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doobean · 6 months

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AN EASY A - NAGI SEISHIRO

synopsis: There's a problem student in your class and he just can't seem to understand that he needs to put in the effort. You've already given him three chances to make up his assignments - all of which he ignored. But what happens when he suggests another alternative during office hours?

contents: explicit content, afab!fem!reader, age gap (he's 22 and reader is 27), student-teacher (duh), reader kind of a tough professor lol, also a bully too ig, sex in teacher's office, masturbation (reader), power imbalance, nonconsensual video recording, vaginal sex, unprotected, creampie, breast/nipple play, dom?reader, switch!nagi, cunninglingus, cumming on face and inside, degradation, name calling (brat x 2, good boy x 1), nagi having a big dick, happy ending :) word count: 3.7K a/n: part 3 of my kinktober event :3 SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG LIFE TOOK OVER BUT I HOPE THIS MAKES UP FOR THE LOST TIME ;; I WILL MAKE THE LAST KINKTOBER FIC EXTRA SPICY TOO DONT WORRY FAM - also im super proud of myself for literally scraping the draft and rewrote this within a span of two days?? like wow the pressure is on.

There are some habits that never seem to change — even with age. You’ve seen it all, experienced it too, from emailing your teachers last minute about having to make up an exam worth over half of your course grade to faking a family death in order to get an extension, or — and this is more for students who are a bit too ‘brave’ — blaming the teachers for their inability to do their jobs. You knew what you would be getting into when you went into this job, from having to do the last minute panic pleas to now being on the receiving end of it. And you now actually feel sorry for having to bombard your past professors like that.

You release a deep breath from your nose and flick the red gel pen across a student’s exam, circling the large failing number by their name. “I’ll see you next year.” You try to sound less harsh, more on the sympathetic side, since you’re relatively still within the same age group as some of these students, but who wants to hear that? That they have to repeat a course and be stuck a graduation year behind? Absolutely no one.

You want to look away as you hand the student back his exam scores because you just know it’s going to end with tears and meaningless pleas but that would be unprofessional on your end. Instead, you give the student a small smile and a couple of pieces of candy from the glass bowl next to you.

“Sorry if it’s not much but it’s better than nothing?” God, you need to work on your pep talk. These students are basically adults, not elementary school kids.

“A-Are you sure I can’t do anything else to boost my grade?” The student starts to whimper and you have to tense your whole body from cringing at their quivering voice.

Ugh, it’s useless. Why bother begging if they haven’t bothered to study the material?

Still, you manage to whip up an emphatic frown and shake your head, voice sounding more motherly. “I’m sure it’ll be easier for you to understand next time.”

Another whine and then a final huff before the student storms out of your office. By the time the door shuts and their wails are out of ear shot, you slump back into your chair and groan loudly into your palms. Your body aches from being at your desk all day long — your mind is doing no better, having to deal with students’ cries and unwarranted trauma dumping. Seriously, when are they going to pay teachers more to deal with this type of stuff?

On the bright side of things, your office hours are officially over. Final grades will be up by tonight and you’ve completed most of your tasks with all but one student being a constant no show for the eternity of the semester but that responsibility doesn’t fall onto you. He and the handful of others can just show up again next year.

You spend some time debating your options, eating a nice, warm bowl of noodles sounds good for now but… you did spend nearly eight hours cooped up in your office and you are feeling a bit high energy right now, so stress relieving might be a good answer first.

“Now, where did I put that thing?” You reach down your desk, pulling up your purse and rummage through it looking for a very specific purple ‘massager’.

It’s super rare for you to ‘release’ stress while on campus grounds, this might be one of the few times, with others following the same patterns, but you feel the utter need to reward yourself after today’s events. It’ll only take you maybe ten minutes max, afterwards it’s dinner and then a quiet train ride home. Plus, not like you have a partner who can do this for you — you barely have time to take care of yourself, let alone be in a relationship or commit yourself to a random hook up. Sometimes, it’s just better to handle the situation yourself since it is your body.

A breathy sigh leaves your lips as you place the vibrating head against the soft cotton fabric of your panties, already soaked through by just the thought of de-stressing yourself. You throw your head back, with one hand steady with the magic wand and the other traveling up to your blouse, unbuttoning the top and allowing your black bra to be exposed in the room. As you increase the pressure from the vibrations, your free hand spills your breasts from its cups, your thumbs and digits immediately running over the sensitive nubs and plush flesh of your chest as you start to chase your high.

“M-Mhm—! Right there…” You roll your head to the side and shut your eyes, imagination fleeting to the thoughts of a male seated in between your legs, his tongue desperate and latching to your overwhelmed clit and folds while your thighs keep his shoulders in place.

You think it’s so unfair that your other friends have already settled down with partners of their own. When holidays come around the corner, when you finally catch a break from all the whining and fake wolf cries, you just have to hear your friends gush about how romantic their partners are to them. You secretly hate winter because of it. All those talks about Christmas gifts, their New Year’s couples resolutions, their stupid fancy ski trips that cost close to thousands of dollars, and then top it off for Valentine’s Day. Summer is more bearable, only because of the lack of romantic holidays, but you still get bitter from seeing their beach photos and international trips.

You change the position of your magic wand, facing it closer and pressing it harder down your clit, nearly drawing blood from your lips as you suppress back a frantic moan — a moan that’s a mix of both pleasure and frustration.

Fuck the students. Fuck your friends. And fuck this job.

“H-Haah—! Oh my god…” Your hips buckle feverishly, body quaking in your seat as you start to feel a familiar coil tightening in your stomach and a rush down below. A build up of tears start pooling at the corners of your eyes as your vision starts to grow hazy. Your heart heaves forward, about to burst out of your chest, the imaginary man just about to finish you off—

Creak.

Your eyes immediately pop open and the color drains from your face at the squealing sound from the door. You don’t have enough time to cover yourself up when you realize that a student is standing by the entrance, wearing an equally shocked expression on his face. A tousle of white shaggy hair, large gray eyes, appearing at a staggering height with—your gaze trail to his hands and nearly faint from the sight—his phone.

The sound of the door creaking again snaps you out of the phase and your arms fly over your chest, the words stuck in your throat and your vibrator falling to the floor.

Shit, what should you ask first? Has he been recording you this whole time? When did he even show up? You’re positive that you were the only one left in the academic building, so what is going on?

“Um,” The male has the audacity to walk in the room, his gaze fixated on everything but you. “Are office hours still open?”

What. The. Fuck.

You blink once, twice, and, when the student is still standing there, confirming your thoughts that he isn’t an awful mirage sent down by the Lord himself, you feel yourself internally shrinking.

“I-Is that the first thing you want to ask me?” You stifle back a laugh, or at least you think it’s a laugh. Maybe even a few waterworks for later. “Just who are you?”

But then it hits you. The black and blue duffle bag he has by his side had his name engraved on it. You don’t need to take a closer to recognize the national team’s logo and you certainly don’t need a Google search to realize that Nagi fucking Seishiro, a soccer prodigy and your apparent student for the semester, might’ve just recorded you masturbating in your office.

You manage to find an old jacket from one of the drawers at your desk and throw it on before pointing a harsh finger at the man. “Delete it, now.”

“Will I get an A?” Nagi is surprisingly blunt and, now looking back, this might honestly be the first time you’ve ever talked to him out of the whole semester. He seems to catch your perplexed look, shooting you a pair of creased brows back as he explains, “All of my other courses were remote because of training and football games… You were the only professor that denied it.”

You huff, seemingly annoyed that he thinks he can be an exception to your course rules. “I don’t hand out favoritism to just anyone and,” You glare at the phone in his hand, sneering right back at his uncaring facial expression. “I’m definitely not going to pass you if you’re threatening to black mail me.”

“Maybe we can help each other out?” Nagi offers, maybe a bit too fast and too eager.

You cautiously sink back in your seat, eyes narrowing at his suggestion. “What are you implying, Nagi?” The male shuffles awkwardly in place and your gaze flicks down, eyes widening for the nth time today and an audible gasp slips out. “You can’t be serious.”

“I need to pass and you—” Nagi clears his throat and motions to your slick covered vibrator, which is still very much on and buzzing away on the wooden floor boards near his feet. “You didn’t finish.” He rakes his fingers through his hair and adjusts the semi-hard length through his sweats with his other before finishing his offer. “I’ll delete the video, help you, and you’ll give me an A?” Nagi lamely suggests.

You want to scream, dig yourself a ditch large enough to fit you and the rest of however much pride you had left, and wither away. You’ve had students coming to you with plenty of other excuses, much more tamed than whatever situation you’ve found yourself in. And, regardless how much shitty this actually is, it doesn’t get rid of the fact that: one — you’re still sexually frustrated from having your orgasm ruined by this oversized, lazy fucker, two — you literally just got this job a year ago and getting fired for masturbating on campus might not look so great on your record, and three — if Nagi is true to his words, maybe you both can just forget about it the next day.

“You don’t get the control, I do.” You rise from your seat, allowing the jacket to fall from your frame. Your gaze hardens on the male subject in front of you as you bend down to reach for your toy, turning it off and putting it away in a nearby drawer that’s most likely filled with other student’s graded assignments.

Whatever, they’ll probably cry more fluids on it when they get their results back anyway.

Nagi tenses when you reach over to touch his arms, feeling up his toned biceps and rest of his upper body underneath the black hoodie, and he doesn’t dare to move unless you tell him to. You let out a scoff, feeling satisfied that he’s already willing to compromise so quickly under short notice. With a light tug on his sleeve, you drag him closer to your desk and settle yourself on top of it. You hike up your pencil skirt to your upper thighs and spread your legs wide enough for the width of his shoulders.

“On your knees, brat.”

