#the dionaea house
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Link to The Dionaea House and the dollthing.jpg image below (it's kinda unsettling visually)
The Dionaea House
dollthing.jpg
#the dionaea house#dollthing.jpg#creepy pic#internet horror#poll#bracket#tumblr bracket#creepypasta#creepy pasta
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Donate to Palestine Children’s Relief Fund: https://www.pcrf.net/
The Door Is Open—come on in! This club meeting Jonah and Wednesday discuss the Dionaea House.
The Window Is Open—yours! Now type in https://jawscast.neocities.org/ to visit our website.
If you have a small horror or web fiction project you want in the spotlight, email us! Send your name, pronouns and project to [email protected].
Music Credits: https://patriciataxxon.bandcamp.com/
The Story: https://web.archive.org/web/20041030020221/http://www.dionaea-house.com/default.htm
Our Tumblr: https://creepypastabookclub.tumblr.com/
Our Twitter: https://twitter.com/CreepypastaBC
Featuring Hosts:
Jonah (he/they) (https://withswords.tumblr.com/)
Wednesday (they/them) (https://www.instagram.com/xx_wormsday_xx/)
Works Cited:
The Amityville Cute Farting Cat: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt24200384/
Mama Lynn Saga: https://www.reddit.com/r/lgbt/comments/htulpj/my_son_came_out_need_advice/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share , https://www.reddit.com/r/lgbt/comments/hussai/hay_yall_mama_lynn_update/
Smiling and Sitting #5: https://www.youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=tmrXakd_r6I
A Burglar’s Guide to the City: -https://withswords.tumblr.com/post/746442663844249600/if-the-doors-locked-try-the-wall, https://burglarsguide.com/
Further Reading:
Caffarello, Vincent; Jennings, Evan; Koyal, Jeffrey; “EverymanHybrid”, https://www.youtube.com/user/everymanhybrid
Chiang, Ted; Heisserer, Eric; Villeneuve, Denis, “Arrival”, https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2543164/
Danielewski, Mark Z, “House of Leaves” https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/24800
Ferrante, Anthony C; Frasco, Jay; Lando, Jeffery Scott; “House of Bones”, https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1334536/
Heisserer, Eric; Sandberg, David F; Wan, James; et al, “Lights Out”, https://www.imdb.com/title/tt4786282/
Horrorshow, Kitty; “Anatomy”, https://kittyhorrorshow.itch.io/anatomy
Kelberman, Dina; Rackleff, Robby; Resnick, Alan; “This House has People In It”, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-pj8OtyO2I
Miles, Terry; Silver, Nic; “Tanis” http://tanispodcast.com/
Newall, Alexander J.; Sims, Jonathan; “The Magnus Archives” https://rustyquill.com/show/the-magnus-archives/
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reading the most iconic creepypastas for the very first time and reviewing them (part 1)
surprisingly, i never went through a creepypasta phase when i was younger.
so now, in the year of our lord 2022, i decided to finally deep dive into this world and share my thoughts on them.
shall we begin?
(note: i read all of them through here!)
who was phone?: ...?/10. you guys should've seen my reaction when i read this and later found out it's the first creepypasta (trollpasta?) to ever exist. what the actual fuck. this is hysterical.
white with red: 6/10. pretty okay, i guess. way too simple, though.
he who should really not be named (candlejack): 4/10. diversity win! the demonic spirit who will gouge your eyes out is non-binary!
polybius: 7/10. kinda generic, but still a fun read.
the dionaea house: 9/10. i don't know what i was expecting when i started reading this, but THAT surely wasn't it. holy fucking shit, that was good!
the portraits (a.k.a. the cabin in the woods): 1/10. meh.
the rake: 6/10. not bad, but it felt a little incomplete.
candle cove: 7/10. shout out to horror stories that involve childhood nostalgia, gotta be one of my favorite genders.
1999: 8/10. same as last one.
gateway of the mind: 5/10. hm, could've been better.
slenderman: 7/10. ohohoho okay, NOW we're getting to the fandom territory. NOW we're getting to the actual juicy stuff. we're off to a good start!
smile dog: 8/10. honestly, if i were in mary e.'s shoes, giving the diskette to literally anyone else would be my immediate reaction 🙃
dead bart: 7/10. ah. the first ever "cartoon lost episode" creepypasta, i assume. and it even features the whole 'simpsons predictions' thing. sweet.
suicidemouse.avi: 7/10. ok, so i've actually seen the video for this when i was a kid. i didn't know it was based on a creepypasta! huh.
the statue: 0/10. bruh, whoever wrote this one wasn't even trying 💀
licking: 0/10. this one doesn't even make sense wtf
squidward's suicide: 8/10. another one i've already seen when i was younger. it aged pretty decently imo.
the theater: 3/10. "swirly head man" sounds like a villain's name from a pbs kids show lol
mr. widemouth: 9/10. this one was actually pretty enjoyable! why isn't it more famous??
herobrine: 6/10. okay so, here's the thing: i was never interested in minecraft. never played it, probably never will. but i had a childhood friend who was OBSESSED with it and every now and then i would hear him saying "herobrine". i just assumed it was like a really important item you can get in the game or, idk, something along those lines. it wasn't until last year that i found out it's a fucking creepypasta character 😭
#creepypasta#creepypastas#who was phone#white with red#he who should really not be named (candlejack)#polybius#the dionaea house#the portraits (a.k.a. the cabin in the woods)#the rake#candle cove#1999 creepypasta#gateway of the mind#slenderman#smile dog#dead bart#suicidemouse.avi#squidward's suicide#the theater creepypasta#mr widemouth#herobrine
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@sunsetcowboy
sorry if you get my ask also but sometimes they don’t send for me when I try to include a link
anyway
I was obsessed with this when I was younger and it’s not a movie or game, just like, a series of websites!! and it’s very scary. or at least it was to me.
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I think "the house is actually alive and will eat you, in one form or another" is peak fiction, baby.
#feel free to name your favorite kind of this in the comments or tags#hot take#horror#really big buildings#house of leaves#dionaea house#ANATOMY
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I'm really into fucked up spooky houses (think myhouse.wad) and would absolutely love to live in one. unfortunately for me, however, I have a very very good ability to sense when something is Wrong and Off and a very strong self-preservation instinct so if I ever did come into contact with a fucked up spooky house I'd leave immediately and get as far away as humanly possible before i could override my instinct and explore. I'll survive any horror scenario but at the cost of living a lief devoid of my one true love: really weird fucked up houses.
