#ghost.writes

+ ° . ୨ ♡ ୧ . °

╰╮🩰🧁〣 ♡ 〢🥛

gorou

pegging; idk I feel like this guy likes things in his bum, esp when you're taking the reins

HUGE on praise; even if hes domming he love, love, loves it

he also really likes teasing, so long as its gentle

Lyney

he likes doing stuff in public; he adores the thrill of nearly getting caught

BONDAGE BONDAGE BONDAGE

he kinda wants to try taking you in front of an audience, but it's never come up

Tighnari

biting!! he loves pulling u off to the side and just biting u and biting u and biting u

v into breeding; i mean like thats kind of a given but yk

hair pulling

Kirara

tail pulling!! tug both of them at the same time pls pls pls

mutual masturbation all the way

again, teasing!! she loves teasing u <3

You miiight have glossed over the details the event organizer had told you about in favor of speculating about where, how, and why he chose to go around in a purple suit. But somehow, he made it work?

Before you knew it, you had found yourself trussed up in sparse but elegant clothing, just this side of revealing. A hint of skin here and there, enough to catch the eye but not so much to compromise your modesty. (However much you had left at this point, anyway.)

You tried not to think too hard about how efficiently you and the other participants had been prepped, but trepidation clung to the edge of your senses like stubborn cobwebs.

As the auctioneer introduced you, you let your gaze travel across the room, taking in your potential companions for the night. They were a strange assortment.

The mildest seemed to look like salarymen - one man with a very long, pointed nose that was oddly familiar. A man wearing an accordion mask, whom you guessed must have had some sort of yakuza ties, as he was flanked by three others and the whole group was given just a little extra space. A couple of other masked men (seemed like there was a theme tonight), a lizard man, a stapled patchwork man. 

A rainbow of hair colors scattered far and wide.

Golden wisps streaked across the back of the room before your attention was stolen by a couple of women who were sharply dressed and no less intimidating than any of the men. 

The room’s overall vibe was barely restrained anticipation, but underneath that was a strong warning: fuck around and find out.

Oh boy, did you not want to find out. 

If their quirks were half as exotic as their looks, you’d be torn to bits in minutes. What a morbid thought for what should have been a lighthearted, wallet-fattening evening.

Sure, the house took a hefty cut, but the hope was that the winning bid would be high enough to make it worth it.

Depending on how this turned out, you’d either start buying lotto tickets weekly or swear off gambling for life.

You saw the auctioneer gesture toward you with a flourish of his hand. Showtime!

You smiled demurely and ducked your head coyly in an attempt to hide your expression. Paired with a measured bow, hands in front, held for just a little bit longer - you felt the air in the room shift as you put yourself in the care of the audience. 

The display of vulnerability was like blood to sharks. The room exploded into action, with a near constant fwip of rustling material as guests raised their paddles to bid and the auctioneer egging them on further.

You quickly became dizzy from the thought that so many people would be bidding for your time. The room suddenly felt far too small for the amount of activity going on, and you could only wait for the final bid to land.

The room was getting louder as the bidding became more heated. You heard the clatter of a chair as someone scrambled on top of a table as if it would help them bid harder. Other patrons cried out in protest, only to be quickly put in place by a sharp reprimand from the auctioneer.

This didn’t do much to keep the room from steadily approaching a fever pitch. 

The higher the numbers, the more pressure you felt.

You were still stuck in place, sweltering under the stage lights, praying that the highest bidder at least had a kind heart so you didn’t have to spend your earnings on therapy. Or a hospital visit.

It was slowly dawning on you that the crowd seemed more than a lil’ shady but it was far too late to back out now.

The auctioneer’s voice got louder as the bid got higher. Everything was moving too fast and you stopped actively listening in order to try not to get overwhelmed. 

You heard what sounded like the bang of a gavel against a podium (how absurd, this wasn’t a courthouse), before a disgruntled hush fell across the room. Looks like bidding was over. You saw the man who had climbed onto the table drop to an unhappy squat as he tossed his paddle on the floor in disgust. You would have laughed if you weren’t afraid.

You turned toward the auctioneer and watched his face as he spoke. You only caught part of his sentence  “-- come up and collect your date for the evening, you lucky man.”

You saw someone cross the room, followed by glares from the rest of the patrons. As he got closer, you could see that he seemed to be made of fog. Or was it mist? Either way, it was a rich purple, constantly ebbing and flowing to an unknown rhythm. 

