proceeds to explain how he managed to do this, smiling wider when Beatrice’s eyes widened at every word that left his lips, his poor girlfriend looking from worried to confused in a matter of seconds.
She moved her mouth without speaking, the words clogging her throat, “...so-so the owner knew Pete and your dad?” she repeats, “And…he said you could eat it for free? Brad…”
“Sssh, ssh, you are worrying so much I can see the smoke coming out of your ears.” he smirks, kissing her knuckles again, “I love you. You know? I love you a whole lot and I said I’d pamper you while you stayed with me.”
Beatrice’s eyes shone like the stars he always compared them too, her lips curling into a little smile with her cheeks turning red, “I love you too, Brad… and thank you,really, no one ever,” she looks around again, “No one ever did something like this for me.”
“Oh and it’s just part of the date, gorgeous. Just you wait.” he smacks the back of her hand soundly, “Ready to order?”
Bea smiles sweetly, looking up to where the carps swam, “...yeah.”
#bradley rooster bradshaw#rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x oc#top gun maverick#bradley bradshaw x reader
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borrowed with grace from new friend Vee over @reyestr
FIRST MEETINGS MEME
A meme for first meetings and introduction threads, aka a ‘What you will notice about my muse first’ cheat sheet.
Repost, don’t reblog. Bold what applies. Fill in details.
(Please do not remove the credit + blank meme link)
blank meme: x
GENERAL APPEARANCE
Sex: Masculine. Feminine. Non-Binary.
Notes: Beth was born a cis-gender female and most of the time she's comfortable in that shape/body.
Race: Polynesian/Caucasian {Hawai'ian and Irish, respectively, or as she'd say it, hapa-haole}
Complexion: Beth's natural skin tone is a tawny/dusky shade that might be compared to sand or toast. Most public photos taken of her tend to lighten her skin as much as possible per the Admiral's request. When she spends her time out-doors she tans easily and resembles more her Island kin than the Irish side of the family. Beth tends to wear minimal make up, and when she's doing a dramatic look she usually sticks to eye make up and bold lipsticks, highlighting what she considers her best features. Upon closer inspection one might notice a small constellation of tiny freckles that hover around the right side of her mouth and chin, and another sweep of fainter freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her skin tone leans towards the autumn spectrum, and it is incredibly fine, soft.
Height: Beth is just barely five feet tall.
Body Type: Endomorph. Mesomorph. Ectomorph.
Other / More Details: Beth is actually somewhat underweight for her size, ranging between 90-96 lbs. Most of her curves tend to remain in her hips and backside, and her chest is narrow, sporting a very modest b-cup.
Body Build: Small. Medium. Athletic. Muscular. Soft. Curvy. Voluptuous.
Other / More Details: Beth has been called small, delicate, bird-boned. From behind or at a minor distance, she has been mistaken for a young teen or larger child. It is hard for her to put on or maintain muscle tone.
Body Hair: None. Shaves/Waxes. Trims/Grooms. Untamed.
Color: The colour on her arms and legs matches that of her hair, a dark to medium dark brown.
Notes: Beth's body hair tends to be incredibly fine, almost non-existent, and thus she doesn't feel the need to wax or shave very often.
Head Hair: None. Buzzed. Short. Medium. Long. Very Long. Asymmetrical Cut.
Color: Naturally Beth has dark brown almost black hair with natural red highlights. Occasionally she might do a subtle colour, either deep auburn or honey-brown.
Style: Beth tends to style her hair to within an inch of its life, keeping it sleek and straight so that the Admiral has nothing to complain about. Naturally it tends to be incredibly wavy/curly {3b hair}, with a tendency to become a touch frizzy in moist/damp air. Most of the time Beth keeps her hair long and loose. For work it's in a ponytail or bun, and when her mental health is at its absolutely lowest, she hacks it pretty much down to a bob.
Eye color: Beth has green/brown central heterochromia,which is what most people call hazel. Her noticible colour is green, with an almost honey brow mixed in. It is a far softer colour than her brother's.They tend to shift colour via lighting or dilation of the pupil.
Details: Wide, upturned eyes tend to give her a Disney-Princess look. Her lashes are naturally long and thick.
Scars: Beth's left leg has a large shark-bite scar from the bottom of her knee to the top of her ankle. Within the borders of the scar the muscle is visibly atrophied and has the texture of something close to a burn scar. The tendons are shortened, making her left leg a fraction shorter than her right.
FASHION
Fashion Style: Vintage. Traditional. Casual. Artsy. Vibrant. Geeky/Nerdy. Tomboy. Sporty. Trendy. Preppy. Girly. Bohemian. Elegant. Formal. Grunge. Punk. Rocker. Gothic.
Other:
Color Palette: Beth tends to wear seasonal colours {lighter pastels in the spring and summer, darker secondary colours in the fall and winter}.
Typical Clothing: Beth tends to wear as little clothing as she can manage without making a scene. During warm weather she tends toward camisole tops or bikinis. She tends to wear ankle/floor length skirts. For work, she wears scrubs. Beth does. not. wear. pants. unless she's out jogging, doing yoga, or wearing a wet-suit. And while she has a walk-in closet full of designer and custom gowns and other clothing, the kinds of which would make Paris Fashion Week drool in their dreams, she tends to prefer vintage clothing.
Piercings: Beth's ears are pierced in multiple places which differ from ear to ear. She has a sub-dermal piercing at her hip.
Tattoos: Beth has a tattoo of a honu {sea turtle} on the back of her left hip, whose shell contains the Hawai'ian archipelago and a hibiscus flower. Other tattoos vary verse to verse.
Other Information: Beth tends to hate shoes and will wear 'slippahs' whenever she can get away with it. At home she tends to be barefoot, or during cold snaps, she might tolerate socks. She likes to wear rings, bracelets, earrings when not at work. She keeps her nails manicured.
EXPRESSION
General Facial Expression: Beth's features tend to be open, friendly, and at worst, neutral.
