oops

NSFW +18

[gaybybirth]

Degradation

Demon!Dabi x fem!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: It's been a little over a month of secret midnight meetings with a mysterious stranger. He decides to have another during a costume party.

Warnings: nsfw content; degradation, dirty talk (slut and whore used), fingering, public sex, choking, voyeurism, orgasm denial, hair pulling, impact play (spanking), unprotected sex, creampie

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: Demon!Dabi will forever haunt me in the best possible way.

The costume was tight around you, feeling doubly so as people jumped and danced to the loud music. Spilled alcohol wafted in the space, mixed with other smells you weren’t interested in placing. You had a plastic sword hanging from your waist, a fake hook in your hand. You’d forgone the stuffed parrot and the eyepatch, both more of a hassle than they were worth as you danced to the music. 

It felt nice—losing yourself in the music. Only half a drink in, watching your friends dance, taking the break you’d finally get that night. Until you felt that familiar prickling at the back of your neck and you turned. Looking, searching. He was there. That shiver through your body always meant he was there. Watching and waiting. Playing a game of hide and seek as your body twisted with growing desire to find.

You’d met a few weeks ago—showed up one night at a random party, drew you in with just a look. Dangerous blue eyes that lingered, a slow drag of a cigarette that had you watching his lips. His fingers. His tongue as he licked his lip. A stranger, sure, but one you wanted to get to know. No more than a dozen words were exchanged before you were in the bathroom, moaning into his hand as he fucked you against the door. 

It was the best sex you’d had and he hadn’t even cum. Got you real close before someone knocked on the door, yelled about needing the bathroom. So he pulled out, moved your underwear back after he came, and gave you a quick spank. 

He jerked the door open before you could even collect yourself. 

He kept showing up after that. First it was sporadic, accidental sightings. At the coffee shop, at the library, at the music store. You’d bump into each other, share a few words, mostly part ways with nothing more than a few light touches. But when he started showing up more and more, you were wrapped around his finger. 

It was out with your friends, running into him at the same showing of a movie, that you confessed how badly you missed him. It came out of you without warning, the words pulled from your chest almost involuntarily. He just drew his cool eyes over you, fingers skimming your arm as your friends bought concessions, and whispered softly in your ear. 

“Lasted longer than most,” his low voice cooed. “Kinda wanna see how much you can take.”

He sat behind you during the movie and just his presence was enough to draw your attention away from the screen. Every look he gave you caused a shiver to sneak down your spine. Caused an overwhelming desire to swirl between your legs. You survived the movie simply by crossing your legs and occasionally flexing your thighs. 

You said nothing when the movie finished and your groups parted. Your eyes lingered, sure, stealing a glance over at him before leaving. And when he showed up later that night, tangled with you in your sheets, hands holding your legs open as he whispered for you to touch yourself—you weren’t sure if it were a dream or reality. But the agony was there when he wouldn’t let you cum. Stripped bare, hours spent teasing your clit, only to whisper no every time you asked. 

You woke up that next morning late, no time to satisfy the throbbing need between your legs. And as you threw your sheets off you, you swore you smelled the ash that he always carried around him. 

He came back the next night. Tied your legs open and lapped at your clit. Stayed there until you were on the edge. No. Fingered you until your body was shaking and your teeth nearly drew blood on your lip. No. Played with you until you were panting into your pillow, begs muffled as he kept you on the edge. 

No.

Two nights later he fucked you. Hands bound behind your back, whispering how a needy slut like you can take it so well. How you let some guy sneak in, strip you down, fuck you into your mattress while your roommates were just on the other side of the walls. The thin, thin walls that surely didn’t do much to hide those pornographic moans he drew from you. 

No. It was always no. He never let you cum. 

“I want to see what it takes to break you,” he said in your ear, slamming a hand down against your ass. “How long can a pretty slut like you go without cumming?” 

A little over a month was your breaking point. The party, where the music played too loud and your costume felt too tight. The second the shiver snuck down your spine, and you were a goner. Even the slightest touch and you were sure you’d lose it. The cracks instilled from night after night of teasing, of fucking, of no goddamn release and you were spinning frantically trying to find him. 

There.

He was standing by the drink table, bringing a red cup to his lips. His eyes flickered to yours the second you saw him. A sly, slow grin grew on his lips and he lowered the glass. He didn’t even have to do anything before you were muttering something to your friends about needing a refill. Your legs moved on their own, trying not to rush up to him too frantically. But you needed it—you needed him. 

“Hi,” you said, breathing quickly as you stood in front of him. 

“Hi,” he murmured back, his grin growing wider as he looked you over. Smirked at how you were shaking, gripping your cup till your hands hurt. He leaned forward and put a hand on your waist. “On the verge, aren’t you?” 

You swallowed back embarrassment as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, glanced down at your drink and took a slow sip. 

“Take your underwear off.” He spoke as if there weren’t people all around you. Like you weren’t wearing a short enough skirt that, when you bent over, it flashed your dark red underwear. A purposeful tease you’d aimed for with the sexy costume. “You want me to fuck you? Take them off and put them in my hand.” 

You looked around you at the conversing groups. Nobody’s eyes were on you, but it felt like it as you took a few slow breaths, hand already reaching down to shove your underwear down your legs as smoothly as you could manage. Humiliation flooded you as they skated down your thighs, eyes flickering around the whole room. You had to kneel down as to not flash anyone as you picked them up from the ground. Put them in his hand. 

“Good little slut,” he purred. He shoved them in his pocket. “Go dance. I’ll fetch you when I want you.” 

“Wait.” You looked down at where your underwear was. Pressed your knees together as you felt how wet you already were. 

“Go dance.” He leaned forward, grazed his mouth beneath your ear. “I like to play with my food, first.” 

You danced for an hour, worried about anyone who came up behind you, hands on your hips. Nerves danced through you whenever your skirt would get caught on their clothes, lift up a bit. The only thing that kept you going was the feeling of his eyes on you the whole time. Skated over you like his fingers would in your bed. Even from across the room, it felt like his fingers were skimming up your legs, nudging them apart. Teasing your clit and your entrance—wanting to plunge into you at any second. 

You broke when you felt yourself ache to be filled, needing some—just any kind—of relief. And you were sprinting off the dance floor, rushing to the first room you could find. It was an office overlooking the backyard. A few bushes covered the windows, but otherwise, you could look out and see everyone out there smoking, drinking, dancing to the muffled music. The blinds were up, curtains open. And as you reached to close them, a hand grabbed your wrist.

You were jerked back against the massive wooden desk, ass towards the windows as the back of your skirt was hiked up. 

“Look at you,” his familiar voice cooed and you squirmed under his hold. “What were you doing in here?”

“Need it,” you plead. You didn’t even know his name—his one stipulation. Couldn’t know his name, but he could know yours. “Can’t take it anymore, I need to cum.”

“No.” He spanked your cunt, the wetness audible.

“Please.” 

“But it’s so much fun watching you squirm.” He dropped two fingers down and ran them through your folds, spreading you as he sat on the edge of the desk. A glance back had him looking out the window. “One glance back and they’d see how much of a needy bitch you are.” 

His laugh was low and almost evil. He plunged one finger into you, curling it where he knew you’d writhe under his hold. He barely moved it, barely gave you even an ounce of relief. His hand holding your skirt up pushed down on your hips, pinning you in place as you tried to take more from his touch. 

“Nope.” He pulled his finger out and spanked you. Did it again when you yelped loud enough to travel through the windows. “Sounds like you want them to hear you. Turn around and see this dripping cunt.” 

You felt yourself involuntarily clench and he laughed. Spanked you again before both hands came down and spread you. Watched as your cunt ached to be filled. To be touched again. 

“Oh you fucking slut, you do.” He scoffed and teased your cunt with the tips of his fingers. “You wanna cum?”

“Mhm,” you said against the table. 

“Then stand up and strip.”

He let go and smiled at you when you glanced back. You shook a bit as you looked back at the windows, at the people completely unaware of you in the room behind them. His eyes held a challenge, the blue darker—like it usually was when he snuck to your room at night. You gave in and dropped your skirt, cunt aching to finally have the release he’d been keeping from you for so long. 

His smirk was pure devilish when your top followed, then your bra. He slid off the desk and into the leather chair, unbuckling his pants and tugging you onto his lap. Your back was to his chest as he pulled you onto his cock, making your head fall back against his shoulder. He stretched you as you sank down on him, his knees keeping your legs apart, a hand coming up and grabbing your throat. 

“Took longer to break than most,” he whispered in your ear. “Most are begging by night two or three. Not you. Opened your legs every fucking time I showed up like the good slut I know you are.”

His grip tightened around your neck, his hand coming down and teasing your clit. 

“Usually when they break, it’s on their knees, begging for me to give it to them. Behind closed doors, their bedrooms like their cage. But you? Out here? Cunt stuffed where everyone can see?” He scoffed when you clenched around him, mouth gaping as he rubbed your clit faster. “Want them to turn and look? See the whore you are? How fucking easy it is to get you to do what I want?” 

He reached up and grabbed your cheeks, turning and making you keep your mouth open. He spat inside, holding you like that before stuffing his fingers in your mouth. The same ones that’d been inside you before. 

“Wouldn’t take much.” His hips slowly started to move and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Could probably get all of them to look if I wanted. You like that idea? Pretty sure some of your friends are out there, want them to see you like this?” 

“Mmm,” was all you could say as he kept the air from your lungs. 

“No,” he said. Spanked your cunt again. Harder than last time. But his hips snapped up. Hit you hard and deep, like he always did in your room. Like he did when he wanted you crying into your pillow, clawing at your mattress, close to cumming as he came in you. “There are still pieces intact.”

He had you on the desk, hair in his hand, holding your head down against it. He’d never done this—never staved off his own orgasm as he fucked you. It’d been an hour at least with him in the room. If your friends noticed you were gone, they’d go looking for you by now. And you knew the door behind you was unlocked. 

Your ass stung as he brought his hand down against it again and again. You could see your costume balled up on the floor across from you, and if you peered up, you could make out the bushes and some of the people through the window. Every time you did that, though, he shoved your head back down, spanked you a little harder. 

And then, when you started to lose composure, clawing at the desk as your orgasm inched closer, he stalled his hips and reached for the sharpie in the group of pens beside you. Drew the cold end over your back before you heard the top pop off, the felt tip skating over your skin. 

“S-L-U-T,” he murmured. “Needy. Fucking desperate. Opens her legs so easily at the first sign of decent fucking.” 

He tossed the marker aside, spanked you again before his hips rutted forward. 

“Had you on your knees so quickly that first night. Could fucking tell from across the room. So desperate for a good fucking. So desperate for me.” He jerked your hips back so he could reach down and find your clit. “A quiet thing like you—standing all shy with your friends. Took minutes to have you screaming in the bathroom. Fucking hadn’t even intended on finding a new toy that night, but you were way too much fun to mess with.”

Your nails dug into the desk as his fingers glided over your clit. The rough thrusts, the added sensation—you couldn’t hold it back. But if he didn’t want you to cum, he wouldn't let you. He was eerily good at stopping before you came. Stopping right at the last goddamn second. Sometimes he’d push it, too, tipping you over the edge just to stop, stealing away the building sensation but making you clench around him regardless. He loved those, watching you curse into your pillow as you basically came without cumming. 

“Whoops,” he’d whisper like he hadn’t done it on purpose. Then he’d leave you, cum leaking down onto your mattress, cunt convulsing as you ached for the release he hadn’t given you. That he’d come back and build up the next night only to leave you without it again. 

But he made no hint at stopping, leaning down and digging his teeth into your shoulder as he continued to thrust into you. As his fingers rubbed your clit until the twisted, iron, burning chains that’d been wrapped around your body finally broke. They clinked together, bouncing on the desk, the floor, everywhere as you sobbed. The sound tore through you until it hurt, the building in your lower abdomen snapping until you felt yourself burst. Shaking and gasping as wetness drenched your thighs and he laughed.

His hips rutted deep a final time before he came, the hot ropes shooting inside you like always. You could hear it as he pulled out, hand cupping your cunt as you relaxed against the table. The bliss was otherworldly as you trembled, the lingering remnants of the orgasm unlike anything you’d ever felt. 

“First time anyone’s made you squirt, isn’t it?” His fingers lazily rubbed your clit and you barely recognized that you’d started grinding against his hand. “Ain’t that sad. Wonder if anyone will ever make you do that again. If anyone will make you feel that good again. Poor fucking whore.” 

He spanked your cunt once more before pulling back and you heard him redo his belt. Said nothing as his footsteps retreated and you heard the door open and close—leaving like he always did, silently. His cum leaked down your legs as you slowly slid off the desk and reached for your costume, eyes flickering up to glanced out the window. Underwear nowhere to be found. 

When you glanced down, wondering what he’d written, if it’d be visible, it took some maneuvering to see the writing. Your brows furrowed and you glanced up at the door, teeth biting your lip. 

It was one four-letter word. 

Dabi. 

[gaybybirth]

intimidating artistry

TattooArtist!Aizawa x fem!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: Nemuri introduces you to one of her favorite tattoo artists and you finally take the leap to get the tat you’d been wanting. But who would’ve thought you’d lose yourself in how attractive the artist was? You just hope he’s actually flirting with you and you’re not reading too much into his actions.

Warnings: nsfw content; reader has longish hair; aizawa’s a bit of a mean tease but still soft at times, Aizawa fucks you in the shop, possessive Aizawa, sexual tension & teasing, dirty talk, hair pulling, spanking, detailed fantasies, fingering, anal (fingering), semi public sex, nipple play, oral (reader receiving), unprotected sex, creampie mentioned

Word Count: 6.8k

A/N: been a while since I’ve written for Aizawa. Hope y’all like it. Sorry if I got any of the tattoo information/process wrong.

The first time you met Aizawa was when your friend Nemuri went to do the first of three sessions for their thigh tattoo. They'd talked you into setting up an appointment with one of their favorite artists so you could finally get the tattoo you'd been planning the last four years. You agreed after seeing the work he'd done on her. He agreed to meet with you while Nemuri got her tattoo. 

You couldn't speak around him. When you saw him, his long black hair pulled back, stubble lining his jaw, and dark eyes lifting up from whatever he was scribbling on, you were rendered speechless. Nemuri greeted him with her usual over-exaggerated excitement, and he grunted a hello. He finished scribbling, eyes lifting and meeting yours and he pushed his sleeves up. His forearms were littered with dark ink and they fell to the counter as he waved you over. 

“Hi, Aizawa. I’m back and I brought a friend.” Nemuri skipped over to another artist with long blond hair. “Hizashi, you ready? Cause I’m ready.”

“Hell yeah.” He beamed over at her and patted the chair beside him. He was pulling his hair up into a low ponytail, grinning as Nemuri plopped down. 

Aizawa seemed entirely unaffected by the sudden shift in atmosphere as Nemuri chatted with the artist. His eyes never left you. 

“(Y/N), right?” 

"Yeah." You had your hands behind your back, nails digging into your palms to try and compose yourself. "That's me."

“Let’s talk about this tattoo you want.” 