He stopped at a polite distance and introduced himself, his voice calm and low. He already knew your name, thanks to the auctioneer.

He offered his hand to you and waited. You hesitantly approached, and placed your hand in his. It felt cool, but broad and firmer than you expected. You couldn’t place the texture - something between velvet and mist.

While you were mulling over the feeling of your hand in his, he opened a warp gate and guided you both through it.

What a way to reveal a quirk.

On the other side was the inside of a small house - traditionally built but with some modern accoutrements and a little worn around the edges - but most importantly, quiet.

It was a wonderful reprieve after the cacophony of the auction.

You both shucked off your shoes before entering the living room, where he guided you to sit at a low table. A teapot and cups were already waiting for you.

You watched curiously as he served you before himself, unsure what to make of any of it.

The auction, the man, the house, the tea. The sheer amount of money he had spent on a night with you. You could easily be set for a couple of years with how much he had shelled out, and yet here he was, hosting you with patience and care. 

You still had no idea what he wanted from you.

The steam from the tea lazily floated into the air. Kurogiri’s mist undulated at a different pace - a little faster - the plumes of his fog curling into each other at the edges, like small whirlpools. 

Was he nervous?

You looked at his eyes, and saw that he had been watching you just as intently.

Somehow, the connection was comfortable. It was rare to find someone you could sit in silence with without needing to fill the space.

You watched him curiously as you sipped your tea, waiting to see what would happen next.

He excused himself for a moment and left the room. Even the sound of the shoji door sliding shut sounded gentle.

You let yourself sink into the peace of the room while you waited.

Whatever would happen, would happen, but you could try to get some enjoyment out of it. Your practicality combined with your bouts of recklessness certainly landed you in some odd situations. Your good fortune let you slide out of potentially nasty situations just as easily as you got into them and you were sure someone out there was watching over you.

Some time later Kurogiri returned to the room and walked around the table to your side. He extended a hand to you again. You unfolded yourself from your sitting position and accepted his aid.

He led you out of the sitting room, down a short hall and to another room. You could smell moisture in the air as you approached, but couldn’t see past Kurogiri’s frame.

Once you got to the room, he stepped out of the way and gestured for you to enter.

You did so, and once you had crossed the threshold of the room, you heard the door close behind you.

You looked over the shoulder just to reassure yourself that the door was closed, before looking around at the rest of the room.

OK, there was a sink and a toilet, no surprises there. 

You moved into the adjoining room to discover a shower, accompanied by a large bathtub, filled with warm water and beckoning to you. There was a light fragrance wafting through the air, something earthy yet soothing.

There was a fluffy bathrobe laid out to the side.

Alright, you got the hint.

You disrobed and quickly showered, not wanting to waste any time that could be spent soaking in the tub. Once you settled in the tub, you felt your muscles warming up and all tension (and reason) escaping. You leaned against the back of the tub and let your eyes flutter shut.

You thought you heard Kurogiri enter and exit at some point (his passing only revealed by the sound of the opening and closing of the doors) but you couldn’t be bothered to look.

When you finally deigned to open your eyes, you noticed that your clothes were gone. Was he really going to wash them for you? Man, this guy’s hosting skills were above and beyond.

By now, the water had cooled off, so you slowly rose out of the tub, as if wishing could warm up the water. The tub had been the perfect size - no need for bathtub gymnastics or body parts sticking up out of the water like mountain tops, laid bare and chilled by the wind.

You reluctantly left the tub and dried yourself off before wrapping yourself in the bathrobe, which was the softest thing you had felt in your life. Would it be a faux pas to ask him where he had gotten it?

You saw that slippers had been left out for you and ignored them. You preferred to feel the polished wood of the floor underneath your feet.

You made your way out of the bathroom, and wandered out into the hall. Before you could venture too far out, Kurogiri approached from the opposite end. The streaks of his eyes were curved up a little. Was this his version of a smile? Combined with his vest, tie, and neck brace being gone, it made him look surprisingly vulnerable.

You got the impression that this was a rare sight and were both flattered and honored.

As he led you to yet another room, you noticed that you could feel no dust or debris underneath your feet. He or whoever had cleaned the house had done an impeccable job. The amount of attention that went into the care of the house and the graciousness that had been shown to you during your stay made something in your chest stir. Sure, this was an extremely odd situation to be in, but not a bad one, so far.