He silently obliges, bending down on one knee and his hands find home on your inner thighs. You resist the urge to squirm under his touch, still feeling rather sensitive from your earlier chase and not wanting to give him any ounce of satisfaction. Without any audible exchanges, he allows you to direct his head closer to the heat of your sex, the combination of your increasing wetness and the hot puffs from his breath makes your stomach twist in anticipation.

With a quick swipe, his fingers brush aside your panties to the crease of your thighs and lean in, giving a few experimental licks to your slicked cover folds before burying the rest of his face in. Your reaction is instant. Your fingers claw their way deep into his shoulder blades, thighs threatening to squeeze the living life out of him, but Nagi’s grip is even more threatening. He stays rigid, palms glued to your thighs and keeping them in place as his tongue flicks against the stiff nub — drawing lazy circles.

Your mouth betrays your character as he suddenly decides to insert two digits, scissoring their way into your velvety walls. Nagi grunts in response at just how lewd you sound right now.

“Soaking wet…” He observes with careful eyes at your sex before looking up, a playful smirk flashes across his face when he notices the flush in your cheeks. With another twirl from his fingers, combined with the slow swirls from his tongue, your head rolls back as the torrent seems to be relentless.

With the next extra pumps, you cum hard with a shudder, vicing your thighs against his head. You can feel the leak of fluids slide out of your folds, and Nagi pushes his face inward, making sure he slid his tongue against that sweet spot of yours again. It blinds you with a final surge of pleasure, and you cry out as your orgasm shakes you to the core, nails biting into his shoulders.

You’ve never experienced an orgasm that intense before, even with the usage of your vibrator — hell, you can’t even remember when’s the last time a man has made you reach that high. Bright colors cloud your vision as you tumble through what seems like an endless bliss. Your body goes slack, back now flushed against the office desk, but Nagi’s body is still tense, his muscles twitching as he gets to his feet and lifts your legs off his shoulders.

“Hey,” Nagi slurs, wiping away your slick with the back of his hand. “We’re not done here.”

“W-What are you talking about—ah!”

Your vision is just beginning to clear up when you find yourself trapped between Nagi’s arms. He’s hovering above you, a certain dark look casts over his gray hues as he bores into your own. You swallow hard, heart beating faster when you look down to see his sweats already laid around his thighs and his cock springs free, head spilling with heavy amounts of pre. Nagi’s length twitches at the sounds of your moans and the male takes that as a sign of approval.

“What?” He leans forward, his bangs brushing against your forehead. “You’ve never seen a penis before?”

“Don’t get smart with me, brat.” You spit back, immediately tearing your gaze away from his rather impressive size. Might be the biggest you’ve ever seen in person outside from those awful porn videos online.

If you can find the energy to, you might’ve laughed at his lame attempt to have the upper hand, but Nagi doesn’t waste his time. He closes the distance, smashing his lips against yours, tongue already dragging its way down your throat. You choke back but recover quickly, hands flying to his locks, grabbing fistfuls, and rocking your hips against his hardened appendage. A sinful groan slips from his lips and lifts one of your thighs up, your ankle resting on his shoulder while he wraps the other around his waist.

You part your lips when he breaks away from the kiss, a thin trail of saliva connecting you two, and a whine spills from you as Nagi begins sliding his cock in between your folds. He sucks in his teeth, breath hitching sharply at the sight.

“Wanna put it in so bad—” He shudders seeing your slick engulfing his length. “Can I—Can I please put it in?” His monotone voice now replaced with a shaky resolve, almost as if he’s seeking for your next stage of approval and pleasure.

You reach up and cup his cheeks in your hands, eyes softening at his glassy ones. “Promise to delete that video and you might get a chance, Nagi.”

“Sei,” The male breathes out.

You tilt your head. “Huh?”

Nagi leans into your touch, nuzzling his cheeks into your palms. “Want you to call me Sei… Can you do that?”

“Sei…” You whisper out, suppressing back a laugh when you see the towering male tensing at the sound of his name. The twitching from his cock brushes against your clit making you squirm. “Sei, make me cum around that cock of yours.”

A cry escapes from the both of you when he slides in, inching bit by bit and holding your waist with both hands as leverage. You can’t do anything but throw your head back, sounds leaving your hoarse throat at the sheer size from him. Your hands can only reach his thighs, nails leaving their crescent marks on his skin as Nagi bottoms out inside of you with a long, agonizing stroke. Nagi takes his time, building a slow but steady rhythm, staring down at you with intense gray eyes and making sure the thickness of his cock stretches your walls as he continues. You suddenly feel grateful that you came earlier, the extra slick and foreplay made the insertion easier because you’re certain without it there’s no guarantee that you would’ve been able to handle this mind numbing fucking.

After a few more experimental strokes, Nagi finds a comfortable pace. You’re now starting to get used to him and it feels so, so good that you’re finding everything in your power to spread your legs as far open as they would go. Sensing your struggle, Nagi lifts one hand to push your thigh back even further, and you let out a yelp, whining when you feel him brushing against that sweet spot inside of you again.

A warm rushing sensation starts building in your stomach again and you feel as if you’re about to jump off a cliff. Your walls clamp down around his cock, wails starting to bounce off the walls and legs shaking without any means of control. You’re absolutely floored by the way Nagi’s able to make your body react this much under his touch. It’s only your first time having sex, yet it feels like he’d been making love with you for a lifetime.

Your eyes fly shut as the feeling of his callous thumbs make their way onto your swollen clit, rubbing and tapping away. Flames are riding your nerves, you can’t hold back any sort of resistance in your voice as he picks up the pace, hips slamming into yours and sounds of sex filling the air. Nagi moves swiftly and punishingly, holding your hips still and not allowing you any room to move around as his cock tears against that spot that had tears finally spilling down your flushed face.

“Sei,” You choke out a sob, throwing a hand over your mouth to try and suppress some of the noise. Though, you and him both know it’s a futile effort.

The build up of pleasure is so binding that you’re beginning to lose sense of time and place, feeling only the desperate and feral thrusts from your student. Your second orgasm fades slowly, leaving you in a pool of ecstasy, but that doesn’t stop Nagi.

Still hard and pumping, his grip on your hips only tighten and he grunts out a lustful moan. “Feels good, right? Cumming all over me?”

You look up to him, tears of pleasure disorienting your vision, and in a state where you’re too incoherent to speak — pleading only with your doe eyes.

Nagi understood immediately. He slows down his pace, leaning forward, making sure the head of his cock kisses the inside of your cervix before bending down to place one on your own gaping lips.

“Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You manage out.

He groans at the pet name and peppers your face and neck with wet kisses, lifting your leg with one hand so that he can slowly stroke back and forth inside.

One of your hands reaches for your chest, fondling and toying with your nipples while your other hand reaches for the back of his head, gripping his white locks and pulling him down for another feverish kiss. Your lips remain sealed and pressed together in a battle of tongues as he rocks inside of you, sending you yet another orgasm as he moans into your mouth.

“H-Haah—I’m close…” His hips buck wildly. “Gonna cum inside of this pretty pussy…”

Nagi finally comes undone inside of you, his whole body shuddering as coats of white paint the insides of your velvety walls. A heavy pant from him catches your ears as he pulls out slowly, eyes admiring the hot, white trail that travels down your thighs and onto your desk.

By now, you can barely keep your eyes open, both mind and body exhausted. You try to get up, only to find zero strength left in your limbs, but soon you feel a pair of toned biceps around your waist and Nagi pulls you into his firm, yet comforting chest.

You want to ask him something again, something regarding that video he took of you earlier, but you’re beginning to lose your train of thought as exhaustion creeps up. Your entire body aches and your pussy is still emptying his remaining orgasm. But, strangely enough, you find yourself not caring about it anymore.

A smile makes its way onto your features as you drift off to sleep, making you miss the fact that Nagi did delete the video shortly after and scribble a quick note next to your purse. It’ll be another hour before you have the chance to read it.

‘Don’t forget that A. XXX-XXX-0506 - Sei.’

KINKTOBER TAGLIST (PART III)

@milkistoshi @mareonyan @saenora @blissblossom @wowonamo

#doobean:kinktober23 #cw: power imbalance #cw: video recording #cw: age gap #bllk #blue lock #bllk smut #bllk x reader #nagi x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro #nagi seishiro smut #nagi seishiro x reader #blue lock x female reader #bllk x female reader #doobean writes

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ghostbeam · 1 year

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

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

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

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

Words: 9.3k

He can’t breathe.

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

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

All windows are lit except one.

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

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

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

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

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

You’re beautiful. He feels his stomach drop.

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

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

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

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

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

Dabi is on your wall.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He can finally breathe.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’ll be back tomorrow, anyway.

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

The idea is ridiculous. You know that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m scared.” You admit.

“Of me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You soften, “I saved you?”

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

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

“I think it’s cute.”

“Please don’t say that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, “Say it.”

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you breathe, “maybe I am.”

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.” You nod. “You can keep me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pulls away, “call me Touya.”

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

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

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

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

“Says you.” You scoff.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it.” You command softly.

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

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

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5starluvr · 1 month

Text

Night active

Paring:Bang Chan x Reader

Genre:Angst,fluff at the end?

Warnings:none

Spider Kids

This chapter didn’t come out to my liking at all (i rewrote this 5 times and decided to scrap everything and completely redoing it just a few hours before

Rain lashed against the windowpanes, mirroring the storm brewing inside Y/n. Another text. Another "running late, sorry babe." This time, the excuse wasn't even creative. Just another night sacrificed at the altar of the recording studio, another date with Chan turning into a solo act for Y/n.

She stormed out of her apartment, the crumpled reservation for their fancy dinner clutched in her hand. The address was meaningless now, another casualty of Chan's workaholic tendencies. The neon glow of "JYP" mocked her from across the street. It was a familiar sight, a beacon that usually promised exciting new music, but tonight, it felt like a prison holding her love captive.