Sitting beside him as you showed him a concept sketch Nemuri had done was hard. Your knees touched underneath the table and you couldn't stop looking at all the different tattoos he had visible on his really nice forearms. 

“This is your first, right?” He looked over the art. “Where do you want it?”

“Shoulder.” You tapped your shoulder blade and he cocked a brow. 

“Painful spot for a first.” 

“Yeah, I know. Nemuri’s showed me the charts.” You cleared your throat and rolled your shoulders. His knee felt really hot against yours. “But I looked through your portfolio so whatever spin you want to add to this, I trust it.”

Aizawa nodded once and spun you on the stool, almost making you jump at the sudden movement. He pushed on the middle of your back, making you sit up straighter, and ran his hand over your shoulder blade. There was a small mirror to your right and you caught him narrowing his eyes as he drew his thumb over the space between the blade and your spine. 

Your tank top dipped low enough in the back to fully show off your shoulder and without any gloves on, you got to feel every rough part of his hand. 

“I have a few ideas.” He turned you back towards the desk. “I’ll need your email. I’ll send the concept art over that way. Let you pick and choose what you like.”

“Okay.” Your heart was racing in your chest, skin tingling on your back from where he’d touched you. “Can do.”

He was busy for the rest of Nemuri's appointment after your little meeting finished, pulling his hair back to start on another client that came in. You couldn't help but watch him work; the serious expression his face pulled was difficult not to look at. And when he sat back for a second to admire the work, his eyes glanced up and caught you staring. You immediately turned to, thankfully, respond to whatever Nemuri had said to you. 

His eyes followed you as you and Nemuri left—a silent goodbye as you gave him a nervous smile. 

It was a week later when you got an email from him. He had four different styles, most with just small changes to them. But it wasn't hard to pick your favorite. A beautiful collection of blooming flowers surrounded by vines that circled and entrapped moss-covered objects. A sword, a mace, and a broken skull. It looked even better than you'd conjured in your head. 

That one, you typed back, attaching your favorite. 

By the next email, you had an appointment scheduled for the end of next week. 

It’d take two separate sessions, and you were fine with that. Although you’d preferred to get through the pain all in one go, you were liking the idea more and more as the appointment got closer. Your nerves had you a bit of a mess as Nemuri pulled up to the shop. She held your hand as you went in and Aizawa glanced up from his desk. 

"You'll be fine," he murmured underneath Nemuri's conversation with Hizashi, helping you down onto the bench. "Just take slow breaths." 

You wore a sundress for ease of access and Aizawa sat behind you, pulling the strap down to fully expose your shoulder as he started to clean it. You shook a little bit as he wiped away at the patch of skin, and he placed a hand on your other shoulder. 

“Slow, even breaths, (Y/N).” The tips of his fingers drew down your spine as he sat back and had you lay on your stomach. When you took a steadying breath and closed your eyes as he applied the stencil, he gave your lower back a soft pat. “Good girl.”

It was a sharp, pinching pain. Whenever the needle ran over the bone, you had to grind your teeth. Nemuri distracted you with stories and conversation, and you only managed short responses. The sweet scent of whatever aftershave Aizawa wore also helped. But it still really fucking hurt. 

“Doing great,” he whispered halfway through. “Just a little bit longer.”

You stared at the tattoo visible on his thigh, exposed by the rips in his black jeans. Your eyes dared up a few times—over his dark belt, lean waist, and gray shirt. Up to where the few strands of hair had slipped out of his bun and framed his face. He gave you the faintest fucking smile when he sat back for a second and his eyes met yours. 

You jerked your gaze away as soon as the burn in your cheeks crept over your ears and down your neck. 

"There you go," he finally said, wiping away at your shoulder and wrapping the tattoo. "Done."

You couldn't move. Your whole body felt tense and sore from the position. You mumbled about needing a second, and he and Nemuri fell into easy conversation. They talked about her next appointment and he took a look at how her thigh tattoo was healing. As he did so, a hand came to your back and you jumped at the contact. But he wasn't trying to help you up—his thumb just ran slow lines over your bare back as he leaned forward. His other hand examined Nemuri's tattoo. 

“You did well,” he said when you finally got up, going to pay for the session. He leaned over the counter and folded his hands together. 

“Thanks,” you breathed out, his eyes lingering on yours as you handed him the cash. “Sorry about the nerves.”

"It's fine." He counted the cash, and you watched his ringed fingers sort through the twenties easily. "Like I said, you did well. It's your first one, don't sweat it."

Your next appointment was scheduled for three weeks out. He came around the counter to show you his calendar, trying to find the best available time. One hand went to the small of your back as you leaned over the planner, taking your phone out and checking with your own. You swallowed hard at the heat that snuck through your dress, wishing his hand was a little higher and touching where your back was bare. 

After you picked an available slot, you watched those lean fingers scribble your name down. 

“You coming for Nemuri’s next appointment?” He didn’t look up from his calendar. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I only came with last time because I had the appointment with you.”

“If you tag along, I can take a look at your shoulder. Make sure it’s healing well.” He glanced up, dark eyes studying your face. “I trust Nemuri to steer you in the right direction, but.” 

“I’ll go,” you breathed out. You weren’t even sure when it was or if you were free. You’d make yourself free for it. “I’ll go with her.”

That faint smile was back and his hand dropped from your back. 

“I’ll see you then.” 

His planner closed with a finalizing thud, and you and Nemuri were waving bye as you left the shop. You had to try your damndest to figure out how to talk her into letting you go to her next appointment without coming off as too excited. 

“He’s hot, isn’t he,” she said abruptly as you pulled out of the shop. 

“What?” You choked on your sip of water and winced at the slight pain it caused in your shoulder. “Who?”

“Aizawa. I saw you checking him out.” She was grinning like a madwoman. “Heard him ask you to come with me when I go for my next session. Hard to say no to that face, isn’t it?” 

“He’s…not ugly.” You made a point to look out the window so she couldn’t see your reaction. “I mean, I like his style.”

"It's Thursday at six, by the way." Nemuri cocked a brow as she drove you back to your apartment. "I'll pick you up at five-thirty."

You kept staring at the tattoo. Yeah, it was unfinished, but it still looked cool and it still looked good. You were rigorous in taking care of it—having Nemuri check it a few times when it started to scab. But she gave you the all good every time. 

Every time you stared at the tattoo, though, Aizawa was in the back of your mind. His warm, rough hands against your shoulder. The little smiles he gave you. The soothing way his thumb ran over your skin. 

Nemuri had known him for just about a year now since she'd started her tattoo journey. You, reluctant to alter any part of your body permanently, only took the leap of faith after she'd shown you his portfolio. That was the artist you wanted—he was the one you knew could create exactly what you wanted. 

But it was that initial fear that’d kept you from meeting him earlier and you were mad at yourself as you stepped into the shop for Nemuri’s appointment. Aizawa was in a black tank top and jeans, a metal wallet chain connecting to his belt loop. Muscle you hadn’t noticed before was thick on his arms, his biceps and forearms flexing as he counted a client’s payment. 

He peered up as Hizashi greeted you and Nemuri, motioning you over to his chair. She plopped down and pulled up her skirt so he could get a good look at the unfinished art. He nodded, turning his music up a little bit, keeping to the beat as he started to clean the section. 

Aizawa leaned against the half wall that separated the chairs when he finished, watching Hizashi work. The same half wall where your chair was, so when he leaned down, arms beside your head, you could smell that same intoxicating aftershave. 

“How’s the shoulder?” He was right beside your ear, the soft words making you shiver. Nemuri was right—damn guy was hot. 

“Good. Nemuri checked it out a few times.” 

“It’s some of your best work, Aizawa,” she added from the chair. “Looking really good. (Y/N), show him. It’s healing really nicely.”

She didn’t even try to hide the fact that she was playing wing-woman. Even if the whole point of you tagging along was for him to take a peek at how it was healing. 

"Here, step into the back." Aizawa motioned to a curtain at the back of the shop, and you followed him back. He nodded at the t-shirt you were wearing. "Bit of privacy."

It was just the two of you back in the small space, and he had you turn with your back to the curtain. You were shaking a bit as you sat your bag down and pulled your shirt over your head. There was no mirror back there to see Aizawa's face as he came up to your back, and you felt entirely bare in your bra—even if you still held your shirt over your chest. 

“Alright if I touch you?” He asked softly. 

"That's fine," you murmured back, and you tried not to jolt when his fingers grazed your shoulder. 

He didn't touch the tattooed section, just the sections of bare skin around it. He moved your bra strap aside, guiding it gently down until it hung by itself. One hand went to the middle of your shoulder blades and his thick rings were cold to the touch, making you clench your jaw at the contrasting feeling. You were breathing a bit too quickly as it skated down your spine and his fingers hooked through the back of one of your belt loops. He held you steady as he pushed you forward, and you realized after a few delayed seconds that he was just trying to get a better angle of the light over your shoulder. 

His fingers stayed hooked firmly through your belt loop, pulling the back of your jeans off of you. You felt a little self-conscious knowing you were wearing a white lace thong under them, and the rush of cool air you felt told you it would be visible if he looked down. 

"Looking good," he muttered, and for a second, you thought he was talking about the current position he had you in. Until you remembered the whole reason you were back there. "It's healing nicely."

"T-That's good." You were breathing had not slowed in the slightest. 

His fingers let go of your loop, and his hands went to your shoulder and hip, straightening you back out. He gave your hip one quick squeeze and you slid your shirt back on as he stepped back. 

“Have you thought about getting any other tattoos?” He was leaning back against the wall when you turned to face him. 

“Uh, some. Yeah.” You couldn’t not look at his bare arms. “Maybe some piercings, too.”

“What were you thinking?” 

“Nose. Cartilage.” You laughed a little nervously. “Nipples.” 

"Speaking from my own experience getting them," Aizawa pushed up from the wall as Hizashi called his name from the other room. "Nipples are worth it, even if it is a little painful."

Your eyes dropped to his chest as your breath hitched. You’d imagined what Aizawa looked like shirtless before, but it’d never featured pierced nipples. He gave you a small smirk as his hand went to your back, guiding you through the curtain. 

“We offer all of those piercings, should you ever be interested. Hizashi and I are the piercers here, so you have a pick of who does it.” His hand fell from you as you stopped by Nemuri. A customer stood by the front desk, greeting Aizawa with a wide grin. “Got another client, gotta go. I’ll see you next time.”

You stole looks Aizawa’s way for the rest of Nemuri’s session, but he never looked up. Ever concentrated on his client as he worked, leaving you to sit squirming in your chair. 

There had to be something there. No way you were reading too much into his actions. He was flirting with you, right? He was either flirting with you, or he was messing with you, and you couldn't fucking tell. But if there was the possibility that Aizawa wanted to sleep with you, you already knew you were going to take it. Didn't matter much beyond that, just that as you sat there watching him, you craved him a little more than you should someone who was basically a stranger. 

And as you stared at him, those cravings turned into dangerous thoughts. 

It was hard to watch his fingers around the gun without imagining them somewhere else. Or what his scruff might feel like between your legs. His jeans were tight enough to tease, too. And when he stood up, you shamefully drew your gaze over his whole body, wondering if he was the type to want to take charge or if he’d want you to. 

You still had about two weeks before your next session, and it was a painful realization as you and Nemuri left the shop. You kind of needed to see him in order to figure out if he was actually hitting on you. Needed to see him if you were going to try for something more should he actually be flirting with you. 

Your mind ran a little wild with possibilities, though. Him bending you over in the back when he'd been checking out your tattoo. Pulling your jeans down, thong aside, and plunging two fingers into your cunt. Holding his hand over your mouth so nobody could hear your little whimpers. Making you cum before sending you back out there to sit with Nemuri as she finished her session. 

Or if he were more adventurous, he might fuck you on the bench. Two fingers pressing into your ass as his cock went to your cunt. Fucking you until you were drooling, hands trying to grip wherever they could find purchase, crying out as he filled you. Holding your head up to look out the windows as people passed, giving them a wide view of him fucking you. 

You were driving yourself mad with the fantasies. They were starting to get unbearable as you continued to think about him. It'd been a while since anyone had ever made you feel like this and so quickly too. You blamed the softness during your session. He came off as such a scary, quiet, intimidating guy. But his words of comfort and the little soothing touches he gave you had made your body spin out of control. 

Damn attractive bastard. 

You had another week before you went back in when Nemuri called you. You were walking out to your car to go meet her for drinks, running an hour late as you got held up cleaning. It was already dark outside when you answered the phone. 

“Need a huge favor,” her words slurred. 

“What’s up?” 

“Are you on your way yet?”

“Bout to be, why?” You slid into the driver’s seat and closed your door, starting your car. “Everything okay?”

"Can you swing by the tattoo shop?" She hiccuped. "I stopped by to do a spur-of-the-moment piercing, and I think I left my keys there. They close soon, and I can't get a cab soon enough to get back in time. Please. I think Hizashi’s closing tonight.”

“Yeah, I can swing by. I’ll text you if I find them.” 

“Thank you!” 

“Yeah, yeah, see you soon.”

You checked the time as you pulled out of the parking lot. The shop was twenty minutes away, and they closed in fifteen. Hopefully, Hizashi wasn't rushing out, otherwise, Nemuri was going to be shit out of luck. If she wasn't drunk, there was the possibility she'd contacted him about it already. But Nemuri wasn't known for her smart decisions while drunk. 

The lights were still on inside when you pulled up, but the door was locked. You bit your lip and knocked on the glass. The wind whipped around the skirt of your skimpy dress as you waited. A certain choice for the evening considering the plans had been to get drunk, go dancing, and let the night take you where it took you. So you leaned into the sexier side of things, hoping you might be able to meet someone to satisfy the ache between your legs caused by Aizawa. 

Speaking of. Your heart leaped to life in your chest when dark hair came out from the back instead of the bright blond you'd been expecting. You waved a hand a little awkwardly as Aizawa cocked a brow and came up to the front, unlocking and opening the door.

“Think you’re a little early for your next appointment.”

“Nemuri thinks she left her keys and asked me to grab them.” You rocked on your heels as Aizawa’s eyes dragged over your dress. “She said Hizashi was closing.”

"He wasn't feeling well, so I covered for him." He had on a nice leather jacket over a basic white shirt. He stepped aside and held the door open for you. "I'll check the lost and found. Wait up front."

Your heels clacked on the tile floor as you stepped inside. You went to Aizawa’s little section and sat up on his chair, kicking your legs as you waited for Aizawa to come back out. When he did, throwing the curtain aside, he was carrying a large cardboard box. 

“Got a fun night planned?” He dropped the box next to you. 

“Potentially. I’m already running late, hence why I became the one to fetch Nemuri’s keys.” You watched him dig through the unorganized items. “Drinking, dancing, and getting laid. Not necessarily in that order.”

"Sounds fun." He held up a set of keys with about five more keys than Nemuri's had, and you shook your head. "Hell of a dress. Looking good."

“Thanks.” You crossed your ankles, eyes going from the box of items to Aizawa’s face. He had a stoic expression that you couldn’t help but admire. “Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.” He picked up a Barbie doll and his brows furrowed. He sat it aside slowly. 