Default Body Language: As stated above, she tends to have open, inviting body language that changes only when/if she has disengaged with someone, or it's the Admiral. Around the Admiral her body language is closed, defensive, on the verge of flight/fight.
General Movements: Beth's incredibly graceful from a lifetime of surfing, swimming, dance. She tends to flow through the room, slow and cautious. The longer she has been awake, or the longer she's been on her feet, it becomes apparent that she does have a faint limp, due to shortened tendons and ligaments, atrophied muscle in her shark-scarred leg.
NOTABLE FOR RP
Presence: Beth's entire presence rests on the fact that she is warm and gracious, curious until she's given reason not to. Everyone is treated like a friend. As such, she tends to be a soothing comfort, and someone a person can open up to easily.
Appearance: Beth is always perfectly dressed for every situation, impeccably garbed in public, perfect but often subtle make up. This does not carry through to being at home where she feels comfortable.
Scent: She makes her own essential oils/lotions and people tend to describe her as tropical; lightly floral, a touch of sea salt, coconut, macadamia, something very faintly herbal. Too soon after work, she tends to carry the smell of hospital antiseptics {and/or blood}.
Voice Description: Her voice tends to surprise people. Being so short and slight, most people expect her to have a high/thin/child-like voice. She speaks so softly that she rarely speaks above an audible whisper, and her tones tend to be a little husky/smokey, warm, layered. When she does have to raise her voice, it is the kind that doesn't brook arguments and carries the tone of command of a queen or a soldier, though she is neither.
Accent: yes / no
More information: Beth has always had problems with certain digraphs {th in particular} and is most comfortable speaking her native pidgin with a slight speech impediment. She can, however, speak perfectly serviceable "Haole" {American English}. She also understands a host of other languages, and takes a small measure of pride in being able to pick local idioms/slang easily, despite her audio processing disorder.
Speech Mannerisms: Beth tends to be a touchy person; conveying meaning or clarity with minor touching of other people's hands, knees, shoulders when speaking closely. She also tends to gesticulating while she's talking. When she speaks "Haole" it is far slower, measured, careful than when speaking pidgin, with slight pauses occasionally as she struggles with a phrase or sounding out words in her head. When conversing with someone, she tends to watch the person's mouth and eye area to pick up contextual clues and mouth-shapes to help bolster her understanding.
Anything else to add? Beth tends to sometimes come across as the most real person in the room, is magnetic despite her best efforts. However, if she doesn't want to engage with someone, she tends to slowly slip away from their thoughts/memories, until she is absolutely forgotten.
Perhaps the eeriest noticible trait is that she never fully blinks. Her eyes tend to only half close, three quarters at best. {It almost feels like she's missing a nictitating membrane}. The second most noticible trait is that she has small, sharp teeth, almost preternaturally so, and slightly crooked.
{{Certain kinds of hunters and others like her recognise these as 'primal markings' and might speak to her slightly less than human dna}}
{{Beth's main face claim is Kristin Kreuk, and her secondary face claim is Smiley Arianne}}
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Here's the first chapter of Passing Notes :)
[2:15pm]
Steve Harrington does not punch Eddie Munson in the nose. In fact, Steve is notorious for losing fist fights - watching countless action scenes in movies truly did not prepare him for legitimate altercations.
Tommy Hagan does punch Eddie Munson in the nose, however. Well, he pushes him onto the linoleum floor, punches Eddie directly in the nose (like The Nose itself has personally assaulted him somehow), and then runs out the nearest fire exit. Steve is standing right there, watching it all play out at half speed. Once his brain renders back into the proper frame rate again, Steve instinctively drops to the ground to help Eddie get back up.
“Holy shit,” Steve blurts out, reaching for Eddie’s bloody nose. “Dude, lemme help… you’re like covered in blood!” Which is somehow both the truth and a hyperbole. The lower half of his face is stained with red and dripping onto his distressed gray tee. The floor tiling beneath him could now be mistaken for a kid’s finger-painting project, all red splotches mixed with Eddie’s thumb prints. Steve’s hands are aimlessly reaching to help, but the carnage he has just witnessed must’ve short-circuited his brain - leaving him just flailing towards Eddie’s face with absolutely no plan whatsoever.
“Get the hell away from me,” Eddie kicks Steve in the side and pushes himself back up against the nearest locker, red trails following behind him. Steve lets out a deep cough and grabs the side of his body where he was kicked.
What the living hell is happening? He is just trying to help and somehow ends up with a sneaker-sized pain in his guts. Organs. Whatever anatomy that’s on his lower left torso. Seriously?
“That’s enough!” Principal Coleman yells over the whole scene. Steve isn’t fully aware of how much time has passed and is definitely oblivious to the audience that has accumulated around them. But about 30 wide-eyed teenagers are staring back at them, waiting to see what will happen next.
[3:12pm]
Detention. Detention happens next. More specifically, detention for both Steve and Eddie for the next two weeks. And look, Steve could care less about how long he has detention. Going back to his Big Empty House sucks regardless, so being stuck in a Big Empty School isn’t going to suck any more than that. Except for tonight. Because tonight, he was supposed to take Nancy Wheeler on their first date. He had the whole thing planned out meticulously and now… now, he has to cancel because he did not punch Eddie Munson in the nasal cavity. Makes sense.
Even after Steve replays the whole timeline back in his head, it only kills about 12 minutes of detention. 2 hours and 48 minutes to go. Eddie walks through the door about 7 minutes into Steve’s fourth mental play-through of The Fight: starring Tommy Hagan and Eddie Musnson, featuring Steve Harrington. Steve stares up at the guy who is holding a bag of frozen vegetables to his slightly crooked nose.
He’s changed out of his blood-soaked outfit and into an oversized gym class uniform. It kind of makes him look like an entirely different person, Steve thinks to himself. At first glance, Eddie now looks like any other student at Hawkins High. But then Steve examines the details. The loose, dark tendrils of hair that graze his shoulders. The chunky rings that skip every other finger to give each one space to claim his hand. The dark palettes of ink on his skin that are partially hidden by the uniform - only fragments of designs uncovered, insisting to be seen anyways. The details are sucking Steve out of the temporary illusion that Eddie is anything like the other students at Hawkins High.