#i love you my house.wad i love you flesh blood and concrete i love you dionaea house#i have heard good things about you house of leaves but have a hard time reading books#8800 blue lick rd is not included as it is not spooky it's just deeply strange#it does have a place in my heart tho <3
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YEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH
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Venus flytrap
This plant is known as Venus flytrap and it's scientific name is "Dionaea muscipula". They are perennial plants, which means they bloom year after year, and ... they are a carnivorous plant.
As photosynthetic plants, Venus flytraps do not rely on carnivory for energy but rather use the nitrogen rich animal proteins to enable their survival in minimal soil conditions as they are native to moist, mossy, damp and acidic soil that may be poor such as bogs in nutrients in North and South Carolina.
The Venus flytrap is one of a very small group of plants capable of rapid movement, the trap is made of two hinged lobes at the end of each leaf. On the inner surfaces of the lobes are hair-like projections that cause the lobes to snap shut when prey comes in contact with them.
Venus was the the Roman goddess of love, which is fitting for this plant as they use sweet nectar to acttract their prey. Once inside, ussually an insect will eat the nectar and in it's way touch one of the 6 hairs inside the traps.
That movement electro-stimulates the plant letting it know it is time for lunch. The insect has a time bomb of 20 seconds under it's feet, if it touchs another hair within that time, the trap snaps shut in half a second, making sure the prey does not escape by interlocking the small bristles around the edges of the trap. If nothing happens in those 20 seconds, then the prey is safe and free to leave, this mechanism allows the plant to avoid wasting energy if prey isn't actually there.
The theory is that the movement of an desperate prey inside the trap will stimulate the plant to produce enzymes and turning the inside of the trap more acidic to disolve the prey and then absorve it's nutrients. What matters is that in the end all that is left is the husk of the prey.
The Venus flytrap is a small plant whose structure can be described as a rosette of four to seven leaves, which arise from a short subterranean stem that is actually a bulb-like object. Each stem reaches a maximum size of about three to ten centimeters, depending on the time of year, longer leaves with robust traps are usually formed after flowering. Flytraps that have more than seven leaves are colonies formed by rosettes that have divided beneath the ground.
Carnivorous plants tend to keep their flowers as far away from their traps as possible, the growth feature makes sure that the plants don’t trap pollinators but only crawling insects or non-pollinating flying insects.
Thank you for reading.
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as is custom, 6 of my spooooookiest and creeeeeepiest tabletop games are 50% off on itchio until midnight on nov 1st! grab yourself one or all of the following!
alone with the killer - solo journaling game about being the final survivor in a slasher film, with three different possible ending tracks (hunted, hunter, and trapped)
alone with the fucked up guy - solo journaling game about being the protagonist of a found media horror series a la marble hornets. comes with a bonus game where you play as the fucked up guy instead
banquo at the feast - mafia/werewolf-like where one person plays a ghost, and everyone else is complicit in their murder and trying not to get executed for it
house - house of leaves/dionaea house inspired haunted house mapmaking game that is also a short horror story
you can check out any time you like - firebrands hack where you play out the lives of the guests, staff, and supernatural anomalies living in a sentient hotel outside of space and time
such a lovely place - dlc pack for you can check out any time you like with more hotel locations to visit and minigames to play
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Creepypasta: The Dionaea House (2004-2006)
I wanted to post a few of my favorite creepypasta/Weird Internet Fiction stories this month, so of course one of the first I looked up was "The Dionaea House." Dated somewhere back around 2004-2006, it's one of the earliest entries in the genre; I’m not sure how many people know about it now, but Back in the Day, it was one of the creepypasta classics. Then, while researching all this, I discovered to my utter astonishment that it was written by Eric Heisserer—who wrote the Oscar-nominated screenplay for Arrival and is currently best known here, I'd bet, as the show runner of Netflix’s Shadow and Bone.
Years ago, the story was at dionaea-house.com (now offline), and it was the kind of thing you'd stumble across somehow—maybe on a friend's recommendation, maybe from a forum discussion—and then lose yourself in for a whole afternoon. It starts out as the story of a fictionalized Eric posting the emails of an old buddy, Mark, who's trying to figure out why their friend Drew... snapped. And "Eric" is posting these emails because Mark now has disappeared. And before too long... someone else has to pick up the story. Because it turns out that, at the heart of the mystery, there is a house, and going to that house is a mistake. I would describe it a little like House of Leaves, except also smelling like cake, and projecting out to multiple locations rather than pulling you into one infinite labyrinth. Also, a shit ton easier to read.
Relatively speaking, at least. "The Dionaea House" started out as “emails” posted on a blog at that original URL [unofficial mirror], then spun out into a Blogspot, an AIM chat, two separate Livejournals, and multiple commenters interacting on them. Some of them seem to be strangers walking in off the street, as it were, but the trick is, we don’t know which commenters are part of the story, which gives the “flesh puppet” comments, for example, a weird jolt of realism:
(I would like to think “TELL THE HOUSE TO FUCK OFF” is one of the in-story commenters, honestly; I like to think this is who I’d be in a horror story.)
So while "The Dionaea House" doesn't have the single-minded realism of "Ted the Caver," the blog-and-comment format—a found document subgenre for the 21st century—also allows for multiple perspectives. (I’ve lost count of the number of protagonists the house consumes, but it’s at least three, maybe four.) Tumblr is currently in year two of the Dracula Daily read-along, and I’ve always argued that Dracula was a techno-thriller for the nineteenth century: correspondence, newspaper articles, diaries, and even audio journaling on a phonograph. Emails, blogs, chats, phone messages, comments, and an article about the murder-suicide that starts the story—“The Dionaea House” is pretty much in the same multi-perspective, multimedia genre. Unlike Stoker’s bound novel, however, “The Dionaea House” wanders the physical space of the internet, and it trusts that either you'll see that the story has a new branch, or you won't, and that's okay.
In fact, I'm not sure if Eric Heisserer didn't know how to bring the story to a conclusion, or he got busy and couldn't keep going—or maybe there is an ending and I just never found it. (The Loreen Mathers blog doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me and seems like one giant loose end, although the mention of engineer-occultist Jack Parsons adds a new dimension at the last minute.) But as with "Ted the Caver," the lack of a concrete ending makes sense for a shaggy dog story like this, as frustrating as it might be. Maybe Loreen got got, just like everyone else! Isn’t “disappearing before explaining what the hell she’s talking about” exactly what that would look like? We don’t know! If there's a scary house and you manage to burn it down to the ground in a complex denouement, that's a story. If there's a scary house out there, somewhere, and we'll never know how it came to be or what happened to the people who tried to take it on—that's a creepypasta. That’s a legend.
