If You Can’t Beat God, Become Him.

The wicked saint of unholy hands. Since lovely @saintdabi posted this the other day, i took it pretty personal hashahsahs.

Spinner: I thought disco was coming back...

Heroes and villains both thrive on violence, but we’re still categorized. “You’re good.” “You’re evil.” That’s how it is!! Symbol of peace? hah! In the end you’re just a tool for violence, made to keep us down! and violence only breeds more violence

@fivefingerdustpunch​ asked: 💋 //  everyone sending ‘💋’ in my inbox gets a kiss from my muse. 

sanctified with the fire of him unmatched by all else dabi knows they’ll quickly fall for the next instance of soft, sweet ‘n too fucking close for comfort. more than they allow another t’ be when feeling compromised by unnecessary emotions, ashamed of them more than afraid t’ let them in, accept them for what they were. reminders, no less, the tug and pull of memories that pang inside their head and make breathing to be a chore in shigaraki’s vicinity – 

where distance was much preferred due to the overwhelming heat of their own hands / wrists / arms all the way to dabi’s chest where it may burst; smoke twirlin’ from the corners of their mouth enough an indicator for possible threat and the danger of burn-marks left on chapped lips. 

Oh yeah.

It was about some sort of game they both played as kids, a video game, one they could play at an arcade and at home. Pretend they were cowboys, or gangsters, mafia bosses or something?

It always had a two-player capability, used to cost only a few hundred yen. Shigaraki had a Damn good aim on him now.

“Whatever, I would have been your player two…”

Tomura had said.

When they shoot up into his orbit, Shigaraki is pulled into him; gravitational pull as hot as the sun itself.

Boiling up around his cheeks, melting point he didn’t know existed. Like azure flame, destructive down to his spine, down like the cleansing flames to the soul.

Gasping.

Inhaling.

Addicted.

Like the sweetest tobacco, and it’s him; his fix, the one he barely can hide anymore. His own league rolling their eyes when they disappear into the nearest bedroom, flat surface, couch.

A well-placed squint up at Dabi, if he wasn’t aching so badly; if he wasn’t so wild and aching for him, he’d have made some snotty retort.

Instead, Shigaraki grips their hips as best he can, careful placement of his fingers. And it wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, swiping his slender pink tongue up the underside of their cock. Suckling at the tip, curious of their taste, before sliding his mouth over the most of him.

“Ahh.”

Needy gasps, devolve into throaty moans while he takes his time to savor them and sheath around the girth of them. Metal, salt, and heat and Shigaraki just as with all things he wants?

He aspires for more.