Eddie skulks to the corner desk on the back row. He lets out an exasperated sigh that makes Steve twist his whole neck around and gawk.
"Take me out to dinner before staring at me like that, Harrington,” Eddie sneers.
Steve blinks. “You look like hell, man.”
“Never been, but I’m sure I’d fit in great there.” Eddie bites back and props his legs up on the desk directly in front of him. Just then, Ms. Arnold cracks the classroom open door and peaks in.
“I’ll be down the hall grading midterms, but I’ll be checking on you boys every so often,” she warns. “So don’t try anything stupid, please.”
“Yes m’am,” Steve replies, practically on autopilot. She smiles and leaves as quickly as she came in. Ms. Arnold is one of the most passive teachers at Hawkins, so he figures that detention will be rather low maintenance. Which is exactly what Steve needs after the kind of day he is having.
The reason he can’t stop rewinding the details of the fight is because he is determined to find a scenario where he wouldn’t have gotten the blame for hitting Eddie. Maybe if he hadn’t reached down to help him stand up. Maybe if he had just run out the exit along with Tommy. Maybe if he had just kept walking when he noticed Tommy was instigating trouble with Eddie in the first place. But none of those things happened - no matter how many times Steve replays the chain of events, he can’t change the outcome now. Just gotta deal with the injustice and get through these next two weeks.
Okay, how much time has passed now, he wonders. Steve glances up at the clock:
[4:02pm]
He bangs his head against the desk and just leaves it there.
“Little dramatic, aren’t we?” Eddie’s voice sings in a pitch that resembles a kid taunting ‘oooo’ whenever they witness someone getting in trouble. Steve just groans in reply and says something that is incoherent, even to himself.
There’s a fairly long pause. “Sorry for kicking you… by the way.”
This is unexpected - Eddie showing genuine remorse. The way the apology reaches Steve, adds weight to his chest, enough to drop into the soles of his shoes. It feels incorrect.
“Come on, don’t do that.” Steve lifts his head and turns his body to face Eddie. “You had just gotten your nostrils bashed in. I wasn’t exactly helping much anyways.”
Eddie’s lips tighten, moving to one side of his mouth. “Yeah, just seemed like you were flinging your arms around my face.”
“I wanted to do something.”
“Wasn’t very clear if that ‘something’ was going to be more punching or not.”
“I think the blood freaked me out.”
“The blood or the freak underneath the blood?” No trace of humor showing on Eddie’s face anymore. All of his jokes are cast aside by his honesty.
Steve hesitates for a minute too long. “I… you don’t freak me out.”
“That wasn’t very convincing, Harrington.”
“You kicking me freaked me out a little.” Nice recovery, asshole.
It earns him small laugh from Eddie. “Okay fair… well, sorry it happened.”
“Sorry I wasn’t more helpful.”
“Sorry you got detention for no reason.”
“Sorry Tommy is such a dick.”
“Sorry you’re friends with such a dick.”
“Sorry you have to wear that gym uniform.”
“Now that’s the real crime, isn’t it?”
Steve laughs into his hand and takes that moment to notice how un-Eddie he looks in these spare clothes. He doesn’t know much about this guy, but he always seems confident. His clothes must play a large role in that because without them, a part of Eddie seems deflated. That and he’s certain it must hurt like hell to have a broken nose.
“Had to cancel my date with Nancy tonight.” Steve doesn’t know why he shares this information. Doesn’t know why Eddie would even care.
Eddie: Wheeler?
Steve: Yes. Wheeler.
Eddie: Wheeler’s a sophomore.
Steve: Thank you for stating the obvious.
Eddie: So, she's like what-15? 16?
Steve: She’s 16, dude. Don’t be gross.
Eddie: And you’re 18?
Steve: Last time I checked.
Eddie. Right. She’s only 16.
Steve: Why did you say ‘only’ like that? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
Eddie: Means you’d have to say that you’re her guardian if you wanted to get her into an R-rated movie.
Steve: She’s a sophomore, that’s not that young.
Eddie: Fine, fine. Just didn’t know you had already run out of juniors.
Steve: Are you aware how annoying you are?
Eddie: Are you aware how easy it is to tease you?
He flicks his tongue across his bottom lip, then bites down on it. And Steve doesn’t know why, but the sight of Eddie’s teeth biting down the pink flesh of his lips, forcing it white for a few seconds, torches all his insides aflame.
In a pathetic attempt to not let the embarrassment read on his face Steve begins to clear his throat - nasty, rattly sounds. Which ends up being a total mistake, because now his face feels hotter than it did one minute ago. And nothing makes a person blush more than being hyperaware that they’re blushing.
Clearly, Eddies notices the effect this has on him and cackles loud enough to cause a rippling echo in the classroom.
“That reaction was almost worth getting punched in the schnoz,” Eddie lets out a laugh that leads to a snort, causing him to wince. He puts the frozen bag back up to the bridge of his nose and tilts his head toward the ceiling.
“Ow! Oh fuck- I think your face is gonna make me start bleeding again.”
Steve covers his mouth. “Don’t know what is more bruised: your nose or my ego.” He turns back around and lays his head on the desk, still covering his red complexion.
“We’re gonna have so much fun these next two weeks, huh Stevie?” Eddie says devilishly. Steve can just hear the smile in his voice.
“Ugh,” is all Steve can muster through his mortification. He lays there trying to wrap his brain around why Eddie licking his lips had impacted him so goddamn much. He falls asleep trying to figure it out.
[4:48 pm]
“Steve, please get up,” Ms. Arnold murmurs from the doorway.
“Yeah, Steve,” Eddie chimes in. “Falling asleep in class is very disrespectful. Tsk tsk.”
