Kissed By The Baddest Villain

by Book_VVitch

Summary:

At the behest of your Uncle Kagero, you agree to be a member of the League Of Villains, loaning out your quirk to aid in their cause. Everything seems to be going as planned--until the guys all start acting weird. Why do they bicker every time you're in a room? How are you going to get used to all this attention?

And who are you going to decide to give it back to?

Notes:

18+

All tags in the description will be fulfilled!

Hey everyone, it's me again! I had this idea of all the LOV guys thirsting over Reader classic Otome game style and couldn't let it go. As always, Reader has some depth and backstory. You'll be playing the role of Yumemi Saito, a twenty-four year-old who's grown up in a life of villainy, but isn't so sure how to handle all of these guys vying for her attention.

There's going to be loooots of sexual tension and pining, but I promise, there will eventually be smut!

I hope you all enjoy being yearned for by villains!!!

Chapter 1: Dibs

Notes:

https://open.spotify.com/track/748yv6bb3l3CcKS45a6SZ8?si=Tdm7YcYaTRS8y8tqZkykcw

Some inspiration was taken from this song, Head Over Heels by Tears For Fears.

"C'mon, Yume! Couldn't you do your Uncle Kagero this one teensy little favor?" 

 

You bat your lashes at him, smiling, gentle as a dove when you ask him, "Do I get a cut of the finder's fee?"

 

Giran's eye twitches before he takes a long drag off of his cigarette. He hates that you're this well-versed in his career. It would be so much fucking easier if his kid sister didn't marry one of the most notorious villains the West could import, thus all but guaranteeing your involvement. In fact, both sides of your family have a long line of villainy, nearly each and every branch on the tree some kind of Yakuza or general criminal all the way down. You were hanging out in the back room of Uncle Kagero's office before you were out of diapers, absorbing this lifestyle since you were a zygote. Pushing back on giving you a cut this time would prove to be futile.

 

"Fuck--fine. You win, you get a quarter of their finder's fee," he relents. The cherry of his cigarette glows in the shadows of his dusty room as he rests his legs atop the corner of his desk, one ankle crossed over the other.

 

"Half or I'm not doing it,"

 

He nearly chokes, "What makes you think I'd give you half, you little shit!"

 

"Because you seem pretty desperate to bring this guy someone for his team. I'm guessing you need the money. And if you need the money bad enough, you'll settle for half of it," you say this all with the sweetest smile that you can muster. 

 

You've got him over a barrel. 

 

Giran taps his index finger on the chipped varnish of his desk, sucking at his teeth, bitter ash wafting through the air. The weather is mild now, but it's only fall. Winter is going to be thrust upon him before he knows it and then he's going to need heat in this place. And he would rather freeze to death than ask your mom for cash to get the heat turned back on. Was he some high profile super villain? Of course not. But he made his money with his own two hands. Phoning his niece for a favor didn't count. 

 

Especially not if you were getting a cut.

 

This way, you're just another employee at a family business.

 

"Alright, I'll give you fucking half, Yumemi. Christ. Shoulda never taught you how to negotiate," Giran chuckles under his breath as he speaks, understanding the part he's played in your character, "Don't forget to tell your ma this time, yeah? She'll kill me if she finds out I'm why you didn't come home again,"

 

"Uncle, I'm an adult. Like, a real adult, I'm twenty four. Mom and dad need to learn to cut the cord already," you tell him with a roll of your eyes.

 

Giran pinches at the bridge of his nose, frustration becoming palpable, "Yumemi--"

 

"Alright, alright. I'll text her,"

 

"Thank you," he sighs. 

 

His amnesia doesn't work on your mom since she inherited the same quirk, so it's not like he can worm his way out of this situation if something goes awry. At least you're being reasonable about this aspect. Giran relaxes his shoulders and leans back in his chair. Your quirk fetches a pretty penny. On top of that, he can all but guarantee they'll agree to take you on immediately, as cute as you are. Might as well not throw away a sure thing. Half the cut isn't so bad, he thinks. 

 

"So who am I working for?" You pry, "Is it that guy who has beef with Gang Orca again?"

 

"No, not this time. Think a little younger,"

 

Younger? You were one of the youngest people in established villainy. Who the hell was he talking about?

 

He sends out a text that you sneakily read from over his shoulder to a person named Kurogiri:

 

I've got someone special for the league

 

"Pack your suitcase," he says, "I have a feeling they're not gonna turn you away,"

 

————

 

You both step through a hazy black portal and into a bar, now face-to-face with the text recipient. He's more mist than man, though he would have to be solid under there somewhere with the way he wipes down shotglasses behind the counter, glass squeaking with every swipe. 

 

"Hello, Giran," a voice calls out from Kurogiri, in spite of his lacking a mouth, "Shigaraki Tomura and the others have yet to return, but they will be back momentarily," he turns his attention to you, yellow eyes flickering, "Are you our potential member?"

 

"I believe I am. My name is Saito Yumemi. It's very nice to meet you," the introduction you choose is quite the same as you always use, polite and pleasant. 

 

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well," Kurogiri responds in kind. 

 

He seems to be a mild and reasonable man. If this is who you'll be working with, you aren't worried about loaning out your quirk. 

 

Giran opens his mouth to speak, but as soon as he does, a portal is opened just to your left, revealing a small group of people who look to be somewhere around your age at a glance. Upon closer inspection, it appears as though you're in the median age group, though it's a bit difficult to tell with how they're dressed. Each of them gape awkwardly, caught somewhat off guard at your presence. A man with a heteromorphic quirk shuffles nervously, carding his fingers through pink hair as someone in ragged, dark clothing flecklessly stares. Another member, who looks to be dressed as a magician of sorts, dons a mask which moves to an expression of shock. The others shift their weight from one foot to another as they wait for an explanation. A blonde girl in a school uniform is the first to approach you, fangs glinting as she flashes you a toothy grin, her demeanor much more cheerful than what you're used to. 

 

"I'm Toga Himiko!" She introduces herself immediately, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

 

"Hold on," a man with shaggy blue hair rasps from behind a hand, "We don't even know who this is yet. Giran. Who did you bring? She doesn't look like she would.. do this,"

 

"Shigaraki, let me introduce you to Saito Yumemi. She was born and bred into villainy, so don't worry, she's not as soft as she looks," Giran explains as he puffs a cigarette from between his teeth. 

 

"Hmm. What can she do?" Shigaraki continues his questioning as the others all mill around in the liminal space behind him. 

 

Giran grins, "Yumemi's quirk is Parasomnia. It allows her to put people into a dreamlike state, where they become, let's just say, very impaired. She can inflict nightmarish hallucinations on whoever her quirk is affecting if she so chooses. She's just gotta know their names for it to work," 

 

"Do aliases work?" Shigaraki pries for more information. 

 

"She--"

 

"It needs to be the full name. However, it's mostly just villains who are unregistered. If you're trying to take down heroes, this won't be a problem since they'll all have hero licenses, or will at least be on the path to obtaining one. It can only work on one person at a time, though," you interject, preferring to speak for yourself.

 

"Show me," he insists, "Toga Himiko is her given name. So show me what you can do,"

 

The girl in question simply smiles, willingly parking herself in front of you.

 

"Okay, then. Come at me," Toga doesn't even flinch before she lurches in your direction with a knife she's pulled out of her skirt, giggling and giddy with bloodlust.

 

"Toga Himiko," you call to her, voice wispy, echoing in a dreamy haze. 

 

She stops dead in her tracks. 

 

"You look so tired. Aren't you tired?" Toga's eyes become heavy-lidded and glossy as she sinks to her knees, her smile reduced to a slight nudge at each side of her mouth, arms like lead at her sides, "What do you see?"

 

"I see.. UA high school," she's compliant and monotone, head bobbing before she drops onto her back entirely.

 

"What's your favorite color, Toga Himiko?"

 

"Pink. Oh, there's pink clouds. Just look at them," she sounds as though she's about to float away.

 

"They're nice, aren't they? Now, why don't you tell me that secret you wanted to share. Remember?"

 

"Yeah. Of course I remember," Toga is now splayed out on the floor like a starfish, "I'm in love with Izuku and Ochaco. They're the best. I really want their blood,"

 

You cut your gaze back to Shigaraki, "As you can see, I'm able to get information this way. If suggestion doesn't work for them, I can put them into something similar to sleep paralysis, which usually does the trick. Works better if they tell me what they're afraid of but I can make them see anything, good or bad. It doesn't do any physical harm, but psychologically, it's quite damaging. If I don't keep talking to her, she'll wake up on her own when this wears off in about two minutes. I'll also need to rest if I use it for more than a couple of hours,"

 

It's quiet for a few beats, the room so still you could hear the breath of a mouse. 

 

"And what do you go by?" The silence is interrupted by Shigaraki. Two crimson eyes peer out from splayed, rigid fingers, haunting and vibrant. A chill runs down your spine. 

 

"I prefer to go by Nyx when conducting business, but I don't mind being informal when it's just us. You can call me whatever you would like in private," your uncle flinches at your words, the five male members of the league training their eyes on you--most of them flustered and blushing--all the while you're none the wiser. 

 

Mom and dad have always been villains, which means you didn't go to public school. Your whole life has been a slew of private tutors and playdates that were arranged by your collective parents, not by yourself or the other children. After around age ten, this was exclusively female companionship, your father becoming very cautious of his only daughter. As a result, you're polite, studious, and well-spoken... but horribly under-socialized. Namely with the opposite sex.

 

Shigaraki's eyes won't meet yours when he says, "Welcome to the League of Villains," he makes a vague motion with his hand, "Kurogiri, give Giran his fee. I'll show her to her room,"

 

"Why do you get to show her?" The man with piercing blue eyes and dark hair approaches. He smells like the smoke from a bonfire. 

 

"Because I'm in charge, Dabi, not you," Shigaraki bites. 

 

"Then shouldn't one of us take her to her new quarters so you're free to pursue other duties?" The magician interjects, offering you a gloved hand as he bows to you, "Mr. Compress, at your service. I'll be happy to show you to--"

 

"I should probably do it. You guys are super busy, and m-my room's on the way, so, it'd make more sense for me t'do it. Hey, I'm Spinner. It's nice to meet ya," says the guy with the Stain getup, eye contact fleeting.

 

"Did you do the dreamy thing? Was it neat?" Toga springs up from her spot on the floor, recovering quicker than you had expected, "Why does everyone look all red and sweaty?"

 

Giran rolls his eyes until you're sure they're scraping the back of his skull as Kurogiri hands him off a wad of cash, "Figured you'd fit right in here. I'll give ya your portion when things settle down. See ya, Yume," and with that, he's stepping through a portal. 

 

He's lucky you know he's good for it.

 

"No, you all have to work on your skills. Gotta fine tune those super cool skills. It's best if I walk her to her room," says a guy in a full body catsuit, a terse, "Piss off, assholes!" soon to follow.

 

"I said I'm walking her down there, Twice. Don't bother," Shigaraki sneers in such a way that you can tell he's becoming irritated.

 

"Counterpoint," says Dabi, "Fuck you, I'm doing it,"

 

Hubbub ensues. You're not entirely certain what you've done, but something has obviously set them off, the lot of them squabbling like elementary kids who want the same toy. Is this what younger guys are like? Seems like they'll fight over anything if walking someone to their room is such a commodity to them. How strange.

 

Toga doesn't speak a word when she takes you by the hand and leads you down the hall. The sharp chatter of bickering can still be heard as you two crest the doorway into a small room at the back of the bar. In it, there's a twin bed, a lamp, a nightstand, and a trunk for personal items. It's more of a prison cell than a room, but you've stayed in worse for smaller cuts of finder's fees. You'll just pretend it's a dorm or something. 

 

"Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend, Yumemi?" She asks you, plopping onto your bed like it's her own. 

 

"No, not right now. Why?"

 

"Oh, just wondering," Toga kicks her legs, "I think it'll come up sooner or later is all,"

 

She flashes you a certain look, one you're not sure the meaning of, before she traipses back to the den of the bar, stating she'll be back later for a sleepover. You're not used to the company when on missions like this, but you're not opposed to it. In fact, what you mostly are is surprised, since you've recently put her to sleep and wrang the secrets out of her like a faulty ShamWow. Maybe she's used to having quirks tested on her, or maybe she genuinely doesn't care. Either way, you're grateful to have someone around to show you the ropes. Every villain organization runs a little differently and it'll make the adjustment that much easier this way. 

 

When Toga enters the den, the guys are still bickering, poking at one another's chests and stage whispering threats. 

 

"You're all so adorable," Toga coos at them, pressing her hands to her flushing cheeks. 

 

All of them snap their eyes to her. 

 

"Where's Yumemi?" Dabi asks, separating himself from the group to lean against the wall.

 

With a snicker, Toga explains, "I took her to her room since nobody else could decide who got to do it,"

 

"And that's Miss Saito to you," Mr. Compress chastises him with a shift of his mask. 

 

"She said we could call her whatever we wanted," is Dabi's retort.

 

"Wrong, fucker. She said I could call her whatever I wanted, so long as we're alone," Shigaraki corrects him as he mindlessly scratches at his neck. 

 

Spinner crosses his arms, "Boss, c'mon, that was the royal you, not YOU you,"

 

"Dibs," Dabi proclaims, flames sparking in his cerulean gaze. 

 

"You can't call dibs on a lady!" Compress snaps his spine ruler straight.

 

"Yeah, Dabi, she's a person. Don't dibs her like she's a bus seat," Spinner gives a scornful, sidelong glance as he speaks.

 

"Doesn't matter. I called dibs, that means I get to shoot my shot first,"

 

"That's not how this works!" Shigaraki grits through his teeth.

 

"Oh? And how would you know, virgin?" Dabi spits his words like venom.

 

More chatter breaks out as Toga grins wildly, content to observe the show these clowns were putting on for her in the circus of their own making. Life is good. 

 

"Hey, hey, wait a minute!" Dabi commands the room, all eyes focusing on him when he asks, "Where the fuck is Twice?"

 

There's a knock at your door, followed by a, "Can I come in?"

 

"Yeah, come on in," you're taken aback somewhat, having not expected anyone to need you again so soon. 

 

Twice breaches the door, waving his hand and smiling visibly even through his mask. 

 

"Just wanted to properly introduce myself. I'm Twice, but feel free to call me Jin. That's my real name. Use whichever you want," he stands with his hands on his hips, another voice countering the previous statement with, "Screw introductions, call me Daddy! Mmff.. Sorry. The other guy isn't always polite,"

 

Ah, so that's why he's called Twice. Makes sense. 

 

"That's okay, I've heard way worse. Trust me. I'll stick with Jin when we're here, and you're welcome to call me Yumemi. Unless Daddy is still on the table," you simper with your last sentence, and he jumps in his spot. 

 

"W-what? Okay, I, uh--" he stammers hard, poking his index fingers together. 

 

"Oh, I was only joking! I'm sorry if I upset you,"

 

"No, it's not that, just--"

 

"Who's upset in here? Better not be our little doll," a smoky voice rasps out before revealing Dabi through the entryway. 

 

"We were just introducing ourselves properly," you say, rising from the edge of the bed. You extend your hand to Dabi, "I don't think we've said hello just yet. I'm Yumemi,"

 

He accepts your hand into his own, his palm sweltering, "Dabi. Pleasure's all mine. If you ever need anything at all, even if it's in the middle of the night--"

 

"Then she'll come to me because I'm the head of this entire thing," Shigaraki cuts him off, still covered in several hands, which you're praying are plaster. 

 

"We're all loyal to the tenets of Stain, though, Shigaraki. Ain't gonna bother any of us to help her out. I mean.. me, personally, I know I'd come by during any hour of the day or night. 'Cause that's what we do as a team, even if we're not the boss," Spinner pushes his way into the room, shoulder-checking Dabi and Twice to fit into the close quarters. 

 

"I am personally and readily available for your entertainment, Miss Saito," Compress bows as he enters the room in a cloud of smoke. 

 

So is he actually a magician after all? 

 

"Please, call me Yumemi when we're off duty," you tell him, and he captures your hand in his own, the silk of his scarlet glove soft to the touch. 

 

"I'm flattered to have such a privilege," he says, voice taking on a plush tone.

 

"No, it's not a privilege, really. I'm just me. You're all welcome to call me by Yumemi any time. As my dad always says, formalities are for heroes,"

 

"Ah-hah!" Spinner points at Shigaraki, "I told you it was the royal you! She meant all of us!"

 

The room has become a blaring fortissimo of conversations, insults saturating the air, curses you've never even heard before hurled like hidden rocks in snowballs. 

 

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

Chapter 2: Getting To Know You

Summary:

It's movie night with the LOV, but Compress ends up being the only one who can stay up with you.

Notes:

https://open.spotify.com/track/5hc71nKsUgtwQ3z52KEKQk?si=baAM62IgSWa37kfiTpg6sA

The song for this chapter, Somebody Else by The 1975

Midnight strikes when you arrive back at the hideout, the league having shaken down a few members of the Shie Hassaikai for information. Apparently, there's a man who goes by Overhaul who's really making a name for himself. He's been working on bullets that can erase quirks, and with this rumor floating around, Shigaraki's interest has been sufficiently piqued. He had to know more, for the progression of the cause--thus your involvement tonight. 

 

"I can't believe you made that guy think his ex came back just to have her leave again!" Toga comments as you lounge about in the den. 

 

Her golden eyes shine as she takes a spot next to you at the counter. There's something surreptitious about her expression, shifting behind her gaze, highly strung and neurotic. You think perhaps it's her desire for blood that wasn't quite sated by today's mission. 

 

"I can't believe he cried so much," Twice weighs in with an expression of empathy, gritting after, "I'll give 'em something to really cry about!"

 

"I can't believe something like that actually worked," Dabi scoffs, taking a stinging swig of whisky straight from the bottle. 

 

You fold your arms behind your head, "Hey, I work with what I've got. He said he wanted his girlfriend back, but couldn't handle it going both ways, I guess. She must've fucked his shit up," 

 

It's still surprising for the league to hear you curse like this with as gentle as you are with them. But that's what happens when you grow up in a world of villains. The words have all but lost their meaning to you by now. 

 

"Psh. What a pussy. I'd never let someone make me that weak and pathetic," Dabi checks his phone to seem disinterested in the conversation with the hope that this catches your attention, but no such luck. Having you around is the only time he's ever had to play mysterious and brooding and it's pissing him off. 

 

This elicits an eyeroll from Spinner, "It ain't weak to love someone. Maybe you're just not strong enough to handle it,"

 

"So you're an expert now? Got yourself a little crush and now lizard's an expert?" 

 

"Shut up, Dabi, seriously!" Spinner looks frantic, face beet red, fists balled at each side.

 

You could cut the tension with a knife. 

 

"Both of you need to shut up," Shigaraki interjects, "It's not like either of you NPCs have a shot at a relationship with anyone,"

 

Mr. Compress tsks as he folds one elegant leg across the other, sitting on the couch as if he were attending a fine theater production while Toga claps and kicks her feet. It feels like any time you get involved with the league, regardless of the shape or form, there ends up being some sort of argument. This has you wondering what exactly you're doing wrong.

 

"Guys, come on now. We're all a team. We should be supporting each other," Twice gives a thumbs up before turning to you, "Right, Yumemi?"

 

Dabi's grip on the whiskey bottle goes white-knuckled, though his face doesn't move. Twice is chummy with you in a way that he most certainly does not appreciate. Just look at him. Kissing your ass like this. Staring at you like some idiot dog waiting for your praise. Disgusting. He isn't sure what's going on between you two, but whatever it is he thinks he's seeing, he better fucking not be. You're way out of everyone's league--his included--but Dabi knows he's the only one who can handle you. That goes for Compress, too, always trying to win you over with those gauche little magic tricks. What a phony. Twice and Compress both need to back down. 

 

Or he'll make them.

 

"Way to suck up, Twice..." Spinner mutters under his breath with a barely audible "kissass" grumbled from Shigaraki.

 

Compress stands, hands animated when he says, "I, for one, will not be partaking in their squabbles. I'd like to instead thank you for getting us that information, Miss Saito. We couldn't have done this without you,"

 

Your face is going up in flames over all of the recognition being given to you, stating, "I'm just doing what I came here to do,"

 

"And so modest. We really don't deserve you," Compress continues, and you blush like mad, fiddling with the sleeve of your shirt. 

 

Those pretty doe eyes of yours dart up, lashes fluttering, cheeks dark, the gentle parting of your lips just enough to show how pouty and kissable they are. The realization hits the group simultaneously in some way or another: you look so cute and flustered like this because of none other than Mr. Fucking Compress. 

 

"You're probably quite tired now," he says with the flick of a gloved hand, reaching to brush the hair out of your face. 

 

He wants to see you like this all the time. Wants you so gorgeous and emotional beneath him so that he can take you into an embrace. But so does everyone else in this room, and logically, he knows that. He has to get you alone somehow. 

 

"A little, but I'm sure you guys all tire out when you use your quirks. I'll be alright,"

 

"What can I do to help?" Mr. Compress sets a hand upon your shoulder. The intimacy behind this touch combined with the secrecy of his mask is throwing you off-kilter, the duality countering uncomfortably within you.

 

"I'm fine, really, I--"

 

"No, what can I do?" Dabi asks sardonically, "These chucklefucks will just mess it up. But you can trust me to get whatever you need," 

 

From your peripheral, you see Spinner pad away down the hall. At least it seems as though he's had the good sense to evacuate before things become tumultuous once more. 

 

"I don't even have to leave to get you something. I can have a double get it and still keep you company," says Twice, looking quite proud of himself. 

 

Shigaraki removes the hand which he calls Father from across his face, stuffing it into the pocket of his hoodie, "I can just have Kurogiri warp me to get whatever you need. Don't even bother with these noobs, Yumemi. I have whatever you want at my fingertips," he draws a sharp breath, "Unless I've misjudged, and you're actually stupid enough to rely on one of them to get anything done for you,"

 

Spinner returns with a pillow and a sleeping bag, then lays them out onto the couch, fluffing them purposefully as he says, "There. Now you don't even have to leave to get comfortable," he casts a bashful gaze over his shoulder, "We could relax and watch a movie if you're not tired enough to sleep,"

 

Toga nods her head in approval, taking you by the hand and leading you to the couch where she snuggles up next to you. 