#creepypasta#internet fiction#first look on patreon#horror#spooky season#halloween everyday#long post
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just read dionaea house. what do you mean theres been a internet horror story about a house that manipulates and eats people thats described via a venus fly trap metaphor this whole time and ive never read it until now
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Links under the cut
The Dionaea House
SCP Foundation
#internet horror#poll#bracket#tumblr bracket#creepy pasta#creepypasta#scp#scp foundation#the house of dionaea#the dionaea house
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Have there been elevated reports of Dionaea House activity in the eastern US lately? My buddy just got a new place for cheaper than he expected and he's racked up half the symptoms - strange temperature variations, inability to be noticed while inside, mild corridor lengthening. Typical early stage.
Synchronicity - a report about Dionaea Houses came across my desk just the other day. I hadn't gotten to it, but now I think I will. The abstract does say that reports are increasing, something about the consequence of cracking down on their natural predators.
I'd get him out of there before you start smelling sugar. If you go to any home inspector in the country and tell them the house is "a little toothy" at least one person there should know what it means and bring it to us.
#office for the preservation of normalcy#ask#advice#ooc: answering this one out of order because wow what a great pull anon
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The Side Effect of Building a Villain - Fem!Reader x Dabi
summary: your life has always been marked by tragedies, but the arrival of that boy with sad eyes and blue flames in your life is perhaps the greatest of all.
warnings: AFAB!reader (she/her pronouns) - past trauma - mentions of rape - abusive behavior - extremely toxic relationship - misogyny - Dabi can be a piece of shit, he's really bad at feelings - not happy ending - murder - murder mentions - Dabi is not a yandere, but he is just as toxic - mentions of child abuse - corruption kink - they are late teen friends, but the beach scene happens when they are adults
a/n: this is my first time writing for Dabi, and it's also my first time posting something darker than I usually do. I don't know if Dabi here is fitted as yandere, but I'll tag it like this just in case. and the timeline may not be faithful to the manga. Comments and reblogs are very appreciated!
When you were a teenager, even though you had no idea if you were 14 or 17, you had a memory gap. It was a gap that, no matter how hard you tried, you wouldn't be able to fill with memories of what really happened. Your age didn't matter. You didn't know, to be honest. The woman who gave birth to you and threw you out on the streets never taught you to read, write or do math, nor the day of your birthday you had the right to know. The only thing you had was a plant name, which you suspected was just a grotesque alias your mother gave you: Dioneia. You confirmed this when you heard on a program about caring for carnivorous plants by the loud sound of the television coming from a house you were sheltering on the porch – right after being kicked like a dog by the owner. The full name was: Dionaea Muscipula. And at that moment you knew that that wasn't your real name, it was just another remnant of your mother's evil, who always said that if you wanted to stay alive, you would have to hunt insects to feed, because she wouldn't use the her hard-earned money to support a good-for-nothing who wasn't even good for cleaning the bathroom.
Tired of the abuse, you wanted to leave that house. Tired of you, she kicked you out. Now you were free and you had a whole world to explore and all the houses to live in. You didn't have any owner, you didn't have money, you didn't belong, but you could park anywhere you wanted. The authorities could put you inside an orphanage, but you would know how to escape. Daughter of the streets, connoisseur of all kinds of trickery – or so you fantasized about before going to sleep – you would make your name as a rambunctious pickpocket that escaped the hands of your captors and found its way back to your street girl lifestyle.
You didn't know how long you lived alone on street corners, scavenging for food or occasionally getting a fresh sandwich from someone with a good heart who still had the humanity inside to reach out to a hungry child. But that was rare, you didn't cling to the hope of being rescued and welcomed. Your stomach hurt and you couldn't see anything but helplessness and the need to wait for another restaurant to close before finally going through the garbage in search of leftovers.
The loneliness lasted for about three years – you counted seeing fireworks bursting at the turn of each year – until you found a boy about your age, in the same situation as you. And on that day, you already had such a gap in your memory, but it didn't matter, looking deep into those cyan blue eyes, wide and sad, you recognized in him everything that was in you. You were equals and from then on you would walk the same path and unite for the same goal: to survive until the next sunrise.
“My name is Dio,” you told him. You found it difficult to pronounce Dionaea, so you abbreviated it to make life easier for you and your grumpy new friend.
"I didn't ask," he muttered irritably, turning over and trying to go back to sleep.
“You laid on my bed, so we'd better be friends. I don't like sleeping with someone I don't know the name of,” your words didn't have a double meaning, but you saw his white brow arch.
“The street is public, and this alley here has no owner. Make yourself another bed.” He arranged the huge piece of cardboard over the body and closed his eyes. And you haven't stopped talking.
Not even for a minute. You talked so much, hours of monologues, that he got used to you and even lifted his head to see if you were asleep or gone when you were silent for a few minutes.
“My name is Touya, but if you call me by it around someone, I burn you alive,” he finally opened a space for you to enter his life, even if it was followed by a threat, while a blue flame – perhaps the most beautiful and dangerous thing you had ever seen in your life –, slipped through his scrawny and dirty fingers.
“Then how can I call you…?” You cocked your head to the side, confused, and the boy compared you to a curious puppy. It was cute, somehow.
"...Dabi."
D+D, you would be from then on. Dabi for Dio, Dio for Dabi. You liked how it sounded, it was the first time you felt affection and became attached to someone. And he would give you attention and even a little affection, in his own way, of course. Without being too open, with sarcastic comments. Several curses escaped, but deep down, really deep down, with a zeal he didn't think he'd feel for anyone, he looked out for you. In a very weird way, he took care of you and protected you. Maybe it was the leftover older brother role he had – which you didn't know about and he didn't mean to tell you –, but he didn't want to be your brother. He was in puberty, and you were attractive. Beautiful in your own way and you had a developed body, so there was no danger of him feeling any brotherly feelings for you. It was carnal.
But he still had the childish thoughts ingrained, and it wasn't like he was going to be able to ask you to fuck him either. You seemed too silly and oblivious to such matters. When he made a double-entendre joke, you asked him what he meant and he ended up embarrassing himself, gaining a rosy color in his pale face and the weight of shyness falling on his head.
Maybe you saw him as a brother. He hated to think about it. The subject of family was something he wanted to keep as far away as possible.