Pushing open the heavy metal door, Y/n was met not by the expected cacophony, but by an unsettling silence. The air hung thick with the scent of stale coffee and burnt popcorn, remnants of late nights spent chasing sonic perfection. Yet, the mixing console was untouched, the keyboards lay silent, and the screens displayed static ghosts of unfinished projects. A knot of worry tightened in Y/n's stomach.

"Chan?" she called out, her voice echoing eerily in the empty studio.

She navigated the maze of cables and instruments, checking the sound booth, the vocal recording room, even the dingy kitchenette - all deserted. A growing sense of unease gnawed at her. This wasn't like Chan. He might be late, he might be stressed, but he wouldn't simply disappear from his own studio, not without a message.

Desperation clawed at her. She tried calling him, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Panic bloomed in her chest. Had work finally pushed him over the edge? Had something bad happened?

The crumpled reservation slipped from her hand, forgotten on the worn floor. The fancy dinner, the carefully planned evening – all insignificant compared to the gnawing worry that had taken hold.

Y/n knew this wasn't just about a missed date anymore. This was about Chan, and the terrifying possibility that under the relentless pursuit of his passion, he might be lost.

The studio walls seemed to close in on Y/n. Each unanswered call, each ignored text, resonated like a hammer blow. Panic transformed into a cold dread that gnawed at her insides. She tried calling the studio again, just in case, but it went straight to voicemail once more. Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the glow of the computer screen.

Desperate for any sliver of information, she frantically searched the news. Traffic accidents, building fires, even a report of a rogue squirrel causing a power outage – nothing. Then, a headline jumped out – "Spider-Man Thwarts Bank Robbery, Two Villains Apprehended!" Relief washed over her, so sudden it almost made her dizzy. Chan was alive, that much was clear. But the elation was short-lived.

Spider-Man.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. Her usually reliable, grounded boyfriend was also the city's hero. The missed dates, the late nights, the cryptic excuses – it all made a horrifying kind of sense. But where was he now? Was he injured? Had he gotten caught? The image of Chan, hurt and alone, flashed in her mind, and a fresh wave of terror threatened to consume her.

Y/n knew waiting at the studio was pointless. Grabbing her jacket, she raced out into the rain-soaked night. Chan's apartment was the only other place he could be. The journey felt like an eternity, every car horn, every siren, a potential omen of disaster.

Reaching his building, she sprinted up the stairs, two at a time, ignoring the burning in her lungs. Her trembling hand fumbled with the keys, finally unlocking the door. The apartment was dark and silent.

Calling his name, she flicked on the light switch. Empty. The air hung heavy with a familiar cologne, a ghost of his presence, but no sign of Chan himself. Disappointment clawed at her, a cold companion to the gnawing worry. She checked every room with growing desperation. The kitchen was spotless, his usual mess of takeout containers and forgotten mugs absent. The living room held no sign of struggle, just the usual clutter of his life – books, instruments, a half-finished model airplane. Finally, she reached his bedroom, the last bastion of hope and dread.

Pushing open the door, Y/n's heart hammered against her ribs. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, revealing an unmade bed, clothes strewn across the floor – a familiar, comforting mess. But the sight that made her blood run cold wasn't the scattered laundry.

A figure perched on the windowsill, back to her, clad in a sleek, crimson and blue suit. The unmistakable mask with its large, white eyes sent a jolt of terror and… something else, a flicker of recognition, through her.

"Chan?" she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

The figure remained motionless, but a soft sigh escaped it. It turned slowly, revealing the familiar face beneath the mask, etched with exhaustion and concern.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" His voice, distorted by the mask's modulator, was a low rumble.

Y/n stared, speechless. The pieces clicked into place – the missed dates, the frantic exits, the news reports – it all pointed to this. Her boyfriend, the reliable, music-loving Chan, was also the city's hero, Spider-Man. A bewildered laugh escaped her lips, laced with a touch of hysteria.

"You... you're Spider-Man?"

Chan winced at the laugh, a sound devoid of joy, and carefully climbed off the windowsill. "Look, Y/n, I—"

He started to explain, but Y/n cut him off, her voice surprisingly steady. "Hold that thought. Right now, I just need to know you're okay. Why weren't you answering my calls? Where were you?"

Relief flooded his features, momentarily pushing aside the guilt. He reached out, but stopped before his hand could touch hers. "I was... busy with something. I couldn't risk taking my phone out."

His explanation was thin, and Y/n's gaze narrowed. "Busy with stopping another bank robbery as Spider-Man, you mean?"

Chan flinched again. The secret was out, hanging heavy in the air. He sighed, deflating. "Y/n, I... I didn't want to lie to you. Being Spider-Man is a huge responsibility, and it takes up a lot of time. But I never meant to hurt you."

He took a tentative step closer, but she remained rooted to the spot. "Did it never occur to you that maybe I could understand? Maybe I wouldn't want you to give up saving people, but I also wouldn't want to be kept in the dark."

Hurt flickered in his eyes, quickly replaced by a pleading look. "Y/n, please. Give me a chance to explain everything."

He gestured towards the bed.

Chan sat there, the mask tucked under his arm, his face etched with worry. He sat beside her, a comfortable distance maintained.

"You said you wanted to explain," Y/n said, her voice quiet.

He took a deep breath. "It started a few years ago," he began, his voice low and sincere. He recounted the fateful night he was bitten by the spider, the awakening of his powers, and the dawning realization of the responsibility thrust upon him. He spoke of the fear, the exhilaration, the constant battle to balance his life with that of a masked hero.

As he spoke, Y/n listened intently. The anger began to recede, replaced by a grudging respect. She saw the burden he carried, the sacrifices he made to keep the city safe. But his words also revealed a crucial flaw.

"You never gave me a chance to understand," she said once he finished. "You treated me like I wouldn't handle it, like I was too fragile to know the truth."

Chan looked down, shame flickering across his face. "I was scared. Scared of losing you, of you judging me. I thought keeping you in the dark was protecting you."

"But it wasn't," Y/n said softly. "It pushed me away. It made me feel like our relationship wasn't important enough to confide in."

Silence stretched between them again, heavy but not without hope. Finally, Chan spoke. "Y/n, I love you. More than anything. This whole… Spider-Man thing, it doesn't diminish that. I just want a chance to show you."

She met his gaze, the hurt still lingering in her eyes but softened by a flicker of understanding. "I need to know if there can be a balance," she admitted. "A life where you can be a hero and still have me by your side."

Chan reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. "There has to be a way," he said, his voice filled with determination. "I won't give up on being Spider-Man, but I also won't give up on you."

Y/n squeezed his hand gently. "Let's talk it through," she said, a glimmer of hope returning to her voice. "Together."

If you’re user is red i can’t tag you | tags list: open

Taglist: @juskz @blackhairandbangs @sxnset-angel @emossssss @hanjsquokka @feelikecinderella @starlostastronaut @kpopsstuffs @lixxpix @jinnie-ret @bangchans-angel @puppyminnnie @michelle4eve @kpopsstuffs @skzswife @saiko-skz @quailbagutte @briqnne @ilychee08

#Spotify #stray kids #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz imagine #skz scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #bang chan #skz #bangchan imagines #bangchan scenarios #bangchan x reader #christopher bang #straykids angst #stray kids imagines #•~spider kids~•

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anaoyuo · 27 days

Text

Play With The Stars || deleted scenes

─ִ──ׂ──━━ִ─ִ━━ ꯭ ───ׂ─ִ─⊹ ࣪ ˖✩‧─ִ──ׂ──━━ִ─ִ━━ ꯭ ───ׂ─ִ─⊹ ࣪ ˖✩‧

Gojo Satoru x f!reader

summary: Literally just Gojo and you being horny on your beach vacation

notes: Another scene from adg that I’ve found. Originally from chapter 17, I ended up cutting it out for multiple reasons. One, the word count was already crazy. Two, the argument here was kinda unnecessary. And three, I thought it was too much back-to-back smut, especially since I knew about the threesome with Geto coming up. Sooo, I rewrote the whole thing, made it more romantic and sweet to fit the atmosphere of the rest of the chapter, and this scene here never saw the light until now. Enjoy

─ִ──ׂ──━━ִ─ִ━━ ꯭ ───ׂ─ִ─⊹ ࣪ ˖✩‧─ִ──ׂ──━━ִ─ִ━━ ꯭ ───ׂ─ִ─⊹ ࣪ ˖✩‧

The cooling ocean breeze swept into the room through the large, open windows, brushing past the curtains that fluttered and danced like the buoyant waves of the sea that was so close by.

You shifted on the couch, the phone in your hand failing to keep you entertained for much longer. With a deep exhale, you leaned your head against Gojo's shoulder, who sat right next to you. He, too, seemed to be absorbed in his phone since he didn't react to your gesture at all.

"Satoru."

"Yes, babe?"

"I'm bored. What are we gonna do today?"

"You."

Confused at his response, your brows knitted together as you blinked up at him. "Me?"

Gojo hummed. "I'm gonna do you," he said dryly, those beautiful cerulean eyes never once leaving the screen.

"Thought that much was clear already," you muttered, heaving another long sigh into the air.

"Great." Gojo's phone suddenly clattered onto the table as he flashed you a grin, his large palm finding its way to your thigh in record time. "So let's start with that."

He barely wasted a second before slipping his hand between your legs, but you were just as quick to intervene, seizing his arm and halting him.

"Seriously?!"

Hearing the harsh tone in your voice wiped the smirk clean off his face. He braced himself for what was to come next.

"Why can't I ever have a decent conversation with you? It's so annoying."

While you continued to snap at him, he sat there like a scolded child and listened, his tongue poking his cheek as he patiently waited for you to finish.

Gojo really began to wonder if you were doing this on purpose, constantly stressing him out, always arguing and picking fights, all because you knew the makeup sex was worth it. And he fucking hated that he had to enjoy this drama.

"Can you for once in your goddamn life think with your brain instead of your dick?"