 

"Hey--!" Spinner is all but seething. 

 

"Oh no, was this spot for you, Spinner?" She smiles, wide and genuine, "If anyone wanted to sit here next to Yumemi, go ahead and tell me and I'll get up so you two can cuddle. At least, that's why I would assume someone wanted a seat next to our little Mimi,"

 

Tomura's stomach is in knots, Spinner is more red than he's ever been before, Compress is squeezing the counter so tightly it's a miracle it hasn't splintered, Dabi's hands are actively smoking, and Twice is kicking around at the floor like he might actually cry. Damn, did everyone really want to sit next to you that badly? You know it's wrong, but it makes you feel kind of special. You never had a chance to experience the social hierarchies of public school, however, this makes you feel popular.

 

"A movie is a great idea, Spinner," he smirks as the other men shoot him a grimace, "Why don't we have a movie night? That's what I do at home when I want to relax," the group seems to ease when you suggest this. 

 

Everyone settles down to watch a movie, the first of which you've agreed upon being Scream with Halloween right around the corner. This ends up being fun at first, the room filled with phrases of "don't go in there" and "you better run". However, it's closer to morning than it is to night, and the day has been long. You and Mr. Compress end up being the last ones awake as the movie enters its final act.

 

"Aren't you tired, Miss Saito?" He leans over the arm of the couch with his question. 

 

You shift in your seat to face him, "I have trouble sleeping sometimes. What about you? Not tired after compressing Shie Hassaikai loot?"

 

"It's the same for me more often than not. I'm quite the night owl," he nudges some space between you and Toga as gingerly as he can manage to sit next to you. 

 

This is the opportunity he's been waiting for... so why is he so nervous? 

 

"Hey. Would you still be able to do me a favor? If your offer from earlier still stands, that is," your words send a chill down his spine. He finds himself backed against the couch's arm now, peering down at you as you bat those beautiful lashes at him.

 

Christ, you're pretty. 

 

And now it's suddenly sweltering to the point that he feels like he's going to burst out of his skin. 

 

"Anything," he says just above a whisper. 

 

"Call me Yumemi, please," he watches your lips as you speak, "I'd like to hear you call me by my first name,"

 

Oh god oh fuck. 

 

You two are the only ones awake, and you're looking up at him with stars in your eyes, practically begging him to say your name. He feels every single ounce of courage and composure leave his body. He's reduced to nodding his head in agreement. 

 

"Thank you, Compress," you smile warmly at him, and his heart skips so many beats he's concerned for his wellbeing. You're going to give him fucking hypertension at this rate. 

 

"Atsuhiro," he states. 

 

"Hmm?"

 

Mr. Compress removes his mask for the first time since you've met. Granted, it's only been a few days, but he's the only one you haven't seen in civilian clothing yet, all of the others often out of their costumes shortly after they arrive at the hideout. He's very handsome when he takes off the black ski covering which lies beneath his white mask of magic. You weren't entirely positive what you had expected him to look like, but he certainly wasn't this good looking in your head. 

 

"My first name," he murmurs, "It's Atsuhiro. You.. you can call me that. If you want to,"

 

You place a hand on his arm, your scorching touch seemingly burning him through his clothes as you tell him, "I'd like that,"

 

He swallows so thickly he can hear his throat click. What are you doing to him? This isn't like him at all. He's a character, a performer, a modern and revolutionary trubidore--not some kid who just met the girl next door. He finds himself missing the heat when you return your hand back to your lap, nestling back down into the sleeping bag. You're so cute like this. So casual and sweet. 

 

"Atsuhiro," your voice calls out into the dark, like honey atop the TV glow, setting his skin to prickle in lines. 

 

"Yes?" He exhales sharply, previously unaware of the breath he'd been holding. 

 

"Wanna do something else since we're up?" 

 

It's happening.

 

This entire stupid torturous week was all worth it because something is finally happening. 

 

He should play the lottery tomorrow because he is the luckiest man alive.

 

"I'd like that if you would," his tone has nearly taken an octave lower, husky and deep in his chest, his heart beating so wildly he's afraid it may leap from him entirely. 

 

You're leaning in now. This is it. You're about to--

 

Grab the remote. 

 

Fuck. 

 

"What kind of movies do you like?" You ask him, exiting out of Scream. 

 

Compress settles himself, tries his best to calm his expression, which is no longer hidden behind the shield of his mask. He can feel how red and damp his face is getting, which is, in turn, making him even more red and damp. 

 

"Mostly classic film, old cinema. That sort of thing," he manages to reply.

 

"I love old films. I think I saw The King And I on here earlier if you like that one,"

 

His tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth, hands beginning to tremble. Atsuhiro isn't normally someone who lacks finesse, having always been charismatic and fearless; but you have him feeling oddly nervous, palms wet inside his gloves.

 

"I love that one," he resigns himself to this simple, lacking sentence.

 

"Perfect. That's what we're doing, then," you select the movie on the screen, "So what other things do you like?"

 

You seem so eager to get to know him. 

 

It isn't often that you have opportunities like this in your line of work. Sure, getting close to people can end up biting you in the ass if they get taken down by whoever you're up against at the time--but they call it team-building for a reason. Bonding strengthens the odds being in your favor, both for him and for you.

 

"Hmm. Well, I like to read," 

 

"What do you read?"

 

"Mysteries, mostly. Classics,"

 

"Oh, like Agatha Christie?" He appears excited by your recognition.

 

"Exactly like Agatha Christie!" He straightens in his spot, "Are you familiar with her works?"

 

You mull over his question, "I've read a couple of her books. And Then There Were None, Murder On The Orient Express. I think that's it, though,"

 

"Do you read often?" Compress finds himself longing to continue your conversation.

 

Why? This, he can't say. All he knows is that he needs you to keep talking. 

 

"Yeah, I've always read a lot. Always watched a lot of movies, too, since my parents made sure I was home pretty much all the time growing up,"

 

"You were held captive by them?"

 

"No," you giggle, "Well, not exactly. My family is notorious for villainy on both sides so they were seriously protective,"

 

"A kindred spirit, then. My own family is infamous as well," 

 

The sound of old, wobbly violins ends the chatter for you both. It's soft, a little eerie, and absolutely captivating. You hum along quietly to the music, causing his heart to stutter, sloppy and rough behind his ribs. He looks down to see you getting drowsy, head bobbing and eyes glassy as Getting To Know You lulls you to sleep. Your head rests on his shoulder for a moment before you jerk awake once more. 

 

"Sorry," you mutter, too sleepy to be embarrassed by the sudden close contact. 

 

"It's alright. More than alright, actually, if you'll just let me do something," Compress wriggles out of his overcoat and folds it on the couch behind him, in part so that you can rest on the softer shirt beneath it, and also so he can get some much needed relief for how hot he's become, "There. This should be more comfortable for you Miss--ah--Yumemi,"

 

Your eyes are so heavy that you don't even think twice before lying against him again, "That's sweet, Atsuhiro. Thank you,"

 

Atsuhiro watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, studies your features as they become lax and peaceful. The screen splashes colors of light across the contours of your face, the arch of your lashes casting shadows over the apples of your cheeks, new hues blooming in your hair. With the lightest touch he can offer, he tucks the few strands of hair behind your ear that have fallen into your face. His thumb lingers for a few seconds to graze your bottom lip.

 

He removes his gloves to trace the pad of his finger across your cheek, to quell this ever-growing need to have you close to him. It's a feeling he can't quite understand. You're more than ornamental to him now, excelling past a pretty face. And you're so soft. So warm and comforting. Having you draped over him this way is like being covered in a blanket. He finds himself drifting off, eyes so heavy it's as if they're weighed down by rocks. 

 

When he next awakens, he's being tapped on the forehead by Twice, who whisper-screams, "You piece of shit, you're sleeping with her?"

 

"What?" Atsuhiro is barely awake, the vestiges of sleep still present in his bones.

 

"She's all over you! You snuck onto the couch when the rest of us were sleeping so she could fall asleep on you and then you could fall asleep with her like this!" Twice points animatedly at your still sleeping form. 

 

At some point during the night, Mr. Compress had slid further down onto the couch, with you and Toga adjusting in kind. While Toga was pressed and almost folded into the far corner, you've dropped over his chest, arms wrapped around his neck and legs caging him in at either side of his waist. Atsuhiro gasps, cheeks slapped crimson, leading you to groggily groan and nuzzle into the crook of his neck. You're using him like a pillow. So fucking cute. 

 

"What's going on?" Dabi shuffles over, rousing Spinner in the process. They both stretch and yawn as they approach the new hub of the hideout: this godforsaken couch. 

 

"Compress slept with Yumemi!" Twice accuses, the whisper sharp in his throat.

 

"Excuse me?" Shigaraki hisses from his corner of the room. 

 

"Shh, you'll wake her," Compress holds you closer against him in a shameless display of superiority, "Twice is being literal, she fell asleep on me last night,"

 

Everyone else scoffs at his admittance, the room growing silent so you can continue to rest peacefully. 

 

"I'm still pissed," Spinner says with arms crossed.

 

You begin to wake soon thereafter, rustling beneath the sleeping bag, and everyone scrambles back to their original placements. When you open your eyes, lids undulating, you're face-to-face with Mr. Compress, his eyes wide and nearly panicked. 

 

"I'm sorry," you say, rubbing at your eyes as you press against his chest to rise, "That's so embarrassing. I can't believe I was all over you like this," you cup your blushing face in your hands. 

 

"No need for apologies. You kept me warm the entire night. I should really be thanking you," He remains horizontal, soft-spoken and slightly mussed, thumbs rubbing circles on your shoulders in a manner that feels intensely intimate. 

 

"Yumemi," the way he says your name is hushed, like a feather on the wind. 

 

Just as your mouth parts to speak, Dabi leans over Atsuhiro's face, locking eyes with you when he states, "I'm hungry. You want breakfast or what?"

 

"Breakfast? Sounds yummy," Toga says through the gravel of morning. 

 

"Y'know, I-I can make breakfast since I actually know how to cook," Spinner pipes up, "But I'd only be able to cook for us. I've never made for more than a person or two, so, feeding outside of me and you ain't really within my abilities,"

 

"Or I could take you out to eat since I'm the only one here who has any money," Shigaraki tells you frankly. 

 

"It's not even your money!" Dabi responds heatedly, his cerulean gaze flickering.

 

"Doesn't matter, I still have it,"

 

There's smoke billowing from the kitchen, followed by, "Nobody worry, I'm taking care of breakfast!" From Twice. 

 

"Oh man. Okay, I'm making breakfast, you guys just chill," you begrudgingly tell them, flipping the sleeping bag off of you. 

 

You don't normally like to cook, but this incident with Mr. Compress has you desperate to keep your mind off of it. You didn't dislike waking up like that, yet, that's what has you feeling some sort of way about it. 

 

But at least nothing like that will end up happening again. 

Chapter 3: Hail To The Queen

Summary:

Yes! You've convinced the LOV to go to a fall festival with you!

However, it seems you've ended up alone with Dabi.

Notes:

I feel like the way each guy feels when he sees you with someone else is very akin to Flavor Of The Weak by American Hi-Fi.

https://open.spotify.com/track/5wjQihzWIKgBc1hzf5work?si=O-36tZK6RByFKWB7zXscww

For this chapter, I listened to a lot of I See You by Phoebe Bridgers, Moon by Sleeping At Last, and Wait by M83.

Several weeks have passed now, and fall is in full swing, bringing with it a bite to the air that has you bundling in sweaters. This is your favorite time of year, when the leaves begin to change, the air shifting in such a manner that feels as if it’s taking you to the distant past; somewhere that ghouls and goblins roamed free, someplace where quirks were witchcraft and the world was made of magic. It always hits you with this sense of nostalgia for a time you never even lived in.

 

With Halloween now upon you, this meant that Musutafu was celebrating with a festival—something you had pre-planned to beg everyone to attend with you—but to your surprise, you didn’t really need to. Since this was a costumed event, everyone had agreed after your first “please” to go. You had assumed it was because there was such little risk of them being identified as villains when they were thoroughly disguised, and in that sense, you had assumed correctly. However, there was another underlying reason that they were all so eager to go to the festival tonight. 

 

They wanted to see you all dressed up. 

 

Dabi is already waiting on pins and needles for you to exit Toga’s room. He usually would find dressing up for Halloween to be pretty childish, and, well, lame. But with you so excited, he had to swallow his pride and throw something together. He didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, so he grifted himself a set of vampire fangs, then added two dots on the side of his neck with a red marker. It was subtle enough to show he totally didn’t spend the last twelve hours trying to decide what to do, but still had that sexy edge to it.

 

Everyone had agreed to share you equally, but he knew better than anyone else that as soon as you walked out in your costume, even if it was you dressed as something stupid as hell, all of those promises would be out the window. That meant he needed to be the best of the best tonight. The coolest, the hottest, the most desirable. With his alt Lestat look, Dabi was convinced that he had this in the bag.

 

He was even more sure of himself when Twice entered the room dressed as a black cat with a moon on his forehead. Still donned in his typical suit, he was wearing a headband featuring two pointed ears, a tail, and even little paw gloves. 

 

“You look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi chides him.

 

“Oh yeah?” Twice has a haughty air about him that leaves Dabi worried, “Well I just so happened to have the thought to ask what her theme was. She wouldn’t say the exact person she’s going as, but she and Toga are dressing as characters from Sailor Moon. I’m Luna,”

 

“No, you’re a stupid asshole. She’s not gonna take you seriously dressed like that. Fuck, it’s like you’re trying to give the rest of us a leg up or something,”

 

“We’ll see how you feel when this gets a laugh out of her. Women love funny men,” Twice holds out his hand to check the nails of his paw, still confident in his decision, contradicting himself in the next breath, “I could take it or leave it no matter what she thinks,”

 

“Whatever, cat-boy,” Dabi sneers under his breath. 

 

The next to enter the room are Shigaraki and Spinner, both of whom also appearing to have gone with a humorous costume. Shigaraki’s costume looks to be about as low-effort as Dabi’s, having taped a blue construction paper “e” to his hoodie and circled his eyes with what was more than likely Toga’s eyeliner. 

 

“Are you.. what the fuck, Shigaraki? A dead E?” Dabi asks, tongue occasionally grazing his fangs. 

 

“Tss,” Shigaraki replies, crossing his arms and casting his eyes to the floor, “Stupid guess. And like I’m telling you. Find out when Yumemi gets here,”

 

Spinner is in a white button-up shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. Dabi opens his mouth to roll a snide comment off of his tongue, when Toga flounces into the room wearing full Sailor Moon attire. 

 

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice!” She announces, the heels of her boots clicking against the hardwood. She seems to have really gone all out, the buns on her head having each a tendril of hair let down to resemble Usagi’s classic hairstyle, the Spiral Heart Moon Rod being waved around as she speaks to Twice about what a good Luna he makes. 

 

“Toga, you’re Sailor Moon?” Compress questions her as he walks through the door, already deflating, “I thought Yumemi was Sailor Moon. That’s why I’m going as Tuxedo Mask,”

 

His shoulders slump visibly beneath his suit, the disappointment palpable as he wistfully drops the rose he's holding down at his side, red petals unceremoniously scraping his trousers.

 

“Wait, so you and Twice both knew she was doing a Sailor Moon thing?” Spinner looks as if he’s about to throw up. He runs his hand nervously across the back of his neck.

 

“Well of course. We’ve had a week to properly coordinate, thus, I acted accordingly and asked for her plans myself,” Compress regales this information with the flick of his wrist. 

 

Twice’s face becomes animated within his mask, “All you had to do was think about what she wanted to do,”

 

The feeling washes over Spinner, Dabi, and Shigaraki simultaneously. 

 

They had greatly underestimated the lengths the others were willing to go to for your hand.

 

Shit a brick through a fucking window, how did they not think to communicate with you? They’ve been outsmarted by both of these assclowns. Bested by a wannabe circus ringleader and some himbo with a traumatic brain injury. And now they’re going to look thoughtless. They didn’t even consider what you were doing. At least Toga would've had the excuse of obsessing over her crushes had she dropped the ball like this, but them? No. You’re their crush. There’s no excuse for that. They’re going to have to step up their game. 

 

The clicking of heels upon the floors catches the group's attention. When you walk into the room, you’re beaming, the atmosphere electric with your excitement—and burning with the heat coming off of you. You’re not one of the sailors, or a cat, or some other cutesy little character they expected. 

 

You’re dressed as Queen Beryl. 

 

Your hair is tucked back behind a bright red wig, eyes winged with black liner, lips painted a vibrant shade of ruby. Atop your head is the crown Beryl wears, and your shoulders are horned with a homemade prosthetic on each side. And that fucking dress… It’s floor length and purple, tastefully low-cut, hugging the absolute hell out of your waist and hips. With a giggle, you point your scepter at the room. 

 

They hadn’t even noticed it. 

 

“Doesn’t she look so hot as the Queen?!” Toga is the first to bring it up, sparing any decency she’s ever known, gazing up at you as if you really did have dominion over them all. She nudges you until you turn to the side and then, emphasizing your bottom, declares, “Your ass is killer in that dress, Mimi!” You blush deeply at her praise. 

 

The men, having what is essentially permission to look, fix their collective eyes to your ass. 

 

Yeah. 

 

It’s fucking killer.

 

“Oh God,” Spinner mutters to himself, and Mr. Compress elbows him, a reminder to be polite around a lady such as yourself. He picks his jaw up, “Y-you look just like her. Seriously, great job,”

 

“Absolutely stunning,” Compress adds.

 

“Atsuhiro, you’re Tuxedo Mask!” You clasp your hands together at the recognition, and he bows with a grin, “And Twice, I can’t believe you actually went as Luna! You’re hilarious, like I am weak, you even have the tail,”

 

Twice lifts his mask to mouth “told you” at Dabi as you buckle over with laughter. 

 

“Let’s see, Shigaraki…” He tenses at the sound of his name leaving your lips, “You’re not the ghost of an E are you?”

 

“No, but good guess,” Shigaraki mumbles, and Dabi tosses an offended look his way.

 

“When I said that you fuckin’ told me—!”

 

“I’m Internet Explorer,”

 

Shigaraki looks proud, smug even, when you bounce up and down I'm a fit of giggles. 

 

‘That’s so smart, oh man! I can’t believe you thought of that!”

 

Heat blooms across his face, keeping to himself about how he’d looked up clever Halloween costumes to impress you. 

 

“Spinner, I love mundane Halloween. Can I guess or do you wanna tell me?” You ask him with a grin. 

 

He watches your cleavage as you bring your hands to close, arms pressing at your chest. God, the room feels so incredibly small. And since when is he the type to get an eyeful of someone like this? It’s making him feel kind of scummy, but fuck, you’re just so perfect. 

 

Oh shit, you’d asked him a question. 

 

What was it again?

 

Right. 

 

“Go a.. g-go ahead and guess,” he stammers, forcibly removing his eyes from your body, his cheeks now covered in a smattering of pink. 

 

You tap your finger to your chin, “Are you… waiting for your slacks to get done drying?”

 

“That’s close.. But I… I’m a work from home business man,” the explanation feels hot on his tongue with the way you’ve focused your attention on him. 

 

You bark out a laugh, ecstatic and all too pleased with his answer. 

 

“You guys absolutely kill me. I like all you guys so much, seriously. Are we all ready to go?” 

 

The group nods emphatically, all of them following behind you like ducklings in a neat little row out the door. On any other day, it would be a fight for who got to walk beside you. Today, though, they would be fools to squander this view from behind. You look delicious. 

 

All of you are cloaked in the darkness of night for a majority of the walk to the festival, lead by the light of the moon, warm splashes from lanterns lighting up patches of your skin when you reach the grounds. Harvest glow seeps through the bare, knobby branches of the trees. The smell of confectionaries, caramels and sweet kettle corns alike, waft on the breeze. 

 

“Smells like candy apples,” you exhale these words, somewhat hazy. 

 

“Do you like those?” Shigaraki asks, making certain he won’t miss a single thing about you from here on out. 

 

“Well, yeah, doesn’t everyone?”

 

All ears seem to perk up, then the group disperses, the lot of them hurrying to the food stalls. 

 

Your eyes dart around frantically for any familiar face that still lingers, and you watch as Toga books it to the goldfish scoop, chirping about how she’s going to win so many prizes for Ochaco and Izuku. 

 

“Hey, wait!” You lurch forward, but are pulled back by your arm, a hot grasp keeping you in place. 

 

“Hold on,” Dabi croaks, and you turn to meet his gaze over your shoulder, “We can go do stuff on our own. I’ll get you a treat or something later,”

 

Dabi saw the opportunity and took it, swooped in like a stalking vulture. He was more than grateful that the others all bolted to those long as hell food stalls. Now he has you all to himself.

 

“O-okay, yeah. You wanna go play Katanuki?” Your voice comes out shy and girlish in a way you weren’t quite anticipating. 

 

He starts toward the Katanuki tent, and you quicken your stride to keep up with him, lights and sounds bleeding into the air around you on your way. The stands are all lined in neat rows, their coverings colorful and bright, people both in and out of costumes manning the front to accept payments. You can tell when you've reached the Katanuki tent by the smell of the sugar sheets. The two of you offer up two tickets when you reach the stall, and take a seat at a wooden bench to poke at the sugar wafer, the lines of his face harsh as he needles the shapes. He looks somewhat irritated that the sugar is melting a bit in the heat of his fingertips, hissing in vexation.

 

“I gotta say, I’m surprised you wanted to hang out with me,” your tone is hard and half a whisper. 

 

He lifts a brow, “Why?”

 

“You just always seem like you don’t want to be around me,” you confess, and he cracks the little heart he was needling at. 

 

Pain flashes briefly in his eyes before he flattens back to his baseline, lips sloping gently into a frown. 

 

“That’s.. that’s fucking stupid. I don’t not want to be around you, I…” the words feel impossible to pry from his mouth.

 

“You can tell me if I’m irritating you,” your voice plays at being content, but the way your eyes are getting all welled up and glassy says otherwise.

 

A lump forms in his throat. 

 

You care so much about his opinion of you. 