Steven rubs his eyes and mumbles an apology to Ms. Arnold. She clearly isn’t upset at him. “Maybe you can start on some homework to keep yourself busy,” she suggests as she walks back out the door. He is awake enough to realize that Eddie is now sitting in a desk on the front row. He’s changed back into his previous outfit, dried blood and all.
Eddie abruptly gets up and starts furiously scribbling numbers on the chalkboard. He’s mumbling and counting things out on his fingers, deep in thought. The handwriting is almost illegible, but he notices that he writes out ‘Steve,’ followed by ‘Nancy.’
“What could you possibly be doing now?” Steve asks.
“If you must know,” Eddie starts, “I’m trying to solve your little ‘date’ predicament, King Steve.”
“Please explain.” Steve rests his head against the palm of his hand.
Eddie points at where he’s written Steve. “This-” he quickly draws a stick figure with an exaggerated amount of hair. “Is you.”
“Ha.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Very accurate.”
“And this-” he draws another stick figure in a triangle shaped dress, with significantly less hair than the Steve drawing. “This is Nancy.” Eddie draws an arrow connecting Nancy to the numbers that he scribbled earlier. “Now here’s the part I can’t solve. Detention ends at 6,” he circles the number 6 aggressively. “And sophomores have curfews at what- 10? 11?”
Steve shrugs.
“Love the enthusiasm,” Eddie wags the piece of chalk at Steve. “Now I’m no mathematician, but I do know that would still leave at least 3 hours for… necking, or whatever it is you do on your infamous dates.”
“For the love of God, please don’t call it necking, Munson.”
Eddie starts walking over to Steve. He places his hands on the desk and is hovering over Steve, breathing in his personal atmosphere like it’s an easyboundary to cross. “My point is: it’s not adding up, Harrington. Why would you cancel the whole evening with half of the night still available for the taking?”
Steve leans back in his chair, trying to regain some of his own personal air again. “She said she’s busy most nights.”
“Okay,” Eddie lingers. He sits on the edge of the desk. “Doing what?”
Steve accepts defeat on this guy invading his space and just shrugs again.
Eddie: Did you ask?
Steve: Why should I?
Eddie: Because that’s literally how communication works.
Steve: I guess I just figured she would’ve told me if she wanted to.
Eddie: Would you just share unsolicited information with older men?
Steve: What’s your point, Munson?
Eddie: That smart girls like Nancy Wheeler don’t just share their exact coordinates for the next 8 hours. Not even when life drops a pretty boy at their feet.
Steve: Wait, pretty b-
Eddie: -unless he had asked her very nicely. In a very non-Ted Bundy way.
Steve: First I’m ‘pretty’ and now I’m Ted Bundy. Awesome.
Eddie: Ted Bundy was pretty. That was like, his whole thing.
Steve: I cannot believe we have spiraled into arguing over whether Ted Bundy is attractive.
Eddie: Not an argument - he’s objectively hot.
Steve: Oh, dear GOD, please let this conversation be over.
The conversation is very much not over, unfortunately. Eddie continues, “Okay, new approach - tell me something you like about Nancy.”
“Her eyes, I guess.” Steve generically states.
“What about her personality?”
“What about it?”
“What do you like about her personality, Harrington?” Eddie’s words come out pointed. Sharp edges, targeting him directly.
Steve attempts to give his answer a bit more thought this time. Maybe that will shut Eddie up. “Um. She gets answers right in class a lot.”
It does not shut him up. In fact, he’s full-on rambling now.
“No. That’s not- like…” Eddie huffs, blowing the warm air in Steve’s face. “What’s her favorite band? Her favorite cereal? Favorite flower? Subject in school? What was her favorite gift she ever got for Christmas? Does she even celebrate Christmas? Has she ever broken a bone? Does she have any siblings? Are they close? Is she-“
“I don’t know, dude!” It comes out louder than Steve had intended. “I don’t know, okay? Aren’t those things that you’d learn from going on a date? And why do you even care? We’re not even friends.”
And Steve could hear it. Sure, it was him speaking but it came out sounding just like Tommy. Like Steve’s voice box had temporarily been taken over by his friend’s in order to weaponize his words against Eddie. It makes him sink down in his seat and avoid eye contact with anything - anyone - except the floor.
[5:29pm]
Eddie twirls off the desk and says nothing for a while. He starts erasing his chalkboard scribbles and rearranging the chalk supply back to where it was prior to him taking over the classroom. Steve looks up at him a few times, but mainly keeps his gaze down.
“You’re right.” Eddie admits. Steve feels miles away from Being Right.
“Guess I just thought you found something you liked about her. Maybe common ground. You don’t travel in the same circles, so I was just kinda curious…” Eddie trails off. He is answering Steve’s question, but the volume of his voice makes him think that he is primarily talking to himself.
Steve doesn’t answer because he doesn’t really know how to. He just thought Nancy looked nice. He knows she is smart and is friends with members of the Honors Society, but that is pretty much the extent. And Steve definitely doesn’t have any friends that are in academic-based clubs. It doesn’t matter that they don’t have any common interests at a base level, but Steve hadn’t even cared if they found other connections later on. He automatically assumed that if the physical connection wasn’t there, that he wouldn’t ask her on another date. That was the routine he had always followed up until this point.
Why did he care if that sounded superficial now? Why did Eddie’s stupid math equation featuring goofy drawings make him question his entire dating history? They aren’t even friends, so why does his perspective matter so much? Why why why wh-
“Alright boys,” Ms. Arnold’s voice frees Steve from the questioning voices in his head. “You’re free to go. Don’t forget tomorrow you’ll meet for detention in the AV center, not here.”
[6:00pm]
Eddie is already slipping past her and down the hall. Steve gathers his things and thanks her sheepishly before heading out as well.
When he gets to the parking lot, Eddie is already in his van blaring some distorted version of a guitar solo. The music makes Steve’s ears wish they had a different occupation besides Listening. It forces him to unlock his car door and get in as quickly as possible to block out the sounds.