“Dabi, do you want to get married?” You asked this out of the blue, one night when you were looking at the starry sky, lying on the floor of the terrace of an abandoned building, after you eluded the police.
“No,” he replied immediately.
"I want to."
"Hm."
“If you change your mind, we can get married.” Your tongue was faster than your brain, but you didn't have time to hide your embarrassed face, because his words made you a little uncomfortable and sad.
“I don't want to marry you. You have no quirk, and that would only give me trouble. Besides, you're terrible at stealing food. I don't know how you survived for so long being so useless."
He didn't sound offensive, his voice was soft like melted butter, and not even sarcastic, but it reminded you of your mother always telling you that you were an embarrassment to her; a stain on her heroin career.
You stayed quiet and didn't say anything else for the rest of the night. Dabi knew he crossed the line, but he didn't find a way to apologize to you. He had been honest, after all. It would be better for him to remain sincere than to plant a barren seed in soil as fertile as yours.
But even so, he wanted to please you, pulling you close to him when the night began to cool and you shivered in the cold and caressed your hair as he watched your chest rise and fall in a calm rhythm.
*
You no longer ate food you found in the trash at restaurants. Dabi didn't accept your lifestyle, he didn't want to rummage through trash cans with you. He was smarter and gave zero fucks about ethics or morals.
It was from him that you learned – or so you thought –, to steal. He learned to break down doors and be silent, so you followed in his footsteps. From then on, it was rare that you saw yourself almost starving to death. When you didn't want to go, for fear of taking a chance and getting him into trouble for your uselessness, he'd bring enough food for the two of you. Sometimes he brought more than food, he brought warm clothes and a blanket to keep you warm on cold nights and keep you from sticking to him like a tick looking for warmth, in addition to perfumes, body lotions and some jewelry that you liked to wear.
But then you got used to it. You no longer cared about anything anymore and you didn't even feel sorry for the people you robbed. It was usually the ones who looked at you with disgust, and shooed you away as if you were a contagious disease. Dabi would chase them around until he found out where they lived, and then when they weren't home you both would break in, taking long bathes and leaving behind nothing but empty packaging and a mess for the unfortunates to clean up and curtains scorched with Dabi's flames, like a clear reminder that you would bother as much as necessary if it guaranteed your survival.
The days slipped by in the alleys of your lives, the maturity of the years passing by starting to knock on the door, your needs also changed. Dabi's went down more carnal paths. Sometimes he would disappear for a night or days and he would come back with healthy skin marked by hickeys and lipstick on the collar of his shirt. You knew what he did, but you didn't question it. Deep inside, you were bothered and couldn't contain the jealousy, but you tied it to a fear that he'd meet someone, marry and leave you behind, because the same need didn’t overtake you. You had a block when you thought about someone touching you. It was a disgust that seemed to have been born along with you. The thought of doing something so dirty made you want to take a two-hour shower and scrub yourself raw.
Dabi knew this. You always ran away when he pressed you into a wall after a mood was formed. He felt rejected, but he tried to think you were a virgin and for that reason you were afraid.
He would be kind, he thought. That's why he was always looking for random women, he wanted to gain a good amount of experience so he would be able to know exactly how and where to touch you to give you as much pleasure as possible. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't help but put you on a pedestal that no one else would ever be.
“Dio, are we going to the beach? I brought you a bikini,” once, on a scorching summer day, he invited you over.
“Dabi… your hair!”
"What’s the problem?"
“It's black!”
"Yea, I dyed it. White makes me look grandpa,” he replied, ruffling his black locks, revealing a little dye-stained forehead skin.
It was a blatant lie, but you would never ask the real reason for it. And you really liked his new look. Black contrasted with his healthy, pale skin and accentuated his eyes color, giving him a mysterious air, which was nothing like the almost ghostly appearance he had in the first few days he came into your life. And also new metallic clamps were being stuck in his skin. You knew he was severely injured every time he used his quirk, but he never let you take care of the burns. He got angry every time you felt sorry for his state.
So you learned to be smarter and better fit your own lifestyle and within your limitations of not having a quirk. You didn't want to be a burden in his life or be the reason for new burns to spread through his already fragile body.
“Where did you get that bikini? It's new?" You picked up the pieces and felt your face heat up. Did he really want you to wear that? That piece of fabric wouldn't cover you properly.
“I was passing by a store and I saw it in the showcase. I went in there, as no one was behind the counter, I took it and left,” he shrugged.
“And what are you going to wear?”
"That outfit." He pointed to what he was wearing.
"What do you mean? It's hot, you'll be roasted to death in that sweatshirt." You arched your brow, trying not to feel too affected by his new hair color.
He was attractive in every way, but if white hair made him a very handsome guy, black hair made him hot as hell and it was waking up in you something you'd never experienced. You felt like clinging to his body and feeling his hands on your waist or other more intimate parts. But you soon tried to push those thoughts away when your old revulsion for sex kicked in.
"I'm wearing a shirt underneath," was his reply. "I brought money too. We can rent a cheap hotel room for a few days, and let's find a shower for us to bathe in. Today we're going to profit, doll. This season is great for tourists with a full bank account and a full wallet of notes."
He said in an almost contagious mood, but all you could think about was how embarrassed you were to wear such a tiny bikini.
When you left the unhealthy hotel that Dabi checked into for three days and two nights, even showered with a squirt of perfume, you walked down the street as if you two weren't a remnant of decadent and unequal society.
Whoever Dabi stole or scammed from, the money was enough to get you a safe shelter and decent food for half a week. Which was already a very good thing.
You were trying to hide your body with your hands, and Dabi didn't seem at all bothered by your discomfort. On the contrary, every now and then he would arrange a favorable situation to position himself behind you, put his arms around your waist and make you cling to him, feeling all the high temperature of his body. Also something hard against the back of your body.
"Dabi... There are people looking..." you despaired with people's censorious looks. But it wasn't like he cared. He was getting too furious with so many covetous looks at you. Yes, you were a hot little thing that would make even the oldest dick harden, but you were his hot little thing.
"Let them look, doll," he replied, his voice husky right next to your ear, making you feel his quickening breath.
When he finally pulled away from you, letting you walk a little ahead of him just to get a good look at your perfect ass that was barely covered by your bikini bottoms, his attention was diverted to a group of rich girls chatting away audibly at the beach kiosk, but soon returned to the sand where there were many people resting under umbrellas or cooling off in the sea water.