 

“No, I… you’re not. I wanna be around ya, doll,”

 

Dabi thumbs nervously at the Katanuki sheet, his stomach coiling, heart fluttering behind his ribs. You're so beautiful in this moment. Even when you've dressed yourself up as a Sailor Moon villain, you're prettier than any flower he's seen. You’re pale, shrouded in the moonglow, lantern light flickering in your eyes, which has a peculiar feeling curling within him. And like the little ghost you are, you’ve been haunting the chambers of his mind, each nook and cranny there having previously been devoid of anyone to occupy it. What does he even do with this? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? He’s horny for you, sure, but this feels like more than just wanting to sleep with you. This feels like it's coming from somewhere deeper. 

 

You sense how unsettled he is in such a way that’s only so intuitive due to your quirk, having honed pulling the true emotions from people more times than you can count. It’s easy to tell he’s nervous. Maybe you shouldn’t have made an assumption like that. You place your hand atop his, tracing your fingertips gently across his knuckles, your touch soothing and soft. His breathing is stutter-stopped, pulse pounding rapidly. When he locks his turquoise eyes onto yours, he feels like he’s going to be sick, something winding him up until he’s positive he’ll snap. 

 

“It’s okay,” the comfort you give him is simple, but warm, the smile spreading over your face so genuine and kind. 

 

Those dinnerplate eyes of yours tug at his heartstrings, dry up his mouth, have him impulsively curling his fingers around yours which drape so delicately into his palm. He can’t recall a time when someone touched him so sweetly, so purposefully. He couldn't wrap his mind around why your own impulse isn't to recoil. Look at him. He's covered from head to toe in burn marks, more monster than man. This combined with his checkered past had him writing off the odds of someone actually liking him. Why do you seem like you care so much, then? 

 

As you brush your thumb over the marred heliotrope skin that joins to his hand, he shudders as if he’s cold, the look you’re giving him settling into his bones like radium, and you glow all the same. He’s thought so many times about how he was going to kiss you the second he had the chance. But now that the opportunity has risen, he can’t will himself forward. He can’t breathe. He’s drowning, sinking, watching you through the dreamlike lens that you’re always covered in.

 

“Would you.. would you want to..” The words won’t come out, the plush strokes of your hand a distraction, “There’s a ferris wheel…” He gets to his feet abruptly, gathering up how to say, “Let’s get on the ferris wheel,”

 

You grin brightly, “I’ve never been on a ferris wheel before,”

 

“First time for everything,” he states plainly, already heading in that direction. 

 

You’re expecting it this time, so you catch up with him quickly and tell him, “Well I’m glad my first time will be with you, Dabi,”

 

He stops in his tracks, and you run into his back, the tiny gasp you let out only adding to the shiver that racks through him. You were being serious when you said that, he could tell. It wasn’t something you were teasing him with, but it still felt taunting somehow, the words echoing through his head: I’m glad my first time will be with you, Dabi. His toes curl at the thought, the curve of his cheek visible as he casts a moon-eyed glance over his shoulder. He studies your face, the gentle slope of your shoulders, the swell of your hips, eyes tracing the length of your legs. You’re too gorgeous. It shouldn't be allowed.

 

“Let’s go, then,” he turns and continues to lead the way. 

 

You two wait in line for a few minutes, him having to snarl at several other men who were eyeing your figure, flashing a blue-flamed fingertip at some asshole who pointed you out to his buddy. Not that he blamed them. You are hot, after all. But they needed to do a better job at sneaking looks, lest he have to lay someone out, which he was not above doing in the slightest. The man taking the tickets gulps as you two approach. And it's kind of weird, but he seems to be flat out refusing to make eye contact with you, despite your friendly demeanor.

 

The cab of the ferris wheel is roomy, a space on each side for people to sit, and you choose to sit right next to him. When you’re seated, the little stall shaking back and forth, you reach out for him without thinking. He goes stiff as a board, so tense he can feel every muscle in his body as you grasp his shirt in your fist. He sucks down a breath when you return your hand to your lap and separate yourself from him. He hates how much enjoyment he gets from knowing your first instinct was to cling to him for safety. Dabi wasn't someone who people tended to think of as safe. He was strong, and he was skilled, and he was sturdy--but he couldn't think of a single other time another person had reached for him like that. He touches the place on his chest where your hand had landed, whole body buzzing. 

 

“Sorry, I, uhm—I didn’t know it would—ah!” The stall moves again, tilting as it begins to take the passengers in a circle, and you press your weight against him. 

 

Dabi is sweating like a sinner in church when he tries to seem calm, “’S alright, doll, you can hold on to me,”

 

Now would probably be the perfect time to ask you out. You’re cuddled up to him, watching the festival lights flashing from up here in the sky. But you’re also trembling like a little leaf being blown around in the wind. You’ve got your arms wrapped tight around his waist, face nuzzled into his chest, heart beating so hard that he can feel it hammering through you. 

 

“S-sorry,” you apologize once more, a lilt in your voice that resembles the way you shake, “I don’t mean to ruin the fun,”

 

Your fingers dig into the flesh of his back, nails grazing him slightly through the fabric of his shirt, and he mirrors this for you as best he can, rubbing small circles where the dress exposes your crystalline skin. 

 

“You’re not ruinin’ shit,” his voice is barely audible in the crisp wind that whips past the two of you. 

 

“I’m glad you don’t hate me,” you chuckle nervously. 

 

“Yeah?” Dabi sounds a bit surprised. 

 

“Yeah,” you say softly, “I really like you,”

 

He fumbles this information around in his mind, flounders with it, completely and totally short circuits. You’d just told everyone how much you liked them not an hour ago. This could mean anything.

 

As a friend?

 

As a lover?

 

As something more than that?

 

How exactly do you like him?

 

He can’t figure out how to ask you that without seeming pathetic and desperate, though. So he does the next best thing and sits there with it like a fucking loser. Lets it eat away at him. 

 

This totally won’t keep him up every single night for the foreseeable future. 

 

It’s then that he resigns himself to pulling you closer to him, syncing his breaths with your own, relishing in the way you let out little gasps and squeaks when the wind rocks the ferris wheel. The time with you goes by much too quickly. You’re being lowered and let off of the ride before he knows it, the other members of the league waiting on the ground, hands full of candy apples—aside from Toga, who’s struggling to hold onto all of the toys she’s won. Dabi pulls a self-satisfied face at everyone while you step off of the ride, pierced tongue poking from his teeth, both of his middle fingers extended. 

 

“Jesus, that thing was scary! You guys, it just kept moving, it was like—!” You make a swaying gesture with your hands, puffing out your flushed cheeks, pinched dark with wind and exasperation. 

 

Dabi smirks when he realizes some of your lipstick has smeared. 

 

Did you guys kiss?

 

No.

 

But they were all going to think you did, and that was a close second to actually getting to kiss you. 

 

Toga shoves a bear in your face, explaining to you the names of all these stuffed animals, and who they’re assigned to. You smile down at her, happy to be a part of her antics. 

 

“This is from me,” Shigaraki boldly interrupts the conversation, handing you the treat he's acquired, “It’s got chocolate and caramel on it,”

 

“Well mine’s covered in marshmallow fluff!” Twice pushes the apple in your face, “Looks like it sucks,”

 

“Yeah, but the one I got has special almonds on it. They were grown right around the corner,” Spinner wiggles his as he speaks. 

 

Mr. Compress holds his apple as if it’s on display, “This one is a classic candied apple. You can’t beat the classics, I’m afraid,” 

 

You’re incredibly overwhelmed with all of the options, “Woah, I cannot eat all of these. We should get a plate and cut them up. That way, we can all share,”

 

Shigaraki rolls his eyes. He does not like sharing. Not even a little. 

 

But everyone else has begrudgingly complied, so he will, too. 

 

You all gather at a picnic table, Spinner slicing all of the apples with Toga’s pocket knife, showing off his skills in the process. You press your hands to your cheeks with excitement. 

 

“So many to choose from,” you whisper to yourself. 

 

“Allow me, Yumemi,” Atsuhiro removes his glove to take a slice with well-manicured fingers, “I wouldn’t want your hands to get sticky,” 

 

You tilt your head, unsure of the expectation he has of you. Upon seeing your confusion, Compress pinches your cheeks together, carefully coaxing your mouth to open. 

 

“That’s it, there you go,” he breathes while placing an apple slice on your tongue. 

 

Your whole body heats up. Something about this interaction feels sexually charged. Perhaps you just weren’t used to this much attention from men your own age. Older men tended to be very straightforward and brash, telling you upfront that they wanted to have sex with you; so surely someone would’ve mentioned it by now if they wanted to. You’re just overthinking things. Atsuhiro is a really old-fashioned guy. He more than likely really doesn’t want you getting your hands all gross from the candy apples. Still, you feel a tightness in your belly with the way he watches you chew, his finger and thumb still languidly idling on either side of your jaw.

 

Shigaraki sucks down the slice he had picked for himself, nearly choking, coughing as Dabi grits his teeth. Twice and Spinner simply blink in utter disbelief. Toga unhinges her mouth like a baby bird expecting to be fed, her canines gleaming.

 

Finally, things click. 

 

Everyone is picking up apple slices, offering you bites from their own hands, overwhelming you once more. 

 

“Guys,” you sigh, somewhere between exasperated and flattered, “One at a time,”

Chapter 4: So Kiss Me

Summary:

The spice is starting to pick up some in this chapter. The league guys are all so cute, you just can't help yourself!

Notes:

https://open.spotify.com/track/754kgU5rWscRTfvlsuEwFp?si=saRZ3N-TS_21-BPHKQsRfw

https://open.spotify.com/track/1LzNfuep1bnAUR9skqdHCK?si=YOfbuoHWTgODSn5WAL5MIw

Featured songs for this chapter are Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer and Fade Into You by Mazzy Star ❤️

It’s been a few weeks since the festival, and although you’ve all spent plenty of time lately putting the newest plans for the League Of Villains into motion, you can’t get the last interactions with Atsuhiro out of your head. Nor can you stop from thinking about how Dabi felt pressed to you, how he let you grab a fistful of his shirt, the way his calloused hands felt on your back. 

 

If you were being totally honest with yourself, this tension you’ve been feeling—combined with not having any sex at all lately—has you incredibly pent up and sexually frustrated. This is only exacerbated by your own behaviors. You’re not entirely positive why you keep doing this to yourself, but if you see someone eating something you want a bite of (or not), you’ll look at whoever is eating it until they give you some. When the mood so strikes you, you’ll just open your mouth, lean into them, wait for whoever it is to notice and indulge you in what you’re concerned may be some sort of fetish that was unlocked.

 

Nobody ever denies you. 

 

Still, though, you’re… well, offended isn’t the right word. You don’t take offense to people not wanting to sleep with you. It’s not like they can control who they’re attracted to. 

 

But you’re becoming more and more wishful that someone would throw a pity fuck your way. 

 

Do you really want to be pitiful enough that someone has sex with you, though?

 

Ugh. No. That would be a huge blow to your self-esteem. You just really want to be wanted. Especially when the guys who could potentially want you are all so cute. It’s got you to the point where you’re about to pounce on whoever so much as looks at you the next time you’re alone with someone. Or so you say to yourself. You’ve literally never made the first move with anyone, and even thinking about it makes you feel queasy, the notion that they could reject you outright nearly bringing you to tears. It’s almost funny. You’ve been punched in the jaw so hard that it clicks when you chew, but you can’t handle the prospect of being turned down. You really are pitiful.

 

After a good long stretch in your bed, you make your way to the bathroom, rinse your face with cool water to wash away whatever horny spirit has possessed you, then go through your usual morning routine. It was your assumption that you would be facing a packed house when you entered the den, however, you walk in to see only Shigaraki sitting on the couch, hunched over and playing League Of Legends on his phone. He crumples into himself when he hears your footsteps on the old wooden floors.

 

“Are we the only ones here?” You announce yourself, leaning against the back of the couch to glance at the game on his screen.

 

“I sent everyone else out to scout for supplies. And for members of the Vanguard Action Squad if they find anyone, too,” Shigaraki mutters as he scratches absentmindedly at his neck.

 

Scars litter the fragile skin there in varying degrees. Some are white and webbed, shiny in the light of the room like a spider’s silk, while others are still warm rivets of healing tissue. You wonder if the scars that trail across his eye and lips are self-inflicted as well. Wonder if he’ll ever tell you the stories behind them.

 

“I would’ve gone to help had you asked me to,” you say with the smallest twinge of guilt for sleeping in so late. 

 

He shifts in his spot, crimson eyes avoiding your own gaze, his mouth formed into a tight line. 

 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” 

 

“I just don’t want you to think that I’m not willing to pull my own weight,” 

 

You take a seat next to him and his breath hitches. You’ve never been this close to him before. Of course, his plan was for you both to be alone together while the others were tasked with scouring the streets, but he hadn’t expected you to be quite so receptive. Are you as touch starved as he is? No, probably not, he thinks. Everyone is always trying to touch you, feed you, talk to you. It’s as if you’ve become the household pet. The thought that he’s one of these scrubs who fawns for you this way makes him sick to his stomach. It pisses him off how goddamn pretty you are, how sweaty you make his palms, how his mind stalls when you talk to him. You're just so... frustrating.

 

God, why can't he ever just be normal around you?

 

“I said don’t worry about it. Some of us need to stay behind in case shit goes sideways,” he explains, peering at you through his mop of blue bangs. 

 

The glance is fleeting, unable to be held with how his stomach keeps doing flips when he looks into your eyes. 

 

“That makes sense, boss,” you say this in a way that’s almost teasing, your grin visible in his peripheral.

 

Oof.

 

He’s about to lose his shit.

 

“It’s Tomura,” 

 

“Mmm. Okay. Well, that makes sense, Tomura,” the way you say his name sends a fleet of shivers across his skin. 

 

Son of a bitch. He should’ve just let you call him boss. Why did he do this to himself? Hearing you call him by his first name is about to kill him. 

 

“Mind if I play some music?” You ask, already pulling up the app on your phone.

 

“I don’t care,” his tone falters a bit with these words. 

 

You don’t know what’s come over you. Really, you don’t. Maybe you’re ovulating, maybe the exasperation has gnawed at what’s left of your common sense, maybe you just really want to dip your toe in the water. You can’t be certain. All you know is that the song you pick is Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer. His facial expression doesn’t change, still flat in affect, eyes only snapping open when the lyrics begin. He nearly dusted his phone upon hearing them.

 

“Have you ever danced before?” The question is mostly rhetorical. 

 

You’re pretty aware that he more than likely has not, in fact, danced before. Most villains don’t indulge in those manner of frivolous activities, namely when they have quirks like his. But you don’t mind. You’re used to dangerous quirks, dangerous situations, and dangerous men. 

 

“Dancing is stupid,” He scoffs. 

 

It’s his heart that’s being stupid right now, though. It won’t stop beating so hard and fast. Is he coming down with something? This is just a song. A really dumb one at that. There’s no way kissing is so good that someone would sing about it. 

 

. . .

 

Probably.

 

“So you wouldn’t want to dance with me, then?”

 

He holds a gasp within his mouth.

 

Are you asking him to dance with you?

 

Tomura.exe is no longer responding. 

 

Anticipation blooms in your gut while you wait for him to answer, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. 

 

“I didn’t say that,” He sets his phone down, eyes owlish and large, anxiously tapping his index finger against his knee. 

 

If this were anyone else, his answer would be a firm and resounding no. But there’s something about you that makes him repulsively soft and compliant, a weakness he wasn’t aware of previously that he’s not nearly as desperate as he should be to eradicate, a feeling that’s red and raw and alive. And although he hates how easily you have him wrapped around your finger, he doesn’t necessarily want it to stop. This sensation is new, and strange, but oddly pleasant.

 

Without a word, you smile at him, lifting off of the couch and offering him your hand. He stands on his own instead, refusing to look up from the floor, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Hastily, he pulls a pair of gloves from his pocket, stitched with black leather, and slips them on to cover the last two digits of each hand. 

 

“Just.. watch where you're touching,” he mumbles, “the gloves could slip or something,”

 

“I’ll take my chances,” you giggle, grabbing him by the wrists. 

 

You pull him closer, positioning one gloved hand to your hip, another at your shoulder, and he lifts his pinkies for added security. 

 

You grin sweetly, eyelashes fluttering, “See? It’s easy,” 

 

He makes a tiny, choked sound, the noise catching in his throat as the song ends, leading to Fade Into You by Mazzy Star. His pulse is thundering through his veins, echoing in his skull like a war hammer. He’s going to melt with how febrile and balmy he’s become. This is made worse when you stumble over your own foot, lunging forward, your cheek now pressed against his. 

 

“Sorry,” the apology is somewhat strained, “I’m not the best dancer,”

 

His staggered breaths can be heard clearly in your ear, tickling your skin, warm and whispy. It makes you realize just how much you long to be held. Having heard no complaints from him, you keen in closer, both of you smoldering in the heat of one another. He swears this pit in his stomach has to be the music. It’s influencing him with all this acoustic guitar strumming.

 

There’s a shake to his voice when he asks, “Why are we dancing if you’re so damn bad at it?” 

 

“Because it’s nice to be close like this,” the timbre sits low in your chest.

 

You run a lock of his hair through your fingers, hands clasped at the base of his neck. He feels like he might be dying. The only other time he’s experienced an adrenaline rush like this is when he’s just gotten the holy hell beat out of him in a fight. It’s making him nervous and stiff. 

 

You’ve turned in so many circles that you end up with your back flat against the wall, and you chuckle at this, thoroughly amused. He hasn’t registered just yet that it’s time to stop spinning, so he continues the movements until his elbows scrape the wall, eliciting a quiet grunt from him. With a breathy laugh, you pat his arm, and he swallows thickly at the way your eyes sparkle, how they crinkle up with your smile. He feels weird. Like this isn’t really happening to him. It knocks the wind from his lungs, has him squeezing at your waist with eight trembling fingers, biting into your soft flesh, grinding you harder into the wall behind you. Tomura has you inadvertently caged in, his ragged breaths fanning the sensitive junction of your neck, the firm muscle of his thigh pressing at your center as he makes an attempt to steady himself.

 

And you, unintentionally, from weeks of being pent up, let out a hushed whine when his leg grazes you. Shocks of neon are sent from your core until you’re pressing your thighs together to quell the ache that’s settled there, eyes heavily lidded before they bolt wide at the realization that you’ve practically moaned at this contact. Mortified, you’re overtaken by the crimson heat of embarrassment, cheeks pinched dark and ruddy.

 

He simply stares in lieu of a response.

 

You’re sweating bullets, perspiration clinging to your shirt, the heady whimper that spilled from your throat playing on a loop in your head. You wish more than anything that a gigantic meteor would come crashing through the wall and crush you to death. Or hell, even just a pea-sized one, right through the back of your skull. Even if it didn’t kill you it could possibly lobotomize you enough to where you at least don’t care about the cosmic horrors beyond your comprehension that you’ve just brought upon yourself. Sure, Shigaraki would still remember—but you’d be too deceased or brain injured to think about it any more. 

 

Tomura freezes in place, a deer in the headlights. He has no idea what to do. That sound you just made.. It did something to him. More than what looking at porn does. Somehow, it’s very different having someone up against him, the noise that came from you so genuine, less campy than the ones he’s heard online. He shoves you away as if you’ve scalded him, the memory of the way your eyes bored into his only a minute prior burrowing its way under his skin. 

 

“What the fuck was that?” He pants, shuffling backwards, hot flushes of panic washing over him.

 

“I.. I didn’t mean to, i-it just came out, I…” you keep yourself flat against the wall as you attempt to stammer your way out of this.

 

Your saving grace is the rest of the league slamming open the door to the bar and trudging inside, your Uncle Kagero and a man quite literally bulging with muscles following in tow. 

 

“We’re back from doing your bidding, Shigaraki,” Dabi states, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tattered pants. 

 

Mr. Compress tuts at the state of you, “What have you been doing to Yumemi while we’ve been away? She looks frightened,” he coaxes you away from the wall, brushing the loose hair from your clammy face, “You’ve scared her, Shigaraki. Shame on you!”

 

“I didn’t do anything!” Tomura grits through his teeth, “We were listening to music, and she.. hit the wall, or something, I don’t know. Then she.. there was this noise…” his voice trails off into the ether, and you bury your face in your hands to hide your shame. 

 

“Oh no! Mimi, did you hit the wall too hard? Is there blood?” Toga’s attitude changes on a dime, licking her lips at the last word as Spinner sets down his much-too-massive sword to check on you. 

 

“Want me to take a look at it?” He offers with concern in his voice. 

 

“I’m the one who should be looking at it, I was here when it happened,” Shigaraki counters, his upper lip curled into a scowl. 

 

“Well I’m the one who actually knows how to repair skin. I should be the one checking her out,” says Dabi as he cracks his knuckles in preparation. 

 

“Nobody’s checking her out,” Atsuhiro adds curtly, “Unless you’d like me to, Yumemi,”

 

Everyone is being so kind and caring about your wellbeing. 

 

Little do they know you’re just fucking disgusting. 

 

Guilt curls in your belly, hot tears threatening to spill out onto your cheeks, stinging at the corners of your eyes.

 

Giran crests the entryway, lit cigarette casting a trail of smoke through the room as he tells the group, “I’ve seen Yumemi take a Glock to the head. She’s fine. Just a brat,” he tousles your hair like you’re still a snot-nosed toddler, then points to the hulking blonde beside him, “Brought you guys someone for your action squad. He’s got a hell of a quirk. Muscles that just keep regenerating, super strength, ability to manipulate said muscles. You interested?”

 

“They call me Muscular,” the man interjects, his voice booming over the rest. 

 

No shit, you think to yourself. But judging by the ratio of chest to skull you’re assuming wordplay isn’t exactly his strong suit. 

 

“We could use a strength quirk,” Shigaraki says, “And really anyone who’s able to follow directions,”

 

“You got it, boss. I’m able to knock any heads you need me to,”

 

The room disperses for the league to discuss the VAS plans further, your uncle pocketing his fee and slipping what he owes you into your pocket as he takes his leave. 

 

“You good?” He asks, voice low enough to be concealed. 

 

“Yeah.. I’m fine, I just… I hit the wall,” you toe the floor with the tip of your shoe as you speak.