"What the fuck is your problem? Can you explain to me why I am the asshole again?" Gojo retorted, his own voice rising now—the perfect opportunity for you to play the victim.

"I just don't want to spend any more time on this couch, please." You slumped your shoulders and lowered your head. "I thought you'd have plans. This is your house, after all. You know this place better than I do."

"Alright, fine. Let's go shopping later. The promenade's got some cool stores, good food, too. Can we both shut up and fuck now before we end up killing each other over this?"

You shot him a pointed glare, still not convinced. He understood that he needed a different tactic.

"Dearest goddess of beauty, please, might I humbly request to partake of the pleasure of making love to you, oh you most gorgeous and perfect female being?" he asked again as he reached out to stroke your face with exaggerated tenderness.

You wanted to keep pretending to be mad, but your laughter slipped out uncontrollably, as it always did around him. "Okay. Make love to me then, Satoru," you smiled.

Gojo shared your smile before he tilted his head and captured your lips with his own. He kissed with hunger, and you reciprocated it with just as much, if not more intensity.

Your hands were all over him, gripping his taut biceps, clinging to his broad shoulders, holding his neck, running through his fluffy hair, fingers tightening in the strands, tugging at them. He did the same, lost in worshipping your figure, squeezing at your waist, your hips, kneading your breasts.

Gojo pressed you to himself, bringing you closer to sit you on his lap, your body pliant and willing under his guidance.

Amidst the sighs and kisses in the room, your phone rang suddenly. You drew away a bit, glancing toward the source of the sound. "Someone's calling me."

He couldn't be more unfazed, really. Gojo's mouth was back on your skin in an instant, trailing along your jawline. "Ignore it," he whispered against you, his voice husky. "We're busy."

"What if it's important?"

"I'm more important."

He did his best to distract you by sucking sweet bites on the sensitive spot under your ear, the one that always got you weak, but his effort was for nothing.

"I need to answer this," you insisted and gently pushed yourself away from him to rise to your feet.

Gojo let out a dramatic groan. "Yes, go ahead. Just neglect me. It's not like I have feelings, too," he grumbled as he threw his head back on the couch.

You rolled your eyes at his theatrics and unplugged your phone from the charger. The display was lit by Nobara's name, your thumb swiping to accept her call quickly.

"Hey," you greeted, bringing the phone to your ear.

"Hey, where have you been? You haven't shown up at the office for days." Nobara's concern was audible even through the static of the speaker.

"Oh, I'm fine." You walked back to the couch and settled down beside Gojo. "Just not in the city at the moment," you added.

"Not in the city? What's going on? Are you sure everything's alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," you reassured, leaning back against the cushions.

He watched and listened as you gave your colleague some bad excuses for your recent absence from the office. Though initially amused by hearing you stutter some words together, after a while, his interest waned. Gojo was bored again, and terribly so.

That was when an idea sparked in his mind.

"Nobara, it's nothing to worry about. I'll tell you everything when we see each other next week." As you spoke, you sensed Gojo's movements on the couch. Your eyes widened when you saw him pulling out his half-hard cock from his boxer briefs.

With a stupid smirk and his brows raised high, Gojo gestured for you to jerk him off. The sheer audacity had you shocked and a little affronted, and it must have shown on your face because he snorted and broke into a fit of giggles next to you.

"Oh, so you won't be back in time." Nobara sighed on the other end of the line.

"Back in time for what?" you asked, trying to redirect your focus to the call, even as he grabbed hold of your wrist.

At this point, it seemed easier to just go along with what he wanted and appease him. So, you did just that, your fingers closing around its girth as you began to mindlessly stroke him.

As the call continued, Nobara talked about a techno club she wanted to visit with you, where one of her friends would be playing their set. At the same time, Gojo started twirling the lengths of your hair, then he ran his hand through it.

You should have known it from the moment he started touching you. It was all so obvious where this was headed; slowly and carefully, he guided you downward until his pink tip brushed against your lips, urging you to take action.

You glared up at him, venom in your gaze—his absolute favorite expression on your face.

"I had no idea you had a DJ friend," you replied to Nobara, deliberately ignoring Gojo. However, the constant taps of his cock on your cheek made it clear that he wanted your attention in one way or another.

"Oh, I met him a few years back when I was standing outside a club..."

While Nobara spoke, Gojo pushed your head further down, and you gave up on fighting him. It was a battle that you would have lost anyway.

He had to stifle a groan, his teeth sinking into his lower lip as your warm mouth took him in, your tongue laving over his dick obsessively, as if it was your natural response to always do your best for him.

"...if you want, I'll ask him if you can join us," she offered.

You panicked. You hastily pulled back, trying to recall what Nobara had just said. "Uh, sure. Why not," you stammered out.

The second you finished, Gojo plunged his cock right back into your mouth. He bobbed your head up and down in a rhythm of his own making, testing your limits, pushing you to the edge of gagging multiple times before finally releasing you.

Your breath was shortened as you struggled to regain your composure, but Gojo was just getting started with the fun. He motioned for you to lie down. You shook your head vigorously.

Oh, how he loved playing this game with you.

The way you fought back only to give in was one of the things that turned him on the most. It felt like a small victory every time he got his way with you.

Gojo pushed you onto your back, and you offered no resistance. Why would you even?

He flipped your dress up, his eyes locking with yours as he teased your thighs with the tip of his tongue, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive flesh near your throbbing core. That was when you tuned out Nobara completely. All your thoughts now dedicated to what Gojo was about to do to your pussy.

Gojo buried his face between your legs, mouth latching onto your cunt, licking at your clit over the fabric of your panties, and each flick sent electric shocks through your body. Your free hand instinctively gripped his hair, seeking something to anchor yourself to. He didn't stop, didn't seem bothered, so you tightened your hold on his white locks even further, holding on for dear life.

"...he works on Fridays, I think, so let's do next Saturday," Nobara suggested, pulling you back to the call.

"Yeah," you breathed out, a borderline moan. "Next Saturday's fine."

Gojo smiled against you. He was certain your friend must have picked up on it by now, but if not, he would make sure she knew exactly what was happening.

Pulling your wet panties to the side, Gojo slid two of his long fingers into you. Your eyes snapped open wide as you gasped, loud, way louder than you had anticipated.

"Is everything alright?" Nobara asked.

Gojo pushed you further; the wet noises increased, his tempo a brutal one, which had you shaking and writhing as you tried to twist away from him but failed as his strong arm held your thigh locked in place, forcing you to endure his sweet torture.

"Nobara... someone's at the door... I need to go," you somehow managed to blurt out.

"Okay—"

Without even waiting for her to finish her sentence, you abruptly ended the call and threw your phone aside to fully devote yourself to the pleasure, but that didn't last long as Gojo began to slow his pace.

"You're so lame. You should've talked to her for a bit longer," he said, looking down at you in a way that almost felt mocking.

"How about we switch roles the next time Suguru calls?" you shot back in your defense.

He licked his lips, already finding himself drawn to the idea. "Sure. I might even Facetime him." Gojo then leaned down to steal a chaste kiss from your pretty lips. "Just don't complain when I accidentally switch the camera and film you giving me head, yeah?"

─ִ──ׂ──━━ִ─ִ━━ ꯭ ───ׂ─ִ─⊹ ࣪ ˖✩‧─ִ──ׂ──━━ִ─ִ━━ ꯭ ───ׂ─ִ─⊹ ࣪ ˖✩‧

They are my favorite toxic relationship. I can't wait to bring their dynamic back in fg

Full series: ao3

#PlayWithTheStars #posting on tumblr is so hard how do others do that :(#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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holleighgram · 2 months

Text

So, go easy on me. This is my first time singing/recording/editing/mixing anything-- let alone posting it, but I really wanted to participate in March Caprice this year. I wouldn't have been able to even do this much without the incredible @projectdestati lending me their sensational talent for the accompaniment.

I hope one day to re:record this piece sometime down the road when I've got a few more collaborators (and can afford a decent microphone), Hopfully by then, I'll learn how to mix, or can afford to pay someone to mix it into an actual track. For now, there are 2 versions-- one with lots of nerdy call backs and the other that's a little more simple and .... tidy.

All that to say,

I rewrote the lyrics to Hikari to reflect the themes of Kingdom Hearts a bit better. Hikari has always hit a bit different than Simple and Clean, for me and I just wanted to sing along, so I made these lyrics. Hope you enjoy :)

Lyrics:

Been having dreams, At least it seems That way… How much is real Of what I feel And say?

Was I reckless diving in so deep and believing you would follow me, And dive in after? Was I wrong all along ? You and me weren't meant to be :( How can I face what lies ahead? How is this the path that my heart led?

And now dawn is breaking and soon you’ll be waking This that path I am taking Will lead me back to you. Hearing the dark call, I’ll fight it with my all Keep shining bright, Cause you’re my guiding light.

~Break~

Now back to back, We walk our paths, my friend But when we meet My hearts will beat again

Never thought that it would end like this-- With you and me facing the great abyss Though doors are closing Pick a side, you and I, we’ll get by Cause you’re next to me, we are the key we always were. Take my hand, And we’ll go together

~Break~

And now dawn is breaking and soon you’ll be waking This promise we are making Is like the one we made while Watching the stars fall-- I promised you my all. I’ll stand and fight For you, my guiding light

Slowly, The pieces come falling into place, and we’ve landed standing hand in hand. Regardless of heartless, I know that we’re prepared for this fight. You’re my guiding light.

Slowly, The pieces come falling into place, and we’ve landed standing hand in hand. Regardless of Darkness, I know one day we'll set this all right. You’re my guiding light.