“Did I actually do well during the tattoo? Because I was freaking out the entire time.” 

Aizawa grinned a little and glanced over at you. He held up another set of keys and you shook your head. He sat those beside the other set and went back into the box. 

“Your nerves were obvious. But you did fine.” A few objects banged together in the box. “Nervous for your next visit?”

“No,” you answered quickly. You were excited—it meant you got to see Aizawa again. “I mean, I’m excited to see the finished project.”

“Good. Less nervous you are, less it’ll hurt.” 

He held up three more sets of keys and your eyes widened. You knew Nemuri’s keys like the back of your hand. It also helped that she had a little keychain of red glasses hanging from them. Aizawa handed them over as you reached for them. 

You slid them into your purse but didn't move off the chair. 

“Thank you,” you murmured. Aizawa packed the box back up beside you. “Sorry for making you stay late.”

“Got to see you in that dress.” He picked up the box. “Well worth it.” 

You watched Aizawa walk towards the back and you wished you'd at least had some alcohol in you so you could blame that for why you spoke. But being alone with him in such a quiet space was doing things to you that you couldn't quite get a handle on. It made you feel wired as you licked your lips. 

“Wanna see me out of it?” 

Aizawa stopped, one hand on the curtain, glancing in your direction. He scoffed, stepped into the back, and you heard the box drop. 

“Really?” His hands were in the pockets of his coat as he came out. “Right here?” 

He got to you before you spoke again, his hands going to either side of you on the chair. His aftershave swirled around you as he leaned close, eyes locking on yours. His fingers twirled the ends of your dress, the chair creaking as you squirmed. 

You hadn’t thought through what you’d said, but you weren’t about to back down now. 

"I…I mean." You swallowed, glancing over at the big windows up front, and a few people walked by, giggling to themselves. 

“Scared someone might see?”

“A little.”

“You want to actually show me?” He cocked his head to the side and it felt like a dare. Like he was trying to call your bluff. 

“Maybe I do.”

“Then lift your dress. Show me.”

You bit your lip and fought your nerves as your hands went to your lap. It was still possible that Aizawa was messing with you, but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to humiliate you like this. Maybe tease you a bit, but not humiliate. So you lifted your dress.

You stole a look at the front windows as you showed him your pink thong, a thin lace that only barely covered you. 

“Cute,” he murmured. “I liked the white, too.”

Your cheeks burned. He had looked. 

“Why are you showing me?” 

Embarrassment burned through you, but you tried to keep yourself steady. 

“Why do you think I’m showing you?” You opened your legs a little more, and Aizawa’s eyes fell between them. The nerves made your hands shake, and you tried to steady them, even if all they were doing was holding your dress. You prayed you’d been right and Aizawa wasn’t messing with you. 

“You want me to fuck you.” Aizawa kept his eyes on your lap. “Right?”

“I think you want to fuck me too.” You bit your lip as it quivered. Your nerves got the better of you. “Maybe. If I’m wrong, our next session is going to be really awkward.”

Aizawa reached up and grabbed your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. The words that threatened to continue spilling stopped behind a dam, and your ankles hooked around the back of his thighs. You grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and tugged him closer as his head lowered, mouth hovering over yours. His breath was a whisper against your lips, and you thought your heart was going to explode from anticipation. 

“I don’t sleep with clients.” 

His thumb swiped across your lip as you clamped your eyes shut, nose scrunching as your whole body cringed. You slowly let go of his shirt and swallowed the knot in your throat. His hand fell to his sides.

Guess he was messing with you. 

You slid off the chair, your dress riding up as Aizawa kept you sandwiched between it. 

“Then I guess I should go,” you whispered, voice tight. 

"Stay," he murmured, and a hand came up and two fingers hooked around the thin strap of your underwear over your hip. 

“Don’t jerk me around.” You narrowed your eyes, mouth pressing into a fine line.

“Not trying to.” He followed the band around to the front and let go. He dragged a knuckle over your cunt, down over your clit, to where the damp spot was growing. Your breath hitched at the contact. “I don’t sleep with clients. You’re no longer a client after next week. I am making an exception.”

“Don’t think that’s the compliment you think it is.”

“I’ve never been the best with words.” His knuckle pressed against your clit and rubbed slow circles. “I’m a lot better with actions.”

His mouth fell to yours as you gasped, taking full advantage of your sudden reaction. He tasted like mint and the faint scent of smoke; his lips were so soft it was almost cruel. Softer than you’d thought in your fantasies and you could barely keep up. The chair was digging into your back, his tongue was grazing yours, his body was flush against you, and the tips of his fingers had moved to your clit. 

“Take the dress off.” 

You glanced over at the massive front windows, head lolling to the side as Aizawa’s mouth trailed over your neck. He nipped and sucked at the skin, pulling sweet sighs from you in the process. 

"Zipper's in the back," you huffed out, and Aizawa practically laughed. 

His hands went to your hips and jerked you forward. His mouth was back on yours as he undid the zipper, moving slowly until it fell from your shoulders and pooled around your feet. You were hyper-aware of the passing people as you stood there in your matching pink set, tits pushed up in the bra, ass bare. 

He stepped back and drew his eyes over you, licking his lips as his eyes fell to your chest. When he came back, pressing you back against the chair, he drew his hands up your waist until he got to your chest. He tugged down on the cups until you spilled out, his fingers going directly to your nipples. He pinched and tweaked them until your eyes closed and you bit back moans. 

“Yeah.” He swiped his thumbs over them. “You should pierce them. Personal and professional opinion.” 

He leaned down and swirled his tongue around one. 

“Would look great pierced.” His teeth grazed it and you yelped. “Want me to pull my planner out? We can schedule an appointment. It’ll take thirty seconds.”

A hand slid back between your legs and he cupped your cunt, pressing the heel of his palm to your clit. You rocked your hips and chased the friction it gave you, hands going to the chair to steady yourself. 

He dropped to his knees and you couldn’t help but glance back over at the windows. But you couldn’t look for long—not when Aizawa was pulling your thong aside and pressing two fingers into your cunt. You took them with ease, especially when his mouth came down around your clit. There was no hesitation in his actions, fingers fucking you as his tongue lapped at your clit. 

Your knees shook, hands going to his hair. Your focus was torn between the windows and the surreal reality that Aizawa was on his knees, fingers in your cunt, tongue on your clit. The same intimidating guy you’d met a few weeks ago, with the same dark eyes that were now looking up at you with a devilish flicker as you yanked on his hair. 

He was fucking incredible at it. His fingers knew exactly what they were doing and feeling the warm, precise licks of his tongue on your clit? Holy shit. You were grinding yourself against his mouth the whole time, chasing the building feeling that was getting closer. Your walls fluttered around his fingers, wishing he was stretching you more—filling you more. You wanted him to fuck you and you didn’t want to wait until you were somewhere else. 

The building continued as your head fell back and your hips moved, taking every little piece of pleasure he was giving you. The sounds were obscene as Aizawa sucked your clit into his mouth and slipped another finger into you. It wasn't long before you were grinding your teeth and practically hissing as the pleasure tightened into a punishing fist. 

“Aizawa,” you grunted out, trying to both warn and plead. “Don’t stop.”

Aizawa hummed around your clit as the tips of his fingers grazed your spongy spot over and over, curling and pumping as you dripped down into his hand. The hum was his only response as your walls squeezed around him, and you clenched your jaw, the lights of a passing car briefly illuminating the room. 

You gushed around him as you came. Thighs shook, hips jutted up, nails dug into the chair as a throaty groan echoed in the otherwise silent room. It rocked your whole body enough to make Aizawa chuckle against your clit. You nearly fell to the ground as his head lifted, fingers slowly fucking you as you came down from your high. Your hips twitched with every graze against your sweet spot before they pulled out with a pop.

Aizawa stood slowly, liking his fingers as his other hand came up and spun you. His grip was tight on your hip as he pressed you against the chair, moving up to your back to shove you down. You gasped as you fell across it, a bit of air getting knocked from you in the process. His belt came undone and he pulled your thong aside, legs opening as his cock ran through your folds. 

You clawed at the chair, cold against your stomach, as he gathered wetness on his cock. He wrapped your hair around his hand and yanked on it, holding your head up as his tip pressed into your entrance. But he went no further.

“Come on.” He gave you a few teasing thrusts, barely stretching you. “Back up onto it if you want it.”

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you gradually moved back, taking every thick inch of him as he filled you. He laughed a little darkly behind you, dissolving into a hiss when your ass was flush against him. He gave your hair another harsh tug, your whole body shuddering, a heavy reminder of the windows as Aizawa spanked you hard.

“Didn’t even hesitate.” His exhale was uneven. “Really wanted it, huh?”

He pulled out slowly, making you feel exactly how much he filled you. It gave you a second to adjust to his size, but that second was all he gave you before he slammed his hips forward. Skip slapped against skin, pushing guttural moans out of you with every merciless thrust. As his cock hit the same spot his fingers had, you saw stars. White hot and burning, feeling like they were traveling over your skin as your body burned. 

Your orgasm was already building as Aizawa grunted behind you.

Your eyes shot open when his hips stopped, cock deep inside you, and his hands spread you. He spat down as you clenched around him—he wasn’t even touching you there yet but the possibility? Your walls continued to flutter and Aizawa scoffed. He sucked his fingers into his mouth and pressed one against your asshole. Your groan was gravelly as he pushed it into you. It felt bigger than you knew it was and the burn radiated over your whole body. 

He fucked you slowly with it as his other hand went back to your hair, hips picking up a brutal pace. 

“Tight,” he grunted, wiggling the finger inside of you. “Think my cock would fit?”

You shuddered at the thought—at how full you’d feel with him fucking your ass. Your orgasm jerked closer as the fantasy washed over you and you yanked on the hold Aizawa had of your hair. There were the sounds of laughter coming from outside the shop, getting closer and closer and you felt a wave of excitement and nerves as a group of people passed. Thankfully, their eyes never strayed inside the shop as you held back every grunt and groan Aizawa was aiming to push out.

“Going to cum here tonight.” His thrust was hard inside your cunt. “Then here next time.”

He pressed his finger deeper into you, the burn growing as you took him down to his knuckle. He swirled his finger in an attempt to open you up, but you couldn't take more than that. Not without lube, and Aizawa didn't push the second finger when your whole body tensed at the attempt. 

"Might take a while to work you up to that." He continued to pump his finger, and you could feel the sweat forming over your body as your muscles tensed. Close. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you there. I want to see this tight little asshole take my cock.”

Your restraint snapped at his words and you trembled as your orgasm washed over you. You slammed your hips back against his to try and get it harder and deeper as if he wasn't already pushing the air from your lungs with every thrust. Aizawa had no complaints as you chased after your orgasm, gushing around his cock when it finally—finally—crashed into you. And Aizawa fucked you through it, pulling every last ounce of pleasure you both could get from it. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as he kept fucking you even when you came down from your high, panting and huffing as he continued to hit deep inside you. You gasped as his cock swiped against your spongy spot and you could feel yourself dripping down your thighs, the sounds sloppy and wet with each thrust. 

He jerked hard on your hair when his hips stuttered and lost rhythm. He rutted deep as he came, filling you with the hot ropes as your mouth gaped open. There were a few more small thrusts as his hand left your hair and slammed down on the chair, body nearly falling atop yours. 

You pressed your forehead against the cold leather. Your heavy breathing mixed together as the seconds passed.

“(Y/N),” he whispered, moving your hair aside and kissing your shoulder. His finger carefully pulled out of your ass. “You alright down there?” 

“Mhm.” You felt sticky in so many places it was almost overwhelming. “Feeling good.”

Your body started to relax as he continued to trail kisses over your shoulder. Both shoulders. 

"Good." He squeezed your waist as he slowly pulled out of your cunt and you felt everything inside you shift. The wetness between your legs grew. There were a few more voices outside the shop and you felt your cheeks burn. Aizawa shifted on top of you, his jacket opening as he leaned his weight back on his hand. It was like a mini curtain beside you. His voice was a whisper as his other hand skimmed down your back. "This is for my eyes only." 

He let out a controlled breath as the group—sounding clearly drunk—passed. He righted your thong and put a hand on your shoulder to help you stand and that shifting between your legs increased. You clenched to stop the feeling and pressed your mouth into a fine line. The smirk was back on Aizawa’s lips as he bent down and tapped your ankles, having you step back into your dress. 

"Would it be too much to ask to go home alone tonight?" His lips ghosted over your jaw and neck. His hands rested almost possessively on your hips after he zipped up the dress. "I don't like sharing."

“After that,” you huffed, leaning your weight against Aizawa, “don’t think I could find anyone else who’d fuck me that well.”

“Friday, four o’clock.” His teeth dragged over your neck. “Don’t be late.”

“Won’t be.”

“That’s my girl.” He grabbed your chin and drew you into a kiss until your attempt at catching your breath was successfully thwarted. His forehead fell to yours. “And please, do not tell Nemuri about this. I’m hard-set with my rules. I don’t fuck clients. If she finds out, I will never hear the end of it.”

"Won't say a word." You nipped at his bottom lip and that smile was back. His smiles, as small as they were, were intoxicating. You were getting addicted to them. "Don't think she'd ever let me live it down that I let you fuck me here.”

“Mhm.” He helped you grab your things, walking you back towards the door as he stole another kiss. You were pretty sure you weren’t going to need any alcohol to get drunk. Aizawa’s kisses were already getting you there. “She definitely wouldn’t. I’m not either.” 

His hand snuck into your hair, nails gently scraping your scalp as his mouth went to your neck. He pulled a gasp from you as he bit down a little hard on the sensitive skin. 

"Let me fuck you where anyone might see. Showed me that cute pink thong. Taste that gorgeous pussy. Tease that asshole." The door opened behind you and the cold air made you grab onto Aizawa for support. "Never letting you forget that."

You bit your lip as you staggered back from him and towards your car. His eyes were dark under the old streetlights. They stayed on you as you fumbled to get your car keys and phone, trying to text Nemuri that you finally found her keys and were about to head to her. 

“Friday, four o’clock,” you said as you opened your car door. “I won’t be late.”

“Better not.” He stood up straighter and grinned. “Have fun tonight.”

You pursed your lips trying to keep yourself from smiling too wide as you started your car. It fanned your ego knowing Aizawa had broken his rule for you—for you. That fanning lasted only as long as it took to feel how damp your underwear was and you tried to tense again. You’d have to find a bathroom as soon as you got to the bar. All without Nemuri knowing exactly how fucked out you were.

A glance in your rear-view mirror told you that was going to be difficult. Smudged makeup, messy hair, a light indentation of his teeth on your neck. Your cheeks burned as you pulled out of the lot and headed to her. You'd cross that bridge when you got there. 

Now you just had to wait a week for your next appointment, which was certainly going to be interesting. 

Friday, four o’clock. You sucked in your cheeks, giddy. You definitely weren’t going to be late.