 

“Well, call if you need me. I may not be your favorite uncle, but I’m here,”

 

“Quit fishing for compliments, old man. You know you’re my favorite uncle,” you pause to think for a few beats, “Actually, you’re my only uncle,”

 

His eyes widen, “Did something happen to Tom?”

 

“I mean, he’s alive, just dead to us. Did nobody tell you aunt Linda divorced his cheating ass?”

 

“He cheated on Linda?” His voice kicks up with his question, “Who the hell would cheat on Linda?"

 

“Yeah, well, she’s single now. Want her number?”

 

“Yumemi, she lives in New York. When would I even see her?” He leans against the doorframe as he speaks, puffing on his unfiltered cigarette. 

 

“She comes to visit a few times a year. Enough times for you to get yourself some Uncle Strange, at least,” you jest with him, and he sucks in a breath until his cherry burns to a nub. 

 

You laugh as he exits without so much as a goodbye, waving you off, muttering something to himself about how your parents raised such a weirdo. Now that you’re alone, Muscular glances down at you as if you’re a little mouse in his path. You know that look. You don’t much care for it, either. The guilt you felt mere moments prior has fled your gut, replaced instead by a nefarious lurching, a general sense of unease. 

 

“Pleased to meet you, sweetheart,” he extends his hand to you, massive and meaty, which you take to your chagrin. 

 

Time to bring back that polite and professional facade.

 

“Please, call me Nyx,” you introduce yourself.

 

“I heard someone call you Yumemi earlier. That your name? It’s real pretty,”

 

You shiver, frozen in place, your eyes mapping out every single safe person in the room. In no world are you ever sexually frustrated enough to put yourself in harm’s way with a man like this. 

 

“I go by Nyx professionally,” your explanation is held someplace behind your teeth as you fix your gaze to the floor. 

 

“Got pretty eyes, too. Lemme just—“ he captures your chin with his index finger and forces you to look up at him, “There we go. Yeah, you’re cute. You got a room here?”

 

Shit.

 

You don’t know his real name, you don’t have a weapon, everyone is distracted, and he is fucking huge. Even with your instincts telling you to run, you can’t make yourself flee. Too many things could go wrong. This guy is strong to the point that he could break your arm if you so much as struggled to get away from him. Your eyes dart to your cohorts. They’re huddled together, voices low, distracted. 

 

“N-no, thank you, I’d prefer to stay out here. They might need to speak with me about the plans,” there’s a shake in your voice that you try to conceal from him, but to no avail. You seem small and afraid.

 

“Doesn’t look like they need you,” Muscular coos, pulling you close to him by your waist. 

 

You let out a squeal, and he shushes you, pinching your cheeks until your lips form a pout. With hands that are dwarfed against his body, you smack at him, grunting, attempting in vain to escape from his clutches. 

 

“That’s cute,” he chuckles darkly, “C’mere, tiny thing,”

 

He picks you up like you’re absolutely nothing, pressing his lips to your own in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He tastes like beer, tongue snaking past your lips to swipe at your own. Tears make tracks down your cheeks as you manage to part from him just enough to cry out.

 

“Mmf—Stop it!” You smack him across the face, a red welt left in the wake of your hand. 

 

“Just take it, bitch!” He hurls insults at you, calls you ungrateful, and you shriek as he lifts at your top. 

 

In the blink of an eye, Tomura is prying you from Muscular’s vice-like grip. The league has sprung into action, each member an equal degree of furious. Dabi’s hands blaze blue and hot, Mr. Compress preparing a few teal beads betwixt his fingers, Toga wielding a knife and bearing her teeth. Twice creates two doubles of himself to aid Tomura in holding Muscular back, and though they’re not half of the brawny man’s size, they hold their own well as Tomura lands a four-fingered grip around Muscular’s wrist.

 

“Listen here, bitch,” Shigaraki passes you to Spinner, who brandishes twin swords, crossing them in front of you so that he can hold you firmly to his chest, “We paid good money for you, so you’re going to use your quirk for our cause. You’re gonna go help out the Vanguard Action Squad and fuck up all those little hero brats because that’s the transaction we agreed to. But I swear, you will meet your demise by my hand should I see you so much as breathe near her again,” he clamps his hand harder, tapping his pinky finger, carmine eyes shining, “Do you fucking understand me?”

 

Muscular grits his teeth so hard you can hear them grinding, nodding his head, infuriated that he’s been bested by a twerp like Shigaraki. 

 

“Answer me, or I’ll dust you right where you stand,” Tomura’s voice is low and gravelly, tight with contempt, raw. Oh, how he’s itching to destroy him.

 

Muscular sucks at his teeth before he relents, “I understand,”

 

“So you have a brain after all,” Tomura releases him, “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind,”

 

Before Muscular can process a response, Kurogiri warps him through a portal he’s opened up from the floor, and you delight in the screams that are pulled from his throat during his descent. 

 

“The nerve’a that fucker,” Spinner speaks into the crown of your head, “Can’t believe he would do something like that right in front of us,”

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t take care of myself,” you say to the room, locking eyes with Spinner, who sheaths his swords.

 

His heart flutters in his chest, accompanied by an ache over what’s just transpired. 

 

“It’s not your fault, Yumemi,” he tells you softly as he cards a hand through his magenta hair.

 

“He took you offgaurd in the comfort of your own dwelling. It was a dirty trick,” Mr. Compress adds on, patting your shoulder. 

 

Twice and his duplicates comfort you at either side, praising you for doing your best—then calling you a coward, which you elect to ignore in favor of his previous statement. 

 

“We should’ve been more attentive,” Shigaraki rasps, “It’s on us, not you,”

 

Dabi growls, prying you away for himself, “Why don’t you just stick with me from now on? I’ll make sure nothing like that ever happens again,”

 

Toga giggles, “Let’s go find Muscular and stab him to death in his sleep. That way, he can’t do this again ever, ‘cause he’ll be dead!” 

 

“That’s a better plan than having her tagging along with Dabi,” Spinner huffs.

 

“And what would you do to protect her, call Master Splinter? She’s safer with me than she is with any of you idiots,” Dabi bites back, heating up against your skin. 

 

You let out an exhausted sigh, strangely comforted by their bickering.

 

Mr. Compress opens a container of strawberry Pocky, removing his mask to make direct eye contact with you, the knot at your center tightening. You open your mouth, sounding off with a little “ah” to signal what you want from him. He asserts his dominance amongst the others by placing the biscuit onto your tongue. The rest grumble with discontent as you chew, blushing, eyes soft and warm. 

 

Yeah. 

 

You’re back on your bullshit already.

Notes:

I am trying so hard to make this as slow a burn as possible for the sake of this storyyyy uggghhh 😤

Chapter 5: Practice Makes Perfect

Summary:

Hope you brought your knife, because this chapter has a ton of sexual tension to cut through 🔪

Today is different than most days, in that you and one other individual have been tasked with pulling the information out of a couple of guards who may have overheard a conversation about UA high school. One person is to come with you for your own protection, the “muscle” so to speak, while the others hang back at the hideout. You get why they need only two people for this mission. Sending in the entire league would be messy, difficult to coordinate, and would more than likely blow your cover due to the lack of stealth involved. There isn’t much of a reason for them to muddle things up that way when Kurogiri can warp them to your location at the drop of a hat. That part is no mystery to you. 

 

What you don’t understand is why you’ve entered the den to see everyone drawing straws over who had to escort you to the location. 

 

“Looks like you’re comin’ with me today, doll face,” Dabi’s voice trails hotly through his teeth as he shows you the short straw he’s drawn. 

 

The others are all quiet, tempering their pissy attitudes, which you mistake for their relief that they don’t have to babysit the weakest link in the League Of Villains chain. It’s not lost on you that you don’t offer much in the way of capabilities compared to the others. Sure, your quirk is useful, and you have many positive attributes which you’ve cultivated throughout your entire life spent in villainy—however, you’re aware that you aren’t super agile, or strong, or even particularly able to defend yourself outside of who you’re using your quirk on. And now Dabi has, quite literally, drawn the short straw and must perform as your defense himself. How humiliating.

 

Dabi flips his middle finger at everyone behind his back as you two walk out the door. 

 

He gets to spend essentially the entire day with you now. 

 

Fortunately, the pair of you are stealthy enough that the guards don’t hear you coming. You aren’t what you would consider to be a graceful person, nor are you particularly light on your feet, but you know how to avoid getting caught. You’ve seen too many others get their asses handed to them making even the faintest of noises trying to get to your parents, so you’re aware of what to listen for, where to position your feet, what to avoid. This makes it so easy to sneak up on these two that it’s almost laughable. They’ve been left out here like sitting ducks. 

 

Your quirk only works on one person at a time, so Dabi handles the larger of the guards as you work on his counterpart. First thing he mentions is his Grandma. Yeesh. It feels kind of fucked up to do him this way, but he’s not cracking in dreamland, so you’re going to have to use dear old granny as leverage. It takes over an hour for him to finally relent, but it does eventually do the trick. You almost want to say sorry for the things you made him see. Grandma’s melting eyeballs don’t exactly just leave your thoughts once they’ve been shown to you. 

 

Regardless, you got the information you needed. UA is planning a training camp for the upcoming season when the new recruits are in. That’s plenty of time to get the Vanguard Action Squad together and even more time to plan. The others will be pleased with what you’re bringing back for them. 

 

“Think Shigaraki will be happy with what we were able to get from those guys?” Your attempt at smalltalk appears to be falling flat as Dabi rolls his eyes. 

 

“Dunno,” his timbre is smoky and low, “Don’t really care, either,”

 

He comes closer to you as your footsteps echo throughout the alley, warmth radiating from him to an alarming degree. There’s always heat coming off of him, but this time, he’s absolutely sweltering, leaving scorch marks in his wake. It’s concerning to say the least. 

 

“You seem warmer than usual,” you say, slowing your pace.

 

“I just watched you make some motherfucker see his grandma burning in hell and you’re worried about me being warm?” He replies sardonically.

 

Your gate pauses, brows flexed.

 

“I'm serious. I can feel you from all the way over here. Did you get hurt?” You ask him, searching his form for any obvious signs of damage. 

 

He looks to the side opposite of you, pale skin becoming flushed, “No more than usual,”

 

You grab his hand, leaning against an old brick building to examine the areas most affected by his flames. The touch feels something akin to sensual, your fingers tracing over the lines of his palm, eyes narrowed in concentration as your lips part to reveal the smallest click of your tongue. He taps his foot anxiously, tugging slightly to encourage you to drop his hand. This touch is too much. Too much, and not enough. 

 

“Quit worrying about me. It’s nothing. My hands just get kinda hot when I use my quirk for too long, and that guy was a fighter,” 

 

“You have blisters here. I saw you touch the pavement you’d heated up, so I figured something like this would happen,” your brows pinch, “We should really run some cool water over them. It’ll help,”

 

“Psh. That won’t do shit, doll. Might as well kiss it better if all you’re gonna do is ru—“

 

The words catch in his throat as you lift his hand to your mouth, pressing a soft peck to the center of his palm. You smile up at him as if you’ve done something simple, mundane, like you changed a coffee filter so he wouldn’t have to. 

 

“Better?”

 

He can feel the entire world coming to a screeching halt. His eyes are so wide you’re worried they may be about to pop out of their sockets entirely, his whole body bristling, voice faltering in choked stutters before any syllables can string together into a coherent thought. After several seconds of regaining his composure, he jerks his hand away from you, stuffing it into his pocket, the healthy skin of his cheeks bright pink. 

 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go,” he murmurs under his breath. 

 

Fuck. He’s such an idiot. Why didn’t he kiss your hand back or something? Why can’t his heart calm down enough to sweep you off of your feet? Now you’re both heading back to the bar where all of those other puds are going to fumble over your attention just like he is right now. 

 

One day they won’t, though. 

 

One day, someone is going to grow a set of balls, and ask you out. 

 

Dabi’s eyes linger along your body, taking in the curve of your waist, the way you look in those leggings you’ve poured yourself into. Goddamn. If a member of the league doesn’t ask you out, someone on the street sure as hell will. 

 

“Hey. Yumemi,” his voice cuts into the air, dense and ice-cold, a stark counter to his raging heat. 

 

“Hmm?” You turn to look at him. 

 

Your hair is all caught up in the wind, eyes hazy and aglow, like moonlight coming gauzy through the treetops. 

 

“Don’t dress like this again,”

 

His command has you taken aback, a gasp caught behind your lips, the small bubble of air clinging to the roof of your mouth. 

 

“And why is that?” You cross your arms as you question him. 

 

He watches the way your hip pops out when you become irritated, your attempts to thwart his comment only adding to how adorable you look. Your lips are pursed and nudged to one side, brows lifted in annoyance, one leg jutted out to keep him from walking any further in front of you. Dabi averts his gaze, cutting his eyes to the ground to keep from letting your irises burn holes into his own.

 

“C’mon. Don’t make me say it,” he swallows the lump in his throat. 

 

Just tell her she looks good. 

 

Just tell her she looks good. 

 

Just tell her she looks good.

 

“You… I don’t like when you’re dressed like that,”

 

Sweet Mary mother of my ass, why is that what came out?

 

You scoff, “You sound like my father. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell him—get over it,”

 

The rest of the trip home is silent, aside from the arsenal of screams running through Dabi’s head.

 

When you arrive back at the bar, you’re immediately slinking into your room, giving a polite wave to the rest of the group. Toga follows suit, grinning at Dabi on the way. 

 

“What did he do?” She asks, taking a seat next to you on the bed. 

 

“He told me he doesn’t like when I’m dressed like this,” you sigh deeply, “Straight up told me not to dress like this again. Can you fucking believe that, Toga?”

 

Her smile bears the points of her fangs when she says, “I can believe it,”

 

“I just… I don’t understand,” you fall back, exasperated, “I’ve actually asked them if they dislike me, and they’ve said that they don’t. Then they do things like this. They tell me they don’t like how I dress, or jump away if I show any sort of even friendly affection, and they’re constantly fighting any time I’m around. I think they’re just trying to spare my feelings or something,”

 

Toga smoothes the pleats of her skirt, tossing around the dichotomy she’s faced with: the internal struggle within her of whether or not to let you in on the secret game she’s been playing. Fortunately for you, she can’t keep a secret to save her life, even if said secret is partially her own. It’s a truth she knows for gospel. She’d might as well share it.

 

“Mimi, listen. They’re my best friends. I know them better than I know anyone else. But since you’re my best friend, too, I’m gonna be real honest with you,” she exhales sharply, eyes glinting, the steel in her gaze enough to cut you open, “They wanna bang you and don’t know what to do with themselves,”

 

“W-what?!” Your voice squeaks, startled to the bone, and you nearly jump from the bed in response.

 

“Mhm,” her voice ticks up at the end of her phrase, “Half of them have never even kissed a girl and I bet none of them have had any relationships at all. I bet Dabi hasn’t even had sex before. I know Spinner and Shigaraki haven’t. I asked once and they got all defensive. But they’ve all been after you since day one. I’ve been watching it all from the sidelines. I’m surprised that I kept it to myself for this long, I usually can’t,” She rolls around on your bed in a fit of giggles with the way that your expression gives way from confusion to shock. 

 

You smear your face with both hands.

 

“So what are you gonna do?” Her voice is laced with something heavy and eager as she leans in to inspect your face more closely.

 

“I.. I don’t know. I’ve never been in this situation before,”

 

“You could always make them make the decision for you,” 

 

“Meaning…?”

 

Toga balls her fists and places them at her chest, closing her eyes, “If it were me, and this were Izuku and Ochaco, I would jump all over them. We’d all kiss and cuddle and do other relationship things,” golden eyes flicker open, “But you have something I don’t,”

 

“I do?” Your face screws up with the question.

 

She nods her head, “Subtlety,”

 

“Subtlety.. Hmm… Oh,” your eyes snap wide, “subtlety,” 

 

Alright. Yeah. You can be subtle.

 

You’re nervous when entering the den, Toga grinning broadly behind you, her mouth stretched impossibly taut across her face. The butterflies are overtaking your belly when she skips over to the couch, leaving you to your own devices. You make your way to the kitchen for a much-needed glass of water, desperate to ease your nerves after the news you’ve just received. It’s a small room sequestered in the back of the bar with little in the way of appliances, snug, hardly a facility at all. The oven is half the size of what you’re used to and the refrigerator is so minuscule that it sits atop the counter, which Mr. Compress is leaning against, his mask already removed to eat an onigiri.

 

“My, Yumemi, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” he tells you between bites. 

 

“Sorry, I just.. uh…” you think back to what Toga told you a few minutes prior, wrangling in some confidence as you join him at the counter, “Dabi said something to me earlier,”

 

“Of course he did,” Atsuhiro scoffs.

 

He pats your hand, the scarlet of his glove the same as the heat festering within you.

 

You swallow hard.

 

“Yeah. He said he doesn’t like the way I dress,”

 

“I can’t say I’m surprised,”

 

You look at him through your lashes, “Do you like the way I dress?”

 

He stiffens—in more ways than one—at the husky tone your voice has taken.

 

Time stretches on, the tight quarters closing in, stirring you up even more.

 

“I.. I think you always dress quite well,” he says after several heartbeats, and you hum to yourself, pleased with the red hue of his face. 

 

With a quick glance over his entirety, and a note to yourself at how well his figure is cut in his attire, you open your mouth, lolling your tongue out to receive some of his food. He knows the drill by now. Knows that his compliance has always been appreciated but not required. However, tonight, it feels like much more of a demand. It feels as though he’s the subservient role this time. 

 

Atsuhiro pinches the pickled plum from his onigiri between his thumb and index finger, and instead of allowing him to drop it into your mouth, you lick it from his fingertips. His breath hitches at the back of his throat. What is happening? You’ve always been so ingenue, and now you’re sucking at his fingers? 

 

You are absolutely beyond enjoying this. You release his fingers with a pop, and he grips the counter with both hands, eyes wide and near-frantic. Toga was right. They don’t know what to do.

 

“Anything else you wanna feed me while we’re in here?” The look you give him borders on smug. 

 

You fucking love how flustered he is right now. 

 

God, you should’ve tried this weeks ago. 

 

“L-like what?” The question shakes from him like a branch in the wind. 

 

You lean into him, a surreptitious flicker in your gaze, “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Let me know when you do,”

 

Atsuhiro lets out a jumble of sounds not too dissimilar from a sentence as he crumples further against the countertop. It isn't terribly often that he's left without words. In fact, he could count on one hand how many times that's been the case. But never has it taken him quite so offgaurd. This encounter has been intense.

 

You saunter out of the kitchen, leaving him there, wide-eyed and sweaty. 

 

Holy shit. 

 

Holy fucking shit. 

 

That felt… really good. 

 

————

 

You can’t sleep for the rest of the night. You’re too pent up, too high off of the experience from earlier. The way he looked at you, the wilderness in his eyes, the way the perspiration dotted his brow—it’s too much for you to handle. You can’t quiet your mind enough to rest. So here you are, watching TV in the dead of night, pleading with the universe for more. The rest of the league is, to your knowledge, asleep. But the universe has heard your plea. Spinner emerges from his room, somewhat shocked to see you still up and about. 

 

“O-oh, Yumemi, hey. Are you having trouble sleeping, too?” He stammers, voice strained. 

 

“Yeah,” you pat the spot next to you on the couch, “Care to keep me company?”

 

Spinner shuffles in his place, then nods gently, forgoing whatever had initially led him into the den to sit with you. He keeps himself pressed to the farthest side, sunk into the crux of the arm, hands clasped together and knee bouncing, anxiety seeping from his every pore. 

 

“What, uh.. What’re you watchin’?” The words don’t come naturally to him, the stress apparent in his tone. 

 

“Mmm, nothing too interesting. I’d rather talk to be honest,” 

 

“To me?”

 

“If that’s okay,”

 

“Y-yeah, of course, I just… uhm, what did ya wanna talk about?”

 

“Well, Toga said something really interesting to me earlier,” you scoot closer to him, and he tenses, his stomach folding in on itself. 

 

His throat bobs with his swallow, “She did?”

 

“Mhm. She said you’ve never kissed anyone before,”

 

“What?! Fuck, Toga—“

 

“Is it true?”

 

From Spinner’s neck to his face washes in a pretty shade of pink, “I mean..” His eyes dart around the room before he relents, “Y-yeah. I guess so,”

 

“You could practice on me if you wanted,”

 

The room falls silent aside from the thumping of his heart, pulse in his hands, his mind scrambling to regain sentience.

 

“This.. This is… D-did Dabi put you up to this?” He cannot fathom a world in which this is an actual offer. 

 

From you. 

 

“No,” you say softly, placing a hand on his bicep, the twitching of his muscles able to be felt through his hoodie, “I just thought that, y’know, maybe you wanted to kiss me. For practice. It doesn’t have to be anything serious,”

 

“I h-haven’t ever—I—well, I-I don’t—“

 

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want me to be your first kiss,” in spite of feeling somewhat dejected, you understand if this isn’t how he wants his first encounter with a woman to go. Maybe he wants his first kiss to be more meaningful than what you’re offering him right now.

 

“It’s not that!” He jolts, “I just.. I won’t be very good at it if.. i-if we do,”

 

So Toga hadn’t steered you wrong. 

 

It really is all of them that are interested.

 

You giggle, “That’s why it’s practice,”

 

Spinner attempts to muffle a yelp as you climb atop him, straddling his waist, plush thighs caging him in. 

 

“Ready?” You ask him, patting his cheek.

 

He shakes fiercely enough that he can feel his bones rattling, barely able to finish nodding before you close the space between the two of you entirely, and he lets out a little grunt in surprise with the way that your body slots against him. You ghost your lips across his, plant your hands onto his heaving chest, his heart beating so harshly you can feel it beneath your palms. Gently, you lave your tongue into his mouth, careful not to overstimulate him. A curse leaves him as you part to see the look on his face, and you’re glad you’ve done so. His eyes are heavy, glassy, almost pained that you’ve separated from him this soon. He licks his lips, tasting what’s left of you, his breaths shallow, quick and noisy as a camera’s shutter. 

 

He’s a fucking mess. 

 

For the first time, you can sense the prowess of your sexuality coursing through you, neurotoxic, electrifying. 

 

“Are you finished, or do you think you need more practice?” You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, run your fingertips down his neck in featherlight strokes. 