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josibunn · 4 months

Text

a few days ago I had gotten an anonymous request to do a noncon version of my first evert fic here (“all mine, right?”) but I deleted it because I hated how I rewrote it. I was rushing it bc my own writing made me uncomfortable, so I scrapped it in a whole, sorry anon😭. but i’m thankful for the request bc GOD i HATE that fic!!! even though it was my first I just hate how I wrote it in general. here it is! thank u sm for being patient.

smut! unprotected p in v, noncon, restraining, choking, øystein is really mean here. manipulation, some name calling, a very mean (but on character) threat is made by him to varg, mentions of shooting him. you and euronymous get in an argument, and varg tries to “pick your head up” and it doesn’t end well. please heed the warnings!

you and your boyfriend had been arguing since you stepped out the house. over a fucking dress. you thought you looked good, you knew you looked good, which was why he was on bad timing, you looked too fucking good. so stupid, right?

you weren’t even able to step into your heels before øystein had something to say, which was odd, because he was never one to tell you to change. “what the fuck are you wearing? when did you get this??” he starts, and you stare at him dumbfounded. “what?” “the dress, [y/n].” he says, and off the bat you can tell he’s in a mood, he never uses your name, always stuck with pet names, baby, princess, love, song bird.

(you liked that one, once he let you record vocals over a song just for shits and giggles but ended up loving it and keeping it on the track, “look at you, following in my footsteps.” he praised, cupping your cheeks and kissing you. “just like a little song bird. hm?” he giggled, it was cute.)

“the dress?? what’s wrong with it?” you look over yourself, smoothing it down. it was a velvety white strapless mini dress with a cute bow at the breast of it, you paired it with some heels and a choker and a few bracelets euronymous had gotten you. “it’s cute, right?” you ask, and he circles you, “take it off.” he spits, and you recoil. “what?” “take it the fuck off, you’re not wearing it to the show. that’s dead.” he walks out the room, and you follow him.

you couldn’t believe it, was he actually serious right now? was he acting like this over a dress? a dress he went with you to get, AND paid for?? the fuck??

you guys fought around the house for almost fifteen minutes, of course you weren’t giving it up. his only problem was how see through it was. every curve and crevice could be seen, your dark nipples and tiny pin underwear could be seen through it, had you’d worn it for him and him only he would’ve devoured you open.

“you’re being fucking unreasonable! if you didn’t like it you shouldn’t have bought it!” you shout, and usually his steaming glare would burn holes through you and you’d crumble, but it wasn’t working this time. “[y/n], sweetheart,” he grits. “think about what they’ll say about you! cover the fuck up, you’re not going out like that with your tits out and your ass on display.” he points, and you groan.

to spite him, you grab a shrug cardigan, luckily it paired well with your dress but it only covered your back and arms, acting as just a long sleeve. “better? fucking better?” you put your hands on your hips once you reach the bottom of the stairs. he sighs hard, pinching the bridge of his nose, to be fair, it was what he wanted. he wanted you to cover up, right?

“get in the fucking car.” he points, and you push past him, slamming the door and car door once you step in. and again, you’re arguing all the way to his shop. you loved the scene and the band as much as him, so you knew what he was doing when you two arrive and he tells you, “get in there, sit in the fucking den, and don’t move. ok? don’t let me find you up there.” hes all in your face, and you scoff. “you’re so fucking unbelievable!” you push him away and storm into the shop, and exactly what øystein was afraid of takes down.

eyes are on you the second you step in. you feel them, trailing up your body as your heels click clack click clack through the shop, boobs bouncing as you move angrily past the party goers and down to the den. you hear a few whistles and comments before øysteins shutting it down, some not so empty threats and curses leaving him before he resumes the party.

you groan as you plop down onto the couch, arms crossed and a stuck face, tension basically radiating off you like cartoon stench. the den isn’t so empty, a few people down here on their own, making out, trying to subtly touch each other like they were sneaky.

varg glanced at euronymous before walking downstairs, joining you. “what’s with the atitude?” he asks, and you almost want to scream at him. actually, you don’t hate varg. you don’t not not like him. but you don’t like him because øystein tells you not to. øystein hated varg, and he hated when he was even breathing near you, you never knew why. he was never mean to you, he was as decent as a human can be.

“fucking..øystein made me sit down here because of my dress. so stupid.” you grumble. he looks over you, trailing up your glistening legs, past the way the dress hugged your curves and to your still stuck face, “what’s wrong with it? you look good,” he says, and your anger makes you look past the tone he was insinuating.

“I know! and he was there when we got, hell, he paid for it, so I dunno what the problem is. but he told me to sit down here, so.” you shrug. “well it’s not that bad down here,” he shrugs, and you give him a look before nodding over to the couple perched against the wall who we’re definitely grinding off against each other. “ok it’s-it’s a little bad,” he says, and it makes you giggle.

“lemme get you a drink, maybe turn that frown upside down, yeah?” he nudges your arm, and you roll your eyes with a small smile, nodding. he gets up and re-emerges upstairs, excitement coursing through him. he had been waiting for a moment like this. øystein knew what type of guy varg was, no matter how much of a pussy he actually was. he knew his intentions with you, it’s what anyone would’ve wanted, you’re gorgeous.

and on top of that, you’re his girl. you’re the euronymous’ girlfriend. taking you down would give varg a boost he’d never acquire in his life, no many how many groupie hoes he fucked. he knew what he was doing, he knew why you were down there, he heard what øystein said to you before you two came in, he had a plan the second he saw your angry face shove past people and downstairs.

so you two sat downstairs, your cardigan long discarded as you sip beer with him, laughing together at the display of losers around you. from upstairs, euronymous goes in with the party, drink in his hand and conversing with friends about his joyous accomplishments. all of a sudden, his stomach turns completely, the feeling of throwing up overtaking him, his mouth salivating. for some odd reason he got a gut feeling to check up on you. he hasn’t seen you at all, and though he knew you wouldn’t cross him or make a scene even with your rebellious spirit, he also hadn’t seen varg either, and that was saying something, considering he doesn’t drink and he’s usually at øysteins side at these things, leeching off the spotlight.

so he excused himself rather abruptly and heads downstairs, and anger lights him up from his toes to the folicules on his head, he saw you and realized your cardigan was off. no, he saw varg trailing his hand up your thigh as you look up at him tell some story. though you were uncomfortable with the advance towards you, you didn’t think anything of it really. but øystein couldn’t read your mind, and with the alcohol in his system he didn’t really care.

your eyes widen when you see him storming over, and before you can adjust he’s pulling you out of your seat roughly, your drink falling to the floor as he holds your arm with a bruising grip, holding you up to your shoulder. you let out a small ow, øystein! but his voice overpowers yours as he spits, “the fuck are you doing? the fuck are you doing?!” his free hand points to varg who has a small smirk on his face as he stays at his seat.

“she looked sad, so I was just keepin’ her company. calm down.” he says nonchalantly, but it only makes euronymous angrier. “you stay away from her, you hear? I fuckin told you about that, and if I see you round’ her again i’m gonna blow your fuckin head open,” he points, and it’s the last thing he says before he’s dragging you past people and upstairs. “what’s your problem??” you huff, but he doesn’t give you an answer before he’s pushing you into his office, slamming his door and locking it behind himself.

“are you serious? are you actually serious right now [y/n]?!” he shouts, and luckily the music is loud enough so no one would hear him. “what are you talking about??” you cross your arms as he turns on a lamp. “varg?? the fuck are you doing down there with him??” he throws down his jacket, and you see his flexing biceps and his balled fists.

“I was fucking alone! he was being nice and keeping me company, whatd you want me to do??” you stomp. “keeping you company with his hand up your dress? d’you think i’m stupid??” he scoffs, throwing his arms in front of him. “oh my god, you’re overreacting! I was bored and he was being nice! nicer than you’ve been all fucking night.” you say, backing up to the desk behind you. you cross your arms around your chest, you feel yourself shrinking under him. you knew he’d never hit you, but the way his voice boomed when he got angry like this always scared you.

“nice, [y/n]? nice.” he deadpans, nodding as he steps closer to you, and you look to the floor to the side. “you think a guy like varg would be nice to you? no listen, look at me,” he grabs your chin to make you look at him. “ask yourself, do you really think varg was being nice? like he didn’t have a fucking motive?” hes burning holes into you, and you almost want to cry. you remember how he told you you looked good, and how his eyes flickered from you to your boobs as his hand moves up your leg.

“it wasn’t like that.” you pout, and he grits his teeth together as he sighs through his nose. “you’re a smart girl, [y/n].” his words are harsh yet soft as you look into his eyes. “what do you think he wants? what any guy here would want from you, you’re a fucking gem, you know that. you know that. you want nice? do you wanna know what nice looks like from a guy like him?” he tilts his head, and before you can respond he pulls your dress and your underwear down, lodging his fingers into your hot cunt.

you gasp and choke, a hand on his chest for distance as your legs step apart at the intrusion, eyes big on his as your mouth hangs open in shock, but his face is deadpanned, staring you down as you squirm under his grip. “øystein!” you shriek, your fingers feeling like jelly as you try and push at his wrist, but he’s digging into you fast, fucking his fingers into you. “this is what you want? huh?” he furrows his brows, and you’re whimpering at the stretch of his fingers.

“this is what nice guys like him do to pretty things like you. I know him baby, I fucking know him. he doesn’t wanna be your friend, he wants this pussy.” he spits, and you choke when he grabs your throat. “ack-øystein-” “after gigs, he takes whatever bitch he wants and he treats them like this, does this feel good? you wanna be onea those girls??” he watches your eyes tear up as they roll back, you’re stuttering as you try and plead once more, but he’s massaging your sweet spot, making you all gooey and stupid.

even in his angry state he’s praising you, his cock hard as he listens to your strained moans. “fucking gorgeous, he’d defile you. he’d talk you up, take you home and treat you like some 99¢ hooker. do you want that? is that what you want?” he lets you go, havin you gasp for air as you push at his forearm. “øystein, m’sorry, baby m’sorry just-just slow down,” you whimper, laying your head against his chest to try use your body weight to slow him down, but all it did was make him go harder, a pained moan coming from you as you grab at his biceps.