[gaybybirth]

Shallow Focus and Tight Framing - pt three

Aizawa x Reader (SFW)

Series Masterlist - MHA Masterlist - Anime/Manga Masterlist - AO3 - Ko-fi

Synopsis: After you rush inside, the first thing you do is call Nemuri. Cause, who else can you talk to about kissing and being rejected by your super hot professor than your best friend? Warnings: sexual tension, lots and lots of sexual tension. Does watching a sex scene in a movie with Aizawa next to you count as a warning? Dirty talk, kissing ;), angst if you squint A/N: Here's the final part of the first chunk! I plan on starting the next chunk soon, I just have to finish outlining that part! I'll keep y'all posted :) Regardless, I hope y'all enjoy this part! Word Count: 5.5k

Soaked once more, you stood with your back against your front door, water dripping from your body as you dropped your head back with a loud thud. Why in god's name had you decided to kiss him? Something twisted in your chest, and you felt like your world was imploding. Your hands trembled, and your face felt like lava was seeping from it.

Why had you kissed your professor?

You pushed off your door and leaned against the back of your couch, reaching for your phone and dialing up Nemuri.

“Hey, (Y/N)-”

“I kissed him,” you spoke with an uneven voice.

“What?” You could hear Nemuri sit up on the other end of the line.

“I kissed Aizawa. I kissed him.”

When Nemuri said nothing, you continued.

"And he pushed me away. He gave me a ride home because of the rain, and I just…I don't know what came over me; I know I shouldn't have done it. I know I should've just said thank you and gone on my merry way. But I didn't. I kissed him because I thought he wanted to kiss me, too. I thought he wanted…I thought the feelings were reciprocated, but…I was wrong, and I made a fool out of myself."

“Love…”

“And it was right after I talked to Adam. I wasn’t in a good headspace-”

“Wait, you talked to Adam?”

"And the way Aizawa was looking at me. I'm wearing this white dress, and you know white doesn't go well with water, especially when the bra I'm wearing is black, and so the dress is sticking to me, and I thought he was checking me out, but I guess he wasn't." You brought a hand up to your forehead and shuddered out a chuckle. "And his lips were so soft. They were so much better than I'd imagined, than in the dreams I'd been having."

"Oi, love," Nemuri snapped on the other end of the line. "I'm coming over, and I'm bringing Cook Out. I'll be there in fifteen.”

You changed in the time that it took Nemuri to get there. Stripped out of your dress, draped it over the back of a chair, peeled off your bra and changed underwear, and slipped into an oversized tee shirt and some sleep shorts. The idea of classes tomorrow was increasingly daunting, but at least you didn’t have to see Aizawa.

You were curled up on your couch when Nemuri came in, plopped a bag of food onto the table, two milkshakes beside it, and sat down next to you. Her long black hair was pulled into a low bun, a few strands astray and framing her face, and her glasses had been ditched for contacts. You ate food—very slowly—before you went into the spiel. The whole, enormous, stomach-churning and chest-twisting spiel.

Adam was first. How he'd texted you during class. How he had texted you, very specifically, about getting together for brunch with his mother because apparently, she wanted to see you. Granted, it was to satiate a favor from your mother, but still. The absolute nerve that he had. And even more of a nerve when you had called him after. And he had the fucking gall to bring up last Halloween.

So, you’d hung up, told him to fuck off, and then rushed back inside, after being utterly and completely soaked from the rain, and tried to call Nemuri back after you’d missed it.

And then? Then it was time to talk about Aizawa.

Aizawa, who had lent you his raincoat because your dress had become so soaked that you practically weren't wearing it. Who had shared his umbrella with you, walked you to his car, given you a goddamn ride home, and asked what was wrong. Who you thought had reciprocated feelings but pulled away when you kissed him. Whose lips were insanely soft and tantalizing, and—fuck—you wanted to feel them all over your body.

Aizawa, who had pushed you away.

Aizawa, who you had to see on Thursday.

Twice.

“Nem, the movies on Thursday-”

“I won’t ask you to go,” Nemuri responded, but you could tell she was disheartened. She was trying to hide it, but the way her mouth twitched at the corners told you otherwise.

“I…” You cleared your throat. “I’ll think on it.”

“(Y/N)-”

"I'll think about it, Nem. I'll let you know tomorrow. Because I know you were looking forward to it, and you'll feel like you'll have to cancel if I back out."

There was a long beat of silence between the two of you as you digested the way-too-early-to-eat Cook Out. Now, more than anything, you just wanted to flick the lights off, listen to the thunder and rain, and crawl into bed. To sleep the day away. But the academic in you wouldn't let you. Not when your phone chimed, and an email from Canvas told you Aizawa had posted today's PowerPoint.

"Today was a little hectic with the storm, so I decided to post the PowerPoint for anyone who couldn't make it to class. I won't be doing this again unless there are extenuating circumstances. See you all on Thursday."

With a heavy heart, you freed your tablet from your bag, ignored Nemuri’s judgemental look, and started jotting down notes. Cleaning up, reorganizing, and jotting down notes. Aizawa’s class or not, it helped you forget about how amazing his hands felt on your torso and how badly you didn’t want to go to his class on Thursday. But you had to. And you knew tomorrow was going to go exactly as it always seemed to: impossibly, stupidly, frustratingly fast.

So you clung to Nemuri until midnight fell, and when the two of you couldn't ignore your problems any longer, you passed out in your bed. Then, you had to go to Young Adult Literature and talk about Judy Blume, grab a lunch you didn't want to eat, and then read a handful of short stories in Advanced Creative Writing.

All while the threat of going to Aizawa’s class and potentially—but probably—hanging out with him that day night hung over you.

And hang it did. Like a damn storm cloud over your head the whole day. You even turned down Nemuri's invitation to hang out that night. Instead, you just went home, worked on homework, and crawled in bed while calling a granola bar dinner. Then you went to sleep, and you dreamt. You dreamt of crawling atop Aizawa in his car, straddling his lap, letting your lips trail his skin, and feeling his erection press into you.

"I want you," he whispered, and the illusion was abruptly broken.

Because you knew he didn’t.

You woke up an hour before your alarm, and you stared dead and exhausted at your popcorn ceiling.

Getting out of bed was the last thing you wanted to do. You wanted to lay there and let the day pass. To do nothing as your morning class passed, lunch ticked by, and Nemuri went out with Aizawa and Hizashi. Yet you still moved. You still crawled out of bed and shrugged on some clothes, and trudged to Aizawa's classroom. His classroom where you sat in the back, unapologetically taking someone's spot, sunk down into your seat, and kept your eyes glued to your tablet until you heard the projector flip on and the screen unfold. Because then you knew you could just read, listen, and write and you'd be able to survive the class.

Which still proved difficult as your eyes fell to Aizawa a few times, raking over his lean frame, which was covered in a tight black button-down and blue jeans, before shooting back to the screen before Aizawa could meet your gaze. If he even knew where you were sitting in the sea of people. You hoped he didn't. You hoped, as you scribbled down an example description of a still shot from The Dark Knight, that he didn't know where you were sitting. But it didn't matter because when he dismissed class and you packed up your tablet, Aizawa didn't even bother to look up from his lecture notes as you tried to sneak past.

“Miss (Y/L/N), can you wait a second?”

You froze mid-step, and the students filed around you, a few looking back at you as if you'd just been called down to the principal's office, but you ignored them as you stepped aside. Neither of you said anything until the last student left the room and Aizawa leaned against his podium.

“Don’t forget we have a quiz on Tuesday. I still plan on matching your grade if you do better than you did on the first.”

"Yes, sir," you muttered so half-heartedly that it made not only you want to wince, even Aizawa looked like he was going to sink into the ground.

"(Y/N)," he whispered, but he didn't say anything else.

"I'll see you tonight if you're still going."

“I am.” Aizawa threw the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “I’m surprised you’re still interested in going. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to back-”

“I can’t do that to Nem.” You tore your gaze from him. “I’ll see you later, professor.”

It was petty and stupid, calling him professor, especially in the same sentence that you referenced hanging out with him. But you couldn’t help it. He was your professor, after all. Best to remind yourself of that at any available opportunity.

You left the room and let out a long sigh. Tonight was going to suck, but you had to go for Nemuri’s sake because she had her sights set on Hizashi. So you texted her, letting her know you were still on, and walked home. You took your sweet damn time as you did, watching the cars pass, letting the sun warm your skin, and trying to forget the scent of sandalwood that you were really starting to miss.

It sucked.

No, no.

That didn’t suck. Nor did having to wait for Nemuri to pick you up for the movie. What sucked, what absolutely, positively, utterly, totally sucked, was getting into the car with Nemuri's pitying expression and driving to the movie. It was getting out of the car, walking into the mall that the theater was attached to, and then watching Nermuri throw her arms up in the air and sprint towards Hizashi. It was standing aside as she hugged him like they were long-time friends who hadn't seen each other in months.

You gave Aizawa—who was dressed deliciously in a black ‘v’ neck that exposed more of his chest than you’d seen—a tight smile and a nod. He matched it with the same lack of enthusiasm as you.

“So,” Hizashi laced his fingers with Nemuri’s, and you guiltily wanted to vomit at how cute it was. “Bad news.”

The blond looked between you and Aizawa, and you somehow knew what was coming.

“We couldn’t get four seats together. Just two and two.” Hizashi tightened his hold on Nemuri’s hand, and you and Aizawa got the message loud and clear.

“It’s fine,” you lied, and Aizawa glared at his best friend. “You two sit together, enjoy your date.”

Nemuri mouthed a thank you, and you just smiled in response. Great. Now you had to sit next to your professor who you had kissed and then had been rejected by for a solid two and a half hours. Two and a half hours of—oh—you looked at the ticket. It was a Romantic Comedy. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“Hizashi likes Rom Coms,” Aizawa grumbled as the two of you walked into the theater.

The underpaid worker tore the tickets and instructed you on how to get to theater eleven, and you painstakingly walked next to Aizawa as Hizashi and Nemuri whispered sweet nothings to each other.

The theater wasn’t packed, but the people that were there were scattered so randomly you now understood why there weren’t four seats together. The theater was small, maybe held about twenty people, but the middle seats were filled all the way back—the second row back being occupied by Nemuri and Hizashi—and then random single seats were scattered around them. The only two that were left—the two reserved for you and Aizawa—were in the far corner on the top row, a seat away from an old woman with a large tub of popcorn.

Neither of you said anything as you maneuvered up to your spots. You stole one final glance at Nemuri as she sat down with Hizashi, and you willed yourself to try and have at least a smidge of fun. Which didn't prove easy as that damn sandalwood cologne, shampoo, body wash—whatever he fucking used—took over your senses. You regretted not getting snacks because then at least you would’ve been drowned in the sickening scent of buttered popcorn.

Your elbows brushed on the armrest, and you both pulled away.

You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t.

But the previews started, and you couldn't will yourself to leave. So you sat there, dissociating as the previews played, and the opening credits faded onto the screen, and Aizawa sighed as it opened on two coworkers arguing in their office.

It was only then that you had the most humorous, mood-altering realization you'd ever had. And you couldn't stop the amused smile that spread on your lips as you peered at an annoyed Aizawa.

He was your fucking Film Criticism professor.

You stifled the first genuine laugh you'd felt in a few days, and he side-eyed you completely baffled.

“Nothing,” you whispered as quietly as you could. “I just realized you must be real fun to watch movies with.”

Aizawa shifted in his seat, and he grinned.

"Despite my degree—Master's or Bachelor's—I rather enjoy watching all kinds of movies." He leaned in, and his nose brushed your hair, tickling your skin in the process. "Thank you very much."

The two characters continued to argue on-screen—something about a fake date that was actually real, you weren't entirely paying attention—and you stupidly turned to face Aizawa, the gap still nonexistent between you. He was so close, so teasingly close; his mouth mere inches from yours, noses close enough to touch, eyes shadowed just enough in the dimly lit theater to hide true intentions.

“Fair enough.” You barely spoke, voice trapped in your throat as Aizawa sat back and turned his attention to the screen. “As long as you don’t make me take notes.”

Aizawa smiled an amused and careful smile, eyes shooting back to yours for a moment in a quick side-eye that made your heart race. But silence fell and remained between you as the movie continued, your eyes falling back on the massive screen. And all was going well until the two characters stepped onto a tiny elevator and suddenly locked lips. Backs were slammed against walls, legs were hooked around waists, and lips drew sighs as they trailed down necks.

You shifted in your seat, and Aizawa did the same, letting his arm fall onto the armrest at the same time you did, but this time, neither of you pulled away.

You stayed that way as ninety percent of the movie passed. An hour of stolen kisses, hidden touches, and innuendos. It was insufferable. You couldn't stand it, especially with Aizawa's bare arm resting against yours. One minute felt like an hour. It was exhaustingly exhilarating. You wanted him to move, but you dreaded the loss of him. And then came the inevitable scene that had been foreshadowed since the beginning: the "oh no, there's only one bed in this hotel room, and we've already been trying to sleep together this whole time, may as well do it now" scene.

And it wasn't some artsy rendition of clever shots or angles. No, it panned out as clothing was stripped, and moans filled the theater. A shot of two naked bodies—surprisingly no nudity beyond the guy's bare ass—as hips rolled and sweat-slicked their skin. She begged for more, and he obliged, and her cry of ecstasy echoed in the theater that seemed extra quiet.

Next to you, Aizawa’s hand twitched. Yours twitched in kind.

Your pinky grazed his, and he didn’t pull away. So you stupidly tested the waters and let your pinky hook around his. He tensed, but he still didn’t pull away.

You crossed and uncrossed your legs as you tried to satiate the need growing between them. Your heart hammered in your chest, and abruptly, you felt shy. Like you'd never watched a sex scene before, and just sitting next to Aizawa as the scene played out made your entire skin burn.

Aizawa grumbled something under his breath before abruptly rising from his chair and leaving. The idea of chasing after him passed through your mind, but you didn't move. Something told you to stay sitting, so you did. Ever so reluctantly. He came back about five minutes later, and, when he sat down, he leaned away from you, and you swore a few strands of his hair looked wet.

“Are you alright?” You asked stupidly, ignoring the ending of the movie playing out on screen.

“Bathroom,” he responded quickly, but you weren’t buying it.

But you weren’t going to argue with him over it either.

The credits rolled, and you and Aizawa waited until your row was clear before standing. You could feel just how worked up you were as you stood and ignored how close Aizawa was standing behind you. His hand rested on the small of your back to give you an encouraging "go.”

You nearly fell down the steps as you walked forward. With each step, his hand fell further and further down, and it grazed against yours as you left the theater, Hizashi and Nemuri still in their seats as you passed by them, one of Nemuri's hand very covertly not visible under the tub of popcorn they had mysteriously procured at some point during the movie.

"Give them a minute," you muttered as you and Aizawa left, cheeks aflame. "Otherwise, I'll never hear the end of it from Nem."

“Don’t worry, Hizashi would never let me live it down, either.”

Neither of you bothered to wait outside the theater doors. That meant you couldn’t distract yourself with walking. So you walked, and walked, and walked, until you were outside of the mall and the warm air swallowed you, saving you from the sandalwood you were getting drunk on. But his hand brushed yours again as he turned and faced the entrance. And he stepped closer to you, then away, then settled back closer to you. Like he couldn’t decide where he wanted to stand.