 

“More,” he gasps, “I n-need more practice,”

 

Satisfied with his answer, you press your mouths into a deeper kiss, one that’s hungry, heavy, hot. Naturally, he lets you take the lead. You devour the opportunity with great rapture. He moans into your mouth softly, tentatively, as if he’s struggling to keep these sounds from gushing out of him. It’s cute. Especially when he hovers two shaking hands above your hips. 

 

“Touch me. Let me hear you. It’s all part of the experience when you kiss like this,” you whisper into the corner of his mouth. 

 

“Okay, I’ll—ahh—“ his voice cuts into a groan when you lower yourself further onto his lap, and his hands instinctually grip your waist, claws pricking at the skin on either side. 

 

“See?” You grind up and down the straining length that throbs in his sweatpants, “Doesn’t that feel better, Spinner?”

 

He tosses his head back onto the couch, his hair mussed behind him, and ruts into you in sloppy, inexperienced movements. 

 

“Can.. Can you call me Shuuichi?” The words come out so faint that they’re barely audible. 

 

You grin, grazing the length of his cock so that it rubs your aching clit, and he chokes on a whine that tumbles from his throat. 

 

“Does it feel better, Shuuichi?”

 

He melts at the sound of his name, eyes fluttering, brow tilted up into an expression that can only be described as euphoric. All he’s able to muster up is yet another nod of his head, barely holding on to the ever growing tension that’s building within his core. You’ve become incredibly aware of how close he is to cumming in his pants, so you ease the heavy petting, focusing more on the tangle of teeth and tongue that your kiss has evolved into. You nip at his lower lip, eliciting something between a growl and a groan from him. 

 

Spinner is already almost there. He’s right on the edge, panting, whimpering, cock pulsing against the pressure betwixt your thighs as he trembles and grips your hips fervently. You have a few options. You could let him cum in his pants, watch him unravel here underneath you. Then there’s the next selection of you escalating things, riding him outright, maybe sucking him off. He feels big through his clothes, and though you’re sure he wouldn’t last long, you’re pretty positive he would be a good fuck. 

 

Or…

 

“Well, Shuuichi,” you part from him with a wet smack of your lips, plopping back onto the cushion opposite to him once more, “That’s what kissing is like,”

 

He clutches his still-heaving chest, hair thoroughly ruffled, his currant eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. 

 

His mind having been properly disconnected from his body, he asks, “Could we practice more?”

 

With great difficulty, you stifle a snicker, catch it in your mouth before it can touch the air around you. He really wants you. It was so easy to get him there, so fucking hot to see how pent up you can make him. You want to fuck him. You really do. 

 

But you want to play with him a little more before you get there.

 

“Another time. We’ll practice more later. I think I’m gonna go to bed right now, though. Night, Shuuichi,” you say this as nonchalant as you can, traipsing to your room, listening intently at the way he exhales slowly and deeply to calm himself as you exit.

 

You really like the art of subtlety.

Notes:

So the cat is out of the bag. Guess it's time to see how much teasing these boys can handle...

Chapter 6: I Want You To Want Me

Summary:

Hello, friends.

This is all smut ⋆｡°✩

Notes:

Almost forgot the song! Unaware by South Arcade seems the most fitting for this one 💜

https://open.spotify.com/track/1xMkQydn4DzskcePF0azqs?si=6QiCmWuWSISvuDHLYxi3ag

The days that follow are filled with acts of calculated villainy. You're aware that you were technically paid upfront, but man, this is really cutting into your teasing time. 

 

Ah. 

 

Teasing time. 

 

The random minutes of the day, or hours if you're so lucky, where you really crack down on how much you can provoke the guys before they finally do something about it. You like to be as subtle as you possibly can. Go without a bra in a white t-shirt and see who speaks up. "Forget your clothes" and walk out from your shower with just a towel on. Then there's always the classic route of making direct eye contact while you eat anything that could even resemble a phallic shape. You never do it at the same time or on the same days. It has to be spread out so that nobody can quite pin down when it's going to happen. After all, one of the best parts is the unexpected nature of teasing time.

 

Today specifically seems like a good day to go ahead and cultivate your newfound skill. You've been in your room for a good portion of the day so far, mostly talking to your parents on the phone, assuring them that you're doing alright. Dad's being pretty uptight. The great Knight Terror, a man who can (and does) create nightmarish hallucinations and inflict them upon others, is worried that you're not getting enough sleep. There are just too many layers of irony to peel back. 

 

This helps you decide to venture out into the rest of the hideout for some much needed stress relief, in search of something--or someone--to take your mind off of everything else. But no such luck. You haven't been particularly active today, so the others have all secluded themselves for a lazy day of their own. You can hear music thrumming down the hall from Toga's room, broken up by chatter and the clicking of keyboards from Tomura's, he and Shuuichi complaining loudly about their hits not landing. 

 

Which is fine. 

 

Totally fine.

 

You're used to being coddled by your parents, so there's a stab of unhealthy regret cutting into your chest for not rounding everyone up when you had the chance. But it'll be fine. There are other ways to relieve stress that don't require tapdancing on the last remaining nerves of the League Of Villains cuties.

 

So you now find yourself troubleshooting your weakest ability: baking. Having never been particularly talented in this area, you decided to use this time to figure out what the hell you're doing wrong when your pastries turn out... the way that they do. Although you're very aware that these cookies will probably end up less chocolate chip and more heinous shit, you gather the ingredients, mix them in a large glass bowl, then sit on the minimal counter space while you wait for the oven to preheat. You kick your feet as they dangle, humming a song to yourself that you've had stuck in your head.

 

That's around the time when Twice walks in for a glass of water. Twice, who is the only one of them who hasn't been receptive really at all to any of your teasing. If you wear a white t-shirt with no bra, he only looks at your face. If you come out with just a towel on, he's immediately tearing his eyes away and ignoring the situation. If you make eye contact while practically deep throating a whole-ass banana two inches away from his face, he just smiles and grabs his own damn banana. You think you're going to have to be more direct with him or else he's just not going to take the bait, which kind of goes against the grain of what teasing is at its core. It's frustrating, but at the end of the day, you're willing to give up the subtlety in favor of how badly you want him. 

 

He's wearing a blue t-shirt and baggy gray sweatpants along with his mask tonight. You have yet to see his face, still, even after a couple months now of having been part of the league. It isn't lost on you that this is for good reason, but it does often give you pause. What does he look like under there? 

 

You know he has a great body, you've seen it clear as day through his skintight costume. Jin is absolutely built, the way his muscles tense when he strikes a pose giving you butterflies in your belly. He's also very sweet. He was the first of the guys to come talk to you on the day you had arrived, and not a minute has gone by that he hasn't shown you kindness. There are so many attractive qualities about him that it hardly matters what his face is like behind the mask; but curiosity is a hell of a drug.

 

"You're baking cookies at eleven am?" He asks you in a chesty gravel, "There's never a bad time for cookies,"

 

His voice. Ugh. There's something about it that sets every hair on your body to stand on end. 

 

"Yeah, I like to practice the things I'm bad at when people are less likely to be around for it," your admittance causes a blush to dust across your cheeks.

 

He can feel himself getting hot and flustered. You're so fucking cute like this.

 

Twice chuckles under his breath, "Well don't let me bother you, I'm just here for a glass of water. So outta the way!"

 

You look him up and down as he runs the tap, admiring his forearms, how they tense when he fists his glass. He allows for the slightest glimpse of the lower half of his face when he pulls his mask up for a drink, small rivets of water spilling at the corners of his mouth to wet his chin. From what you can tell, he's a little scruffy, stubble lining his angular jaw. This is short-lived, though, the mask soon to be returned over his face entirely.

 

"Hey, Jin?" 

 

"Mm?"

 

"I was just wondering.. am I allowed to see what your face looks like?" 

 

The inquiry takes him by surprise. You can tell that he's struggling somewhat to determine his best course of action. Truth be told, while he would normally be apprehensive to remove the mask so he doesn't spiral, this time, it's namely because he doesn't want you to be disappointed with what you see. He isn't what he would consider to be conventionally attractive. Definitely not as good looking as you.  

 

He rubs at the back of his neck in a bashful display that's quite unlike the Twice you've come to know, eyes fixed at the linoleum, and you think for a moment that he's about to refuse your request. Not a word is spoken when he removes his mask, a head of straw-colored hair revealed beneath it. A scar runs lengthwise down the center of his forehead, one which you assume is from his incident, a line that diverges between two hooded, gray eyes.

 

You giggle nervously, a bad habit that appears to have him feeling self-conscious with the way he rubs at his upper arm, "Sorry, I just--" you catch your lower lip between your teeth, "You're really cute,"

 

His eyes widen for a brief moment before they settle back into a flattened affect. 

 

"Don't make fun of me, Yumemi," he tells you with pink cheeks. 

 

"I'm not. I really like your hair, I didn't think you'd be blonde. And you've got bedroom eyes," 

 

Bedroom eyes.

 

Were you coming on to him?

 

There's no goddamn way. 

 

Each corner of your mouth nudges into a playful grin, the glint in your gaze prickling his skin with goosebumps, and you lean forward to close the space that rests betwixt you both.

 

"W-why are you laughing then?" 

 

"Because I'm nervous over what I'm about to do,"

 

Anticipation blooms within him.

 

"What..." he swallows thickly, the realization settling into his bones that, yes, this is actually happening, "What are you about to do?"

 

With your body buzzing and full of adrenaline, you spread your legs, the skirt you're wearing folding in the open space that separates your knees, and he releases an audible gasp when you do so. 

 

"Ask you to touch me," you tell him in a voice that's barely above a whisper. 

 

He stumbles towards you, attempting not to gnash his teeth over this opportunity, fighting each and every urge to nip at the exposed flesh of your thighs. His callouses drag over the contours of your body, hands slow yet hungry, relishing in the way that you shiver at his touch which ghosts along your pretty waist. 

 

"Like that?" His brows tilt, knitting at the center, a shake in his voice that threatens to break him apart. 

 

You nod your head as he allows his fingertips to sink into the swell of your hips, and you spread yourself wider, tipping your pelvis, encouraging him to travel further down. He curses quietly to himself, and then rests a palm atop each of your knees, pulse thundering, hormones flitting through his veins. He needs a second to breathe. 

 

But only a second. 

 

Jin massages your thighs, greedy hands working up until he reaches the hem of your skirt. He stops to examine your reaction. You're so beautiful that it hurts to look at you. Has his legs about to give out underneath him.

 

"K-keep going," you beg in a voice that's half a moan. 

 

You sound so needy for him. 

 

And the way you're looking at him right now all but confirms that thought. Your eyes are burning with a desire that rivals his own, the lust which you offer him delicious and saccharine, pouring from your lips like honey.

 

"That's all you wanted?" He taunts, but it's breathless and weak. 

 

You grab his shoulders to pull him into a kiss, jerking him closer to you, and he grunts against your lips as the tent in his pants is pressed to your leg. 

 

"Touch me more," your purr is muffled into his mouth. 

 

He pinches his eyes shut tight, seconds from tearing the clothes from your body and bending you over this counter so he can fuck you properly. However, he's a man who values respect above all else, and you'd asked him to touch you--only to touch you. A searing hand travels to the aching at your center, softly rubbing along your damp panties in languid strokes, laving across your clothed cunt. Your breath hitches at the contact, writhing as though you're trying to tie yourself into a knot. He steadies you with his other hand firm against the small of your back. 

 

When you part for air, your lips are kiss-stung, eyes heavily lidded, chest heaving. He presses a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your neck as he pulls your panties to the side, circling your clit with his index finger before delving it into your pussy all the way down to the knuckle. Your whine comes out as little more than a breathy squeak when he kneads inside of you, prodding to find the spot that will make you cry. 

 

"You're so wet," he breathes hazily, as if in disbelief.

 

You nod your head, "Been wanting you to touch me like this for a while,"

 

Fuck, that's hot.

 

"Shoulda said something sooner, princess. I would've satisfied you a long time ago," the confidence in his tone is a hard difference from how blissed-out he sounded not thirty seconds prior. You wonder if sex is something both parts of him can agree on.

 

The boastful tone soon gives way to whines and whimpers that are near pitiful. He can't remember the last time he did this, and a large part of him hopes he isn't too rusty. But there's another portion that's too caught up in the moment to care about finesse. Your hand tangles into his hair, tugging at it roughly, a not-so-gentle indicator of how good he's making you feel, just the reminder that he needed to focus on your pleasure instead of the chaos in his head. He presses his thumb to your apex, rubbing circles into the little bud that causes you to throb around his finger. 

 

"There?" His question vibrates against the column of your throat, "You like it right there?"

 

"Right there. Fuck, feels so good," you mewl, high and soft, words enmeshing with the tepid air. 

 

With a shaky groan, he raptly watches the wiggle of your hips as he curls his finger, then dips another inside of you, eager to see you unravel, the lewd sounds you're making over his ministrations pushing him to madness. You can feel him pulsing through his pants, even moreso when he looks down to see his digits returning slicker than before, your arousal clinging to him and making a mess on the countertop. 

 

"Want you to cum for me," he grits, the words skittering out of him like electricity.

 

The way that you're tightening around him says that you're not too far from this. Fuck, he's so hard. He doesn't think he's ever been this turned on in his entire life. You're so hot like this, your skin all flushed and dewy, eyes pleading with him to give you the ecstacy you so crave. As embarrassing as it is to admit to himself, he's getting close with the way he's grinding against your outer thigh. The friction is just enough to keep him right on that precipice, and the moans he's pulling from you have his cock throbbing mercilessly.

 

A desperate groan wracks out of him as you dip below his waistband to take the length of him into your hand, shameless and highly strung, eyes widening when you swipe your thumb across his slit. You collect the bead of precum that was dripping from him, then lick it from the pad of your thumb, melting over how his voice breaks as he watches. You wet your palm with your tongue and return it to his twitching cock.

 

"Fuck fuck fuck," he whimpers, pressing more firmly into your clit, "If you don't stop, I'm gonna cum,"

 

You lift your shirt to reveal the expanse of your stomach, "Good. Cum on me,"

 

"Oh my god, keep going. Keep--uhnn--stop! No, don't stop, don't fucking stop, don't listen to that," the words come out between his panting.

 

He grips the counter with his free hand, knuckles blanching, holding on for dear life as he bucks into the silk of your palm. You glide your hand up and down his shaft, the way his face twists up when you run your fingers across a sensitive spot winding the coil within you so impossibly tight that it's about to snap entirely. You've become so wet that his thumb slips over your clit, slick arousal gushing, the velvet of your walls squeezing him with every word he babbles into your ear.

 

You want dirty talk?

 

He'll fucking give it to you.

 

"Next time I'm licking your pussy. Bet your clit tastes like candy. Goddamn, you're driving me so crazy, I swear," Jin lifts your shirt so he can play with your nipples, tweaking them as he continues, "Been wanting to make this pussy cum since I first laid eyes on you. Shit, you're getting so tight--ah--you are so fucking close. Mmff. That feels good, doesn't it?" he rasps, and that's all it takes to send you pulsing around him, fist tightening in his hair, "Yeah. That's it, cum all over my fingers, princess,"

 

Your moan breaks off into a cry, sharp and keening, pleasure bursting through you in a burning and intense unfurling that shocks through your limbs. 

 

"Fuck, Jin! Ahh-aahh, you make me feel so good!" you cry out as he fucks you through your orgasm.

 

"Oh fuck, that's it, I-I can't. Gonna cum. I'm--ah--gonna cum, gonna cum, gon--ngh, c-cumming," a heady moan juts from his throat as he tumbles headlong into pleasure, his cock pulsing in your hand as you guide him to spill his hot release onto your abdomen. 

 

He wriggles at the sight, bucking his hips, thrusting to glide through your fingers that work him so sweetly, painting your skin pearly white. Tired and damp with sweat, he drops over you, trembling and muttering little nothings into the warmth of your neck. 

 

"Would you ever want to have sex with me?"

 

Jin snaps his head up in attention, nearly manic when he nods his head and cages you in with his strong arms. 

 

Hook, meet line. 

 

"Yes--yes, just, gimme like two minutes and I can--"

 

You slide off of the counter, patting the side of his face on your way down. 

 

"Then we totally will sometime," you clean him off of your stomach with a napkin as you speak, "But these cookies won't make themselves,"

 

He blinks several times in succession, then splashes his face with cold water before pulling his mask back on. 

 

And there it is. 

 

Sinker. 

 

He helps you portion dough out onto a baking sheet, watches you dance around the kitchen in your socks as you sing into a spoon, imagines what it feels like to breathe in the salt of your skin as he takes you, as he cradles your face in his hands. 

 

Yeah.

 

He should be easier to tease from now on.

 

Notes:

You cannot change my mind, Jin would be chatty as hell as a lover 😫

Chapter 7: Good Boy

Summary:

Sub Dabi.

That's right, I said it, Sub Dabi.

Notes:

This might very well be one of the horniest things I've ever written lmao. Enjoy 💜

“Gah, son of a bitch!” You drop one of six bags of groceries you’re bringing in at once.

 

You hate when it’s your turn being the grocery shopper. It seems like you always get stuck with this shitty job, probably because you’re the least recognizable out of everyone—which you do understand. But still, everyone here eats like a horse, so you end up having an entire two carts full of goods to bring in. You’re already pent up and mad just thinking about how you have to put this all away.

 

Unfortunately, there’s a meeting for the Vanguard Action Squad going on, so while everyone would normally be scrambling to help you bring everything in, you’re dealing with it alone this time. 

 

“Piss, fuck, shit and hell,” you mutter under your breath as you drag the bag you’ve dropped into the bar with your foot.

 

Twenty minutes later and you’ve finally got all of the groceries put away. You nod proudly at your work, then turn to see Dabi leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets and blue eyes fixed on your form. 

 

You startle, “Jesus. How long have you been here?” 

 

“Long enough,” he rasps, whiffs of smoke on his breath. 

 

“And you didn’t offer to help me because...?"

 

Dabi grins like he knows the punchline of a joke he hasn’t even told, “Thought maybe you could use some punishment for going out like that after I told you not to once already,”

 

Your brows pinch in confusion before you realize he’s talking about the leggings you’re wearing. Regular, commonplace, black leggings that he apparently thinks he can reprimand you for leaving the house in, despite seeing several other women in the exact same pair at the store. 

 

Right. 

 

Because he thinks he’s the one in control right now.

 

That's alright, this can be a good lesson for him.

 

“Sit on the couch,” your voice has grown husky, low in your chest, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine. 

 

He scoffs, “You think I'm just gonna—“

 

You narrow your eyes and dole out, “I said sit,”

 

Dabi isn’t sure what the hell has come over him, but he does as he’s told. He listens to your command, skulking silently to the couch, then taking a seat dead in the center as an act of rebellion so you won’t have a seat for yourself. You walk over to him calmly, like a stalking predator, a glint in your gaze that says you’re up to something. He gulps down the knot at his Adam’s apple, doing his best to stay still, concealing the shake in his hands as he peers up at you through his eyelashes. 

 

“Good boy,” you coo at him with a grin, and his breath hitches, eyes shot wide. 

 

“Don’t,” he clears his throat, “D-don’t fuckin call me that,”

 

“You don’t like it?” you tug at his earrings playfully.

 

He blushes bright pink at your question, pursing his lips, avoiding your eyes in the hopes that looking at the floor will quell the heavy stirring in his pants. He shouldn’t like this. Dabi is the one who should be in charge right now, not you. This is wrong.

 

So why is he this fucking hard right now?

 

“I didn’t say that,” his voice cracks, you taking control having made him feel bashful and small. 

 

“That’s good,” you sit on his lap, eliciting a grunt from him, “Because I think you’re the one that needs punished. But don’t worry,” you lick your lips, “I’ll reward good behavior,”

 

Your eyes flick towards him from over your shoulder, pupils blown out, the pheromones coming off of you close to knocking him back. 

 

Okay. Calm down. He’s been through way too much to let this get a rise out of him, and there’s no chance in hell he can give you the satisfaction of knowing that this is absolute torture. He tries to think about horrible things to keep himself from becoming too excited, but it’s too late; you have, quite literally, gotten a rise out of him. You press yourself further into his lap, sighing, planting your hands on either thigh. 

 

Fuck, okay, just concentrate. 

 

He shifts to rearrange the pressure in his pants, and a small noise gets caught up in your throat, something breathy, a wisp of a moan. Dabi pauses, aware now that his role is the prey you’ve been stalking in the night, before he gives another experimental nudge of his hips. You sound off with his movements once more, your cheeks pinched rose, lashes fluttering over top those starry eyes. They’re glassy and warm when you look at him, rocking into him with more purpose. 

 

“Fuuuck,” he smears his face with his hand, sweating, pulse in his fingertips, “If you don’t stop I’m gonna take you seriously,”

 

Two pairs of eyes meet when you tell him, “Then take me seriously,”

 

He doesn’t recognize the needy little whimper that rackets from him, rutting his cock against the searing heat of your sex beneath your clothes, matching your thrusts and grinds, eager hands grabbing at the inner plush of your thighs to spread them more. 

 

“There you go, good boy. Nnn, yeah. You like that?” You slip your clit up and down the length of him lightly as you murmur into his ear. 

 

He nods his head softly, apprehensive to show you just how much he’s enjoying the dominion you have over him. 

 

“Say it, then. Say you want my pussy,”

 

Dabi swallows thickly, maddened by the delicious writhing of your body, by the needful expression you wear in spite of the command in your voice. You haven't hardly touched him and he's already wrecked. And he has a feeling you won't relent until he fully admits that.

 

“Hah—God, fuck, I-I want your pussy,” he stammers unsteadily from behind you. 

 

You trace a featherlight touch up his arm, then guide his hand to your aching cunt, his breaths becoming ragged heaves as you do. He groans when he sees your lids flutter at the way he rubs you in long, laving strokes through your pants, whining and bucking beneath you quite shamelessly now, the fingers of his other hand biting into your hip, unsure if he wants to push you off or hold you in place. You pull down your shirt and place both of his rough hands at your exposed breasts, and he groans, almost painfully, while he tweaks your nipples betwixt his fingers. The sound sends a bolt of lightening straight through your center, and you abandon trying to pace yourself, grinding on his cock once more, the noises you’re making sinful and lewd.