“nono I don’t think you get it, I don’t think you know what you’re getting into so lemme teach you, lemme teach you baby.” he tells you, and you feel his knuckles against your stomach as he unbuckles his belt. “he wouldn’t even think about being as nice as i’m being princess, you know that? you think this is too much?” he pulls out of you, and you manage to get your shaky hands on the desk.

you watch him stroke his cock through his boxers, eyeing his v-line that peaked under his cropped top before you caught his eyes that still stared down at you angrily, jaw clenched and everything. “øystein i’m sorry,” you sniffle, rubbing your legs together. “m’sorry, I-I won’t talk to him again, I don’t wanna be those girls, promise. I promise,” you squeak as he steps closer, he doesn’t even have to try as he turns you around, his lips grazing your cheek as whispers, “I know baby, I know you won’t, because you’re a good girl, my good girl. but I gotta teach you, ok? gotta show you what guys like him really look like on the inside,” he says, and you gasp when you feel his tip sliding in you, and just as you scream out at the stretch of his thick, long cock bullying itself into you he slaps a hand over your mouth, pushing your head back slightly as you grab onto the desk.

you drool against his hand as he leans you over onto the desk, whimpering and gasping as you already feel him fucking into you, his length stretching you open. his hand runs up your back as he lets go of your mouth, cradling your head and laying you down on the desk smoothly. “ronymous’,” you gasp, “ronymous wait, fuck it’s-fuck,” you moan, drooling against a stack of papers as you ball your fist against the desk.

“I know baby,” he speeds up, and you let out a guttural moan, keeping your back arched as you squirm in your tiny heels, toes bunching together at the rush of the sensation and urgency his cock was giving you. “he wouldn’t take it east on you, know that? he’d be harder, and meaner, because that’s what ‘nice guys’ want in the end,” he pants, cheeks reddening as he closes his eyes, pleasure overtaking him as he takes in your tight pussy.

“wouldn’t even let you relax, would just fuck you,” he punctuates his thrust harshly, making you jump and choke out a loud high moan, tears filling your eyes once again, “like this,” he pants and does it again, continuing his rythem of fucking you like a toy with no remorse to, because that’s what he thought-he knew varg would do to you.

“øystein fuck!” you cry out, it’s too much to handle, you’re not used to him fucking you either such vigor. “I know sugar,” he sounds pained, hurt by your cries, but in all honesty it’s turning it on. if he was being honest, he was almost to the edge. “just take it, ok? gotta teach you,” he holds down your wrist and stops you from moving your top half completely, his other hand heavy on your back as you move the desk with every deep thrust, groaning above you as you continue to clench down on his cock for dear life.

your head was foggy, a new sort of heat erupting from your pussy as he pinned into you like some..fleshlight. sure, it would’ve been terrible with anyone else, but your boyfriend..god.. he grabs onto the back of your neck, other hand tightening around your wrist as he slams into you, and it has you crumbling, a short and whiney “ohh my goddd,” coming from you as your brows raise and your eyes squeeze together, mouth falling open with loud and airy moans, and by god anyone who came a foot within the door could’ve heard the mess he was making of you.

“fuck baby, can’t let anyone have this pussy,” øystein says aloud as he watched himself bully his dick into you, the recoils of your ass against his pelvis driving him wild, not to mention the stickiness of your cunt could be seen connecting with his cock with each time he drew his dick out, you’re so wet. “dyou understand? huh? answer me,” he pulls you up by the back of your neck and leans over to meet your eyes as you look to the side at him, drool hanging off your lip as your low, foggy eyes meet his.

“you understand now baby? why I do what I do, why I say what I say? lot of bad men out there, and they can’t fuckin have you. they can’t fuckin have you, because you’re mine, right? you’re all mine, right?” he nods, and you nod back, a loud, sobbing moan escaping from you, tears littering your face and the desk, and fuck he’s bout to blow at the sight of you. “yes, fuck yes øystein,” you sob before letting out another shaky gasp, brows raising again as you try and open your eyes.

“fuck i’m gonna cum, gonna cum baby i’m sorry,” you cry out, gripping your own fist. “s’ok, you earned it. did so fucking good,” he pants before he leans up, and this is why you love øystein. why you’re obsessed with him. no matter how angry, how into it he is you always cum first, hell edge himself just to make you cum, even if it was your 3 time. he always rewards you, he can’t resist you. why wouldn’t he give his girl, his sweet thing a treat.

he pulls out and hold you to his chest, shoving all the paper off his desk before he lays you on your back and slides back in, and your legs are shaking on the side as you wrap your arm around him and hold him close, his head buried in the side of your head as he grips the ledge of the desk, going back to pounding into you. “got myself a good girl? yeah baby?” he says in your ear, your back arching to his chest as your mouth hangs open with silent moans, “uh huh,” is all he receives, and he takes it because he knows you’re on the wave of your orgasm.

“yeah I do, got a good fuckin girl yes I do,” he whispers desperately, and you squeak his name as you wrap your legs around his waist, grounding yourself as your orgasm washes over you hard, your ears ringing with the music as you coat his cock, and he smiles, hearing your small coming down moans tying in with the wetness of his his soaked thighs hitting yours. he doesn’t give you a warning when he cums in you shortly after no, you just hear his groan and weight press against you as warmth fills you and trickled down your pussy, making you shiver.

you stay like that for a second, arms wrapped around each as you pant, sweaty bodies sticking together until he lifts up, taking in your beautiful face and disheveled body. “you feelin ok sugar?” his voice is low as he brushes hair off your face, watching you nod. he gives you a gentle kiss, and your shaky hand comes up to cradle his face. “I love you,” he says in your mouth. “love you so much, love you so much.” he says, and you smiles in the kiss.

“love you too, won’t..won’t talk to him ever again. ever, don’t wanna be onea those girl, never ever,” you pant, and he chuckles breathily. “I know you don’t, because you’re my girl, just my girl,” he nods and gets up, rubbing your thigh as he pulls out of your wet, warm cunt, the loss feeling making him whine as his cock hits against his thigh before it softens up.

he lifts you into his arm and carries you to the futon, grabbing a random napkin and cleaning you up as you already feel yourself getting sleepy, holding yourself. he pulls your panties up and your dress down, and gets you a blanket, covering you nicely. you expect a kiss, but confusion takes over you as he gets up and closes the door behind him. you wanna cry, did he really leave me like that? was he still mad? you think to yourself with a pouty frown, raising up on your elbow as you look at the door.

but your sadness subsided when he comes back with a snack and a water bottle, kicking the door shut. “whaswrong’?” he asks, seeing you pouty lip. “thought you left me,” he hands you the water bottle and peels your snack out the wrapper. “of course not, well, I am gonna go back to the party, but i’m not leaving. lay down n sleep, ok? i’ll be right out there, and i’ll come get you when it’s time to leave.” he gives you a little kiss and a rub on the back, making you smile ditzily.

“love you.” you watch him get up, “I love you too, go to sleep mama, ok?” is all he says before leaving out, and it’s all you hear before you do crash out.

ok that's soo much better!! also sorry I had to end it on a sweet note, I can't do angst, he's just too simpy for me :3. I hope you enjoyed and thank u sm again anon for being so patient! i'm trying to get better at answering requests faster.

also i've been seeing like emoji anons and if anyone would like that i'd be happy to do so! just ask with whatever emoji you'd like! okbyee :3

join my taglist! @angelsanarchy @sugarinte @monkeyfart @444rockstargf @bambi-horror @auggiethecreator @wonkinoo @auryyz @brithedemonspawn @electra-nevermind

#rory culkin #rory culkin smut #euronymous #euronymous smut #lords of chaos #lords of chaos smut #eurory prompt

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platinumrosetail · 4 months

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New idea I hope I'm not annoying you so can you please do a romantic Apollo, Poseidon x fem shinra reader (separately) so basically the reader is a female version of shinra she has all his ability and power's shinra is from fire force if your wondering here's a bit more information shinra can make fire come out of his feet and that allows him to fly he can also kick so hard that he sent the moon back to space Shira is also really fast he can easily break the sound barrier and that not mentioning his shinrabanshōman form he basically rewrote the laws of reality to save everyone also when shinra is nervous he tends to smile so yeah the reader is a female version of shinra and is op and not matter what she will always be on humanity side

Oh yea I remember seeing some things about him and fire force in the past, sure I think I can do this though it might turn out short seeing as I never really watched fire force yet (it’s in my watchlist but like many others I haven’t gotten around to watching it plus I have many things to watch so yea lol 😅), also you’re not annoying me don’t worry just as long as you don’t keep requesting for record of ragnarok as I don’t want to get burned out and close the ror request 😅.

Warning: noob author, female reader, ooc?, and others.

Characters: Apollo, Poseidon.

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Apollo:

You two met by you accidentally bumping into him when you were exploring Valhalla as you recently had died on earth and was considered a warrior so you ended up in Valhalla, you nervously smiled out of habit as you hoped you didn’t die again as you heard that some gods and goddesses don’t take too kindly to humans so you hope that he wasn’t one of those gods that hate humans.

He was a bit freaked out about your smile as he was expecting you to grovel and plead for your life to be spared for bumping into a god but you had only smiled and apologized. He questioned why you were smiling and you toppled him of your habit when you get nervous before you took your cue and quickly left.

He was curios about you and wanted to know more about you, he wonders multiple times if you’re to his standard of beauty or not and he hopes that you are as you’re very interesting to human surprisingly more than he thought yo’d be.

You were thankful to not have died on the spot in front by apollo killing you as you wanted to explore more of Valhalla and you couldn’t do that if you were dead.

You can’t help but think that he was very attractive but you stopped quickly after that thought entered your head as Apollo might be more powerful than you which mans if he should ever have the desire to kill you he might so just in case you begin thinking of a plan to protect yourself and any possible passerby should it ever happen that he wants to kill you.