He stopped in front of another shoji door and slid it open carefully. You felt as if this would be your final destination for the night. Kurogiri bowed his head and then gestured for you to enter first. You beamed at him and then stepped into the room, wiggling your toes against the tatami. You heard him close the door before feeling his presence behind you.

A quick look across the room revealed an austere bedroom. A bed, comfortable and low to the ground, a couple of lamps, your clothes neatly folded and resting by the side of the bed. Somehow, seeing them there made you feel reassured.

“You may change if you like.” 

You turned around and looked up at him as you thought about what you’d like to do.

“I’m okay like this.”

He nodded, and you suddenly felt shy. Was it bold to stay in a bathrobe? Somehow, you didn’t want to change into your clothing - it felt like things would suddenly become more formal and distant.

He moved toward the bed and waited. You realized he was waiting for you to get in first. Your stomach clenched as you felt a bolt of fear pass through you and you took a slow breath in to steady yourself. 

You climbed into the bed and moved towards the center at the side farthest from the headboard to give Kurogiri room to maneuver and knelt. You watched him climb into the bed. The sight of him looming over you for a brief moment changed the fear at the bottom of your stomach into something else.

Kurogiri reclined against the headboard and patted the bed next to him. You noticed that the cuffs of his shirt were unbuttoned. His shirt was still buttoned up all the way.

You crawled up the bed toward him, careful not to let the bathrobe slip and reveal anything, and gingerly settled down next to him. You tentatively leaned against him, and he wrapped the arm closest to you around your shoulder. You settled in closer to him and your head ended up in the crook of his neck. The casual intimacy made your heart race.

You looked at the curve of his neck, watching his mist slowly form and rise up into the air before seeming to disappear. Could you disappear into him if you got too close? But no, that was a silly thought. His body, though lacking clearly defined edges, was definitely solid beneath and around you. He was both warmer than you expected and slightly cooler than you wanted.

You leaned a little bit closer, careful not to brush your nose against his neck and breathed in. He had a pleasant smell - it reminded you of a shrine in the forest. A hint of incense and trees, refreshing and sacred.

You felt his head lean against yours and did your best to relax despite the strangeness of the situation. His mist tickled against your hair. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the gold streaks of his eyes almost disappear. He slowly shifted to angle his body more toward you, and caressed the side of your body with his free hand. He was careful not to stray too high or low.

You felt something inside of you shift with the tenderness of the gesture. It asked for nothing more. You felt the edges of reality become a bit fuzzy, like you were somewhere between the waking world and a dream. You sunk deeper into this feeling and felt Kurogiri relax next to you, as if he were going through the same thing.

He continued to touch you gently - how much time passed, you did not know. You began to feel streaks of desire light up through you, like shooting stars passing gently across your body. You did your best to ignore them, not wanting the moment to end or change. Kurogiri’s hand stopped moving and settled against your hip. You knew his hand was bigger than yours, but it felt even bigger curled around your hip. You felt the warmth of his touch as it slowly bled through the bathrobe. You took a deep breath, held it, and exhaled as you willed yourself to settle down.

You watch him roll his eyes at you where he stands, and you know he’s about to start stalking over to you. You turn on your heel and walk the other way, not wanting to deal with him at the moment. But he’s fast, obviously, professional athlete and all. 

“You have the wrong weapon.” You hear from behind you. You pause, take a deep breath and turn. You hate how good he looks. The flannel, the jacket, the axe. Why does he look so good holding the axe?

“Excuse me?” You question, eyeing him, hoping you look annoyed and not like you want to jump his bones. 

“The knife. She’s holding a bat in the scene you’re dressed as.” You look down at the khaki dress you’re in. He’s right, this is the outfit with the bat, where Jack corners her coming up the stairs. But you threw this together last minute, and you didn’t want to carry a wooden bat around all night long. You went with the knife. 

“I’m gonna kill you.” You deadpan, ready to turn away from him again and leave him alone with all his nitpicky thoughts about your costume. 

“I think that’s my line.” 

“I think he says something about bashing her brains in, actually, if you wanna get specific.” You retort, throwing your own knowledge of his favorite movie back at him.

“Well, you didn’t bring the bat.” He smirks. You hate him. You want to kiss him stupid. 

“Holy shit, you two match!” You hear someone call over the sound of the music. Isagi slips in between the two of you, throwing his arms around your shoulders. “What are the odds, you should take a picture!”