 

“Stop, wait, I—fuck, hold on,” he gasps urgently, and you turn to smile at him with a wanton deviance, ceasing the brutal rocking of your pelvis. 

 

“What’s gonna happen if I keep going, hmm?” You trace a finger up the pulsing length of him through his pants. 

 

“Mmhh, gonna.. gonna…” his brows knit, shoulders tight and tense, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent he already looks. 

 

“Gonna what? What am I gonna make you do?”

 

He groans, hips twitching involuntarily, “You’re gonna make me cum,”

 

“Poor thing,” you reach back to card your fingers through his hair, “We can’t have that so soon. Or maybe even at all, since this is a punishment,”

 

You shift to face him, cupping his cheeks with your hands, then press your lips against his, the ball of his tongue ring clicking the backs of your teeth. You’re savoring the little grunts that flit from him in gentle puffs as he comes to terms with this shift in dominance. He prods at your cunt sloppily, hasty fingers petting the heat there, and you gasp at the pressure, rolling your hips in little circles to encourage the same movements of his digits. The coil within you tightens, winding deep and close to snapping, worsened by the way he’s panting. His eyes are cracked open just enough to watch your expression as he dips his hand past your waistband, the tip of his index finger working your clit, a pleased gasp escaping you when he moans into your mouth. 

 

Arousal has clouded his mind until he no longer cares what comes out of him, pleading with you, “Lemme eat your pussy,”

 

As soon as you nod, he’s got you slung over his shoulder, wordlessly carrying you into his bedroom. He closes the door behind him with his foot, then throws you onto his bed, calloused hands ripping off your leggings and then dragging up your thighs. He pulls you to the edge of the mattress, eye contact unbroken as he takes the elastic of your panties between his teeth, and you yelp when they snap back against you. With a deep inhale, he licks you through the material with one long stroke, palming at his cock as your breath hitches. 

 

“How do you like it?” He asks darkly, voice having taken an octave lower. 

 

Your body burns along with the cerulean of his irises, cunt clenching around nothing as you try to hold onto what’s left of your power grab, “Lick my clit and put your fingers inside of me,”

 

He pulls down the damp panties that cover you, clicking his tongue, breath shaking. 

 

“And I thought I was worked up,” he murmurs, “You’re fuckin soaked, doll,”

 

You buck into his face, and he grins wolfishly, the tables having turned now that you’ve shown your hand. He pulls you apart with his thumbs and ghosts his lips across your apex, gentle kisses tracing the little bud, and you writhe at the sensation of his panting against your sex. He chuckles mirthlessly as you let out a heady moan, slides two fingers into the velvet of your walls to feel you clamp around him. 

 

“You like feelin full?” He asks into your twitching cunt, and your desperate nod has him adding another digit as he growls, “There ya go, babe,”

 

“Oh, fuck, Dabi,” you mewl, arching your back, toes curling in your socks. 

 

He flicks his tongue across your clit, slow and methodical, a faint whisper of a touch that has you reeling for more. The ball of his tongue ring grazes you gently, sending your walls fluttering. But you're not going to stand being the one getting teased like this. He makes a loud, strangled sound when you grab a fistful of his hair, pressing him by the back of his head into your pussy, muffling his cries as his eyes roll back. 

 

“Open,” you pat his cheek with your free hand, and he complies, hanging out his tongue so you can glide yourself across it. 

 

He works his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt, arousal dripping down to his wrist, and he curls his digits into the soft ledge within you until you cry out for him. His eyes are glazed and half-lidded, a groan rippling through his chest, cock pulsing within his pants as you graze your clit over the firm muscle of his tongue. 

 

“Take your cock out for me,” you yank his hair as you speak. 

 

“Uh-huh,” he obliges with his mouth full of your pussy, too fucked-out to disagree, his free hand releasing his dick from the confines of his zipper and relieving some of the growing pressure there. 

 

You yank his hand to your mouth, licking a big, wet stripe up his palm, “Play with it,”

 

He slams his eyes closed, brows tilted up as he pumps himself, heavy and hard in his hand. 

 

“Good fucking boy. Ahh—now suck,”

 

Dabi takes your clit in between his lips, capturing it fully, his tongue laving against the underside as he suckles your swollen little bud. The moans pitch higher in your throat, sweeping through gasping exhales, nails scratching at his shoulder blades and causing him to grunt in approval.

 

“O-oh, just like that—just like that, Dabiii-aahhh!”

 

He runs his grip harshly over his shaft, thumbing his tip when his hand reaches the top, precum leaking to mix with your spit and lubricate him further. Your legs are shaking, hips stuttering as he coaxes you into an orgasm so intense that you’re seeing stars, and he hums against you when he feels the clamping of your cunt around his fingers, little moans and whimpers slipping pitifully from him as he watches you fall apart all over his face, feels you spasm around him.

 

You pull at his shoulders until he parts from you, panting, mouth glistening with your slick, his eyes glassy with lust. His length bobs in front of you, long and dripping, rosy and flushed at the tip, curved up slightly and so hard that it touches his stomach when it bounces.

 

You hum, a bit shocked at the size of him, “Pretty cock for a pretty boy,”

 

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his face burns pink, stating lowly, “I’m not pretty,”

 

“You are, though. You’ve got such pretty eyes, pretty lips, a cute little nose,” he looks awkwardly to the side, unsure of what to do with your praise, trying in vain to figure out a way to tell you just how beautiful he thinks you are. These thoughts are knocked loose when you purr, “Now c’mere,"

 

With shaking arms, you guide him until you’ve lined up his dick to where it rests teasingly between your folds, squeezing him at the base and dragging your still sensitive clit along his length. 

 

“Hah—lemme fuck you before I bust, holy shit,” He’s close to begging, the words sitting right on the tip of his tongue. 

 

“Well that doesn’t sound like much of a punishment,” you hiss through your teeth and circle his tip against your apex, the buildup of another orgasm tightening in your cunt, “‘Sides, this feels really good,”

 

“C’mon, Jesus, mmmnn.. You lemme lick your pussy. F-fuck, please,” his voice falters at the end, dangerously close to cumming his fucking brains out. 

 

“Did you like it?”

 

He nods his head, brows knitted, eyes falling closed, “You taste so good. Made all those noises for me. Wanna hear more’a that. Want you bad—want you so bad,”

 

Unable to withstand the temptation any longer, aching to be filled, you slip him into the damp plush of your center, unraveling as he stuffs himself in to the hilt, broken cries bleating into the air as he gasps at the feeling of being inside you.

 

“Goddamn, babe, you cummin again already? Fuck, yeah, you are,” he only gets a couple of thrusts in before the dam starts to break, babbling, drunk off of you, “That feels good. Oh, fuck, feels so good, tight little cunt milking my cock like this. You like that, doll? Yeah ya do, just look at you. Gonna cum in this wet pussy while you cream on my fuckin cock—I’m—I’m gonna—ahh, fuck!”

 

He yanks your legs apart, convulsing atop you, fingers gripping into the meat of your thighs as he whines, ruined, completely broken after experiencing the burning heat of your pleasure. You can feel him pulsing as he empties himself, throbbing, electricity racing up and down his spine. He's never felt anything so good as having you cum all over him.

 

“Good job,” you pat him on the cheek, “mmm, such a good boy, fucking me with that pretty cock,”

 

He kisses the side of your neck, chest heaving, bathing in the post-sex bliss of softening within you. 

 

“You’re so crazy,” he whispers. 

 

“For sleeping with you or thinking you’re pretty?”

 

He chuckles under his breath a bit, “Both,”

 

With a grunt, he pulls from your walls, watching as his cum leaks from your raw pussy, the spasms leftover from your orgasm causing rivets of white to gush onto your thighs. 

 

“So hot,” he whispers to himself. 

 

Dabi takes off the shirt he was wearing to dab you clean, careful not hurt you, gentle in a way you hadn’t expected of him. 

 

“You don’t think you’re pretty?” You ask as he crumples the shirt, throws it to the floor. 

 

He looks at you as if you’re stupid. 

 

“Are you stupid?”

 

Well, you guess you should’ve seen that question coming. 

 

“No, I just think you’re really cute,”

 

Dabi snarls, gestures to his entire body, points at the staples on either side of his face. 

 

“So?” He rolls his eyes at your remark, “No, really, I think you’re cute. Those things just give you character,”

 

You cuddle up to him, his body stiff as a board, pressing your head to hear the beating of his heart. He tries to shrug you off, but you remain steadfast. 

 

“This is what matters, even if you don’t think you’re a pretty boy like I do. You’ve got a good heart,”

 

“Gonna harvest my organs or something?”

 

Grinning, you tap him playfully on the arm, “No, jackass. I meant you’re a good guy. You’ve been nice to me since I got here. Even that thing you said about not liking the way I dress was because you didn’t want people looking at me,”

 

“Actually, doll, I didn’t want you figuring out how you drive me wild in those tight clothes,” the words escape his mouth before he can stop himself. 

 

“Well, either way. Don’t sell yourself short,” you tell him with a stretch. 

 

“We, uh.. we gonna do this again?” He fidgets with the button on his pants as he asks you this. 

 

You shrug, “If I feel like it,”

 

“What? C’mon, that felt good. I know it did, you came twice. I can make it feel even better if you’ll let me fuck you right next time,” he tries not to seem too eager to convince you.

 

“I dunno,” your voice lilts, “depends on how well you behave for me, I guess,”

 

“Behave for you?” Dabi repeats, watching you practically skip out of the room.

 

Behave.

 

So he has to play along with whatever game you've got in mind for him, then.

 

You’re going to make him absolutely crazy.

Notes:

Idk guys, I just feel like he would like it a little mean, ya know?

Chapter 8: If He's Rex Harrison, You're Audrey Hepburn

Summary:

There's something so special about first dates.

Especially when they end like this.

Notes:

I'd recommend giving Earned It by The Weekend a listen for this chapter 💜

“A date?” You blink twice in succession, startled by the unexpected suggestion.

 

You were right in the middle of making yourself a cup of noodles when he had approached you, seemingly out of nowhere, after several minutes of playing Nintendo games in Spinner’s lap. It’s easy to tease Spinner. He hasn’t made a move on you outright, but you know you’ve got him close to his limit. 

 

Or so you thought. 

 

Apparently, all of the attention directed at another man pushed someone else to his limit instead.

 

Atsuhiro flushes. Perhaps he should have worn his mask for this discussion after all. But since watching you cuddle up into Spinner’s chest, manually wrapping his arms around you, he’s eager to speak with you as soon as humanly possible. Despite the stinging heat of his cheeks, he proceeds, “That’s right. I’d like to take you out tonight. Just the two of us,”

 

Normally, he would give you more time to not only consider his request, but to prepare for it should you have accepted it. This situation required a bit more haste than that, though. If he didn’t get this plan solidified and underway tonight, someone would, inevitably, try to delay it or have it cancelled entirely. Compress needs to strike while the iron is hot. It’s now or never.

 

You fidget with the hem of your shirt, capture your lower lip betwixt your teeth. His asking you out was sudden, but not unwanted. That isn’t what’s delaying your response. There’s just something about Compress that makes you a little nervous. Twice did as well before you two had fooled around, but that feeling has since faded, having fallen to the wayside in place of a near-constant sexual tension. When it came to Compress specifically, though, there was something about his authority and confidence that made you feel the tiniest bit weak in the knees, bones gelatinous any time he approaches you. It wasn’t like the false bravado that Dabi tended to carry or that Spinner often attempted to hide behind. Atsuhiro knew what he wanted and then some. And that was intimidating.

 

Yes, Atsuhiro considered himself to be a confident man. He spoke with purpose. He stood tall. He had experience. 

 

But dammit, you make him so tense and sweaty!

 

Abandoning your noodles, you tuck a lock of stray hair behind your ear with a meek, “Okay,” and a sweet smile.

 

He nods, reigning himself in so you don’t see how giddy this has made him. 

 

“Well then, Yumemi,” he straightens his back, “Get dressed and I’ll take you out for a real dinner,”

 

When you exit, he exhales deeply, smears his face with his hands. He pulled it off. You said yes, you’re going out with him. He has to make this night unforgettable for you.

 

He’s going to be the first one to take you on a date. 

 

You hand the steaming cup of noodles to Toga as the two of you enter into the den, a grin spreading across your face, and she takes it without question. 

 

“Mimi, you look so happy!” She chirps between sips of hot broth. 

 

“I, uh.. I have to get ready for a date toni—“ you don’t get to finish your sentence before she’s dragging you into her room. The door slams closed behind you. She looks manic.

 

“With who?!”

 

“Atsuhiro,”

 

“Oh my God, no way!” She downs the entire cup of noodles in one impossible gulp before she begins sifting through her clothes, “I can’t believe one of them actually nutted up and asked you out! Okay, lemme see. I have something here somewhere.. Ah-hah!” Toga retrieves a cocktail dress from her closet, the material a sleek, black taffeta.

 

You cock your head, “Jesus, Toga, this looks expensive,”

 

She shrugs, “It probably was. But I stole it in case someone grew enough hair on their chest to ask you out. Good thing, huh?”

 

You hold it up to yourself, admiring how the cut appears to be flattering for your figure. It shows just enough chest to be seductive, just enough leg to say you want him, while still being classy for a nice occasion. She really knows her shit for a teenager. 

 

“Wow, I mean.. Thank you,”

 

“If you wanna thank me, give me details when you get back,” she smiles until the points of her teeth show, golden eyes crinkling. 

 

You snicker, blushing as you nod your head. 

 

“And one more thing,” a drawer is opened on her nightstand, the quick grab of a bottle serving as proof that she’s had this preplanned for quite some time, “I also took some pheromone perfume!” Without so much as a warning, she dabs it onto your wrists, your neck, spreads it into the back of your hair, “Now he’ll definitely make a move,”

 

There isn’t much of a smell on your end, so you ask her, “You sure this stuff works?”

 

“If you can’t smell it, yeah, probably. This one is to attract men,”

 

You hum, somewhat skeptical, but step into the dress regardless. Worst case scenario is that now you smell like nothing. Not much of a loss considering that this is a stolen dress layered on top of some stolen perfume. Your phone buzzes from the bed.

 

Atsuhiro: I’m parked out front whenever you’re ready. I’ll be waiting for you, dearest.  

 

“Toga, he has his own car!” You tell her while slipping on a pair of black pumps that she’s procured from under her bed. 

 

“Why do we have to walk when Kurogiri’s busy, then?” She pouts. 

 

You stuff your phone and wallet into a little clutch that’s been handed to you, shrugging, mouth tilted as if to convey confusion. 

 

“Why are you so prepared for this?”

 

“I took it all in one haul. Now get out of here!”

 

The shove she gives you isn’t really needed. You’re impossibly excited to be taken on your first ever actual date. You’ve been in a couple relationships before, but nobody had ever taken you out like this, the majority of your relationships being ones of convenience more than anything else. A cold sweat sends ice to shoot down your spine when you traipse out the door, the reality hitting you in one sweeping lurch that you have no clue what you’re doing. 

 

You inhale sharply as Atsuhiro, clad in his ‘in case she says yes’ suit, opens the door of his ivory Rolls-Royce. His hair is slicked back with pomade and he smells of leather and bergamot, his bare hands soft and well-manicured.

 

Fuck. 

 

This guy is old money.

 

The scent of you envelopes him, drowns his senses, and he finds himself longing to bite into the tender flesh at the nape of your neck. However, he’s a gentleman. He controls himself as you slide onto the tan, leather seat of his passenger side, lips curled into a playful grin when you look up at him. He closes the door, sits behind the wheel. The smell is stronger when the two of you are confined, a subtle, musky vanilla undertone with something more that hits his nose as primal and vulgar. 

 

“Where are we going?” Your voice travels to his ear like petals on the wind, gauzy moonlight pouring in through the tinted window to emphasize the arch of your lashes.

 

How is he supposed to get through a meal like this?

 

“La Vie Est Belle,” he answers cooly, “If you like bread, you’ll love this restaurant. Their baguettes are made in house,”

 

“Mhm. I love bread,” you thumb the hem of your dress anxiously as you speak. 

 

Your family is fairly well off, but you aren’t what you would consider to be rich. More like comfortably middle class. Mom and Dad have always spoiled the hell out of you, but it’s not like they would take you to some fancy French restaurant on a whim. Especially not anything this fancy. As soon as Atsuhiro ushers you from his vehicle, it’s whisked away by the valet, a suave young man in a white tuxedo and matching shoes. The valet doesn’t speak a word to either of you, simply takes the keys and parts, which has you feeling somewhat strained. It seems wrong not to exchange pleasantries. 

 

Compress indulges in another whiff of your hair as he guides you into the restaurant, his palm cupped on the small of your back. It tingles his toes. Leaves him with a heaviness in his core.

 

You, on the other hand, are gobsmacked at this place. The exterior resembles that which you would expect of something like an upscale wedding reception hall, the stone steps leading to a heavy, oak door that rests in between a set of pillars on either side of it, which hold up the scaffolded and overhanging roof. Once inside, you’re greeted with vaulted ceilings, walls painted in a deep, navy blue, and crystal chandeliers hanging gracefully above each round, golden-clothed table. A bouquet of irises, blue and white, sit in the center, lit candles circling them. You look around at all of the people here in their affluent attire, the men dressed in velour and fine suits, the women in organza gowns that touch the floor, peep-toe shoes hidden behind the curtains of fabric. One lady appears to have brought with her a tiny, white dog in a bag. 

 

You, the proletariat which you are, do not belong here. 

 

Atsuhiro takes notice of how you shift uncomfortably in your seat, the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Your smile is but a farce, voice feigning placidity. So when the waiter comes, he orders for the table, something safe that most people would enjoy—though you wouldn’t know this. Apparently, Atsuhiro speaks fucking French. You are so out of your depth it’s not even funny.

 

You mouth the words ‘thank you’ as the waiter scurries off, the tails of his coat fluttering when he turns. Another waiter has stopped in his tracks behind you, your back turned to him as his gaze flickers over your form, much too long for your date’s liking. Compress narrows his eyes at the young man who burns bright pink when he realizes he’s been caught. You’re absolutely stunning tonight. Streamlined and gloss-black as a raven’s feather, the twinkle in your eyes rivaling each and every gem in the room. He doesn’t need the gawking eyes of some college freshman to tell him that. But something roils beneath his skin when he thinks about how many young, spry suitors are taking note of how you’re gorgeous and how you smell like this. Had he really never noticed before?

 

“Well, I’m sure you’ve guessed this already, but I don’t speak French,” you giggle nervously, “Did you order dessert?”

 

Two glasses of red wine are sat at the table by a gloved hand, which he swirls to aerate as soon as he receives it. 

 

“I don’t think we should get dessert,” he says dryly.

 

Your brows tick up, “Why?”

 

Atsuhiro inhales slowly, deeply, before he takes a small sip of his wine. 1955 was a good year from what he can tell. One would assume such a minuscule drink of alcohol would leave him entirely grounded, however, the way you’re intoxicating him has left him unencumbered.

 

“Because you smell like sex and I can’t have people thinking such things about you. In fact, I won’t. So I'd like to take you back to my place instead,” the sedulity in his tone has your heart pounding, his sharp eyes and even sharper tongue cutting into your chest which heaves sluggardly beneath your dress. 

 

He wears his years too differently for you to tell his age, but with the way his eyes hang low and steady, fixed onto your own, you feel so young and small. You’re all doe eyes and exposed legs across from him, his decadently oppressive aura weighing atop you, smothering you in a relentless tide. The crossing of his legs is just barely captured in your peripheral, as is the twitch of his hand, the unsteady rhythm of his breaths. It appears as though you’re both struggling to maintain your composure.

 

With the slightest nudge of your lips, you lean in closer to him, ignoring the clinking of plates as they’re sat on the table when you say, “Maybe I’m not hungry for dinner,”

 

His stomach tightens, eyes bouncing open, and he’s forced to coax them back to his typical steely affect. 

 

“You really should try to eat something,” his voice takes on a low gravel, “I’ve heard that truffles are an aphrodisiac,”

 

You’re smiling outright at this point. He wants to finish dinner? That’s fine. You’ll make sure he gets dinner and a show. 

 

His breath hitches when you press your breasts into cleavage, cleverly guised as a reach for your wineglass. Your lips graze the rim, a wispy hum in approval, though your pallet isn’t particularly refined enough to enjoy the red to its full potential. You flick your eyes to him, setting down the glass and then smoothing the bodice of your dress to encourage his eyes to travel there. Totally shameless, you slack your jaw, staunch in your eye contact as he feeds you a forkful from his plate. You rub your foot along his thigh, and he grips the tablecloth. Something behind his eyes shifts, a threatening darkness that leaves every hair on your body standing on end. And he would be lying if he said he wasn’t standing at attention himself. 

 

“My, Yumemi, it looks like you’re having a good time,” he murmurs. 

 

You slink back in your seat so to extend the length of your legs, to ruche the fabric of your dress further up your thigh as you cross one heeled foot over the other, “You could say that,”

 

Atsuhiro waves over the waiter, eyes shining when he hands the man a stack of bills, telling him to keep whatever was left over. He rises with a poised demeanor, warm hands guiding you up and out the door, heels clicking across the ornate tiles of the restaurant, heart thundering throughout your extremities. You find yourself unintentionally holding your breath as the two of you wait for the valet to return his car, wondering if perhaps you’d crossed a line by the way he avoids eye contact with you. He opens the door for you once more, silent as you sit, as he takes his place at the driver’s seat, your breaths the only things audible in the car.

 

Perhaps you made too much of a scene in there. 

 

He’s probably a regular at La Belle… whatever. God, even your internal dialogue sounds like you’re a mere pauper. Tonight was as though you’d been isekai’d into some My Fair Lady universe where you’re a transient nobody who’s graciously allowed into the prince’s quarters. You’re normally much more polite than this. Much more buttoned-up in public. Maybe this should’ve been treated as more of a business occasion rather than a sexually charged date. Maybe that’s just what extravagant dining was like. 

 

“Atsuhiro,” saying his name knocks something loose in him, and he pulls into an empty lot, parking calmly and cooly with his eyes still fixed straight ahead. 