Apparently he didn’t want to kill you you found out later after he surprised ambushed you as you were avoiding him just in case, in fact you apparently was to his approval of beauty which you were surprised to hear about. You two later go together which shocked many and made many god/goddesses and nymphs mad and jealous but you two ignored them. You two like to spare together, he was shocked to see how strong you were, but what he didn’t know was that you were holding back immensely so as to not destroy anything or anybody.

When ragnarok happened you sided with humanity which wasn’t really shocking but Apollo tried getting you on the gods side but that proved to be useless as you didn’t think it was fair how the gods were just destroying humanity even though it was their jobs as gods to guide humanity and that if Apollo loved you then he would do what was right as you will fight for humanity; you knew that you’d most likely win considering you’re half god and half human and a very powerful one at that, but Apollo didn’t so he decided to fight for humanity as well so in case you both win you two can celebrate like couples and if not and you both die you two could be together for eternity.

Poseidon:

He kept on seeing you wherever he went and naturally thought you were following him which annoyed him as he didn’t want what he calls; you in his eyes at the moment, filth following, you of course was just exploring Valhalla and wasn’t trying to follow Poseidon around but Poseidon definitely thought you were.

He decided to confront you about it, you were nervous as you heard from many that Poseidon is a very dangerous person that you shouldn’t annoy or anger and how he sees humans as filth as he would dice you with his trident, so you nervously smiled out of habit and explained that you werewn’t following him on purpose but it’s because you were exploring Valhalla as you’re new here, thankfully he didn’t notice your nervous smiling habit, at least you thought he didn’t but he was able to see your nervous smile in his peripheral vision even though he was looking at the floor away from you like he’d always do when in the presence of those he deemed filth.

Your nervous smiling habit stayed in his mind later after that no matter what he was doing or whatever it was he was thinking, even if it didn’t involved you he still thought about your nervous smile that he couldn’t get out of his head no matter how much hew tried to get you out.

He later started searching for you as he wanted to see if this wasn’t part of your power as he can feel himself getting comfortable thinking about you even though he doesn’t want to, at least that’s what he keeps telling himself, his brothers on the other hands sees it differently, it’s mostly Zeus who tease Poseidon about it which he almost gets screwed each time by Poseidon if it weren’t for their older brother; hades, who stopped them before one of them gets killed by the other.

You were defiantly in for a shock when you found yourself in front of Poseidon again once more, at first you thought you are now going to be dead for accidentally unintentionally following him again but he surprised you by asking you what ‘spell’ did you cast on him to think about you so much no matter how many times he tried to get you out of his heads.

He left soon after you told him that you didn’t put a ‘spell’ on him or anything of the sorts, you knew you were powerful but you didn’t know that you could make such a stoic and cold man like him think about you all the time. You found him attractive but knew that he very well might kill you when your paths cross again. You were shocked to find out that he did not kill you the next time you two cross p[aths in fact he wanted to get to know you. Soon after you two became a couple after getting to know each other and after some courting which flabbergasted every one sept for those that knew well enough.

When ragnarok started you knew he would side with the gods so you left a note explaining that your would be siding with the humans as you thought it was unfair how the gods treated the humans even though the gods were mostly at fault for not doing their jobs to guide the humans to a right path and you would happily die trying if it meant getting your point across and set the gods on doing their jobs finally, he wasn’t happy at the thought of your death and he knew you were right so as a god he decided to join the humans side which very much shocked the other gods as usually he would think of humans as filth but it seemed that your got through to him and so now he sides with the humans survival.

(A/n: hope y’all like it!!! I tried my best to keep the two in character so I’m sorry if it turns out that they were more ooc than I thought they would be 😅 same with the reader seeing as how she’s based off of shinra from fire force, also the requester said that the reader was half god and half human; demigod, and a very large powerful at that so I tried incorporating that into it the best I can so I hope I did ok on it, and sorry if I didn’t 😅, like I said before just make sure to not overdue it on requesting for record of ragnarok as I don’t want to have to close it like I did with the others because I was burned out of it alright? Thank you. Anyway I believe that’s it and hope y’all have a wonderful day/evening/night!!)

#anime #anime x reader #various x reader #x reader stories #anime crossover #crossover #x female reader #x female y/n #male x female reader #x fem!reader #female!reader #fem!reader #record of ragnarok poseidon #record of ragnarok x reader #record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok Apollo x reader #record of ragnarok Apollo #record of ragnarok Poseidon x reader

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mask131 · 3 months

Text

Hey you want to be let in onto a little secret?

Arachne? The story of Arachne, her legend, her entire character?

...

Well it is very, very likely she never was part of Greek mythology and only belongs to Roman mythology.

Because there is no text from Ancient Greece that mentions her, and no visual depiction of her in Ancient Greek art.

You want to know where her story comes from? OVID. OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. Yes, THE defining Roman work of Roman literature that shaped Roman myths. That's literaly where Arachne comes from: Ovid. As a result, there are two possibilities. Either A) Ovid completely invented her (which is something he did other times, he did invent some characters we consider today to be part of Greek mythology) or B) He took inspiration from an actual Greek legend but twisted it and rewrote it in a weird way (This is what happened with Medusa. He wrote Medusa's story taking inspiration from the Greek legend that was told at the time, but changed the context entirely to fit his own literary and political goals. As such from a story of Medusa being turned into a Gorgon by Athena for being too vain and for boasting (a crime of "hubris", very Greek), Ovid wrote a story of Medusa being cursed for having been raped inside the goddess' temple (a crime of "impurity", much more Roman in values and notions).

However... It seems very unlikely to be either of those since, again, we literaly have no recording from Ancient Greece about Athena ever being involved with an "Arachne" or with spiders as a whole.

In fact, it seems that the closest answer to where Arachne comes from might be C) She might have been woven out of a purely Roman tradition projected onto the Greek myths.

Because the only other literary mention of Arachne ever in Ancient literature is Virgil's Georgics (Virgil being the other founding-father of Roman literature and literary Roman myths, thanks to his Aeneid), and Virgil doesn't even write of Arachne as a proper character or as a human. All he wrote is literaly, in a side-detail, in a brief mention, that Athena hates spiders. No explanation why, it is just "the spider is hated by Minerva". Given it is said so casually as a detail with no explanation, it is very possible this means this was a reference meant to be caught and understood by the Roman reader "The spider, this animal hated by Minerva as we all know". So... it seems very likely that the creation of Arachne as a character stems from a non-Greek, older tradition of the goddess Minerva (the proper Latin Minerva, the solely Roman goddess) having a problem with spiders.

And when Minerva was associated with the Greek goddess Athena, and the Roman had their authors rewrite or invent myths to have their own mythology (or rather their own AU on Greek mythology)... The tale got spread far enough and popular enough that everybody threw back the story onto the Greek Athena. After all, Arachne was a Greek name right? IT MEANS SHE WAS GREEK RIGHT? Well no, she was Roman :p That's another thing of Ovid, whenever he invented a character he made sure to give them Greek names so that it sounded like a real Greek character.

So yeah, while Arachne became one of the famous characters and legends of Greco-Roman mythology as a whole (what many call "Classical mythology"), she actually was NOT part of Greek mythology, and only existed from Hellenized Roman mythology onward. You're welcome.

#arachne #greek mythology #athena #roman mythology #minerva #ovid #virgil #misconceptions #greek myths #roman myths

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rosyrosethings · 7 months

Text

Y/n returns after missing

This story is a rewrite/edit. I posted this story a while ago. But I'm doing over my master list. So i rewrote this. It inspired by the tv show manifest which is a about a plan that goes missing and they return a few years later

Four years had slipped away since the passengers aboard flight N-47 vanished into thin air, presumed to have tragically succumbed to some unfathomable fate. Yet, in a twist befitting a miracle, three souls previously lost had reemerged. Y/n Y/L/N, James Carter, and Sus-... The screen went blank as she snapped off the TV, cutting the newscaster off mid-sentence. For Y/n, those four years encapsulated an epoch of isolation, an overwhelming void where time seemed inconsequential. The world had marched on, relentless and indifferent, leaving behind a cascade of changes she could scarcely begin to absorb.

Memories of her life before the ill-fated flight were vivid and achingly sweet. She had been on the cusp of a new chapter, her dreams tangibly close. A blossoming fashion designer, Y/n was set to weave her creativity and passion into the very fabric of the industry. Her return from Rio was supposed to be a celebratory milestone, marking her transition into a life shared with Harry and the thrilling prospect of seeing her best friend Kendall, potentially the next supermodel sensation, flaunt her designs down the runway.

The reality she returned to, however, was starkly different. Expectations of a warm welcome, of falling back into the comfortable embrace of her old life with Harry, were shattered. Hours turned into an eternity at her mother’s house, each passing moment amplifying her confusion and heartache. Where was Harry? Why was he submerged in a new life where he was a solo artist, a far cry from the hiatus he'd taken from his band in 2015?

Trepidation gripped her heart, preventing her from delving too deep into the life Harry led now. The fear of discovering him entwined with someone else was paralyzing. With a resigned sigh, she closed her laptop, a barrier against the torrent of information that threatened to drown her.

“Y/N? Honey,” the gentle voice of her mother broke through her reverie. The joy in her eyes was unmistakable, yet it carried the weight of years filled with mourning a daughter lost. They had even held a funeral for her, Y/n realized with a start. The profound relief and elation of having her back were palpable in every hug, every tearful smile her mother gave her.

“Yes, mom?”

“Umm, someone is here to see you.”

***

Contrastingly, Harry's life had been a portrait of attempting to move on while being anchored in the past. His home, once a sanctuary of memories shared with Y/n, now housed his new relationship. Kendall, her head resting on his chest, was a constant presence, offering solace in a reality where Y/n existed only in echoes. She was 'Kenny' to him, a pillar during his darkest times, understanding the depth of losing Y/n as she, too, had lost a dear friend.