“I’m sorry about the other morning.” You weren’t sure why you said it, but you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Don’t apologize.” He cleared his throat quietly. “Just…”

"What?" You suddenly felt shy, and you wanted to run all the way home.

“Just go back to sitting in your spot in class.” He shifted from foot to foot. “And stop apologizing. You have nothing to apologize for.”

"I kissed you," you said, dumbfounded at his words. "I crossed the line, I-"

"I never drew one," Aizawa whispered. "And I drew it too late. After I started falling-"

“(Y/N)?” A skin-crawling voice called your name, and your skin prickled like a cactus. "You're shitting me. Hey, there."

You and Aizawa turned at the same time to find none other than Adam standing behind you. His usual blond hair had been dyed a rich red, and his dark brown eyes were lit with mischief. He looked the same—minus the hair—from the last time you had seen him, and it made you want to throw up in your mouth.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“My mom and I decided to stay in town a few more days. My little cousin Richie just started at the University. You would’ve known that if you would’ve had brunch with us on Tuesday.” Adam smiled sickeningly. “You really missed out, by the way. My mom really missed you.”

Adam turned his gaze to Aizawa.

"Who's this?" He let his gaze fall over your professor, and his mouth twitched into a frown. "Didn't take you for one to go for older guys. Honestly, I didn't even think you went for guys for a while after I found out you and Nem hooked up back in the day."

You glared at Adam. There was a lot you wanted to say to him, a lot of which you couldn’t say in front of your professor.

“But I’m proud of you, (Y/N), going out on a date. Have you been out on any since we broke up? Since Halloween when-”

"How many times do I need to tell you to piss off?" You took a step forward, and it was only then that you realized you were shaking with anger. "Fuck off, Adam."

Adam threw his hands into the air as if he didn’t get off on making you angry like this, on embarrassing you in front of anyone who you seemed to be friends with.

“Well, your parents have asked me-”

“Alright, we’re done.”

That was the only warning you gave before you walked away. You couldn't stand to be in his presence. Not that unbearable fucker that you never thought you were going to see again. Halloween rushed back to you as you walked to nowhere in particular, drunken hands and lips moving about bodies, and you wanted to punch something. Or someone. Someone who had bright red hair now.

"Hey," a strong hand grabbed your wrist, and you almost swung a fist before you registered that it was Aizawa on the other end of the arm. "Let me take you home."

Tears pricked your eyes, and you swore a flash of anger appeared on Aizawa's face before his expression softened and his grip loosened considerably.

“Nemuri’s probably going home with Hizashi anyway. Let me take you home.”

You nodded, and you had to tell yourself about twelve times during the walk to the car not to let the ride play out like Tuesday morning. That was a mistake you couldn't repeat. And you shamefully, guiltily, selfishly wished Nemuri wasn't going home with Hizashi. All you wanted was to curl up with her, cry, and put the entire week behind you. But you couldn't take her away from Hizashi; you weren't going to ruin her chance of getting laid.

“So,” Aizawa said as he climbed into the driver’s seat and you settled into the passenger seat. “That’s Adam?”

“Yeah.” You looked out the window to prevent Aizawa from seeing the tears sneaking down your cheeks. It ultimately failed when you sniffled. “That’s, uh, that’s Adam.”

Silence as Aizawa maneuvered the mall parking lot, and you watched the drivers of the other cars, wondering what was going on in their lives. Were they also sitting with their professor that they had a growing crush on after they'd just gone on a not-really-double date and ran into their asshole ex-boyfriend? No, probably not.

“Thank you for not saying anything.” You wiped underneath your eyes as if that would keep your makeup in check. “I mean that genuinely. Thank you. Adam’s my problem to deal with.”

“It didn’t feel like my place.” You expected him to add, “Because I’m your professor,” but he didn’t.

And you didn't want to dwell on Adam. Fuck him. You weren’t going to give him the time of day. You weren’t going to let him ruin the care ride home. The very quiet car ride home as you inched closer and closer to your apartment. When you could finally see it down the road, it suddenly felt like Adam had won the competition, the argument, the whatever was going on between the two of you, and you couldn’t stop the sudden urge to speak.

“So, did you enjoy the movie?”

Aizawa burst out laughing as he came to a stop at a red light, and you peered over at him confused, lit aflame by how intoxicating his laugh was. You wanted to memorize it; you tried to memorize it out of fear you’d never hear it again.

“What? As my film professor, I’m genuinely curious if you enjoyed the movie. Forgive me for wanting a professional’s opinion.”

“Like I said,” Aizawa enunciated as he turned into your apartment complex, “I still enjoy movies, good or bad.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” You sniffled again. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Did you like it?”

“I…” He pondered the question as he pulled into the same parking space as he had Tuesday morning. “Didn’t hate parts of it.”

His cheeks were a tad red when you glanced over, and you couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out of you. You doubled over, and your head fell onto his shoulder, and a hand went to his knee. He stiffened beneath you, but you didn't notice as you kept on laughing, and by the time the tears went from anger to joy, you'd realized Aizawa hadn't pushed you away.

“Sor-”

"Don't," Aizawa whispered, and a hand came up to stop you from moving away. "Don't apologize for laughing."

“That wasn’t what I was going to apologize for.” You lifted your head and realized you were inches away from Aizawa’s face. “I was…I…”

“I know.”

You still didn't move, and Aizawa still didn't push you away.

“I…” He started, but he never finished.

“What?” You asked almost desperately.

“I can’t tell you. I can’t. Then that line I drew in the sand would disappear.”

“Tell me,” you practically pleaded. You needed to know. You really fucking needed to know.

“I’m your professor, (Y/N).”

"And yet we keep finding ourselves in these precarious situations." Your nose brushed his, and he sighed.

His hand came up and cupped your cheek, and you be damned if you didn't lean into it. It was so soft, and it felt so good, and you wanted more, so much more. You let yourself lean as much as you could from the passenger seat, and Aizawa let you. He didn't fight it, and, fuck, it felt so good.

“Do you want to know why I had to leave the movie?”

“Bathroom?” You inquired.

“I went there, yes.” He clenched his jaw as his hand traveled back to rest against the back of your neck. “But it…I couldn’t…I couldn’t sit there watching you squirm in your seat as we watched the movie.”

Your eyes met his, and you thought you were going to combust.

“Just like how you are in class.”

Nope. Now you were definitely going to.

“And that’s why I had to leave the theater. And it’s why I pushed you away Tuesday. It’s why I have to say we can’t now.” Aizawa leaned forward and let his mouth graze yours. “No matter how badly I don’t want to.”

“You want to?” There was something about him saying it that made you not believe him.

He hesitated a moment before he closed the gap and let his lips press against yours in a quick, chaste kiss. A kiss that was so fast, so light, you barely registered it.

“So badly.” He shuddered as you brought a hand up and finger-combed his hair. “The other night at the bar, when we were playing pool, and you were wearing that dress, and we…fuck. (Y/N), you need to go. We need to put some distance between us.”

Aizawa's words hung in the air as neither of you parted. In fact, as Aizawa's fingers tenderly dug into you, you—very tentatively—lowered your mouth to his once more, stealing one more kiss. A kiss that was so slow, like neither of you could believe your lips were touching, like you weren't pulling quiet gasps from each other. Like you were imagining his tongue grazing yours before he let out the most addicting, deep groan that shook his entire body. And you wanted to hear more, you needed to hear more, so you dropped your lips to his jaw. He groaned again, and it sounded so fucking good; you weren't going to stop. You couldn't. And his scruff scraping against your skin like soft sandpaper? Even better.

“Because I know you’re a senior, so you can’t withdraw or drop the class. I know you need it to graduate. And, selfishly, my job and then your standing at school…we can’t risk it.” His nails scraped your scalp as he pulled you back, just as you were about to trail kisses down his neck.

“Nemuri and Hizashi are going to make that difficult,” you said through gasps.

“They are, aren’t they?” Aizawa exhaled carefully, eyes raking over your exposed neck, and he looked like a vampire trying to hold himself back. "Then we're going to have to set some boundaries."

"Okay." A tiny whimper left you as Aizawa's grip tightened in your hair, and you could see his resolve breaking.

"This?" Aizawa leaned in, and his lips ghosted over your neck. "This can't happen."

“What can’t?” You asked, feigning innocence.

Aizawa scoffed and finally let his lips meet your neck, and you had to use all the self-restraint left in your body to stop yourself from straddling him. Because—holy shift—the way he left hot kisses down your neck, let his teeth drag against your skin, and pressed his scruff into your skin until it was raw, it left you a moaning mess.

"This." He dragged his teeth along your pulse point, and you dug your nails into him to stop the moan that still inexplicably slipped out. "And, please, don't call me sir. Not in or out of class."

“Make you feel old?”

“No." Aizawa pulled you closer, and you had to cross the center console. Your legs parted as you climbed on his lap, and your lips met his. He tasted like mint, and you hadn't seen him slip a mint or a piece of gum, so you had no idea how but, god, you loved it. "The last thing I feel is old when you say it."

A surge of confidence flowed through you.

“Then I’ll refrain from calling you sir, Professor.”

Aizawa groaned, and his hands dropped to your thighs, traveling up them as the chastity from earlier disappeared, and he kissed you with fervor now. It was so much better than Tuesday. Because now he was kissing you back. Now he was drawing gasp after gasp from you as he slid his hands further and further upwards.

“Fuck, don’t call me that either.”

“I’m pretty sure I can’t just call you by your last name.” Your head fell back as Aizawa returned to leaving hot kisses along your jaw. “It’d be unprofessional and rude to not refer to you by your title, Professor.”

Aizawa pressed his hips up to give you a real good feel of what calling him "professor" did to him. And you whined at the hardness, your entire body shivering with need, and you tried to adjust your knees to open them as much as possible. Until one knee slipped, and you stumbled back, hitting Aizawa's steering wheel and sounding the horn off.

Fucking hell, right, you were in a car.

Aizawa seemed to have the same realization, and you slumped back into the passenger seat, legs resting on Aizawa's lap.

“Distance,” he repeated, panting.

“Distance,” you echoed.

"And patience." Aizawa suddenly got shy, and he focused his gaze on the glove box in front of you. "Because I-"

“I can have patience. I’m going on two years without any sort of action. I can wait a few more months.”

Aizawa threw his head back and closed his eyes. His hands covered his face, and he let out a strangled groan before his hands fell to his sides.

“Two years?” He lolled his head to the side and looked at you with the most pained expression. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

“It’s why I’ve been so…needy…around you.” You gulped, thoroughly embarrassed. “You know, I’m a little starved-”

"Stop," Aizawa breathed out. "Please. If you keep going, any resolve I have left won't last, and we need it to."

“Yes, sir.”

“(Y/N).”

“Sorry,” you said, not exactly sorry.

You sat in silence for a moment as the two of you caught your breath. Okay. So you and Aizawa were definitely into each other. He was into you just as much as you were into him. He'd made that clear—physically clear—and all you had to do was wait. Wait like four months. Four very long months.

You bit your lip as you pulled your feet from his lap.

You could totally do this. You could. You could.

“Alright, distance. While you’re still my professor.”

Aizawa nodded. “Distance. For now.”

“Then, I guess I’ll see you on Tuesday.”

You opened the car door and rolled out as gracefully as you could.

“(Y/N),” Aizawa called before you closed the door. And of all things he could’ve chosen to say, the only words that left his lips were, “Don’t forget about the quiz on Tuesday.”

[gaybybirth]

wet dreams - aizawa

Aizawa x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: You tell Aizawa about a wet dream you had about him.

Warnings: dirty talk, aizawa being kinda dommy, humiliation/embarrassment, wet dreams, fingering, bondage with his binding cloth, mentions of blindfolding, slight orgasm control/denial/edging

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: Nothing much, but I hope you like it. A Viktor one coming soon. Gonna work on that tomorrow. Only lightly edited.

It was meant to be dinner, chatting, and then home. Some schmoozing with heroes and the press, then you'd be on your way. But Midnight had some bad shrimp and Hizashi was already not feeling well, so they left early. And Hizashi was Aizawa's transportation. So when the night dragged on and the conversations grew stale, you nudged the Erasure Hero and asked if he wanted to get outta there.

He cocked a brow beneath his bangs and nodded.

"Alright."

It was supposed to be a relatively easy task, taking the hero home. Except, the moment you'd gotten into your car, driving proved to be a rather difficult task. Spending the entire night with a few feet of distance between you worked to quell the repressed thoughts, but as soon as he slid into the passenger seat and closed the door, they came back full force.

You took stiff breath after stiff breath as his expensive cologne filled the small space. As his hand rested idly on the armrest, thumb occasionally running over the patterned plastic. Speaking was impossible. Not when you had to divert all your focus to getting to his apartment safely. And each second was proving to be more and more difficult.

A handful of minutes passed before the silence was broken. Aizawa's voice reverberated in the small space. He picked up a small bag.

"Midnight came with you, didn't she?"

You gave the item a quick glance. It was her purse. Which meant it had her wallet, house keys, and an assortment of other necessities.

"Shit." You knew she kept a spare key hidden outside her apartment, but she needed her wallet. "I'll give it to her tomorrow. I'll stop by and check on her, drop that off in the process."

Aizawa just grunted in response and sat the purse back down. Went back to staring out the window silently. The radio played quietly in the background, the noise almost drowned out by the hum of the car.

Drive, you told yourself. You were dangerously close to slipping back into the dream you'd had a few nights prior. Where calloused hands roamed bare skin and mouths melded together. Where rough fabric wrapped around limbs and held you perfectly still. Eyes covered, wrists bound, legs tied open.

"(Y/N)?" Aizawa said your name a little loudly and you jumped, not even realizing you'd pulled into a parking spot in his apartment complex. "You alright?"

"Fine," you croaked out.

Aizawa lingered as he climbed out the door, peering back in at you with his hand atop it. He peered down at Midnight's purse and cleared his throat.

"You said you're going to see Midnight tomorrow?"

You peered up at him. "Yeah, to return her purse. Why?"

"I have a few things she needs to look over sooner rather than later. Mind if I send it with you?"

"Sure," you said slowly, already anticipating what was coming next, ready to dispute, saying you didn't mind waiting outside. But you weren't going to make him go inside just to come back out. That wasn't courteous.

"Come on in then and I'll get them for you."

"Okay," you said quietly, trying your damndest to get out of the car in the most normal way possible. But all your movements felt nervous and awkward. Your dress felt two times tighter than it was by the time you followed Aizawa through the lot, into the building, rode the elevator up, and waited for him to unlock his door.

You couldn't even enjoy entering his apartment. You were too on edge. Taking in the surroundings was almost impossible as he fetched the paperwork for Midnight. It smelled too much like him, radiated so much of the personality he usually kept diminished at work.

And then you saw his binding cloth hanging on the back of a chair in his bedroom and your mouth went dry. You inched closed to the cracked door, scanning over the stacks of black clothing as you moved. Aizawa peered up from a stack of papers on his dresser, followed your line of sight as you stared at his weapon of choice.

"You sure you're alright?"