The sun that burned the skin devoid of any sun protection and that would hurt when bathing was the same that tanned the skin of those rich people, while they were distracted from their valuables. There were some lost children there, who with the most trained eye, you recognized that they were just like you. The rich people didn't seem to be bothered by the presence of these sad-looking children who lacked affection or something nutritious to eat. They didn't seem to believe that their privilege could be tied to the existence of this kind of problem that plagued the fetid world that they insisted was beautiful, colorful and joyful.
Ignoring all that, with your attention in the same direction, you would know exactly what to do. Dabi had taught you.
Sneaky as felines, creating some situation to distract people, you ran your hands through the open bags and pulled out your wallets, jewelry or anything of value and walked away as if nothing had happened.
Dabi stuffed everything into a black bag he had taken with him and you immediately looked for possible victims. You didn't go to the beach as tourists or vacationers, you went on business. And before the sun went down, you were in your hotel room again, counting your profits.
You finally had enough money to eat well for a few days and buy nice clothes and sunscreen – for you –, Dabi thought the sun was less toxic than his flames, and he didn't believe it would improve his burns either.
Your financial education was scarce, not to mention non-existent, because this was a subject reserved only for those who were born for money, and not for two starving youngsters dazzled by the big bills that would not take long to disappear from your hands like smoke. The next day, bags full of useless things would weigh on fragile arms full of scars from the daily struggles for survival.
Although Dabi always thought it was good to save a little money, he also knew it was risky and you didn't have any security. The days were uncertain, one day you were alive, but the next day everything could fall apart and you wouldn't even have the right to see the moon rise in the sky. So he too agreed to live in the present, without clinging to the future.
You were still wearing your bikini and feeling the sweat sticking to your skin when Dabi put a pure gold choker around your neck, in front of the stained mirror in the room you were staying in.
"You were born to be covered in gold, princess," he murmured against you, as his arms closed around your waist again.
Seeing his face in the reflection, the purplish burning skin against your healthy one, you wanted to caress and ask if it hurt, but you wouldn't. And there was no mood either. Because in the atmosphere there was only room for his hungry countenance as he tightened his grip and clung closer to you. Still looking in the mirror, you could only see the clump of his black hair on the curve of his neck and feel the contrast of the soft lip and the other hardened by scars and metal clamps against your sensitive skin. You felt like he was sucking, possibly trying to leave a bruise there. His heart raced faster as his arms eased the grip, but only to start exploring your body with his hands.
"You will be mine tonight." It wasn't a request, it was an observation. "You have no idea how much I want you. How hard I want to fuck you," and you felt one hand going to your breast and squeezing it hard and the other going down your belly and finding your entrance over the fabric.
Involuntarily, you spread your legs and leaned your head back onto his shoulder.
Before he could do anything else, he turned you to face him and kissed you. It was an urgent kiss, his tongue entering your mouth and tangling with yours. It tasted like the orange juice he bought for you to drink before heading back to the hotel. When he bit your lip hard, you didn't know if it was on purpose, but you didn't have time to complain, because he soon went back to sticking his tongue in your mouth and fishing yours to catch between his lips and suck. That ended up making you moan, earning him a loud, hard slap on your ass.
He was different from the subtle guy who always pulled away when you showed the slightest bit of discomfort. It seemed like at that moment he wouldn't stop even if you asked him to.
Without realizing it, you were lying on your back on the bed, on top of the bills and valuables you stole, with him on top of you, not stopping to move for a second.
He was restless and relentless. Sometimes he would caress your intimacy over the fabric and kisses down to your covered breasts, sometimes he would hold your neck with his hand and make you look into his eyes. The blues that used to be crystalline now looked darkened by lust and something else you couldn't identify.
"Are you going to be good to me? Are you going to let me fuck you like a little slut like you deserve to be fucked?" he asked, his hand still around your throat, making you feel the choker chain sink into your skin.
But you felt something fill that empty space in your memory. The words. You had heard it before and your body tensed in agony. It wasn't a good thing.
"Dabi..."
"That's it. You're gonna say that when I've got my dick shoved into that virgin pussy of yours, and you're gonna squeeze me until I cum, got it? You won't stop squeezing me until you're full of my cum." He cracked a malicious smile.
One more drop of remembrance filling the gap.
Virgin. You weren't a virgin.
"Please..."
"Already begging? What a bitch you are, huh? I always knew you were a cocksleeve."
And with an inordinate force, you felt the bottom of your bikini being ripped from you and then your whole body shuddered in terror.
"Stop..." you muttered, feeling panic wash over you.
Now you remembered everything. Dabi was no longer Dabi. The guy on top of you, violently undressing you and forcing your legs apart was one of the fake good humans that came into your life. He offered you food and a shelt at his place, but in the middle of the night he took the price. Your virginity. You remember the terror you felt, the pain of that disgusting member painfully entering you, his dirty words in your ear, his hand on your neck. Everything.
And you were back in your nightmare, dreaming of having the gap in your memory again.
When you woke up, Dabi was scared and shaking you to bring you back to consciousness.
"Dio! Dio! What happened? Why are you crying like that?"
He was trying to hold your flailing arms and legs and in the frantic struggle, your bikini top slipped to the side leaving your tits out. You were naked. But Dabi no longer saw you with desire. He wanted to calm you down.
And then little by little you came back to reality, into the turquoise eyes of that boy who meant everything to you. You were safe. He wasn't that monster. It was him, your Dabi.
You told him everything without hiding a single detail. He listened in silence and you could have sworn you saw smoke escaping from his pores, the temperature of the room rising was just evidence of his quirk activating without him noticing.
"Who is he?"
"I don't know his name."
"Tell me how he is," wasn't a request, it was an explicit order.
"I don't remember well. It's been so many years."
"Tell me what you remember. Anything."
"He had a bakery down the block from that first alley we shared. It was the only bakery."
Dabi bared his teeth, angrily.
"That worm is dead."
You widened your eyes, too scared to see a side of Dabi you'd never seen before.
"What will you do...?"
"You still ask? Are you stupid by any chance?" He glared at you, eyes gleaming like ice against the streetlights.
"Dabi..."
"Stop talking, girl. Go take a shower and put on some decent clothes."
You didn't understand why he was so angry with you, but the guilt hit you for having ruined the mood. You even tried to kiss him, but he rudely pushed you away.
Sad and confused, you grabbed a shabby, faded outfit and went to take a shower. Stinging from the sunburn and the bruises Dabi left on your skin, you felt the tears pricking your eyes. With the weight of having back the memory that your brain blocked to defend you, you allowed yourself to cry.