Nine more days, he thinks.
And without a better explanation besides ‘Eddie Munson is making me question my lack of morals,’ Steve finds himself driving to Nancy Wheeler’s house.
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9 Anime to Watch if You Want to Feel Like This 👇🏾
At the heart of everything, anime (and manga) is an expressive art form worthy of being appreciated. If you're looking to break your art block or perhaps you just want something scintillating to look at, these short series/movies are worth a view.
Promare (movie) - Studio: Trigger and XFLAG
Trippy dippy effects and uncommonly contrasting color palettes (triads and squares), this action movie is dazzling and the character design, for some reason, reminds me of something retro that I’m having trouble putting my finger on. The movie logo for the film is a nod to Akira for sure. The film focuses on the hunt for flame wielding mutants who are believed to be a danger to themselves and others. Kind of like Fire Force but with mechas.
Sub/Dub | HBO Max
The God of High School (series) - Manwha by Yongje Park, Studio: Mappa
This was actually one of the first anime I watched upon getting back into anime and was the first indication of how far animation and design had come since my last nerd phase ended in like 2005/2006. The more I caught up, the more I realized a lot of my favorite projects were animated by Mappa which is no surprise. I chose to include TGHS for its brevity (to meet the bite size requirement for these recs) but also I adored the character design (which was a departure from shows I’d watched previously) and the storyline focuses on the action you can only get during training arcs or tournament arcs in your favorite shonen shows. This was a fun watch that accomplished that and forged a friendship you root for in an abridged format.
Sub/Dub | HBO Max
Devilman Crybaby (series) - Manga: Gou Nagai, Studio: Science SARU
So many simps for Devilman Crybaby so I had to see for myself. The series is not going to be everyone’s cup of tea unless you like your tea topped with titillating carnage, fornication and light body horror. The story is dark and debaucherous as main character Fudo evolves into Devilman having merged with a demon. The whole series is a sad and lonely trip that oscillates between the banal depiction and color of “everyday life” and the saturated and starkly contrasted psychedelic scenes of the underbelly of a demonized/sinful subculture. The series explores the beauty and hideousness of human nature and our tendency to cannibalize those that stand against mob prejudice and mentality.
Sub/Dub | Netflix
Bubble (movie) - Manga: Erubo Hijihara, Studio: Wit Studio
On this list, you’ll probably find more than a few recommendations that have a water or space element simply because of how enchanting I find them to be. Bubble is a modern retelling of The Little Mermaid’s traditional story and it has gorgeous animation that translates in its action scenes as well as in the more delicate details.
Sub/Dub | Netflix
FLCL (series) - Studios: Gainax, Production IG, Signal.MD, REVOROOT, NUT
Based on that lineup of studios, you can probably imagine the chaos that is FLCL and still not come close. Artistically, it’s interesting? But this show and each of its iterations really shines for its innovative and unexpected concept that I’m not sure is ever truly clear. It’s just weird and expressive in a way that makes sense when you’re coming into yourself. How it can be raw and awkward and difficult to confront. I won’t say that the show is stylistically avant-garde but it manages to animate and bring into fruition that discomfort for the viewer and I think that’s the goal.
Sub/Dub | Hulu
Nanbaka (series) - Manga: Shou Futamata, Studio: Satelight
Over saturated is an UNDERSTATEMENT. The flamboyant and garish character designs paired with scintillating visuals despite taking place in a prison adds to the humor in this series about a group of prisoners’ attempts to escape an inescapable prison. It’s made even funnier because, usually in shows with superpowers or supernatural elements, they’re generally explained somehow through exposition. Nope, not here just powerz✨ it has an ever present silly and fun veneer masking an underlying harshness that surfaces every so often. All in all, the series has the potential to be a Haha that Ends in Tears (*ahem* Assassination Classroom).
Sub/Dub | Crunchyroll
Ponyo (movie) - Studio: Studio Ghibli
I’m surprised this is only the second water focused show so far but no list about beautiful anime would be complete without at least one Studio Ghibli feature. Ponyo is another adaptation of the Little Mermaid that allows for dizzying imagery of marine life (as above) that also features a signature Ghibli food scene (uh, yea, slide me a bowl of that ham ramen, Sosuke). Something about the dulcet color palettes of Studio Ghibli films always feels like home on a rainy day with a comforting bowl of soup.
Sub/Dub | HBO Max
Weathering With You (movie) - Studio: CoMix Wave Films
Speaking of beautiful food, CoMix is another studio that just gets it right ✨ The way they capture rain, light, fireworks, skylines… just dumbfounding. This piece, in particular, is a perfect deluge into magical realism especially in moments of Hina’s transcendence. The film follows a runaway who strides to start a life in Tokyo and meets his very own Sunshine Girl. “Your Name” is also worth checking out and hails from the same studio but isn’t available without buying or renting (and I try to keep recs relatively convenient and inexpensive).
Sub/Dub | HBO Max
Blue Period (series) - Manga: Tsubasa Yamaguchi, Studio: Seven Arcs
OKAY. Maybe I’m cheating with this one. An art appreciation recommendation about art? Is this subversive or the opposite therein? Don’t care. The premise of this show and what lends to its beauty is that it’s about art. Follow aimless Yaguchi as he falls down the rabbit hole of oil painting in his second year of high school then works his ass off to close the gap between himself and other college hopefuls trying to get into a competitive public art college. The way the animation takes care to provide texture for each medium that’s experimented with. TBH, the show made me nostalgic for when I was in traditional art classes at college. This show had me shopping for drawing benches with back support at my big age. So if you’re experiencing a block, fall in love with art again by checking this show out.
Sub/Dub | Netflix
#neon classic#neon recs#anime aesthetic#anime#manga#art anime#anime art#promare#flcl#the god of high school#ponyo#devilman crybaby#devilman#bubble#nanbaka#mappa#akira fudo#ponyo movie#studio ghibli#makoto shinkai#mappa supremacy#illustration#weathering with you#animation#comix wave films#blue period#hayao miyazaki#ryo asuka#yatora yaguchi#action anime
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People love to ask artists about the source of their inspiration. The answer varies from artist to artist. For me, inspiration comes in bite-sized pieces from all sorts of places!