He removes his arms from both your shoulders and you watch him slip a hand in Rin’s jacket pocket to retrieve his phone. Rin lets out a groan and reaches for it, but Isagi is too quick. He stands in front of the two of you, and motions with his hand for you to get closer. 

You reluctantly look to Rin, who gives you a look and sighs. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side, and you look up at him in surprise. You see a flash go off and you turn to pose for the picture, feeling your face heat up at the fact that Isagi probably caught you on camera.  He snaps a few more photos before handing the phone back to Rin. 

“Those look really good.” He winks at Rin, before slapping a hand on his shoulder and leaving the two of you behind. 

“Let me see.” You tell him, leaning over his arm to see the screen. Rin pulls his phone away from your prying eyes.

“No, it’s my phone.”

“It’s my face! Gimme!” You protest, reaching for the phone again. He holds it up above his head where you can’t reach. 

“Relax.” He commands, and you roll your eyes.

“You’re lame. I want to see our picture.” He lowers the phone and taps the screen, opening one photo and shoving the screen in your face.

“There.” You look at the picture, the two of you smiling slightly at the camera. It’s a nice photo, one you’d like to have for yourself, though you’d never ask him to send it to you. You swipe to the left, hoping to see the one of you looking at him, surprised. You want to make sure it’s not as embarrassing as you think it is, but instead you find something else. 

In this photo, Rin is looking down at you, a fond smile on his face, completely uncharacteristic of him. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen him genuinely smile around you. It’s always smug looks and knowing smirks. It’s jarring. 

“What the fuck, don’t swipe. That’s rule number one of looking at a photo on someone else’s phone.” He snatches the screen from your face, and you’re either seeing things, or there’s a faint blush across his cheeks. 

“I wanted to see the other pictures! Isagi took like fifty!” You argue.

“Still!” 

“You’re just embarrassed that you don’t look like you want to kill yourself in a photo with me.” You tease, hoping to ease the tension, but you know you’ve just made it worse. 

“A lapse in judgement. I’ve suddenly remembered why you make me miserable.”

“Stop flirting with me.”

“Fuck off.” He turns and walks away from you, and you watch him join a group of people on the far side of the house. You shake your head, laughing into your drink as you think about the photo you saw. 

“Huh?” You ask, eyeing the size of his hand on your leg. 

“Moving back and forth like that. It’s distracting.” Distracting. If only he knew how distracting his giant stone with the person/monster/angel crawling up out of it has been for you. 

“What is it?” You ask him, spinning your stool again so that you’re facing the unfinished sculpture. His hand slips from your knee. 

He glances at it for a moment before shrugging, “I dunno yet.”

“What do you mean?” You ask him.

“Exactly what I said.” He sighs, already annoyed with the conversation. “I don’t know what it is yet. I have to keep going until I—”

“Free it.” You interrupt, eyes still on the stone. “Until you free whatever’s inside, right.”

He’s quiet for a moment, head turned towards you as you observe his statue. You see him nod out the corner of your eye. “Yeah. I have to free it.”

When you look back at him, there’s an unreadable expression on his face. Gone is the permanent frown across his lips, the harsh line between his eyebrows. You think maybe its curiosity, maybe suspicion. 

What it really is, though, is that Bakugou is suddenly struck with the feeling of being understood. And he didn’t have to tell you a thing. One look at his rocks and you saw it. He’s not sure how to feel.

“I used to feel like that.” You tell him. His frown returns. You recognize that feeling, like something deep inside is screaming to get out, that feeling that you have to set it free or it’ll die inside of you. You used to feel that way every time you pushed your brush into a blank canvas. 

“But you don’t anymore.” He gathers. There’s a harshness to his voice, almost angry, but not angry at you—angry for you. 

“I think I lost it. I think art school sucked the life out of me.” Whatever spark you had died inside of you like you always worried it would. 

“That’s bullshit.” He tells you. He stands from his stool and pulls you up with him. He drags you to the giant stone in the middle of the room, and up close you can see the cross hatching he’s done to it at the top where the limbs seem to start. “You can’t keep your eyes off of this. It’s making you feel something.”

“It doesn’t make me feel anything anymore. You’re just talented.” You shrug.

“I know I’m talented.” He scoffs. “That’s not what you care about. You care that she gets out. You care that I turn this cold, unforgiving piece of solid fucking rock into something beautiful.”