Only after you had no more tears did you turn off the shower, dry yourself on the towel, put on your clothes and leave the bathroom.
Dabi wasn't there anymore and some money bills disappeared too. In fact, he left enough for you to pay for the rest of your hotel stay.
Thinking you had been abandoned, you were surprised to see Dabi walking through the door after a whole day and night gone. He looked less irritated and was smelling of alcohol and some feminine perfume. You knew he had gone somewhere looking for sex. You didn't blame him, but you felt your heart ache.
"Pack things up, we're going somewhere else."
You didn't question, you just accepted.
The other place was a roadside hotel. You could feel your legs burning from the long walk you two had taken, that when you got there, you just wanted to get into a tub full of brine.
You tried to bring it up with Dabi, but he was gruff. You didn't understand what his fucking problem was, but he wasn't willing to tell you. That one wasn't the same Dabi as always, he looked like a different person.
After you'd showered and had new, clean clothes that you'd managed to convince Dabi to let you buy, you tried to strike up another conversation. No success again.
And so it went for the next few days and weeks too.
You were limited to quick conversations, it was usually something he demanded you do, and he swore at you when you refused.
Fights took the place of conversations. It wasn't quite physical, but he punched the wall every time you did something he didn't like. With his mood inflamed, you saw your sweet Dabi consumed by the fury of his flames, literally and figuratively.
His burns got worse every day, as if he had used the quirk too much, and you were starting to despair. But respecting him, you didn't say anything. And if he did, you knew he could escalate the verbal abuse into something more violent. You didn't have the power to fight him, so you just curled up in a corner and cried silently, while your stomach ached with hunger again.
Another thing that had changed: he didn't bring you food anymore. If you wanted to eat, you had to steal on your own or dig around in the garbage, like the useless being you've always been.
Putting into practice what he taught you, you even managed to pick up some food at convenience stores, but soon someone noticed you and chased you. Many times, after being caught, you suffered some physical violence and with that bruises were accumulating all over your body.
How did Dabi manage to slip by unnoticed? How could you be sneaky when you were with him? Did not you know. Maybe it was the confidence coming from him that made you feel brave. Now that he was away, you felt like you had lost the ability to be a thief. And you had lost the only person who filled your days with a warm feeling like love.
But it wasn't love. Of that you were sure, it was something more carnal, more mundane. On his side, at least. You figured he only saw you as someone he wanted to fuck and when he couldn't, he dumped you. And what was bad got worse when you wanted to give him a blowjob, to calm him down and make him go back to his old Dabi a little, but it was a disaster. You had never done it, so in addition to almost throwing up from the weird taste and not holding it in your mouth, in the back of your throat, you bit it, which made him upset.
It was no use apologizing, he looked into your eyes and said he felt sorry for the guy who wanted to marry you.
Emotional dependence was an unfamiliar term for you. You didn't have access to psychological support services, you lived on the streets, so no one would come to talk to you and explain that what you felt for Dabi was just the result of dependency. You needed him like he was the air you breathed, and oblivious to that, ignorant of how harmful it was, you still insisted on wanting him back in your life. You held on to the happy days with him, even if they were dark for the way you lived. You wanted to see home in his eyes again, even if in his life, there was never room for you.
When you finally started to understand this and backed away when he approached, he went back to reacting and being friendly, bringing you food and some clothes, even sunscreen. Saying he was just angry about what you'd been through and frustrated that you couldn't find the bastard who hurt you. You wanted to believe him, but you couldn't. Not when he showed up with three nose piercings and didn't make a point of hiding lipstick stains on his shirt, did you know he was just keeping his dick wet somewhere while you cried in the corners and got beat up by someone who came after you to force you to return the shit you stole.
But it was okay. Everything was back to normal, you thought. Dabi actually kept his demeanor tame for about three weeks, but you would have thought the lull was just the prelude to the dense cloud that hovered in the air and you ignored heralded a storm.
When lightning and thunder cut through the sky of your shitty life, you felt like something inside you died. Luckily, the love for Dabi and the addiction died together.
It was in one of the persecutions you suffered that everything went wrong. You had messed with some bad guys and they weren't going to limit themselves to cursing you and slapping you three times in the face. Your life was at risk.
Cornered, they approached you with devilish features, drooling like filthy pigs.
“She's a cutie, isn't she? Maybe we can get something much better than what she took from us…”
And everyone agreed with him. Exhausted from running, too tired to beg for mercy, you saw your life flash before your eyes. And when one of them took you by the arm, a shrill scream cut through the silence of the night, making you open your eyes and see blue flames engulfing one of the guys and, one after the other, they were all packed with the same flames, until there was nothing left but smoldering bodies on the floor.
Behind the cloud of smoke, a smoking Dabi stopped next to you. The icy eyes contrasted with the high temperature of his body. You could smell the roasted meat of both the executioners and him.
Tranced by the grotesque scene, a little dumbfounded by it all and also worried about Dabi's severe burns, you held his arm and felt a small flame lick your hand, making you recoil and scream in pain.
“You really are the dumbest bitch I've ever met,” he growled, watching you whimper in pain.
"Why did you do that? Your body can't take it when you use your quirk like that..."
The regret of having touched on a sensitive topic came at the same time you felt yourself pressed against the damp, musty wall, his hand boiling around your neck.
"Are you reminding me that I'm a failure?" He spat the words out sharply, approaching you dangerously. “Did you really mean that?”
"I… can't… breathe…" you felt tears starting to pool in your eyes, both from the tightness and the high temperature coming from him, as you held his arms trying to get him to let go.
You knew you'd be left with a burn scar there if you survived.
“Actually, you're really stupid. You are the useless one. A little bitch who can't even steal without getting into trouble and doesn't even have the quirk to escape a rapist. The fault is yours. Or did you not defend yourself from your alleged rape because you enjoyed being fucked by that rat?”
After those words, your physical pain was the least you felt. You let your arms drop to your sides.
And he seemed to realize the big shit he'd said without thinking, seconds later. Filled with rage, he really had fucked up. The same minute you looked at him with genuine disgust, he let go of you. Taking three steps back involuntarily, he turned and walked away.
He didn't apologize, he preferred to get away from you once and for all. He knew you were his weakness, and the lifestyle he was about to acquire had no room for angels like you. And in his heart there was only room for hate and revenge and not such contrasting feelings as you insisted on trying to fill.