One of my favourite places to find a creative spark is out in the forest. I’m not really a hiker so much as a “wanderer” — there are so many interesting nooks and crannies in the woods! I could spend all afternoon poking around the same spot. A neat bug with bright colours might become a tiny faery painting. Some exposed roots knotted together in an interesting way might be the starting point for a lacey pattern on a medieval gown. Sometimes just a particularly shiny rock will inspire a new colour palette!
I’ve never really gotten the knack of taking awesome photographs, so I’m almost always carrying a tiny sketchbook on my wanders. I enjoy painting, but my favourite form of art has always been sketching and doodling with a good, old-fashioned pen!
#flittermouseart#artists on tumblr#small artist#doodle art#draw every day#artist inspiration#finding inspiration#art talk#art advice
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Behind the Curtain
PAIRING: timeskip!Semi Eita x femdom!reader
GENRE: smut (18+)
Minors DNI
TAGS + WARNINGS: mommy kink, feminization (kinda sorta), nipple play, hand job, creampie, semi-public sex, light degradation, exhibitionism, mention of a threesome, use of sex toys (vibrator + mention of dildos), mirror sex (kinda sorta), marking, edging, dacryphilia, humiliation kink if you squint
Let me know if I missed anything.
WORD COUNT: 2.8k
SUMMARY: You found your boyfriend the skirt that just might save his wardrobe. All characters are 18+
© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify
It’s perfect, you think as your eyes scan over the piece once more. A simple pleated skirt: black with a lavender and baby pink plaid pattern to contrast the darkness. Small belt hoops hold a chain, letting it dangle to the side. The last one with that colour palette and design on the rack, you notice, and to find the size to be more or less accurate is just the cherry on top.
It’s perfect, but not for you.
“Eita,” you call out as your head faces away from the article of clothing. Your boyfriend stands only a couple of aisles away, holding a purple button-up with a green leopard pattern. You try not to cringe from the sight, instead motioning him over. “I found something.”
The ash-blonde hangs the shirt back onto the rack–thank God–before returning to you with a curious smile.
Once he’s at your side, you hold the skirt up for him to see. Semi takes a few seconds to admire it before offering you a nod.
“It’s cute,” he approves. “Wanna go try it on?”
The corners of your lips twitch upwards as you shake your head no. “It’s not for me.”
He quirks a brow, tilting his head as he awaits your explanation. You don’t provide one, but the glint in your eye, plus your shit-eating grin, eventually tell him your idea. He deadpans. “Absolutely not.”
“Boooo!” You drawl, causing a few other customers to turn to you two. Your boyfriend silently apologizes to them with a wave of his hand before facing you sternly. Not that it makes you falter. “We’re here to give your wardrobe an upgrade, Mr. Discount Jojo. We can start by getting you something that won’t make anyone’s eyes bleed.”
His facial features twist into an offended expression. “My outfits are not that bad! Besides, why that of all things?”
Semi points an accusing finger at the skirt. Unamused by his attitude, you step closer to him as your lids droop.
“What?” You sneer challengingly. “You too much of a man to wear this? Think this is some kind of personal attack?” When he doesn’t offer a response, your gaze trails down to your purse. When your eyes return to your boyfriend, your hand takes its time sliding into your bag, soon finding the small device you were looking for. “‘Cause I know this is not the most humiliating deed you’ve done, Ei-ta.”
The musician’s eyes widen as a bolt of electricity shoots up his body, and he has to bite down hard on his lip to muffle the moan about to burst out. You smile in satisfaction as his cheeks grow pink and his tall frame hunches over, the clothes hooked over his forearm close to sliding off.
“So,” you hum, feigning innocence, “wanna go give this a try?”
You’re given a muffled groan and hesitant nod from his spot beneath you. Giggling, you lower the setting before leading the way to the changerooms, your boyfriend avoiding the employee’s eyes as she takes your clothes and brings you to an empty spot. As soon as she disappears behind the corner, you slap the skirt onto Semi’s chest before lightly pushing him into the stall.
He’s probably taking his time in there, you figure. Not that it bothers you. Semi doesn’t have to get the skirt if he doesn’t want to, though you’d still like to see him in it.
And when the curtain opens, you’re so glad he did. Your eyes catch the piece before the rest of him, and they refuse to look elsewhere. Despite no longer playing volleyball, your boyfriend is still fit, though lean enough that the skirt perfectly compliments his long legs. Most importantly, it also teases viewers with an appropriate amount of his thighs, splotches of burgundy and indigo decorating the skin from previous nights of marking him.
Dare you say you want to add more.
Your feet carry you into the changeroom with him before your brain fully processes the actions. Yanking the curtain behind you for privacy, you don’t stop admiring Semi’s frame as his back presses against the wall. You catch his throat bob as he waits for your next move, though instead of pouncing on him as he expected, you lay a hand on his outer thigh.
“So,” you tilt your head, “What do you think?”
The ash-blonde needs several seconds to steady his breathing before he can force himself to look you in the eye. “Not bad, I guess.”
You hum in acknowledgment, your hand gliding up his leg and under the skirt, making him shiver. You don’t stop until you feel the material of his briefs, digging your finger under the outline. Your boyfriend’s thigh flexes under your touch; you force down the pride about to erupt from your chest.
“Take these off for me, won’t you?” You purr. Semi follows your command wordlessly, the skirt barely covering everything between his legs. An observation you both make but don’t voice. Your eyes flicker to the little bench attached to the wall. “Sit.”
And he does, lightly trembling once the frigid wood makes contact with his skin. You slide your purse’s strap from around your shoulder as you settle yourself onto your knees in front of the musician. He watches you nervously as you separate his legs before bunching the skirt up his hips. His cock is beginning its ascent to become fully hard, but he can’t seem to look at it. Instead, his eyes follow your hand as it digs into your bag and pulls out a familiar oval-shaped device.