 

You say his name again, and he draws in a sharp breath before lunging across the console, cupping your face in his hands as he plants a ferocious and hungry kiss to your lips. His initial plan was to bring you back home, to savor you, to sweep you off of your feet and carry you bridal style past the threshold of his room and onto his bed, to map out each and every beautiful inch of your body until he knows it by heart. He thought he could keep himself tethered to his sanity long enough to make it there. But he is able to withstand this burning, snapping, fizzing want that boils within him no longer. He melts into your touch as your fingers card through his hair, as you’re nibbling at his bottom lip, licking into his mouth, heat pooling between your thighs. He parts from you, gasping, the air electric and sparking wildly. 

 

“I want you,” his voice rakes over your skin, each rasping syllable zipping up your spine. 

 

You’re aching and hot, desire bubbling just beneath the surface, stomach bottoming out when he speaks these words to you. 

 

“I can’t get you out of my head,” his gaze travels your body, and he revels in the way you shiver at his touch, “Can’t stop thinking about the things you do to me,”

 

“What I do to you?” The phrase is more of a slurred sigh, “God, Atsuhiro, I fucking need you,”

 

He tosses his head back, jaw clenched, close to feral when he grits, “Be a good girl for me and I’ll give you what you need,"

 

He nips at your clavicle, and you moan, the sound so cloyingly heady that he finds himself dizzied at the release of your voice. He grunts at the sound, gentle squeezes into his shoulders prompting his own hands to fall at your thighs, your breath skating across his cheek. With another keening groan, he presses you up against the door, the glass cool against your back as he laves the plush of his tongue over the column of your throat, his strong hands palming the fleece of your inner thighs. The scent of you has become too much for him when he’s this close to you, the throbbing tent in his slacks grazing your thigh with each further push to the window. Your fingers grasp at his shirt, curl into the fine material, urging him closer. 

 

“Come on, now. I said be a good girl. Spread your legs for me,”

 

With heavy eyes, you nod, wholly subjugated when you tell him, “Yes, sir,”

 

All you can offer him is a weak little whine as he pulls your soaked panties to the side, his touch careful but firm, the pad of his index finger soon dragging to spread the slick up from your slit to your swollen clit. He smirks when you buck your hips, satisfied by your submission. He admires the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath him, how your breaths hasten when he rubs the apex of your sex in a tight circle. Another whimper falls from your lips as he delves two digits into the wet heat of your cunt, eliciting a shaky exhale from him, his cock pulsing, precum dotting the front of his pants. Lazy, unhurried circles of his fingertip over your clit tests your patience. This is torture, and he knows it.

 

But the way that you tilt your brow and dig your nails into the flesh of his chest have him wanting to spoil you.

 

Your eyes flutter closed when he finally presses his thumb to your clit, cheeks flushed and lips parted to release stuttered gasps from the back of your throat. He pats the side of your leg with his free hand. 

 

“Watch me,” he says, “I want you to see what I’m doing to you,”

 

He throws your legs over his shoulders, soft, fleeting kisses ghosted over your clit to once more tease you the way you’ve been teasing him all this time. You fix your gaze to him, eye contact unbroken when he flicks his tongue across the puffy little bud, and you tremble, near to falling apart at the sight. His tongue rolls over you, the stifling heat of his mouth sucking you in shortly thereafter. 

 

“Fuck, Atsu—oh, God,” slithers out of you, and a moan rackets up from his chest. 

 

The windows are fogging, condensation beading across the glass, much in the same way which your arousal drips down his palm. You’re so slippery and ready for him, tightening around his fingers with each lap and lave of his tongue. Your toes curl in your shoes, self-restraint now relinquished when you take a handful of his hair. His eyes roll back as you pull, tension tugging at your muscles, staring hazily down at him as he releases your clit with a lewd pop. He’s pretty like this, with his lips all red and swollen, eyes half-lidded and foggy with lust, hair mussed. It doesn’t take long before he’s running the flat of his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re about to come undone, he can tell. Your breaths have become choppy, in ragged intervals, walls fluttering around his digits, until suddenly—fuck, so hot—you’re cumming all over his face. The throbbing of your clit is felt against his tongue, a gush of arousal slickening his hand. 

 

“Ah-aahhh-yes! Fuck, fuck, like that!” The phrase falls from your lips, lilting at the end in such a way that has him about to lose his mind, has him moaning into the pulsing betwixt your legs. 

 

He uses both hands to keep your legs spread, gripping at the meat of your thighs, drawing each and every delicious sound from you that he can manage, that sinfully skilled mouth of his leading to another string of curses to spill incoherently from your throat. When you’re a gasping mess beneath him, thoroughly finished off, he parts from you, something carnal and unbridled within him that longs to bite and cling and breed. But you’re too quick for him to get you into the back of the car, knocking him into his seat so that the breath leaves his lungs. Although somewhat unexpected after you’ve gotten off already, you appear just as feral as him. His icy demeanor falters when you sink into his lap, deft fingers undoing the button of his slacks. A rush of pink warms his cheeks when he sees you licking your lips, grinning up at him, eyes sultry and soft through your lashes.

 

“You don’t.. have to do that,” he whispers. 

 

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” you release the stiffened length from its confines, “But I really want to do it,”

 

His cock bobs in front of your face, long and curved and dripping little pearls from the slit. He’s already so hard that it’s painful, the tip of him rosy and flushed. 

 

“I-I don’t.. I’ve never…” 

 

Your brows lift in surprise, “Never?”

 

Compress shakes his head, “It’s always seemed rude to ask,”

 

“Good thing I’m offering, then,” you giggle, and it sends a bolt of electricity to skitter through his extremities, “Let me make you feel good,”

 

The relentless squeezing of your pretty hand around his shaft has him lost in the sensation already. It’s different, somehow, your hand around his cock in place of his own. Not as mind-blowing as he’d heard it is, but still really—

 

You lick from the base all the way to the tip of him, running your tongue along the sensitive underside of his shaft.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, shit. Okay. He gets it now. 

 

You open your mouth, show him your tongue in the same display he’s come to know many times before. It takes only a few seconds for him to realize what you want from him, tension twisting up in his center as he spits onto the surface of your tongue. You’ve barely touched him and you’ve already ruined him. The whimper that snakes from him is damn near shameful, bordering on pathetic, what little composure he was holding on to dead and gone as you pull him into your mouth. A shaky groan, unable to be stifled, huffs out when you hollow your cheeks to suck, his legs jerking each time you swivel your hand around his cock. He can’t help the urge to push further into the enveloping heat of your mouth, quivering underneath you, your tongue dragging across the ridge of his tip. 

 

“F-fuck,” he twitches in your mouth, voice climbing in a way you’ve never heard him before, “oh, fuck me, that feels so good. Nngh, you’re doing so good for me,” 

 

Eyes locked onto his, you hum over him, and he sucks in a sharp breath in response. A pang of brash noises from him accompany the way you reach to play with yourself with your free hand, and you swallow around the tip of his cock, prompting him to fist the leather interior with a tighter grasp. You’re still so sensitive from the previous orgasm that you can feel yourself getting close already, his needy little whines only spurring you on. Another sound chokes out of him, almost sobbing, when you moan around him, mouth nestled all the way to the hilt of him.

 

“Gonna cum with my cock in your mouth?” He asks with a hungry glint in his eye.

 

You give a delighted hum in answer, circling your clit with your index finger, taking his dick down your throat with another squeeze of your hand. Lewd, wet sounds, slick and vulgar, combine with your moans. The car smells like you have all night now. Like pheromones, and sex, and sin. It hits his nose like a punch. Your tongue grazes the span of his length, lapping him like you’re trying to devour him whole, greedy swipes of tongue and palm laving over him. Your rhythm has become hungrier, rapacious and wild, eyes slamming shut as you unravel for him once again. He curses to himself, runs a hand through the front of his hair as he watches you work him, feels you moaning against his cock.

 

“Show me,” he rasps, and you delve your fingers into your sopping pussy, remove them so he can see the release that glistens there. 

 

“Oh my fucking God,” a groan escapes him, and you mirror him with a whimper of your own, tensing your hand around him until he ruts his hips, “I'm about to cum. Such a good girl, taking my cock like this. Doing so good. Feels—nnn, feels—gonna-ah!”

 

His cock pulses in your mouth, a broken, wrecked cry slinking haphazardly up from his chest as he spills into you, thrusting, gasping, ruined. You swallow all of him, licking up and down his shaft. Parting, you look at him through wet lashes, glossy lips swollen and red. His chest heaves, the taut thread of tension having finally snapped. 

 

“Did you like it?” You ask him between precious chugs of air. 

 

Spent, he wipes the sweat from his brow, taking in your dewy skin and heavy eyes. The windows steam and streak, trapping in the desire which now sinks into the fine leather of his car. He hopes it never leaves. Wants the memory of this night with him as long as possible.

 

He pulls you into him, crushes you to his chest when he says, “It was amazing. You’re amazing, my dearest one,”

 

You smile to yourself, your very first date having been a success.

 

How many details of this does Toga really need?

Notes:

I NEED Compress a total mess by the time it's all said and done. He's so formal and cool and I just... He has to be wrecked. Like, unsalvageable.

Chapter 9: Ready Player Two

Summary:

There is not hardly a single scrap of plot in this chapter.

Enjoy 💜

The night creeps by like the quiet steps of a felid, a soft presence, but one you can feel around you nonetheless. It’s near two in the morning at this point, the hideout still and devoid of any interaction. You’re somewhat used to this, the nightowl which you are—but the flashing of lights that seep from the cracks in a doorway signal that you aren’t the only one who’s awake. And naturally, it would be coming from Shigaraki’s room.

 

Not that you’re complaining.

 

It’s just been particularly difficult to feel close to him since you’d accidentally moaned at his pressing you into a wall.

 

You’re certain that it’s well past time to redeem yourself.

 

You knock lightly, a scratchy, “What?” soon to follow.

 

“Mind if I come in?” You ask, opening the door ever-so-slightly ajar.

 

Tomura’s mouth forms a tight line, his skin prickling. He thinks for a moment on whether or not he should approve your request, carmine eyes shining below a tousled mop of blue bangs. He doesn’t want to deny you. In fact, he craves this opportunity, the chance to show you that he can be desirable. You just make him feel so… weird. Like he ate something too fast, or he’s about to be stabbed. It makes his palms sweaty and causes his brow to crease at the center.

 

“Okay,” he relents, “But I’m not done with this level,”

 

You grin playfully, bouncing over to his messy bed, eyes fixed to him as he slumps over in his gaming chair. There’s something about him that’s appealing to you in a way you hadn’t quite expected. He’s adorable. Kind of a loser, but in the best possible way. So far, everyone you’ve been with has had some kind of experience, even if it had been years prior. Hell, the guy you lost your own virginity to had a kid.

 

But Tomura has no clue what he’s doing.

 

And that’s a little bit hot.

 

Truth be told, he really is clueless. He doesn’t know what to do with you. This doe-eyed, proper thing who smiles too much, who speaks like falling rain on a rooftop and smells like something inexplicably tantalizing, as if you’ve been kissed by the sun on a spring day. The lingering shock of you even wanting to talk to him still has him a bit shaken. What interest could you possibly have in him? He definitely doesn’t have anything for you right now. Riven’s mechanics have proven to be difficult for even him to master, and the skill cap is underwhelming him, which is a combination that is sure to have this game less than enjoyable to watch. So then what do you want?

 

You, on the other hand, find yourself drawn to him for several different reasons. He’s unconventionally attractive, which is hard to come by. He’s smart. He’s funny in a mean sort of way. And if you were really being honest with yourself, you’re pretty well fetishizing the virginity aspect, very high-key getting off on that power grab. You like the idea of being able to dominate someone who is so respected in the villain community. Want to see what exactly he’ll let you get away with doing to him.

 

“What are you playing?” His shoulders tense when you ask him this. 

 

There it is again.

 

That rollercoaster swoop in his lower belly.

 

“League of Legends,” he mutters, steadying his voice as much as he can manage. His tone is cool and even, but there’s this underlying shake that you barely make out, a sliver of the weakness that’s lying beneath the surface. 

 

Perfect.

 

You walk to him leisurely, place your hands on the back of the leather chair, your breaths tickling the nape of his neck, “Want to play something else?”

 

The screen flashes his face in stark technicolors, his breath hitching at the timbre of your tone. It sounds darker. Warmer. Sends a shiver down his spine.

 

“We could play RuneScape,”

 

With a giggle that bottoms out his stomach, you grab a lock of his hair to twist between your fingers. He smells kind of like fresh sweat from all of the panic. Has this rosy flush to his cheeks like he’s smoldering. And he trembles like a lamb, the poor thing, so unused to the physical attention. You can hear the irregular pattern to his breaths when you lean into him, his face awash in crimson, eyes owlish and large, peeking in your direction through his peripheral. What are you getting so close for? There’s no way someone like you is flirting with him right now.

 

“You could always play with me if you wanted,” you purr. 

 

Oh holy shit. 

 

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

 

He shuffles in his seat to readjust the tent in his pants. 

 

“Like,” he swallows thickly, “Like you.. want to be player two?”

 

You laugh under your breath, “Oh my God, you are so cute,” your hand finds its way to his chin, and you gently coax him to face you, “More like I want you to lay down on the bed and let me take care of you,”

 

Eyes like saucers, he nods his head, does as he’s told and lies supine atop his mattress. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he pleats them across his waist, pinkies lifted. He feels like he’s vibrating. Every single cell in his body is on fire, his bones reduced to gelatin. You slot your mouth to his, pressing your lips together in a kiss that’s chaste at first, his stutter-stop gasps catching in the back of his throat. You only deepen the kiss when you feel him begin to relax beneath you, nibbling at his bottom lip, licking into his mouth, eliciting choked grunts from him as he tries to hold these lewd sounds back. Your hand traces the bulge in his pants, and his eyes bolt open, jaw slacked in surprise. With him rutting against the hand that paws at him, you part to take in his expression, all pink in the cheeks and puffing breaths like smoke plumes, looking so incredibly gone after such light petting.

 

“You’re doing so good,” his eyes gleam at your praise, willingly accepting the way in which you play him like your own little fiddle, “Now go ahead and take your pants off,”

 

He shamelessly gawks at you as you undress yourself, totally stripped down and bare in a way none of them have seen you before. If you’re going to be a first for him, he could at least be the first to see you completely naked. It takes him a few seconds to register that he hasn’t done the same, lurching forward to remove his sweatpants, the throbbing length of him now exposed. He’s already so hard he’s afraid he’ll cum as soon as you touch him, dripping from the tip and achingly hot. 

 

“Ever done this before?”

 

He shakes his head—not that you were expecting a different answer. 

 

“Don’t worry about lasting long, then, sweetness,” his cock jumps when the epithet hits his ears, “Just let me handle everything,” you climb on top of him, and he winces as your legs cage him in, at the way you look down at him as if you’re about to devour him whole, “You just relax and take it,”

 

He’s already panting before you’ve even taken him inside of that wetness between your thighs, his hips preemptively canting, four-fingered fists clutching the bedding beneath him. You pat his cheek, let him keen into the touch as you line him up to your entrance. Tomura gasps when the tip of him slips into the heat of your cunt, pupils blown out, back arching off of the mattress.

 

“Aahk! D-don’t move!” He whines as you sink down, enveloping his cock inch by inch.

 

His face is so needy and twitched-up, throat bobbing in an audible gulp, stomach coiling with that taut winding that threatens to pull him apart. Fuck, you feel so good. He can’t even vocalize how amazing it is, the pulsing grip of your pussy already near to pushing him over the edge. His heart is beating so fast you can feel it beneath your palms as you steady yourself against his chest.

 

“You like that? Gonna cum?” There’s a glint in your eye when you ask him this, something mischievous and wild as you slowly drag yourself along his length.

 

“Oh, f-fuck, I.. Nngh, I c-can’t, gonna—slow down,” the jumble of words he offers barely resembles a sentence. Perspiration lines his brow, tendrils of baby blue sticking to his forehead, smothered under the stifling pressure that’s boiling just below his skin.

 

“I think it’s time for that game I was talking about,” you simper, “It’s called, 'how many times can I cum on your cock before you bust from that alone?’”

 

He grins up at you, broken little whimpers giving way to a throaty laugh. Seems as though he likes the idea of you teasing him. But judging by all those scars that litter the pale expanse of his body, you should’ve guessed that he’d enjoy something kind of mean like this. 

 

“Do it,” he grits through his teeth, “Cum on me,”

 

The heaviness to his tone sends a bolt of electricity to charge through your veins. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, watching as you run your index finger along your clit in tight circles. Your expression twists, feeling his dick nudging that spot deep inside of you as your walls tighten, the sensation alone of being full of him like this pulling you closer to unraveling. You remove your digit, press it to his lips until he parts them, sucking it roughly. He flits his gaze down to your apex, relishing in the way it twitches each time he throbs within you. The knowledge that you’re getting such pleasure from feeling his cock has his head full of cotton. When you remove your finger, a string of spit breaks before you return it to your puffy clit. 

 

This has got to be the hardest he’s ever been.

 

With each swipe of your fingertip, you moan a little more, a little louder, the octaves of your voice climbing. 

 

“Shit, I feel you getting tighter. Hah—so wet and so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, absentmindedly clawing at your thighs.

 

“I’m-I'm cumming,” you spread your legs further, burying him deeper inside of you, the pulsing heat of your cunt sucking him in.

 

He takes in a deliciously ragged inhale, holds his breath for several seconds as you writhe, as you moan and spasm all around him. Tomura’s voice pitches higher, sighing and chest heaving, pitiful cries sounding off with each throb of your pussy.

 

“You sound so fucking cute,” you breathe. 

 

“What ‘m I—a-ahh—supposed to sound like when you’re fucking.. nngh, squeezing me like this?” He tosses his head back, growling, “Fuck. Fuck, I can’t take it, l-lemme move,”

 

“I know you can take it,”

 

“I can’t—“

 

“You can. It's gonna feel so good after you wait for it, I promise,” you card your fingers through his dampened hair, “Now hold still so I can show you how to make me cum yourself,”

 

You guide his hand to your apex, encouraging him to ball his hand into a fist so you can safely maneuver his thumb to the pulsing need there. He’s quick to overtake your movements from earlier, studying the way your expressions change, how the tilt of your brow and crinkle of your nose tell him the best pattern to move in. A lighter touch has you sliding your hips forward for more, and a firmer press of his thumb in those same small circles he saw you doing before has your face screwed up in pleasure. It feels different when he knows this reaction is from what he’s doing to you. 

 

“Am I making you feel good? Is that why you’re shaking like this?” His question is half a moan.

 

“Uh-huh. Keep going. It feels so good,”

 

“Shit, you look so hot like this,” he murmurs, husky and raw, “Been cumming in my hand to this thought for months. Aah—you feel so much better ’n I’d imagined. Got such a tight—uhn—pretty little pussy,” his babbling causes you to flutter around him, the muscles of your center constricting, and his eyes roll back, “Mmnn, how—how are you this wet and warm inside? Fuck, fuck!”

 

Before he even has the chance to ask for a warning, you’re tumbling headlong into another orgasm, that torturous slamming of your cunt driving him to madness once more. He curses under his breath, stifling a yelp when he hears you moan his name as you cum, as you writhe in his lap and gush all over him. He wants to pull out of you and see for himself how wet you’ve made him. If you were anyone else, he would ignore your demands, take control until he’s gotten off. But for some reason, he wants you to keep telling him what to do. The fact that you get to decide when he’s allowed his release has a tension winding deep in his core, a thread that’s close to snapping, barely held together by your command for his compliance. His gaze travels your form while you collect yourself, pushing the hair away from your face, your skin blushed and dewy. He takes in the curve of your jaw, the slope of your shoulders, the starry twinkle in your eyes. You’re the kind of beautiful that people write songs about. He has no idea how he managed to get you into bed with him of all people.

 

“You can cum when I do this time,” your words are beginning to slur, worn out from the excursion. 

 

You spread your legs wider for him, grind against him just enough to give him some friction, let him see his cock filling you up all the way to the hilt. He’s panting, strained and hot and aching as he rubs your swollen little clit. The idea strikes him that you may enjoy something different this time. A new stimulation that could send you careening over that edge quicker than before. He pinches your clit, rolls it between his thumb and index finger, and your walls throb in response. You’re so overstimulated that all it takes is for him to angle himself the slightest bit upward, to nudge the head of his cock into that soft spot up inside of you, the twitching of him the final movement that’s needed to have you raking your fingernails down his chest and marking him up for everyone to see later. His voice yields to another rasping chuckle at the sensation, ruby eyes lifting skyward, so pussydrunk and mussed upon the pillow that you’d think he had seen heaven.

 

“Look at you, so worked up over my cock and I’m not even moving. God, just looking at you is enough to—oh—t-that feels good. I love it when you cum,” he sounds so fucking deliciously broken that you can’t hardly stand it, a blissed-out mewl bleeding into the air that damn near resembles an actual meow. That’s how completely far and away you’ve got him.

 

“Yes. Yes. Oh fuck yes,” slithers from your lips, thighs quaking as you milk his dick for the third consecutive time, “That’s it. I want you to cum for me, Tomura. And I want it now,”

 

Snap.

 

In an instant the winding tension of that thread is broken, and he's sent over a tidal wave of euphoria that’s been building within him, the crushing, rapturous squeezing of your pussy pulling the release from him. He whines and whimpers below you, close to crying as you ride him outright, a reward for being such a good boy and letting you warm his cock all this time. With an iron-clad grasp, eight fingers clamping down, he takes the plush of your thighs within his hands to pull you down into him, to make sure you allow for him to pound into you while he finally gets to breed your cunt.

 

He’s wrecked below you, a mess on the mattress, splatters of white leaking out onto his legs as his lower lip trembles.

 

“Yumemi,” he gravels. 

 

You catch your breath enough to reply, “Yeah?”

 

You think he’s about to ask for a glass of water or for some help sitting up with how utterly devastated he looks down there.

 

But to your surprise, he asks, bright eyes locked onto yours, “Can we go again?”

Notes:

Fucking godddd I want to completely ruin him until he forgets about AFO. I will wear him down to a husk, like he will need an IV when I'm done with him.