You faced the Erasure Hero. Frozen with nerves as he sat the papers down and straightened. You nodded your head as he walked over and plucked up the cloth, handing it out towards you.

"If you wish to learn to use it, I can teach you."

You swallowed hard as you ran your fingers over the weapon. Your hands trembled as you, stupidly, wrapped it around your palm, then over your wrist. Tightened it because you needed to know if it felt like how you'd dreamt. How you imagined a few times after when you couldn't get the dream out of your head.

"If you want to restrain someone," Aizawa whispered, "I'd suggest doing it like this."

He took it from your hand, and with what looked like just a flick of his wrist, the cloth hooked around your wrists, bound them together, and he yanked you forward. You were aware that you were only supposed to go a few inches forward, but as your knees went weak, you stumbled. Directly into Aizawa.

Your breath hitched as you rested against Aizawa's chest, hands sandwiched between the two of you.

"Alright," he said almost sternly. But he didn't step away. "What the hell is going on with you?"

"Nothing," you squeaked out. "I'm fine."

He spoke your name softly. It traveled over your body like a tender touch. Made you shiver and let out an uneven breath. Aizawa narrowed his eyes and tipped his chin up. You weren't sure if he'd meant to do it, but it brought his lips within a centimeter of yours. His shallow breaths ghosted over them as he studied you.

"Really?" He tugged on the binding cloth and you whimpered. Whimpered. You wanted to run and hide, but Aizawa had you firmly in the palm of his hands.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." You spoke quickly, mind running off the rails. Your ability to filter out what to say, what to think, what to slot into the keep to yourself category disappearing. "I'm f-fine, really; I just had a weird dream the other night-"

You clamped your mouth shut as if that would erase what you'd said. But Aizawa was already hyper-focused on what you said. Hyper-focused on you.

"A dream?" His voice was lower than usual. "About what?"

You could have said anything. Literally anything. But you were panicking. Hard.

"You," you muttered, then bit your bottom lip. Wincing as you tried to get yourself out of the mess you'd created. "I mean, it was just a w-weird dream, about, like...weird stuff."

Your heart was racing a million miles a minute. Tongue-tied, your words drifted off into nothing. Eyes searched his as a rock fell to your stomach. You could not have been in a worse position. Hell, you were sure Aizawa could hear how hard your heart was beating just from the close proximity.

The silence felt heavy. Horribly so. And then Aizawa broke it.

"Tell me."

"I...can't."

"(Y/N)." His eyes, for the briefest of moments, fell to your mouth. "Tell me."

You nodded. You thought about lying, but the way Aizawa was looking at you told you he could spot a lie a mile away.

"I can't tell you. You'll..." You pressed your mouth into a fine line. "I can't tell you. The type of dream it was- I mean, it was just a weird dream, you know, I can't...fuck."

Aizawa took a slow breath.

"What kind of dream was it?"

You didn't answer him. You couldn't answer him.

"(Y/N)," he leaned forward, and you swore his mouth grazed yours. "What kind of dream was it?"

"An inappropriate one." You couldn't stop the words. "One a friend shouldn't be having about another friend."

Aizawa's mouth tipped into the faintest smile. He didn't respond right away, making you stew in your response. "(Y/N), did you have a sex dream about me?"

Your breath left your lungs at his words. And your lack of response was answer enough, and Aizawa nudged your nose with his, dropped his gaze to the binding cloth around your wrists.

"Yes," you murmured.

"And was this involved?" He tugged on the weapon, and you nodded. "Interesting." He glanced back at his bed. "And was it a good dream?"

You licked your lips. "It was."

Another pause. Aizawa seemed to be weighing something internally and you hoped to everything it wasn't whether or not to end your friendship. He nodded. Let out a little hmmm. Lifted his chin and narrowed his dark gaze.

The only warning he gave you was the loosening of the binding cloth before his mouth touched yours. It was a light touch. Barely touching but enough so that you knew he wanted to kiss you. That he really wanted to kiss you. And you short-circuited for a second, processing how soft his lips were against yours.

Then you kissed him back with fervor. Pulling on the binding cloth to tug him closer. It did, but it also retightened the restraint, and you gasped, giving Aizawa the freedom to deepen the kiss. It stayed slow, saying all the words neither of you could muster up to say, and you couldn't stop yourself. You guided him back towards his bed as the ache between your legs grew.

Aizawa sat on the edge, guiding you up to straddle him, keeping the binding cloth around your wrist.

"This," he said as he yanked on it. "Is not a toy. It's meant to be used to restrain villains. I will, however, make an exception tonight on one condition."

Aizawa spoke as if he wasn't at all affected by your sudden kiss. You, on the other hand, could barely form words. You blinked at him and his mouth tipped into a smile. He said your name once, twice, three times before you finally responded.

"What the condition?"

"You tell me about your dream."

"Okay."

It took a matter of minutes for Aizawa to have you on your back. Your wrists were bound to his headboard, legs wrapped and, with one hard tug, were pulled open. The action forced the hem of your dress up to nearly exposing your underwear, and you closed your eyes. Unable to handle his gaze on you. It was a reward for telling him the basics of your dream. With him, in his apartment, bound and bare, the freedom to do whatever he wanted to you.

"And what were those things?" He kneeled between your legs, one end of the binding cloth wrapped around the palm of his hand.

"P-Please." You couldn't handle the ache in your core. "I can't..."

"Tell me," he said as he trailed a hand up the inside of your thigh.

"Y-You touched me."

"How?"

"W-With your fingers."

Aizawa snuck his fingers underneath the hem of your dress and ran little figure-eights over the front of your underwear. You squirmed, tried to lift your hips, wanting his fingers to go just a bit lower. But they wouldn't.

"How did I use my fingers?"

"You used them to fuck me." The words came out in a stutter. Your cheeks burned as you said them.

"Mmm." He dipped them lower, ran light lines over the damp crotch. "Haven't even done anything, and you're already this wet?" He ran a few more of the straight lines before honing in on your clit. "And did you take my fingers?"

"I did," you responded. "I...begged you for them."

Aizawa pulled his fingers from you, and your eyes shot open, almost worried you'd said the wrong thing. Aizawa's expression was unreadable as he looked at you. Practically wrapped up like a present waiting to be torn open.

When he didn't move back and didn't say anything, you tested the waters.

"P-Please." You swallowed. The night felt like a dream. One moment you were driving a friend home, the next, he had you in his bed in the exact way you wanted him to. "Please touch me, Aizawa."

Embarrassment flooded you, more so when Aizawa's eyes darkened and he let out a controlled exhale. Slowly, torturously so, his fingers went back between your legs. Ran that same line, over and over, not stopping until you begged again. Fighting with the embarrassment frying your nerves as you pled with him to touch you.

He only did when your voice cracked, unable to handle the just barely-there touch. And then he found your clit, ran lazy circles around it. Applied just enough pressure to make your eyes clamp shut, your hips try to press up, and your muscle tense as you tried to chase a distant orgasm.

"Keep going," Aizawa instructed. So you continued, entirely aware that you were at his mercy.

You told him about how he used his fingers to fuck you stupid. Scoffing when you begged for him to fuck you. Eyes covered, unable to see his next movements. Every touch heightened. He made you cum three times, each time praising you for being his good girl, making you cum harder than the last time.

"I'm not surprised," he murmured as he slid his hand beneath the band of your underwear. Groaned as he ran his fingers between your folds. He pushed two fingers against your entrance, and you took them with ease. "You've always done better whenever you're praised during sparring."

You ground your teeth as he curled his finger just right. Repeating the movement as you writhed around in the bindings.

"Now be my good girl and keep going," he whispered, cocking a brow when you squeezed his fingers.

You continued, struggling to talk as your orgasm grew closer. But Aizawa kept it at bay. Slowing down enough to keep you from reaching the edge. Prevented you from falling too soon. Rubbed your thigh as you ground your teeth, stuck stuttering through how he'd used his mouth on you, too. He'd let his thumb press against your clit as he fingered you, coaxing you to continue your dream, threatening to stop if you didn't.

"So close that you can't form sentences?" Aizawa stalled his hand. "Perhaps you should finish telling me about the dream before I think about letting you cum."

You said his name like a veiled threat. One that made Aizawa smirk. A sight that, as he peered down at you, made you practically gush around his fingers. If it weren't for the obvious erection that, even in the low lighting of his room, was hidden in his dress pants, you wouldn't have even figured he was that affected by what was happening. That and the kiss from earlier. Otherwise, he looked as if you'd walked into his classroom without permission and interrupted class.

You fought the nerves, the humiliation, the embarrassment as you begged. You weren't even begging him to fuck you. You just wanted him to let you cum. He'd worked you up so close that you could've cum just from a few nudges to your clit. You expected him to sigh or even mutter something about disappointment. Instead, he tugged on the restraints and worked his fingers up to a brutal pace.

"You want to cum so badly?" You could hear the sound of his fingers penetrating you in the room, how embarrassingly wet you were. You nodded frantically. "Then you have ten seconds to do so. Go ahead. Ten, nine, eight..."

A tear slipped down your cheeks as you chased your orgasm, body trembling. It wasn't far off in the slightest, but the time limit was distracting. Dragging you away from trying to cum as you heard the next number.

You almost begged for an extension when he got to three. There was a minuscule moment of hesitation between that and two. You came just as he finished saying one, the orgasm ripping through you almost painfully as you contracted around his fingers. Milking them as if they were his cock.

You shivered as you came down from your high, slowly processing the turn of events. Eyes opening and scanning Aizawa, searching for regret in what happened. But all he did was pull his fingers from you and bring them to his mouth. You melted as you watched him lick them, tongue swiping over his fingers how you wished it'd swipe over your clit. You wanted to ask him now what, but his name came out instead. But it seemed he already had an answer to the unasked question.

"What, done already? You still have the rest of the dream to tell me about. And I'm just getting started."

[gaybybirth]

Bondage with Aizawa’s Binding Cloth - Kinktober Day Five

Aizawa x Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: Nezu asks you to drop some paperwork off at Aizawa's room in the teacher's dorm and when his door is left ajar and he's nowhere to be seen, you take it upon yourself to examine his weapon of choice. Problem: Aizawa comes back from showering at the precise moment you wrap the thing around your wrists.

Warnings: bondage, female-receiving oral, fingering, teasing, embarrassment/humiliation, biting (sort of)

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: I went a little overboard with the word count on this one, sorry. This was supposed to be 500 words. Anyway, enjoy Day Five of Kinktober!

See, you hadn’t meant to linger in Aizawa’s room while he was out. What you'd meant to do was drop off some paperwork per Nezu’s instructions and go on with your night. You were expecting Aizawa to answer the door in his hero costume, grunt a thank you, and sulk back into his room. What you hadn’t been expecting was his door to be left slightly ajar, a lamp lighting the dimly lit dorm, and his binding cloth left laying on his bed.

And that, well, that was practically an open invitation to enter, was it not? You had to drop the paperwork off anyway. You might as well place it in a neat pile on his desk, and if you happened to wander over to his binding cloth to fix the rough material as to keep it from tangling, that was just you being considerate, right?

It felt smoother in your hands than it did all the times he’d trapped you in it during sparring sessions. Gentle wasn’t nearly the right word, but there was certainly a different atmosphere to the weapon as you turned it over your fingers, examining each inch that Aizawa could manipulate as if it were his quirk.

Hesitantly, you wrapped it around your wrist and pulled it taut. The burn it etched into your skin was delicious. It certainly felt different compared to when he had your whole body encased in it like a mummy, pinning you to the floor, hand on the back of your head. You wrapped it around your other wrist, and a memory that you wished remained distant drifted into a view. One that plagued your thoughts so rudely as the hours of the night would tick by, and sleep never came. Not when your body so primally craved something it was never going to get.

He’d gotten the binding cloth around your wrists one evening. It was storming unapologetically, and the power had gone out mid-battle, but that was only another obstacle to overcome. As soon as the fabric captured your wrists, forcing them behind your back, you were spun indelicately until a swift kick to the gun knocked the wind out of you, and you stumbled backwards. Another tug, and you landed on said stomach, no arms to brace your fall, only the faintest jerk of the rope before your face collided with the thick mat.

In an instant, his knee pressed into the center of your back, and a hand tangled itself in your hair, jerking your head from the ground. You quieted a wheeze as his body shifted atop you. His breath was warm against your neck as he lowered his head, hair as dark as the shadows in the room tickled your skin. And it had to have been because of the lack of light in the room so he couldn’t judge the distance, but as he jerked your head to the side, his mouth grazed the shell of your ear so delicately you barely registered it. But when it happened a second time, a shiver rocked your entire body, and you fought the gasp that wanted to escape.

“Give up?” It was taunting, teasing.

You said nothing in response.

His knee slid down your back until it rested between your barely parted legs, nearly grazing the apex of your thighs where you were throbbing embarrassingly more than you’d ever admit. His knee sat there as he lingered next to your ear for your typical quip or banter, but you’d reached your limit. The wheeze you couldn’t silence must have told him that. He said nothing, but the way his hair moved told you he nodded.

His hand left your hair and held himself up as he pushed himself back. You felt a knee next to your waist as he panted behind you. His breathing was quieter now, but each little puff made your heart accelerate with thoughts you should have been far from thinking. Thoughts you’d attempted to banish until he pulled on the binding cloth once more, and suddenly you felt a hand trailing down your forearm, movement slow and methodical as he aimed for his destination. And when he got to your wrists, he was careful to loop and unloop in the darkness, carefree about how his fingers grazed against your bareback--courtesy of the tank top you’d decided to wear--and how his nails dug into the sensitive skin.

He stayed a moment when your wrists were finally freed, wrapped up his weapon before rolling back, his knee grazing your inner thighs in the process. Quick goodnights were exchanged after you rose to your feet, but that wasn’t what mattered. Those little touches, the warmth of his breath against your neck, how his knee lodged itself almost teasingly between your legs...those stayed at the forefront of your mind. And that’s where they had remained for the last two weeks. Two very, very long weeks.

Two weeks where the idea of getting wrapped in Aizawa’s binding cloth and letting him do whatever he wanted to you occupied nearly every distracting thought you had. It was embarrassingly sad how badly you wanted him to pin you against the wall and let you feel his scruff against your skin as he ravished you. It was getting out of hand, really. After all, you were in his room, toying with his weapon while he was nowhere to be seen.

“Last time I checked,” his low voice snuck into the small space, “it was considered rude to enter another person’s room when they aren’t there.”

You dropped the binding cloth and spun, cheeks burning like fresh embers and eyes riddled with nerves. Eyes that very quickly settled on Aizawa’s damp hair, dropping down to his bare chest, and--no matter how hard you fought it--lingered on the black towel hanging low on his hips. The deep v of muscle the lamp accentuated made your mouth water.

Abruptly, you pointed towards his desk and kept your eyes there like your life depended on it.

“Nezu asked me to drop off some paperwork, and the door was open.” You swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean to snoop.”

Aizawa stepped into his room until he was in front of his desk, lifting the paperwork and invading your vision once more. As soon as the flash of his skin appeared, you took a step towards the door, listening to him shift through the papers as you did so. Just as you were about to free yourself from your own personal Hell, Aizawa’s voice cut through the silence.