“In here?” The words spill from his lips before he can stop them. You don’t scold him, though, just shift in your spot, making yourself comfortable as if he didn’t say anything.
“Try to stay quiet for me, okay?” You finally look up at him, your tone casual, like you’re asking him to move over. “And don’t even think about cumming without my permission.”
Semi is ready this time, blocking his moan from passing his throat by digging his teeth into his bottom lip. You don’t set the vibrations up too high, but it’s still enough to gain a vocal reaction. It also doesn’t take long for his cock to stand fully erect, drops of precum already forming and dribbling out from the slit. You smile, leaning in to give his tip a kitten lick, earning you a quivering sigh from the ash-blonde.
“Please,” he whimpers, hips bucking. Warmth blooms in your cheeks at his pathetic tone, but you still pull back. With one hand on the remote and the other wrapped around his shaft, you get to work: toying around with the settings whenever you please while pumping him painfully slow, you have him turn into a puddle of desperation in a matter of seconds. “M-ommy, feels so good.”
“Oh,” you quirk a brow at the title, “now you like this? You think sweet words will make me go easy on you?”
The musician profusely shakes his head, though before he can defend himself, the sound of footsteps grows louder.
“Is everything all right in here?” It’s the employee from earlier, you recall. The vibrations and your strokes slow in speed as you give your boyfriend a knowing look.
He coughs. “Yeah, thanks. Just trying stuff on.”
As the clueless lady offers him a few words, something about giving her a shout if he needed anything, you tighten your grip on his cock near his base. Semi hisses before cutting himself off, his heart ramming into his ribs as he waits to check if the employee heard anything. After several seconds of silence, he relaxes. Or, as much as he can, anyway.
“That lady,” you hum as you continue your ministrations, turning up the vibrations, “I think she was checking you out earlier.” You don’t appear bothered as you address your observation, though the former setter knows better than to assume you aren’t going anywhere with your words. “How do you think she’d react seeing you like this? All red and shaky and—” you glance up at his face, “crying like a little bitch?” The hand pumping his weeping cock halts its movements as you sit up to lean close to his face. You lick a stray tear from his cheek before moving to his ear, voice much lower. “Who knows? Maybe she’s into this stuff, too. Could’ve joined us if she wanted to.”
You don’t allow him to answer as you up the settings for the vibrations, the toy’s buzzing now audible to anyone willing to stay quiet for even a moment. The ash-blonde heaves for air at the increase of stimulation, the vibrator pushed deep enough inside him to prod at his prostate and have constellations consume his vision.
He wants you to show him the galaxy.
Easier said than done, of course; Semi should know by now. If he finishes without your permission, things will only go downhill from there. Flexing his thighs as a distraction only does so much; it gets more challenging when you add more of your lovebites onto the area. With the vibrations swimming along his body and your teeth sinking into him, he feels the heat radiate from his face, melting all sense of reason.
And when he thought things couldn’t get any harder (ha!), you take the hem of his shirt and bring it to his lips. Your boyfriend would’ve been grateful for the article of clothing muffling his sounds if he were clueless about the implication.
“Be a good boy and play with your nipples, yeah?” It comes out as a question; it’s anything but. The musician won’t disobey, though. With shaky hands, he tweaks at the sensitive buds, digging his teeth into his shirt to silence his mewls as his hips buck and abs flex. Almost nothing can stop the avalanche that’s about to crash down, and Semi wants nothing more than to let that catastrophe take over.
Almost nothing, I said.
His eyes jolt open when the vibrations simmer away, and your lips leave his skin. He whines louder than he intended, though it’s not like he can take it back. His release drowns into the unknown, and no amount of crying can save it from that abyss. Only you can rescue him from such empty insanity.
But you’re not going to give him what he wants. Not now, at least.
Your boyfriend’s considering standing up for himself; come up with a snarky response to how unfairly you treat him when he’s barely done anything wrong, if at all. His hand reaches for your face to get you to look him in the eye, but you catch his wrist before he can do so.
“I didn’t say you could stop,” you state matter-of-factly, bringing his hand back to his chest before getting up. Lightly pushing him further onto the bench, you then hover yourself over his lap. The ash-blonde’s eyes widen as he watches you move your panties aside to reveal your drooling pussy. He’s careless when he lets a groan slip out from the sight, but it’s not like he can help himself. Especially not when you grab hold of his twitching cock and aim it at your entrance.
Having just the tip inside could’ve been enough to make Semi cum. It’s always the thought that comes to mind whenever you finally take him after all the excessive teasing. Then he dares to peer down, and his heart leaps into his throat. You’re still sinking onto his shaft, but the dark skirt bunched up to his waist and contrasting against his pale skin creates a deep swirl in his lower stomach. He didn’t understand the appeal nor your interest at first, but the detail makes for more than mere decoration. The skirt’s chain grazes against his thigh, a component he only notices due to its coolness while the rest of his body is in flames. The dizziness that follows once your hips meet his isn’t new, but the moment never dulls. If anything, it feels like his first time all over again. All he can do is hope he’ll last longer than before.
“I was thinking about bringing one of our dildos with us just for this occasion,” you laugh dryly, twirling some of his hair around your index finger. “There wasn’t enough room in my purse, though. Even if it did, I figured we wouldn’t have enough time to clean up.” You sigh in disappointment, resting your head on his shoulder and acting like he isn’t about to combust. “I’m sure we can figure something out for next time.”
The implication alone is enough to make Semi’s cock twitch. Something you notice, of course, and you roll your hips teasingly.
“Please,” he pants, fingers twitching to touch you. “Need t’cum. I’ll do anything.”
You hum as if you’re considering his words. Having been with you for so long, your boyfriend should know better by now.
“Look in the mirror while I ride you,” you order, adjusting your position to place his hands on your hips and yours, on his shoulders. “You cum when I say you do.”