But the past clung to Harry with stubborn tendrils. His routine, for three long years, involved calling Y/n’s voicemail, a one-sided conversation where he'd spill the day's trivialities and monumental changes alike, seeking solace in the sound of her recorded voice. It wasn’t until the pain dulled into a quiet ache, and with Kenny’s unwavering support, that he ceased this ritual. Yet, he never truly let go, with monthly visits to Y/n's mother becoming a testament to his undying connection to her.

Their bond had been forged in the innocence of childhood, blossoming from neighborly acquaintances to an unbreakable union of soulmates. It was a love story initiated when two eight-year-olds found friendship and grew seamlessly into love as they reached sixteen. It was a story abruptly paused, until an unexpected phone call threatened to turn the page once again.

Harry’s phone shattered the comfortable silence, Mrs. Y/L/N’s number on display. Kendall, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, sat up, her own complex emotions swirling as she watched Harry answer the call.

“Yes, Mrs. Y/L/N, how are you?” Harry’s voice was cautious, unprepared for the emotional maelstrom the conversation would incite.

Kendall battled with her feelings, a mix of jealousy and self-reproach. She loved Harry, but standing in Y/n’s shadow was a constant reminder of what she lacked. She was never going to ignite in Harry the passionate love he held for Y/n. She was a balm, she realized, not the cure to his heartache.

“Harry.. she’s home. My baby is here, Harry. She came back to us.” The words, heavy with emotional gravity, froze Harry in place. Confusion, hope, and sheer disbelief warred within him.

“Okay, I’ll be there shortly, Mrs. Rose,” he managed, his mind racing.

“What is it, Harry? Who was it?” Kendall queried, apprehension lacing her words.

“Y/n’s mom...”

“Are we going to dinner with her tonight?” she attempted lightness, a stark contrast to the situation’s gravity.

“She’s alive, Kenny.”

The words hung in the air, a fragile truth that threatened to change everything. Once again, life’s unpredictable tide was pulling them in a direction they never anticipated. The lost was found, and with her return, the threads of their lives were irrevocably entwined once more.

Y/n felt the soft give of her childhood mattress beneath her as she rose, each muscle groaning, still remembering the harshness of the ground she'd slept on for years on the island. The air around her buzzed with a mixture of familiarity and foreignness, a sensation that had enveloped her since her return. She was home yet felt like a stranger in a place woven into the fabric of her earliest memories. Her room, though untouched, seemed to belong to another era, one before her life had fractured into a before and after.

Since her unexpected return, her home had turned into a pilgrimage site. Relatives she hadn’t seen in years, cousins whose names she struggled to remember, and a throng of others had paraded through the living room. She had hoped, with every knock, that she would see Harry’s face, hear his voice, touch his hand. But as hours turned into days, her hope waned.

Dragging herself to her feet, she moved through the hallway, each step echoing the pounding in her heart. Her feet, moving of their own accord, carried her towards the living room, the epicenter of the constant, suffocating stream of visitors.

And then, she saw him.

It was as if the world contracted in that moment, every sound, every color, every breath funneling into this singularity. Harry stood there, a portrait of the years gone by. His hair, shorter than she remembered, framed his face, and those green eyes, which had haunted her dreams, seemed to glow. Dressed in the simplest of clothes — black jeans and a white t-shirt — he was a sight for her sore eyes. He was her beacon during the darkest nights on the island, the memory of him, a silent prayer, a sacred chant that wove through the solitude of her survival.

For Harry, the sight of Y/n wasn't just a balm; it was a resurrection. She was here, alive and so achingly present that his heart faltered in its rhythm. The past years had been a cacophony of grief, confusion, and a numbness that seeped into his bones. And here she was, her skin glowing with a vitality that seemed impossible. He had always adored her skin, the richness of her complexion; it reminded him of the sweetest chocolates he'd ever tasted. He had spent years bolstering her against the world, against the harshness of critics and fans alike, reminding her of her beauty, her worth.

He was captivated by the woman before him, who had been tempered by survival, her spirit burnished but unbroken. How could it be that she stood before him even more breathtaking than he remembered? In that instant, Harry understood the depth of the void her absence had carved into his life. She wasn't just a missing piece; she was the very foundation that his reality had been built upon.

Without a word, he closed the distance between them, his arms enveloping her in a hug that felt like a collision of every unsaid word, every unshed tear, every unfulfilled longing of the past four years. His emotions breached the dam he had painstakingly built, tears wetting the crown of her head as he nestled his face there. "God, I've missed you so much," he breathed, his voice a hoarse whisper laden with every nuance of pain, relief, and overwhelming love he felt.

Y/n, ensconced in Harry's arms, felt a sense of returning. Here, in the circle of his arms, the world righted itself. His scent, the solidness of his chest, the timber of his voice — they were her lighthouse. "I never stopped thinking about you, not even for a moment," she confessed, her voice muffled against him.

Their reunion, however, was shadowed by an unspoken acknowledgment of the time lost and the reality that had marched on relentlessly in her absence. Y/n detected subtle shifts in him, intangible but unmistakable. As they sat on the couch, a chasm of unsaid words stretched between them. Harry's affectionate term, 'kitten,' once a playful endearment, now seemed to echo across a vast distance, a reminder of a shared past that was both their bridge and barrier.

Their conversation meandered, a tentative dance around the elephant in the room. Y/n's fatigue, both emotional and physical, soon became too cumbersome to carry. Her eyelids grew heavy, her body demanded respite. "I need to close my eyes, just for a little while," she whispered, her words a mix of exhaustion and a quiet plea for things to be simple again.

Harry, understanding her unvoiced request, smoothed her hair back, his touch a promise. "Rest, love. When you wake, we'll grab some lunch, maybe even see Kendall. It'll be like old times," he murmured, the ache in his voice belying the casualness of his words.

Y/n's smile, before she succumbed to sleep, was a fragile thing, a tentative hope. And as she drifted off, nestled against Harry, she clung to the sound of his heartbeat — a lullaby that spoke of shared pasts, present uncertainties, and the uncharted future that lay ahead of them.

Harry and Kendall sat in the subtle ambiance of the café, the murmur of conversations blending with the soft clinking of cutlery. The tension between them was palpable, like a silent storm brewing. Harry's fingers drummed nervously on the tabletop, betraying the calm facade he attempted to portray.

"Did you tell her?" Kendall's voice sliced through the tension, her agitation evident in the rhythmic tapping of her perfectly manicured nails against the wooden surface.

He hesitated, the truth weighing heavily on his chest. "No... I couldn't," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as he averted his gaze, finding sudden interest in the patterns of the wood grain. The confession felt like a betrayal, a stark deviation from the promise he made to himself about honesty.

Kendall's sigh was a mixture of frustration and understanding. "We can tell her together," she offered, extending her hand to provide solace. Her fingers were warm, a contrast to the cold dread filling his stomach.

As he intertwined his fingers with hers, seeking comfort in the touch, his eyes caught a familiar figure approaching. It was Y/n, a sight that made his heart leap into his throat. Instinctively, he retracted his hand from Kendall's, a subtle but unmistakable reaction.

Y/n's energy was like a breath of fresh air as she arrived. "Kenny!" she exclaimed with genuine affection, stretching her arms out for a heartfelt embrace. Kendall rose to return the gesture, her own emotions a complex web of happiness, relief, and an underlying sense of conflict she wasn't ready to face.

The warmth of their hug was short-lived for Kendall, overshadowed by a realization that Y/n's presence might change everything, including her own newly discovered hopes. As they separated, Y/n slid into the seat across from them, her presence filling the void but also reminding them of the intricate dynamics of their past.

"Harry, my mom told me what you did for her while I was...gone. I can't thank you enough," Y/n's voice held a mix of gratitude and sorrow, referencing the home Harry had bought for her mother after the accident — a gesture of kindness in the face of tragedy.

Kendall, feigning ignorance, asked, "What did you do, Harry?"

He hesitated, swallowing hard before explaining. "After Y/n's accident, I...I bought a house for her mom. She was devastated, thought she'd lost her only child." His voice was laced with past pain, the memories visibly haunting him.

"And you never mentioned this because...?" Kendall prodded, a hint of hurt in her tone.

Harry's response was evasive, his discomfort evident. "It wasn't about publicity or gratitude. And you were away, busy with your modeling." He tried to downplay his act, but the hurt it caused was unmistakable.

The conversation took a sharp turn when Y/n's eyes fell upon the sparkling diamond on Kendall's finger. "Kendall, you're engaged?!" she exclaimed, joy in her voice. But the excitement dissolved as realization dawned. Her eyes darted between Harry and Kendall, the implications clear and heart-wrenching. "Oh... I see," she murmured, her voice a fragile whisper.

The atmosphere turned heavy, the weight of unspoken words and unacknowledged feelings pressing down on them. "Y/n, please, let's talk about this," Harry pleaded, desperation seeping into his voice. But Y/n was retreating, her defenses coming up.

The meal that followed was a symphony of discomfort, punctuated by stilted conversation and Y/n's increasing detachment. Harry recognized her coping mechanism as she ordered more food than she could possibly consume. It was her refuge, her way of finding control in a situation where she felt she had none.

Her breaking point arrived with silent tears streaming down her face as she attempted to keep eating. "Kitten," Harry whispered, an endearment slipping out as he moved to comfort her. But she recoiled, the nickname a reminder of what they had and what seemed lost now.

"I need a to-go tray," she announced abruptly, her voice strained. She stood up, her movements robotic as she packed her food, her exit a clear signal of her emotional state.

"Kitten, please, can't we just talk?" Harry implored, but his plea fell on deaf ears.

With a sad smile, she replied, "That's the thing, Harry. I'm not your kitten anymore, am I?" And with that, she walked away, leaving behind a table laden with uneaten food, unspoken words, and unresolved futures.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #fine line #watermelon sugar #harrys house #manifest

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