*
After the incident in the alley, you only heard from Dabi, who you didn't know was really related to him, on a winter day when they found the body of the bakery owner. Murdered with refinements of cruelty with a bladed weapon, and with the words written on his stomach and near his torn groin: “rapist and pedophile”, by the tip of the same instrument used to take his life.
You didn't care if he did the murder himself. On that day, you were preparing to die of malnutrition and hypothermia on the street, when an angel appeared in your life. A real angel, good by heart, generous and kind. He rescued you, gave you a room to live in and a job at a hero agency. You had no quirk, but you could clean the place in exchange for a reasonable salary that could buy you everything you needed. No luxuries, but it kept you warm on cold days and no longer forced you to sleep so you wouldn't feel your stomach hurt from hunger.
Dabi was really gone, but not for long. Coming out of the shadows of marginalized life and the invisibility of the dangerous and dirty streets, you heard about him on the news. He was darker and his black hair more opaque, like he no longer washes like he used to when he was with you, but the eyes and the scars were his. It was him. The Dabi you knew, the one you saw crying, laughing and despairing, now sported a psychotic smile. A smile of someone who left most demons behind and decided to move on to exercise the one who forced him to go through so much shit at such a young age. A smile of someone who left behind a life he even considered comfortable next to a person he came to love, just to live for his greater purpose.
But now the crimes he committed became less and less forgivable. You doubted that there was even a shred of the good soul that still lingered in his adolescence, on the cold days when you huddled under marquees and dreamed of a better life.
But somehow you already expected it, you saw the way this villain was built. The process was slow and the biggest loser of it all was you.
Murder, kidnapping and a lot of other shit was what the reporter said as an image of him played all over the screen. Your stomach turned over remembering the day you killed him inside and wanted to throw up your dinner, but you held on and put on your headphones, turned up the music and went to clean the agency's service area. He was a ghost from the past. Dead ones should stay buried, though you remembered him every time you looked in the mirror and saw the burn scars on your neck, like a macabre finger necklace he'd given you the day you didn't want to know about him anymore.
When you finished cleaning everything, you heard all the glass in the place burst and the alarms go off deafeningly. Shit, you were alone there at night. You liked working late into the night while watching the news on TV in the lobby of the agency. You were a real fucking loser, why did they decide to attack an empty agency? You've even seen yourself in the news about a female employee being taken hostage by a villain who had issues with the hero owner. It was too ridiculous and you almost laughed when you saw the blue flames consuming the entire interior of that place.
You rolled your eyes. It couldn't be anyone else if not the villain of your life.
Knowing that now you would die, you remained in the service area. Hearing conversations among the group that invaded the place, you heard Dabi saying that it was useless to look for the fugitive, that maybe he had gone somewhere else, but the guy, who seemed to be the boss, told him to shut up and go look in each room and burn everything, including possible witnesses. Interestingly, he did.
Burning what he saw ahead, he finally entered where you were. You saw the moment his flames went out when his eyes met yours.
"Hi, doll. Did you know you look really hot in that janitor uniform?” There was no surprise in his eyes when he saw you.
"You messed up," your voice came out hoarse and low.
“What?” He arched an eyebrow.
"I just cleaned up there, and you messed up."
He didn't have to struggle to understand the real meaning of your words. Sighing, looking into your eyes and then looking down at the scar on your hand and neck, he looked back into your eyes, before saying:
“Run and don't look back. You haven't seen me here.”
Letting you get away with your life, despite the clear order to burn everything he saw, was Dabi's way of apologizing for all the emotional and physical marks he left on you.
Your body moved by itself. Maybe it was your survival instinct, but you found the fire escape with unnatural ease. When you gained the street and were out of danger, you saw huge blue and merciless flames consuming everything that represented your life change.
And by the same hands that once caressed your hair in your sleep, your life was ruined again.
#yandere dabi x reader#yandere bnha#x female reader#tw: yandere#yandere#tw: child abuse#tw: rape mention#tw: misogyny#tw: violence#tw: toxic relationships#yandere my hero academia#yandere boku no hero academia#bnha imagines#my hero academy imagines#yandere boku no hero
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My very late Valentine’s Gift: Obikin AU, Modern/College Setting, (does a bar still count as Coffee Shop AU-ish?) Bookish Lit professor Kenobi spends a lonely night out drinking Whiskey at a bar in New York City until Anakin, a Twink, comes around with a witty pickup line and changes everything.
“Another round for us!”, Vos shouted, one arm raised, leaning against the bar counter with a cheeky grin.
The tiny bar – Blue Iris– was lit by dimmed lamps and the air smelled like tobacco – sometimes with a slight hint of Jasmine, Obi-Wan loved his perfumed cigarettes. Clouded mirrors with tinged silver frames, Cuban mahogany furniture, a Morris wallpaper, vintage book copies, and an expensive collection of Scottish Whisky completed the image of the bar to be a pivot for intellectuals. It was perfectly located in SoHo, a couple of minutes by foot down Greenwich Village, and fancily atmospheric, British aristocrat-like, snobbish. To Obi-Wan, it sometimes felt elitist. Most of the guests were academics, reading and discussing philosophy, Nihilism, and Existentialism, while sipping on their café brûlot – every coffee was listed in French on the drink’s menu – and felt better than the rest of the entire world.
When Vos had first invited him here, Obi-Wan had made the mistake of googling the bar. The name was a literature reference to Novalis, the prices high, even for New York standards, though they offered a decent variety of beverages – of course, all of them connected to a certain kind of image, French coffee, lonely philosopher gin tonic and mocha in the fashion of Vienna coffee house culture, something they tried to imitate. A rendezvous point for New York’s academics.
“Come on, Obi, it’s time you meet your colleagues.”, Vos had grinned at him, brushing off dust from his jacket. Vos was one of Obi-Wan’s oldest friends and first-ever love – a poetry competition in Salinas, California had brought them together. Back then Obi-Wan had been a only college student, Vos was a couple of years older and an already established name in American literature. His poems had been tender, blinding with dazzling words, a trap – a Dionaea muscipula for Obi-Wan. Nearly fifteen years later and a broken teenage heart later, they had remained close even though Obi-Wan had finished his studies in Great Britain after their breakup and stayed in Oxford for his Ph.D. So, when Columbia University had offered him the position as the dean of their English facility, the two friends were suddenly living in the same city for the first time in years.
It had been quite natural for Vos – a carefree spirit – to try to integrate his friend Obi-Wan into his social circle in New York, so he had invited him for a night out. “You’ll have a good time there. Live Jazz Music on Saturdays, poetry slams, and Absinth.”