“Or horrifying.” 

“It’s not gonna be horrifying.” He speaks, his lips close to your ear as he keeps you turned toward the stone. 

“You said you don’t know until it’s done.” You shiver.

“No, you said that.”

“You didn’t disagree.”

“Stop fucking—” He sighs loudly from behind you. “Yes, freeing it is a part of it. But I already know what it becomes. I knew the moment I hauled that fucking stone into this room. And you know it too.”

You don’t think you do, but Bakugou says this to you with such conviction, you think you believe him. You turn around, breaking yourself from the hypnosis the rock has put you under. 

“I thought it was weird that you didn’t jump at the chance to choose our artist. I had to practically force you to choose the medium. Maybe art school sucked the life out of you, but you let it.” The truth is harsh, makes you flinch away from him, but his hand reaches out for your wrist to bring you back. 

“You don’t have to be so fucking mean.” You wrench your wrist from his grip. 

“You think this is mean?” He spits. “You paint, and you sketch, and if you fuck up, you paint over it or you erase it. If you fuck up with this—” his palm slams against the stone in a loud thud next to your head. “—that’s it. It doesn’t forgive you.”

“So what? I’m some kind of lesser artist cause I don’t chip off pieces of stone? Fuck you.” You push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge.

“No, you’re a lesser artist because you gave up.” He takes another step forward, his nose just inches from your own. “Whenever you wanna resurrect whatever the fuck died inside of you, you know where to find me.”

He’s off of you in a second, halfway across the room by the time you catch your breath. Squaring your shoulders, you march your way toward him. You hate that he’s right, even if only a little bit. His sculpture did make you feel something. They all did. You haven’t felt that excitement in such a long time, or that jealous pit in your stomach you used to get whenever someone was so good at something it made you want to be better. You envy him. How could a place that slowly ruined you build and mold a man like him?

“I didn’t give up.” You seethe. He turns towards you, towering over you with that same frown on his face, but his eyes have that familiar look in them from when you spoke about his giant.

“Prove it.”

-- ♡ --

❝ whh...?! d-dear, i have to finish strategizing-! oh- oh fine...just a little scratch.. ❞

secretly loves getting scritches, especially from you. he knows it's mostly from a curiosity standpoint for you, but to him, it feels like all the love in the world, being transported to his head right from your pretty hands

of course, there's certainly a time and a place. if he's in the middle of a meeting with his men, touch might be more restricted

in front of kokomi? absolutely not!!

he feels like he has to prove himself as a top general. he's weak with you, especially when you touch him. there is no way that's gonna happen in front of other people

however, there's nothing he loves more than cuddling up beside you, kissing your cheeks as you stroke his ears and gently brush through his tail

he's trying so hard not to let it wag

❝ h-hey, stop that-! I won't be able to focus if you keep touching me like that, you lummox-! ❞

he's so sensitive; maybe even more so than gorou. ear touching isn't as common of an occurrence with tighnari, no matter how much you wish it was

tighnari is very protective of his ears and tail, even if you guys have been dating for a while

after a few months, he might allow you to pet his ears, stroking the soft fur on the inside, watching as his ears and little nose twitch from the sudden touches

will grow extremely flustered if you ask to touch his tail; let alone brush it.

his tail is much more sensitive than his ears, which is why he prefers to groom it in private. he doesn't let anyone touch it aside from you and the occasional curious child he stumbles across when going out

only allows you to pet him in private. if it's in person he will literally die and explode into a million tiny pieces. only you can pet him; only you can see the way he reacts and relaxes at your light touches and careful strokes

-- ♡ --

xiao

he's surprised when you place yourself on his lap, clearly not used to you, let alone anyone, sitting there

he gets used to it pretty fast, not really saying too much. however, there are pretty obvious hints he's enjoying himself. if there's food around, he'll feed you. he likes putting his hands around your waist, supporting you and holding you close

honestly, he prefers to have you in his lap sometimes. he loves feeling your presence so much

he can feel your heartbeat by the way your back presses against his chest. he loves feeling that you're alive

furina

she's most definitely the one inviting you into her lap, giggling as you take a seat

she just holds you close, occasionally tickling your sides when she feels like it

also spoon feeds you, before feeding herself as well, squishing your cheeks

you are pretty much a plush in her arms. she'll just squeeze you until you pop and kiss you all over!