“Do you want to learn how to use it?”

“What?” You croaked out and wanted to smack yourself for how desperate it sounded.

You turned just enough to see him nod towards his bed, and you choked on your own breath. You knew he was talking about the binding cloth, but him in nothing but a towel, nodding towards his bed? Your knees were weak.

“Do you want to learn how to use it properly?” He glanced over his shoulder, his tired eyes studying you as if he were bored. “That’s why you were looking at it, right?”

“Right,” you said too quickly, and the corners of Aizawa’s mouth twitched.

He cocked a brow, and you wanted to make a run for it. He sat the paperwork down before you could flee and took a step towards his bed. Now was your chance, but you seemed frozen in place as you watched each muscle move on his lean body as he picked up the binding cloth, walked over to you, and closed the gap until you were practically breathing each other’s air.

He said nothing as he lifted the cloth, and you, like the needy dumbass you were, lifted your hands. His gaze locked on yours as he wrapped the fabric around them with skilled ease and jerked you the rest of the way towards him. Your hands grazed his chest--the skin soft and still damp as water trickled down from his hair.

“That’s how you bind wrists.” He made a show of making you linger close to him, hands barely touching him, his mouth slanted just inches over yours. “But that takes ages to learn. So I can only imagine what you had in mind in wanting to learn such a move.”

Your heart was in your throat, and Aizawa let his eyes fall to your lips for the briefest of moments. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. At least when you were pinned on the training mat, the air had been knocked from your lungs. Here, you were just a tongue-tied idiot lost in the man before you.

When he didn’t release the hold on the bindings, you swallowed hard and searched his unreadable stare as he watched you blankly. He wasn’t giving you an inch, and it felt like he wanted you to give him a mile. A faint expression passed over his face, but it didn’t remain for long. He was mulling something over in his head, contemplating something, but he wasn’t going to let you know.

One hand snuck upwards, and you felt his fingers graze the inside of your wrist. His head canted to the side and fell forward, lips grazing your ear as he spoke.

“Your heart’s racing.” He dropped his head further, and water dripped down the spaces of your dress, teasing your collarbone and dipping between your breasts. “Why’s that?”

The gears in your head finally began to turn, and your head fell back. You exhaled through grit teeth, and you swore you felt Aizawa grin against your neck as he pressed the lightest kiss to your pulse point.

“And there it just shot up again.” The bastard hummed as his nose brushed your neck. “Tell me why and I’ll give you what you’ve been wanting for a while now.”

Embarrassment flooded you, and you wished you had a teleportation quirk. You wanted to be as far from this moment as you possibly could.

“How long have you known?” You barely managed to ask that; you were sure you wouldn’t be able to get any other words out.

“A while,” he repeated as he calculatingly tightened the bindings on your wrist and placed the faintest kiss behind your ear, his body wholly pressed against you now. “It’s hard to keep things hidden when your bodies are constantly intertwined. I’ve been doing this long enough to tell when a heart is racing from sport or from something else entirely. Fear, embarrassment, nerves, attraction. I’d say right now, yours is a mix of those last three.”

You honed in on that last word, and Aizawa caught it immediately as your chest heaved a bit more, and you bit the inside of your cheek. This was torture. He knew exactly what he was doing; he had been for--in his words--a while now.

“But,” he let go of the binding and stepped from you suddenly, “you want to leave. You did what Nezu asked, so…”

He lifted the cloth for it to come undone from your wrists but, god help you, you pulled them back towards you, and Aizawa’s mouth finally gave you the smile you wanted to see.

“No.” You couldn’t bite your tongue fast enough, and Aizawa cocked a brow. “I…”

Your eyes fell over his practically naked body, and you knew you were gone the moment he shifted his weight from foot to foot, and that towel danced just ever-so-slightly lower and the tiniest bit of forbidden of what you knew should’ve remained covered, exposed itself. And as you eyed it hungrily, you traced the outline of it, almost too slowly realizing he wasn’t just messing with you. Had your lust-clouded mind blown away the smoke, you also would’ve remembered whose room you were in, who you were standing before.

Aizawa would be the last one to torture you with one-sided feelings.

“I…” You weren’t entirely sure how to confess your feelings. “I wish I had Midnight’s confidence and bravery.”

“Then tell me this,” Aizawa said after a beat, stepping towards you and yanking the cloth until you were back in front of him. “What do you want?”

Your eyes fell to his lips. It was easier to tell them.

“You.”

You weren’t entirely sure how he’d gotten your hands above your head with such ease, but the way the cloth found its way around your body was only a skill Aizawa possessed. And as your hands were bound above your head, his door was kicked shut, and your back hit the thick wood. His lips crashed to yours a moment later, just as desperate and hungry as you were, and a wave of relief washed over you. This definitely wasn’t one-sided.

He kept your hands pinned by pulling the cloth taut and trapped under his feet, allowing his hands free access to trace the silhouette of your body. Open-mouthed kisses burned your skin as he kissed along your jaw, neck, collarbone, everywhere that your dress didn’t cover. When that wasn’t giving him enough, he hiked the hem up until your red lace underwear was on full display for him. A groan shook his body as he speedily untied your wrists and your world spun as he guided you towards his bed.

“Just tell me, and I’ll stop-”

“No,” you begged as your clothes fell to the floor. “Don’t, please don’t.”

You bounced on his mattress before the weight of his body pressed you into it.

“Just…”

“What?” He lifted his head, hands immediately leaving your side as his eyes searched yours for fear he’d done something wrong.

You nodded towards his binding cloth, which he’d left beside the bed. “Keep using that.”

His body, which you didn’t realize had tensed, relaxed, and he dove in for another hungry kiss. He kissed you until your soul left your body, until you were writhing with the need for more beneath him, until your body practically ached for his hands to touch you in any way besides chastely resting on your waist, burning holes into your skin.

Then, when tears pricked your eyes and his hips pressed between your legs to let you know how much he wanted you, did he pull away.

“Tsk. It’s not a toy,” he murmured, still getting up to get the cloth.

He kept his towel on as he torturously stripped you of the last of your clothing, leaving you bare on his bed. You felt overly exposed and vulnerable as he drank you in. And, damn him, he noted the nerves you’d tried to hide from your expression. But that bitterness didn’t last long. As soon as he noticed, his thumb hooked around his towel, and he let the damp fabric fall to the floor. And, oh, he most certainly wanted you. You were so distracted by just how badly he did that you yelped when the binding cloth came down and fastened itself around you.

Fuck Aizawa and his precision skill with the damn thing.

It tightened around your wrists, hooking you to the headboard, framed your tits, tangled itself beautifully around your legs, so when he pulled on the thing, it jerked your legs apart. And that feeling of being exposed? It came back tenfold as Aizawa wrapped the cloth around his palm and dropped his gaze to your cunt. He threw his hair to one side as he sunk down, leaving kisses along your stomach and thighs in the process until he hovered over your dripping cunt.

And then he ran a finger between your folds, and you wanted to bury your face in one of his pillows and hide until this was forgotten. Hide until he forgot just how wet you’d gotten for him already. But you were given no time to dwell on that as he hummed in satisfaction, peering up at you as he dragged his tongue over your clit. He was slow, watching every tiny reaction to the action cross your face. Then, he applied more pressure, swirled his tongue around the bundle, sucked on it gently, making sure to let his five o’clock shadow scrape against your skin with every movement. And just when your eyes began to flutter close and your legs barely tugged on the restraints did he dip a finger past your entrance. Your hips bucked, and your back struggled to arch as he gave you just the tiniest bit of pleasure with it.

He went only to the second bend of his finger, pressing and drawing the pad of his finger along your sweet spot, feeling your walls flutter as he kitten-licked your clit. A second finger was added when you whimpered, and tears started to prick your eyes once more. Still, he wouldn’t give you knuckle-deep. He was working his way up to that point, getting every possible bit of pleasure out of the teasing, eyeing the way you dripped down his fingers as each teasing pump sounded in the room.

“Please, Aizawa,” you practically sobbed. He wasn’t even keeping you from tumbling over the edge; he was purposefully keeping you from ever reaching it. He was memorizing the way your body reacted to each and every thing he did to it--an attentive lover, what every person wants--but you wanted him to fuck you until you saw stars. “Fuck me, please. Please just fuck me.”

He pulled his fingers from you and wiped the chin with the back of his hand. You stared at him with half-lidded eyes, and when his mouth curved into the tiniest tender smile and he crawled up your body, a tear slipped down your cheek.

“I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” He kissed you senseless as he lined himself up with your entrance, yanking on the binding cloth to renew his grip and enjoying the puff of air you pushed through your teeth as the stinging the cloth left. “I’ve been waiting a while.”

You cursed under your breath, and Aizawa took that opportunity to push his tip in, patiently waiting for you to take him inch by thick inch, walls stretching beautifully around him. And finally, when he pushed in to the hilt, and you gasped in unison, when your body adjusted to his size and you tried to rock your hips to get him to move, he slowly pulled out. He anticipated your cry, pressing his mouth to yours as he slammed back into you. And, fuck, you saw stars immediately.

Even through the lustful fog, you could tell this wasn’t two people looking for a one-time hook-up. The way Aizawa’s body moved, the way he whispered your name in your ear as he hung his head in the crook of your neck, it was too personal. The love bites he left along your neck were calculated; the way his fingers tweaked your nipples as your walls squeezed around him was to push you closer. The angle of his hips that allowed his groin to brush your sensitive clit with each thrust was to make you muffle your cries into his neck.

“That’s it,” he said as he dropped his mouth to your chest and sucked harshly on a nipple. “Good girl.”

He eyed your tears as your orgasm drew closer, practically making your walls strangle his cock. He grazed his teeth over your hardened nipple, jerked on the bindings once more, and let his thrusts abuse your clit just a few more times before your eyes clamped shut, and all at once, you were thrown into the abyss of him. He lifted his head to kiss you, but you sank your teeth into his shoulder as you came, face scrunched in bliss as your body fought the bindings. Only when your body wrung itself out, ecstasy coursing through your veins like hot lava, and you found yourself floating back down to Earth did you realize the teeth marks on his shoulder, and you moaned his name as he kept thrusting, chasing his own high.

His name leaving your lips in such a begging whisper of a moan was enough to send him over the edge, burying himself--all of himself--into you as he bit back a groan, replacing it when a strangled murmur of your name. His fingers dug into your skin until you were sure they’d leave bruises, his binding cloth leaving hints of rope burn across your body.

“Fuck,” he muttered as he pulled out, forehead resting against yours as he wiggled his arm and slowly began hooking his fingers underneath the binding cloth to loosen it bit by bit. “I...that…”

You grinned up at him through the post-climax haze, and he cocked a brow at you.

“That was well worth the wait.” You beamed up at him as he sighed.

“Yeah.” He kissed your pulse point as he removed the bindings. “Might have to wait a while before we do that again.”

“Wait.”

“Who knows how long.”

“Aizawa.”

“Guess we’ll just have to see who breaks first.” He gave you a shit-eating grin and kissed your nose. “Wonder who that will be.”

[gaybybirth]

Kinktober Masterlist - Kinktober Schedule - Kinktober Taglist - Kinktober on AO3 - My Ko-fi

Taglist: @aizawap @christalcake @honeyplushee @uchikai-alini

[gaybybirth]

His Shirt

Aizawa x Reader (NSFW)

Summary: Aizawa can’t get enough of you when you wear his shirt. Especially when it’s just his shirt. And you get the bright idea to send him a steamy picture of just that while he’s at work. Things, however, don’t go quite as planned when Aizawa shows up later to show you exactly what’ll happen if you do something like that again.

Warnings: dom!Aizawa, bondage, fingering, female receiving oral, teasing, edging, orgasm denial, sex

A/N: I recently binged all of BNHA (anime and manga) and I would die for Aizawa. Hawks, too, but his fics come later.

Word Count: 2.3k

Like my fics? Buy me a Ko-fi! | AO3 | Masterlist | Google Docs Taglist

There was always a fifty-fifty chance of how Aizawa would behave in the bedroom. It was like two ends of the spectrum. Sometimes he’d maintain his sleepy, lazy persona and fuck you with slow thrusts, watching you come undone beneath him, listening to you beg for just a little bit more. Other times, he’d have your hands pinned behind your back, face pressed into your pillow to muffle the raw moans tearing at your throat, as he absolutely drilled into you without mercy. Usually, you could tell which mood he was in. But tonight, when he sauntered into your apartment with the same unreadable tired expression, you were left clueless. 

Keep reading

[gaybybirth]

pretty white dress

BadBoy!Dabi x Innocent!Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Synopsis: You're shelving books like normal at work when a new face comes into the store. And in a small town where everyone knows each other, a new face really stands out. Especially when it's one that makes you burn in ways you never have.

Warnings: nsfw, fluffy, and a smidge of angst content; lots of dirty talk, sexual tension, virgin!reader, reader has a praise kink, bit of humiliation/dabi mocks the reader, dabi really fucking likes messing and teasing with the reader like all the time, semi-public foreplay & almost getting caught, fingering, clit & nipple play, oral (both receiving), multiple orgasms, forced orgasm, smidge of overstimulation, dabi likes to bite the reader sometimes, choking, dabi's sweet sometimes, and first time sex for reader/dabi has a virginity kink

Word Count: 19k

A/N: Bad boy Dabi has taken over my thoughts. I would absolutely die for this man.

Dabi’s eyes were sharp—they always were. He was always observing, studying his surroundings like he was waiting. For what, you never knew. But he was always watching. And he watched you. 

It started when he came in the first time. He was with friends, but he wasn’t paying them any mind. He was looking around the bookstore—at the other customers, the employees, and occasionally the books. He didn’t hold much interest in those his friends approached. But when they passed the horror section, his focus shifted. 

You hadn't intended to stare, but you were shelving books at the other end of the bookcase, and he'd caught your eye. Dark clothes, dark hair, piercings that littered his features. Blue eyes that seemed to hold a world of mystery behind them and a smile that absolutely killed. 

And when he glanced up and caught you staring, he aimed that wicked grin right at you. 

You felt like you belonged in a vampire novel, dressed in some sheer white nightgown as the vampire love interest got ready to devour you. 

Then he winked, and the stomach-twisting, skin-tingling reaction you felt was deep. 

You were the first to look away, forcing yourself to return to work. Overly aware of how your hands shook, you took a steadying breath as you shelved book after book. But in the corner of your vision, you caught him picking up a book and pretending to read the back cover. But his eyes kept flickering back to you. His gaze was too hot to not notice. It felt like flames trickling down the back of your neck.

"(Y/N)!" Your manager said in your ear, and you jumped, almost pulling the little communicator earpiece out. "Can you hop on register? We're backed up a bit here."

You had to take a moment to catch your breath. For some unknown reason, you stole a peek at the dark-haired customer and he seemed personally amused at your reaction. Your cheeks burned as you glanced down at the cart and pressed the little button on your communicator. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” You pushed the cart as out of the way as you could manage and tried not to move too awkwardly to the front. 