He doesn’t get to respond, not when you lift yourself until only his tip remains inside, then slam back down. The musician’s eyes roll to the back of his head as he chokes on a groan, your cunt hugging his shaft tightly.
Once his vision returns, Semi forces himself to tilt his head to the side to get a better view of the mirror in front of him. It’s difficult keeping his eyes open when he’s overcome with bliss; having you milk him for all he’s worth, all the while making sure anyone outside the changeroom doesn’t move the curtain, is exhilarating. The ash-blonde would give himself credit for lasting as long as he did if he weren’t watching you bounce on his cock through the mirror. He’s afraid the view would be his downfall.
Then again, that tends to be his thought whenever you keep him on his toes. And when you bit down onto the junction of his neck, that concern pops into his head once more.
Semi doesn’t mean to moan as girlishly as he does. But it happens, and he feels you squeeze him even tighter in response. This dance is going to be the death of him. It’s just a damn skirt. A reflection. A small room with three thin walls and a thick curtain—
“You’re gonna fill me up, yeah?” You breathe in his ear, giving his earlobe a nibble. “Make a mess of Mommy’s pussy?”
He digs his nails into your hips, whimpering. “Fuck, yes. Please, lemme cum. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease—”
A smile creeps onto your face as he begs and hiccups and mewls. Ignoring the burning of your thighs, you pick up your pace bouncing on his weeping cock, and it doesn’t take long for your boyfriend to come undone. His face hides in the crook of your neck as he forces whatever cries that try to escape to stay in his throat. Strings of warmth attack your insides, enough to tip you over the edge as well. Having your death grip on him strengthens his release, his vision going white along with his thoughts.
Semi only remembers he’s in public once he’s calmed down. Despite the burning of his lungs, he holds his breath, waiting for someone to pull the curtain and expose them. It never happens, though; whether it’s because they’re extremely lucky or the poor witness is too embarrassed to do anything, the musician isn’t sure.
You don’t let him think too much into it, opting to press your lips against his sweetly. He melts into the kiss, sighing as you lighten the situation’s intensity.
The ash-blonde helps you dismount his lap, your legs trembling as you quickly move your panties back in place to keep his cum from leaking out.
In return, you remove the vibrator from his ass before assisting him in shimmying out of the skirt that started it all. It’s still in decent shape; a little crinkled, but it’s better than having stains.
“So?” You quirk a brow, a little out of breath. “Thoughts on the skirt?”
Semi’s still putting on his skinny jeans when you ask him this. He pauses, his pride still trying to take the shots even after what happened not even a minute ago. “Looks good.”
Good enough for you. Grinning, you hastily help the musician clean up, startling him as you make it more challenging for him to put his belt on.
“C’mon,” you boast, grabbing onto the skirt and your purse. “We’re getting this skirt and going home.”
The next thing you clutch is your boyfriend’s wrist, making him gasp. “What’s the rush? I still have other clothes to try on.”
You snort, tugging open the curtain. “Trying them on defeats the point of a wardrobe upgrade.” The ash-blonde gives you an offended look as you turn to him, holding up the skirt. “Besides,” the smile you wear makes him shiver, but your response lights a flame in the pit of his stomach, “I need to fuck you properly in it.”
© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify
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Aggro’s First Stay with Bob at the Solaire Home
@claracatlady is the genius who came up with the headcanon that William has a fluffy, high-maintenance cat named Bob. (Thank you so much for letting me think about your excellent headcanon. If you’d prefer that I remove this post or Part 1, please reach out.)
You’ve read about Aggro’s and Bob’s first meeting. Now get ready for Aggro’s first time staying at the Solaire Home…
When Milo got scheduled to work security at a three-day conference for “New Directions in Magical Education” and Sweetheart’s current case meant that they had to travel to testify in court for a trial out of the Dahlia area, the pair realized that they had to ask Vampire Clan King and fellow cat-lover William Solaire to watch Aggro for a few days. William was quite excited at the prospect of Bob having his pal Aggro over to stay. To prepare for Aggro’s arrival, William purchased way too many extra baskets (in a variety of shapes and sizes) and even another cat tree to ensure that Aggro had many comfortable options from which to choose. Bob also made sure to rub his scent on every single one of the new items, just in case Aggro was unsure that those new things were actually Bob’s, though he would graciously let Aggro play with them or sleep on them during his stay. At first, Aggro was quite overwhelmed at the sheer size of the Solaire home. It was HUGE, with so many rooms. The hardwood floor felt funny on Aggro’s claws. Ever a good host, Bob made sure to take Aggro around for a tour of the house, which William, of course, watched proudly and even filmed on his phone. (He plans to ask Vincent how to put the video up on the internet so that Bob and Aggro can “blow up into a virus.”) William made sure to include Aggro in daily petting hours (which Aggro loves) and to hold Aggro in his lap for a daily brushing (which Aggro hates.) Bob had to slap Aggro in the face once when he thought the short-haired grey cat began to flick his tail in a warning that he was about to bite while being brushed. Bob certainly would not stand for such disrespect towards his human! Aggro relented, which led to his earning the most delicious treat that had ever graced his little cat-palette. Until dinnertime came around and Aggro ate out of a raised crystal cat bowl that contained a perfectly prepared, de-boned filet of salmon. Yum! When the cats wanted to retire for the night, Aggro inspected every new basket, feeling them with his paws and kneading them curiously, until he decided to curl up with Bob in the same basket. William took approximately 6000 pictures of Bob and Aggro together. He restrained himself and sent only 5999 of the pictures to Milo and Sweetheart. When Aggro returned home, he was so happy to be back on his territory and to reunite with his humans. Milo was shocked to find a pack of those expensive treats tucked away in Aggro’s carrier. A farewell gift from Bob.
#redacted asmr#redactedverse#redacted headcanons#redacted aggro#redacted bob#william solaire#redacted william#redacted milo#milo greer#redacted sweetheart
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