Chapter 10: How Lucky

Summary:

It's time to do one of my most favorite things and break Spinner 💚

Notes:

Just wanted to give a quick thank you to all of you guys who have been following my works. You've all been so sweet and supportive during my health issues and my inconsistent chapter updates. Muah, I love you!

You’ve been trying to wear Spinner down for what feels like an impossibly long time. 

 

Seasons have changed. Holidays have passed. And your patience is beginning to wear quite thin. He was supposed to be close to his limit weeks ago!

 

You know he’s attracted to you. You can feel the length of him digging into your back any time you sit in his lap and fudge your way through Majora's Mask, his breaths hot and choppy against your nape, hands firmly planted at each side of his body to restrict himself from grabbing you. At least you thought so.

 

What gives? You guys have made out already, so why doesn’t he respond to any of your come-ons?

 

The thought that he was the one teasing you all this time irks you in a way which you hadn’t thought to be possible. Especially on days like today. As much as you would love to pretend that the action-packed lifestyle of loaning out your quirk is always fun and lucrative, you’ve found yourself struggling to find proper clothing that’s a) easily stolen, and b) can withstand all of the grime and damage that comes along with fighting. You’re currently trying your best to salvage a pair of jeans, but unfortunately, it’s looking like this is a job for the laundromat.

 

“Would you like for me to mend them?” Kurogiri asks between swipes of cleaning cloth to a shot glass. 

 

“No, but thank you. I don’t mind my own patchwork so much as I do the dead Nomu smell that I can’t seem to wash out of them,” you pleat the pants until they’re compact enough to fit in your hands. “I wouldn’t mind a lift to the laundromat, though, if you wouldn’t mind.”

 

“Of course,” he obliges you instantaneously, a hazy opening to another location transpiring before your eyes.

 

Walking through the portal feels as misty as he looks, cool and tingly, the shift in space somewhat jarring when you step into the facility. The place appears to be empty as you scan the premises, but a faint humming can be heard somewhere in the foreground. It sounds familiar. Is that…? Oh. The little tune K.K. Slider sings at the end of New Horizons. It’s around this time that a mop of magenta hair catches your eye. 

 

“Spinner?” Your voice drags his face in your direction. 

 

He hits his elbow on the corner of a washing machine, rubs it soothingly as he says, “H-hey, Yumemi, I.. I didn’t know you were gonna be here.”

 

“Me either,” you hold up your pants, “but getting the battle stench out of these things couldn’t wait.”

 

“Nomu guts got on you too, huh?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“You wanna throw ‘em in with mine? I-I haven’t started it yet, is all,” he averts his gaze, still rubbing anxiously at his arm. 

 

You approach him with a grin, “That’s really nice of you. Sure you don’t mind?”

 

He shakes his head fervently, “Not at all.”

 

He’s so cute when he gets nervous like this. Tomura has a similar kind of innocence when it comes to women, but Spinner almost seems to have a total lack of understanding of what to do when you’re around in general. And with the way that he clenches his jaw, eyes darting to everywhere but you, his chest heaving over the simple act of being in the same room with him, you think you’ve identified the issue: he doesn’t socialize with anyone. At all. Which means he is more than likely not going to make a move, no matter how much you throw at him, due to being overwhelmed and under-socialized.

 

Cute.

 

You lean against the washing machine, throwing your pants in with his clothes, caring not to look at the contents inside, and then slap the button to get it to start. Going over the best strategy in your head on the fly, you sit atop the machine as it begins to spin, your feet dangling, skirt climbing up your legs. It isn’t for long, but you catch him looking, a fleeting currant glance that lingers for just a beat at your open thighs. You have a nagging suspicion that perhaps he was hoping for a quick glimpse at your panties. Guess you’re overthinking how much you need to strategize a conversation with him.

 

“I think you’re really cute, you know,” your confession has him gasping, cheeks bright pink, and he slaps both hands over his mouth to stop any more sounds from escaping. 

 

“What?” The word is muffled behind his palm. “This.. that’s not cool. D-don’t say things like that, it’s not funny.”

 

“I’m not being mean, and I’m not trying to joke around. I think you’re cute. And you’re really nice, too. I like you. I think you’re attractive. And if you like me that way, too, you should come to my bedroom when the laundry’s done.”

 

His eyes are wide and owlish as he slides his hands down from his mouth—which is so ridiculously dry right now that he swears he could choke—his breaths shallow and audible in the room.

 

Spinner swallows thickly, “C-come.. come to your room? For what?”

 

You kick your feet, giggling before you bite your lower lip. Your eyes flit to the door of the establishment, most of the wall it resides within a large, somewhat taped-up window, with a few people occasionally walking by in clear enough view. Yeah, you would definitely get caught if you tried fooling around with him here. Though you have your doubts that anyone would care with this area being a villain hub. But still. It’s in your best interest not to garner that kind of attention.

 

You sigh, “I wanna practice some more,” and your sultry tone hits him below the belt.

 

As if he were a prey animal feigning his own demise, he stands wholly and completely still, not even a twitch to show he’s among the living. Taking pity on him, you grab him by the wrist, placing his hand at your thigh and making direct eye contact all the while. A few stuttered exhales are knocked from his throat, punchy and raw, his feckless gaze not missing how you creep his hand closer to the hem of your skirt. His Adam’s apple bobs when you release him from your grasp. The touch lingers, sweltering against his palm, and you grin at him surreptitiously as you hum in approval of his digits splaying across the plush of your thigh. Balmy tension grows thick between you, the air becoming stifling. 

 

He looks at his hand. Brushes his thumb in a circle over your smooth skin. Looks to you for a gauge in reaction. You aren’t laughing, or recoiling, or pushing him away. Had you been serious after all?

 

“I’m leaving it up to you,” you hop down, texting Kurogiri to get you back to the hideout, “so I’ll be in my room if you’re interested.”

 

You scrunch your fingers in a wave before you walk through the portal and into the kitchen.

 

Now is probably a good time to shower. 

 

————

 

It’s as you’re drying off in your room that you hear footsteps outside of your door, stopping just at the threshold. How lucky, you think, to have the opportunity of taking two virginities in a row. He knocks tentatively, so soft it’s nearly inaudible—but you’re quick to answer, giving him no chance to turn tail. 

 

“Ah! Fuck, s-sorry, I didn’t know!” He covers his eyes when you open the door, dressed only in a towel, still wet. 

 

You can tell he’s about to slam the door closed, or possibly climb up the wall to escape the situation, so you pull him in and lock the latch behind you. He looks like he’s seen a ghost, panting, cheeks on fire and mouth agape. He feels like he’s going to faint. Your towel is damp and clinging to your skin, barely covering your torso, the curve of your ass noticeable from beneath it.

 

“It’s okay,” you tell him gently, “I knew you might come by. You’re allowed to see me like this.”

 

Trembling hands are carded through his hair, “O-okay. That’s fine. Totally.”

 

“You ready to practice, or do you need a minute?”

 

His eyes meet yours, so big and bright that he can see his reflection in them. God, you’re so pretty. You’re so… well, hot, actually. Spinner would normally have a bit more of a romantic inner dialogue regarding you, but right now, with the only thing shielding your bare form being that tiny little towel, it’s difficult to think of anything other than what’s underneath. Practice is going to be difficult. 

 

“I’m ready,” his tone is strained, the shake within his words unforgiving. 

 

You drop the towel at your feet, his arousal pushing prominently to the front of his pants as he throbs at the sight of you. He isn’t sure what the etiquette is exactly when it comes to this, so while you lean in to kiss him, his eyes remain wide open, surveying whatever inch or outline of you they’re able to capture. Your tongue snakes into his mouth, and you can taste the mint of his toothpaste, feel him tensing as he tries to figure out what he should do first. His erection brushes up against your stomach when you keen into him further, eyes rolling skyward as his fingers drag along the wall behind him. You trail kisses across his jaw until you reach his neck, nipping at the tender flesh there, eliciting a sharp groan to pop from his throat.

 

“Remember last time we practiced?” You ask into the junction of his neck and clavicle.

 

“Uh-huh,” his voice is airy and light, the tilt of his brow digging into his eyes. As if he could forget the last time you practiced. He’s been fucking his fist to the thought practically every day.

 

“You’ve gotta touch me. I really like it when you touch me.”

 

He exhales a breathy curse as he reaches to grab two greedy handfuls of your hips, careful not to sink his claws too deeply into the tender flesh there, pawing at you as though you’ll soon disappear. You’re plush and warm up against him like this. The sensation sends tingles through his extremities, zipping like the electric sting of static.

 

“Talk to me,” you speak into his mouth between kisses. “I wanna hear if you like something.”

 

Shuuichi moans heatedly, nudging his hips forward when you slot yourself closer to him, “I-I like touching you. ‘Nd you touching me. Feels good. It all feels really good.”

 

Your hands travel the contours of his body, acclimating him to your touch, a sudden gasp knocked out of him as your grip curls around the tent in his pants. At first, he writhes atop the wall, bucking into your fingers as your tongue laps over the pulse at this throat. Heat pools at your center when the pull of your grasp yanks this desperate keen from his chest, your lips wandering the line of his jaw, this jab of satisfaction coursing through you when he shudders.

 

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you, Shuuichi?” Your question saunters to his ear, the words pluming steam from an engine into the atmosphere.

 

He nods his head with a quiet, “Yes.”

 

“Can I have it?”

 

He nods again, this time hastily, “Have it. Have me, p-please.”

 

With a grin, you increase the pressure over the pulsing bulge in your hand, sliding your palm up and down his shaft, relishing in the damp spot that’s growing at his tip. His head falls back to the wall with a thud, instinctually bucking into your touch as little whimpers catch in his throat. You switch to rubbing your thumb under a sensitive spot right beneath the head of his cock, and he slams his eyes closed, panting, a heady moan of pleasure pouring out of him.

 

“Stop. I need a minute, God.. ‘F you don’t stop, I’m gonna—“

 

“Practice is over, Shuuichi. That means you’ll need to last a while. You need to get off once before since it’s your first time,” you say to him, pointed and unwavering.

 

A flame’s flicker sparks at your core when you pull him from his pants, gripping him tight within your hand, smearing the precum that drips from his slit for lubrication. You aren’t sure exactly what you were expecting, but you’re pleasantly surprised. He’s got to be the biggest out of everyone, long and thick, heavy in your palm, with a trail of magenta hair leading from the base of him and up to his navel. He’s less monster fucking and more we wanted to try body paints. Not that you would care either way, if you were being honest with yourself. Seeing the look on his face is way better than anything else you could’ve asked for. 

 

“You were keeping such a pretty cock from me all this time?” You click your tongue. “That’s not fair. Mmf, you’re really big, aren’t you? Hope you like eating pussy, I'm gonna need you to warm me up before I can take you.”

 

The idea alone of eating you out has him close to unraveling, that familiar plunge into ecstasy fluttering at his core. He can’t believe you’ve got your hand around his bare length like this, watching his expressions twist as you stroke him, capturing your lower lip in your teeth and cooing praises with each sloppy rut into your fist. A particularly firm press of your thumb to his slit has him arching his back off of the wall.

 

He smears his face with his hand, words slurring, “Fuck, I’m.. Hah—oh that feels so good.”

 

He sucks in air through his clenched teeth, grunting, attempting in vain to bite back a strangled whine as his vision begins to sparkle, his cock pulsing in your hand and ropes of cum splattering into your palm. He looks so spent already. So fucked-out and messy, his hair falling into his face, the rapid rise and fall of his chest a true testament to how ruined he is. His cheeks blaze crimson when you lick his cum clean from your palm all the way to your wrist. This is so goddamn filthy. There’s no way he can ever go without it again.

 

You hither him with your index finger and sit at the edge of your mattress, legs spread, inner thighs slick with your arousal. Shuuichi thinks for a moment about what you said before. How you like to be touched. How he needs to give you more. So he kneels in front of you, hands kneading your breasts, all blush and narrowed eyes as he licks away a bead of water that trails down your abdomen from your still-wet hair, only stopping once he reaches your sternum. He can understand why you seemed so eager to have your hands on him before. Seeing your brows slant, lips parting to release the hitch from your breath, those yummy little whines slinking out when he rolls your nipples between his fingers is all fucking intoxicating. He mouths at one dusky peak, sucking until it hardens, a string of saliva connecting from his lolled tongue as he parts from you.

 

“I like the way you sound when I touch you,” his voice gravels an octave lower, pupils blown out until they’re near to overtaking his irises. 

 

“I want more,” you mewl. 

 

“Tell me and I’ll do it. Whatever you want.”

 

You spread your folds with your first two fingers, eyes twitched up and needy when you tell him, “Taste me.”

 

It’s almost embarrassing how quick he is to follow your order, diving between your legs as if it’s the only place for him to survive. Just looking at your dripping cunt has him hardening again already. 

 

He swallows down the knot in his throat, “Are.. are you wet because of me..?”

 

“I am so fucking wet because of you.”

 

A desperate sound racks from his chest, his stomach coiling, the way he wants you having all but grown teeth. He’s so nervous. Feels himself trembling, adrenaline skittering over his skin.

 

It takes every last bit of his strength to ask you, “Where do you want my mouth?”

 

“Here,” you rub the swollen bud at your center.

 

He’s gentle at first, sweeping his tongue across your clit, delicate laps teasing you in a way that’s unintentional. But when you grind yourself into his face, the vibrations of his groan tingling pleasantly, he increases the pressure, rolling the flat of his tongue more firmly in response. A pair of garnet eyes plead for your reassurance. 

 

You trace the pads of your fingers along his shoulders, “That feels good. Ahh—you’re doing such a good job, k-keep going.”

 

Shuuichi takes the encouragement in stride, delving his tongue into your sopping cunt, audibly loving every second of getting to devour you like this. Needful whines and growls blossom in his chest, never having been so satisfied as he is watching your expression shift when he returns the plush muscle to your puffy clit, your moans heightening, crying out for all of the stars you’re seeing. His dick twitches at the sound.

 

You tap him lightly on the forearm, “I’m warmed up. Nngh, Shuuichi, fuck me.”

 

But he isn’t too keen on relenting just yet. Sliding his arms behind your legs, he captures your thighs within his hands, pulls them apart for better access to your pussy. He narrows his eyes, locking a possessive gaze onto you as he laves viscously over that cute little clit of yours. If you should choose to end things after you cum, so be it. He doesn’t care if he gets to lose his virginity if it means you’ll cum all over his face.

 

A gush of fresh arousal slicks down to his chin, and he groans through an open mouth at the realization. He’s making you all messy like this. You’re wet for him. And you’re gonna cum for him as many times as he can get you there. He flicks his tongue up and down the soft bud, his eye contact unyielding as he spreads you apart, your clit visibly throbbing at his hungry strokes. You moan his name like you mean it, like this is as carnal and debauched for you as it is for him, gripping at your bedding until your knuckles blanch. White-hot bliss washes over you, fizzing and snapping at your core, overtaking your senses, tipping you over the edge as he gives a few whiny “uh-huh”s at the feeling of you cumming beneath his tongue. 

 

Your thighs clamp around his head, his fingers now sinking into the swell of your hips, pulling you as flush to him as he can manage. Let him suffocate this way. He’ll die a happy man.

 

“Shuuichi,” the husky tone has his eyes rolling back, “I’m serious. You need to fuck me. Right now.”

 

With some reluctance, he releases you, murmuring darkly, “I like tasting you.”

 

“God, it shows.. But let’s see how much you like being inside of me,” you grin, taking his length in your hand to line him up to your entrance.

 

His confidence is back to faltering some now, though not enough to keep himself from giving you a lusty once-over, his garnet eyes glittering as they trail your form. He inhales sharply when you tug him forward, your legs wrapping around his hips as the tip of his cock breaches you. His hands float nervously above your waist, unsure once more in such uncharted territory. You whisper sweetly for him not to be nervous, but he can feel the release he’s hurtling towards gaining on him much too soon. He throws his head back, swearing under his breath, the enthusiasm already so heavy-handed and he hasn’t even sheathed himself inside of you fully. His gaze snaps back to you, eyes like saucers. Shuuichi chews his bottom lip upon seeing himself about to slide inside of your cunt, sending you clenching around what little of him is within you.

 

“Ready?”

 

He nods, cheeks smattered pink. The second you move to sink his cock into the warmth of your drenched walls, whimpering at the stretch, he’s practically gawking at the sight of you swallowing up his length. You wriggle to accommodate the intrusive girth. Struggling to maintain his composure, he holds his breath as you ride him from atop the mattress to keep from screaming outright. He wants to bark. To howl. To let you pull him on however tight a leash you want. He’s yours. From this moment on, he belongs to you.

 

“Fuck,” the word is knocked out of him, laced with a moan, “how.. how are you so tight?”

 

His eyes fall closed, pinched beneath flexed brows, panting in ragged heaves and hips jerking unskillfully. You roll your hips, work him in and out of you as he adjusts to the rapturous squeeze of your pussy. He lets out a shaky sigh when you guide his hand to your apex, fluttering around him while he rubs you in sloppy circles with his thumb, the slacking of your jaw sending heat roiling under his skin. 

 

“You feel so good. Yes—ngh—like that, fuck me just like that,” you mewl, quivering as his cock slams against a sensitive spot up inside of you. The fabric below where you’re joined is sopping, the face you’re making so lewd it’s bordering on sinful, pleasure-soaked and jolting each time he impales you on his cock—though the way your voice shatters would’ve given you away in spite of it all.

 

“‘F you don’t want me to cum, don’t say things like that,” he chokes, the low rasp of his voice causing you to shiver. His hands grasp erratically at your thighs, practically squirming, your name falling mellow and broken from his lips. “A-ahh, ’n don’t look at me like that. You can’t.. God, just fucking look at you. What the hell? F-fuck, I can’t handle it.”

 

“How quickly can you recover if you cum?” Your hands lock behind his neck.

 

“Quick.”

 

“Then cum inside me and keep going.”

 

He’s about to ask if you’re sure, but you answer before the words can escape him, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist and increasing the speed at which you rut against him. It takes no time at all before his orgasm crashes into him hard, all-consuming, waves of pleasure throbbing up from his center, and he’s thrusting into your cunt down to the root as he jumps inside of you.

 

“Mmm, yeah, that’s it,” he whimpers at your praise. “God, I love feeling you cum in my pussy like this.”

 

He slips himself out of you halfway, cursing under his breath at how his release drips down his length, combining with the slick of you to create this milky ring of arousal at his base. You’re pulsing over what’s transpired, and it enthralls him. His thumbs spread you apart so he can admire the vulgarity of it all. 

 

He is absolutely beyond ruined.

 

You, on the other hand, are reminded of why you love fucking villains so much. He doesn’t even soften inside of you. His refractory is ignored entirely, his stamina shocking as he pistons himself back into you, a cry singeing your throat with the return of his thumb to that tight ache at your clit. The overstimulation is something he isn’t used to, a delicious burn that touches on nerves he wasn’t previously aware of. His heady whines catapult to the ceiling, the wet slapping of the mess he’s made in your cunt sure to never leave his mind again. Your eyes have grown hazy, half-lidded with lust. Locking onto them pulls another jagged moan from his mouth.

 

“I know I shouldn’t be makin’ sounds like this.. Y-you’re just so—nngh—so tight,” his voice is raw and breathy, low in his register from being held so long behind his teeth.

 

“No,” you gasp, “lemme hear you. I love all these sounds you’re making for me. So pretty. Such a good fucking boy.”

 

His breaths pick up, soft whines woven in between them as he rubs your hardened peak, the anticipation of your undoing stirring him up, your heels digging into his back to encourage him to thrust harder. He obliges without question, staggered curses slithering from his lips. He’s so flushed and blissed-out, his pupils dilated wide, those pitiful mewls that scoop from his throat up into his head curling your stomach in knots. You tighten around him purposefully to give an experimental squeeze. He sobs at the pressure. 

 

“Feels so good. Hah—shit, ’s like you’re sucking me in. Gonna—oh fuck—gonna fill you up. Y-you want it? Want it in your cunt?” He’s near babbling, his words stringing together, as gauzy as his eyes have become.

 

“I do. I want it,” your voice trembles along with the throbbing of your walls. 

 

“Bet you fuckin’ do,” a particularly rough thrust has you crying out for him, and he angles himself to bully the spot once more. “That feel good? Fuck,” the curse leaves him like a shaky prayer. “You look like it feels good. Looks like I’m gonna make you cum again.”

 

You nod fervently, “I'm there.”

 

“Yeah?” He presses harder into your clit, fingers so slick that his digit glides across the swollen nub, the tip of his cock nudging that ledge deep within you. “You cumming on my cock?”

 

He feels even bigger as you clamp around him like a vice, milking him, his breaths catching, all but weeping at the sensation.

 

“God, yes! I’m cumming. Oh, keep fucking my pussy, I’m cumming,” the last of your words slur and warble as you drag your nails down his back, your eyes not leaving his while you spasm around him.

 

He pauses for a few seconds just to enjoy the bliss, to watch you trembling underneath him, to fully appreciate this earth-shattering tremor of your center as a shiver runs through him.

 

"Feels.. uhnn—feels fucking amazing when you cum on me," he croons.

 

He grabs you by the hips, plunging deep inside of you, pounding you ruthlessly and wringing every last bit of your orgasm from your puffy cunt as his own high crashes violently upon him. You feel him pulsing, a second load of his hot cum spilling within your walls. He groans, eyes screwing shut, loitering in and out of balance from the sheer exertion of three consecutive rounds. Panting, his arms collapse, finally softening as he positions himself next to you on the mattress. 

 

“Is,” he huffs, collecting his breath, “is sex like that every time?”

 

You snicker, “If you do it right.”

 

You card your fingers gently through his hair, careful, as though he’s spun glass. You’re so beautiful. Radiant, even, with the way your cheeks darken, hair clinging to your face and shining like spider’s silk. You smile at him genuinely. Sweetly. Softly. Like he means something. Like he’s worth doing this with.

 

Fuck it. 

 

He thinks he might love you.

Notes:

I absolutely believe that Spinner falls hard and fast. Ugh, he's such a cutie.

I hope you guys are ready for some reader interaction! Now that we're getting into the story a bit deeper, I'm going to start posting some polls on Tumblr about what options you'd like to see next ✨ Prepare yourselves for the dating sim portion. And for a surprise guest appearance next chapter...