Obi-Wan had sighed and raised his hands defeated.
“And you will fit in perfectly. Your charming British accent, your love for cardigans and tweed…”
So, there he was, Obi-Wan Kenobi, an English professor, recently divorced, trying to enjoy himself on a Friday night out with his ex. He had positioned himself next to the bar, sipping on his Whisky – a Single Malt Scotch Whiskey, Chivas Regal – observing his surrounding. The Tobacco smell hung over the entire scenery. Smoking was en vogue in academic circles, it seemed. He nipped one of his jasmine cigarettes between his lips and lit it with a matchstick, an old habit. He took a few breaths before letting his eyes wander over the crowd again. Faintly background music was played, a low saxophone, and a smokey female voice, it had a jazzy feel to it.
The crowd had broken up into groups, always gathered around a set of chaise lounges. A low café table in the middle. From the corner of his eye, he spotted Vos talking to a group of people, laughing full-heartedly. A few faces were recognizable. Mace Windu, a professor of Classics & Philosophy and a Hellenist, took a nip from a Gin Tonic. Next to him, dressed up in a black turtleneck with dark-painted nails, sat Depa Billaba, Mace’s TA. The youngest in the group was Aalya Secura, an investigative journalist, and seated next to her was Yoda – his pen name – one of the most famous Dadaism poets of the 21st century. All of them were Obi-Wan’s new colleagues at Columbia.
Still, he felt like the odd one out, the intruder. He emptied his Whiskey. It burned in his throat but he did not care and took another breath from his smoke. Being the new one sucked.
The bartender thumped a shot of Korn down on the bar counter. It clicked against Obi-Wan’s empty drink, glass against glass. Irritated Obi-Wan looked up and raised an eyebrow. The liquid shimmered colorless. Schnapps judging by its smell. Did the bartender pity him? Obi-Wan lowered his head and smiled bitterly, what a night. “Something for you.”, the man in the velvet suit explained, “From a gentlemen admirer.” A wink was added.
Pushing up his horn-rimmed glasses, Obi-Wan turned his head around the room. A new song had started playing. Bass strings were gently plucked and a female singer sang about Le Temps de L’ amour – how fitting. Who in this bar would buy him a drink? Him? A lonely whiskey drinker, that was leaning against the bar counter, bitterly grinning to himself, the hair a mess of copper strands, dressed in a tweed jacket – maybe someone in an Irish Pub would, impressed by his cliché literature professor appearance but here it seemed unlikely. He was one of many, tasteless, nothing like the hipsters with their New York chic, black turtlenecks, vintage military coats, and Dr. Martens.
Vos? After their breakup, the two had never really lost their spark. A few foolish drinks or a night where one felt lonely often led to a shared bed. Obi-Wan glanced at Vos. He was currently occupied discussing with his fellow Columbia professors, a smile plastered on his face. Unlikely. No. Then whose interest had he tickled? A woman had taken a few glances at him, long dark hair, and a red dress with a back neckline hugged her figure. Her smile was quite lovely and it seemed like she had a good taste in whiskey. No. She was out of his league. Then who else? The man with a copy of Nietzsche’s “Thus Spoke Zarathustra” in his hands? He had looked up at Obi-Wan shyly a few times. Maybe.
Something caught his eye. Nearby a man had raised his glass – the same shot of Schnapps that the bartender had given to Obi-Wan – and cheered to him, grinning cheekily. Was he flirting? He looked a couple of years younger than Obi-Wan and smiled with a crooked smile. A Twink. In the dimmed light his hair faintly shimmered golden, the unruly locks tied up in a low bun, and the rest of them framed his boyish face, his angular jaw piercing out, his eyes a midnight blue. He gave Obi-Wan a thumbs up before drowning the shot in one go and then stepping closer to the bar counter.
“Why?”
“You looked lonely.”, said the boy with a more serious expression. His features had hardened, and his eyes darkened. He seemed older, end-twenties. The black inking on his exposed lower wrists caught Obi-Wan’s glance. A Quote was tattooed on his tanned skin. “Out of the night that covers me, Black as the Pit from pole to pole, …”, were the cursive words Obi-Wan could decipher. The rest of them was covered under a black Shirt. The first lines of William Ernest Henley’s poem Invictus. Armor, these words were like armor tattooed on a body. What had the young man endured in his life? Interesting.
“Do you buy drinks for all lonely people?”, asked Obi-Wan.
“Only for the pretty ones.”, explained the man, smiling once again. “There was a beauty in your loneliness Like the Boy with the thorn, an inner turmoil but so tranquil on the outside, behind a masquerade of serenity.”
That was probably one of the strangest pickup lines, Obi-Wan had ever encountered – even though he had to admit, that it tickled his interest. He had felt bitter before, sitting all alone at the bar counter, smoking, and drinking. His friend Vos was nowhere to be found, occupied with his own life and it had been truly a weird dynamic to go out with your ex. Now fate had granted him a chance with this beautiful, infatuating creature, how could he say no to this?
Two sapphires pierced his eyes, tanned skin with a faint touch of copper, goldish curls, and chiseled body. To that, a mind thinking alike. “What’s your name, young gentleman admirer?”
“Anakin Skywalker.”
The other man leaned closer and took Obi-Wan’s smoke. He nipped it between his lips as if he wanted to lead Obi-Wan’s eyes there. They were slightly tinted in a reddish color, like a dark wine, glossy and plush. Intoxicating. Thrilling. Kissable. The jasmine tobacco mixed with the other man’s scent of musk and made it taste sweet and bitter at the same time on Obi-Wan’s tongue as he breathed. The glare meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes was intense, dazzling, thrilling, and filled with something that sparked heat in Obi-Wan’s gut.
Anakin let his head fall back and blew a cloud of smoke at Obi-Wan. He leaned even closer and paused an inch before Obi-Wan’s face, breath warm on the other man’s lips. It was like a silent question for consent. Then he slid forward the last centimeters and tasted Obi-Wan on his tongue.
Maybe being new did not suck that much, thought Obi-Wan and opened his mouth to let himself be devoured by Anakin. Tasted like heaven with a slight hint of Jasmine tobacco.
#obikin#obikin au#obikin fic#sw au#obi wan star wars#Felix's stupid midnight thoughts#art obsessed Obi Wan#philosophy#happens somewhere here#if you look close enough#sw valentines gift#Anakin is Twink#authors was lonely at and wrote this at 2 Am#and is a lit student so way to much lit references#sw fanfic#star wars fic#college au
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