You were secretly grateful you'd been called up—you weren't liking how hot it was starting to feel in that row. Being behind the register helped satiate the tingling in your chest. Until you got the line of customers down, blinded by each person walking up to you before you could even flag them down. And then, when you glanced up to help the next person, the dark-haired stranger was standing right in front of you. 

“Hi,” you muttered—all your subconscious customer service script out the window. 

“Hi,” he purred. Purred. He handed you his book, his fingers covered in silver rings. 

You looked down at it and momentarily forgot you were supposed to ring it up. A horror book, a title you recognized only from having just shelved a copy. Mentally slapping yourself, you cleared your throat and scanned the barcode. 

“Uh, do you have a rewards card with us?” 

“No, I’m new to town.” His hand rested on the counter and he drummed his fingers. 

"Would you like to sign up for one?" You inhaled shakily. "I can do it for you right now or you can sign up later online. It's a fifteen-dollar annual charge."

“Next time.” 

“That works.” You nodded a little too much. “Want a bag?”

“Sure.” He gave you a small smirk and you felt it in your chest. 

"Okay, can do. Uh, that'll be nineteen dollars and eighty-five cents. Will that be cash or card?"

"Cash." He passed you a twenty and you muttered a thank you, fumbling with the change as the drawer opened. You were out of nickels so you had to either open a roll or go for pennies. With how nervous you felt, you opted for pennies. Until you dropped two of them after you'd closed your drawer and sighed. 

“Sorry,” you murmured and fell to your knees, fumbling to find the two that fell. Attempting a laugh, you got them and stood, giving him a tight smile as you passed him his change. 

“Don’t worry about it.” 

His fingers grazed yours, and it was a striking contrast of warm skin and cold metal—it made your heart race. You almost jerked your hand back at the contact, but you seemed frozen in place until he pulled his hand away. 

“Thanks.” You slid his receipt into the cover of his book, then his book into the bag, and pushed it towards him. “Have a good day, sir.”

His eyes dropped down to the apron you wore as he took his bag. “You too, (Y/N).”

You bit your lip as you watched him leave, standing behind the register even when there were no customers left waiting. Five minutes—it was a total of five minutes between seeing him in the little aisle and at the register. And you felt too hot, and your heart was beating too fast. 

Your manager had to dismiss you before you collected yourself to go back to your cart. The rest of your shift flew by because you kept thinking back to the dark-haired stranger with the really blue eyes and the silver jewelry and the wicked smile. 

The desire to know more outweighed the nerves of meeting new people. And it was only the desire to know more—nothing else. 

Unfortunately, working at a bookstore meant you might not see him again for a while. So by the time you woke up for your shift the next morning, your hopes had dwindled. He was just another customer—someone you’d maybe see again in a month. He probably wouldn’t even remember you if he did come back. 

So you worked your whole shift telling yourself he wasn’t coming in. You weren’t going to see him again. He bought one book, he probably wouldn’t be back until he finished it. And if he was a slow reader, that could be weeks or months. If at all. 

A small part of you wished he'd still come in, and you subconsciously kept glancing towards the entrance. But he didn't come in. Not that shift, not the one the next day, and not the one the day after that. Thankfully, you had more luck focusing on literally anything else on your day off. You baked, procrastinated cleaning, read, and then grabbed dinner and a movie out of town with friends. 

It was a good day—it was nice. And then you were back home, asleep in bed and readying yourself to wake up for your next shift. 

You were tired. More tired than you liked for what was going to be a nine-hour shift. You went from shelving books to hopping on register the whole time—it was too much walking for how much you wanted to be at home and in bed. 

By hour eight, you were shelving books a little too slowly, tired of pushing the cart, so your manager put you on register. It was slow enough that you got to stand there and just unwind. Until you had to make yourself look busy, so you turned around and adjusted the magazines and books that were kept for display behind the counter. It was pointless trying to make it look perfect; nobody ever bought them. But it passed the time.

“Little to the left,” a voice said behind you and you jumped, spinning around and seeing those pretty blue eyes. He was holding up—unexpectedly—a book. “Hi again.”

“Hi,” you breathed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be…uh. Sorry. Let me get you checked out.”

He handed you his book and you scanned it, trying your best not to show your excitement at seeing him again. 

"Did you sign up for the rewards program?" You slid his book into a bag, and he shook his head. 

“Nah, forgot.”

"You know it does save you a fair bit of money." Most times, you would've just waved the customer along—they weren't interested, and your manager wasn't around for you to push the card. But you wanted to talk to him more. "Want me to sign you up?"

“Next time.” 

You nodded and totaled the order. “That’s what you said last time.”

He handed you the cash and shrugged. "You remember that interaction pretty well, don't ya." The implication went unsaid and your cheeks flushed. 

“We don’t get a lot of new faces—so the new folks tend to be more memorable.” It was the best cover you could come up with and you made his change. “Here you go, sir.”

“Dabi,” he said as he took the change. “Let you put a name to this new face.”

“Well, welcome to town, Dabi.” You held out a hand, leaning over the counter as smooth as you could manage. 

Dabi smirked and took your hand, giving it a firm shake. “Thanks.”

His hand lingered in yours, just as his glittering eyes and devious smirk did, and the sound of footsteps made you jerk it back. Fraternizing with the customers could get you in trouble. You rolled your shoulders and put your hands on Dabi's bag, pushing it towards him as your manager walked up behind you, moving to take a till from another register. 

Dabi cocked a brow as his eyes went from you to your manager, following them as they started to leave.

“Uh, have a good evening, sir,” you muttered and Dabi’s eyes finally went back to yours. 

“Yeah.” He took the bag. “You too.” 

You watched him leave yet again, wishing you hadn't been stuck behind a register so you could talk to him a little longer. But you were stuck there, your heart racing as he stole a glance back at you and winked. 

That night, when you got home and fell asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow, you got another glimpse of Dabi. It was nothing more than him coming up behind you at the bookstore, reaching over your shoulder for a book. His chest pressed against your back and he cocked his head to the side as he read the back blurb. 

"Interesting," he breathed beside your ear. He turned the cover over but in its place was a mirror, showing your reflection. He rested his chin on your shoulder as he looked into the mirror. His mouth grazed your neck and his eyes were a sharper, devilish blue as he looked at you. "Like what you see?"

You woke up as you felt his hand slide onto your waist. 

Shaking your head and running your hands over your face, you got up and got ready for the day. 

You saw him four more times after that. That day, the next, and twice a few days later. Three consisted of him coming to your register or the one next to it. The one time he didn't, your coworker was riddled speechless and stuttered through their words worse than you did. 

Each of those three times, he said hello, goodbye, and see you later. You tried not to get your hopes up that maybe he wasn't just coming to your register because he liked you as a cashier. Or that his smiles were just him being polite—the same way yours were for every other customer. Which was why you tried your best to differentiate it. 

Although it wasn't hard to do whenever you got a little shy when he came around. He made you nervous in ways you weren't used to but secretly liked. He was handsome, he was a person you hadn't known all your life, and he drove you absolutely wild in ways you didn't even let yourself explore behind closed doors. 

You just hoped the flirting was reciprocated, and it wasn't you embarrassing yourself every time he came in. 

But then the fourth time rolled around, and you found him getting a coffee from the small cafe the store had. He glanced up as you pushed a cart from the back, and he smirked as your eyes locked. 

“Hi.” You stopped beside him as he sauntered up. There was still a ways to go to the horror section, but Dabi was right there. “You either must really neglect your books, or you're a very fast reader with how often you come in here."

“I wonder.” He nodded at the cart. “Where you headed?”

“Horror.” 

“Care for some company?”

“Sure.” 

Dabi walked beside you, occasionally sipping his drink until you got to the section. He hung back a bit as you set the cart in place and started to do what you were supposed to. But it was hard when every time you walked by Dabi, his eyes glanced up and watched you. 

"It's neither." He peered over his shoulder as you grabbed another group of books from the cart, and you stopped, brows furrowed. 

“What is?” 

“Why I come to the bookstore.” He put the book back and his mouth tipped into a smirk. “I like the company. Far better than any book.”

Your entire body burned as Dabi's eyes slowly dropped down to your mouth. He didn't even move—all he was doing was looking at you and looking damn good while he did it—and it went directly south. A twisting sensation was building and you realized you were breathing a little too quickly. 

“Yeah, I’m finding I like the company more these days than normal.” You bit your lip and Dabi tipped his chin up. 

“(Y/N).” 

You jumped as the manager on duty for the afternoon came up beside you, looking between you and Dabi. He was significantly more strict than the other managers, and you cringed. You didn't want any marks—you were a good worker, you'd proved that the past three years you worked there. But he was strict. 

“You shouldn’t be fraternizing on the job. We have an upkeep to maintain, you know this. Don’t make me remind you again.”

“Right. Sorry, sir. I—”

“She’s helping me find a book.” Dabi wasn’t a big guy—his frame was lean and if he was toned, it was hidden under his dark coat and clothes. But he took up space and dominated it like a bigger person would. He gave the manager a sickening smile. The innocence looked wrong on him. “Didn’t mean to steal her away.”

There was a pointless challenge issued there. Either cause a scene and call Dabi out on the lie—which would also anger a customer—or just accept it and move on. The manager went with the latter, nodding and telling you to carry on. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as you grabbed more books to shelve. “But I appreciate it.”

“I’m aware. You weren’t going to, so I figured I should.” 

“I wasn’t going to what? Lie?” 

"Oh, don't tell me you don't lie." Dabi gave you a skeptical look, and you frowned. 

“Not when it isn’t necessary. Lies stack up. Besides, I panicked. I’ve worked here long enough for them to know I don’t break the rules.”

"Ever?" His eyes widened, and he scoffed. "You don't break the rules here?"

“I…don’t usually break rules.” You glanced away. “I don’t like being a troublemaker.” 

Dabi nodded, stepping closer, his finger dragging along the shelves until he was right beside you. He pretended to look at the spines of the books, angling until his shoulder touched yours. 

“You’re a goody-two-shoes.” He chuckled under his breath and you latched onto it. “That’s adorable.” 

“I am not.” You narrowed your eyes—the books were out of order on the shelf. “It’s just easier avoiding conflict. Besides, I’m like the best employee here and everyone knows it. I like that.”

“Oh.” Dabi’s smirk deepened. “So you like to be praised.” 

“I didn’t say that. No, see, it’s about proving my worth—”

"Uh-huh." Dabi leaned a little closer and your hands twitched as you rearranged the books to the correct order. "So, let's say I'm your manager and I notice you handled a difficult customer well. You wouldn't like it at all if I pulled you aside and praised you for it?" 

Your chest felt a little tight at the thought, making it hard to speak. 

"Little hard to imagine you as my manager. Don't know if you could pull off the apron." You purposefully put some space between you, going back to get more books as the air turned hot and got unreasonably thicker.

“You didn’t answer my question.” 

When you returned, it was only about an inch away from Dabi, and he turned his back to the shelves, leaning against them casually. 

“If I pulled you aside and said ‘you handled that well, atta girl,” you wouldn’t like it?” He tilted his head towards you, his eyes glinting as they met yours. “Or maybe you’d prefer ‘good girl’ instead.”

You dropped the book you were holding and Dabi smirked as you frantically went to pick it up. 

You couldn’t speak for a few moments—the man had stolen the ability. With your heart ready to burst from your chest and a growing desire between your legs that ached for something to satiate it, you were fighting a losing battle. And Dabi knew it. The wicked smirk he gave you was like he could practically read your mind. 

So you tried to hold your ground. 

“I’d say it’d be condescending.” But you weren’t a liar. “From my other managers. I think from you, I could make an exception.”

"So then you admit it." He reached up and turned you to look at him, his fingers lightly grazing your chin and then your jaw. "You like to be praised."

“Fine,” you muttered, breath stolen. “Maybe I do.”

“Loves praise, doesn’t lie, and hates breaking the rules.” Dabi scoffed and pushed himself up from the bookcase. He leaned close and his fingers skimmed down your neck. “What a good girl.”

He was halfway down the aisle when you finally took a breath. It was shaky and you felt the twisting need rip all the way through your body as you watched him leave. 

“You work tomorrow?” He spun, eyes dragging over your frame. 

“Twelve to eight.” 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” 

You’d never looked forward to a shift more. 

Even if the current one took an eternity to end. It was annoying trying to work when all you kept doing was replaying Dabi’s words. You could get drunk off of him calling you good girl. It sounded really good coming from him. From anyone else, you’d cringe or even snap back. But his stuck with you into your dreams where he whispered it over and over. Nothing was even happening—it was just him telling you how good of a girl you were for him. 

Then he was there the next day at one, buying another coffee, finding you at your cart. His eyes looked bluer, and he'd changed his piercings out—still silver like his rings, but sword and skull earrings hung from either ear and he'd painted his nails black. 

He slid up behind you, stealing the book that was right over your shoulder. It was a romance novel and you almost laughed had he not spoken first.  

“Afternoon, good girl. Sleep well?”

He had to be a mind reader. 

“Fine. And you, fine and loyal customer?” 

“Slept great.” He sat the book back and leaned against the shelves again. “Do you work tomorrow?”

“Should I give you my schedule? I can let the store know I have an official stalker.” You tried your best teasing smile, but you were still recovering from his good girl greeting. 

“Schedule would work, sure.” He met your gaze. “Wanted to see if you were free tomorrow evening.” 

You sat the books down and bit your lip, desperately trying to control your heart. “And why would you want to know that?”

"New in town. Was hoping you could show me the best place to visit." 

“There are a few places I could show you.” You sucked in your cheeks and went back to shelving. “Don’t know if any of them are your style, but I know some places.” 

“Dinner then. Meet me here at six.” 

“Here?” You looked around the store. “You want to meet here?”

“Well, I want to drive you.” He pushed up and walked around you. “But I don’t want you to think I’m actually stalking you.”

“Fine, dinner.” You were trying to hold back your smile. Dinner didn’t mean it was a date. “Wear something nice. Just in case.”

“Deal.” He raised his cup as he backed out of the aisle. “See you tomorrow night.” 

"Yeah, see ya." 

Excitement roared through you, and you almost dropped the next set of books you picked up. You had a potential date with Dabi. A date with Dabi! You weren't usually someone who squealed from happiness—at least not in public—but it was a fight not to do it a few times at work. Every time the thought came back to you, you wanted to jump for joy. 

Actually getting to spend time with him outside of work was insanely exciting. Yeah, there was the worry you wouldn't get along or there wouldn't be any chemistry. But that was low on your list of concerns, considering how just the one conversation stuck with you until you went home and went to bed. 

There was also the worry that Dabi only wanted one thing from you—but he wouldn't have come back day after day just for sex. Or he was just extremely dedicated. Now that thought stayed with you, but not in the ways you'd been expecting. You'd been on dates where your partner expected sex. But those were always bad dates. They lasted one or two times, they were awkward, and way too heavy-handed. 

You weren’t against sex or a one-night stand, but all the prospects had been so…uninspiring. Boring. 

There was no spark. 

And you needed a spark. A spark ensured a sort of insurance for your insecurities. But Dabi didn’t need to know about those, not until you got to the money shot. If at all. You could try and fake it—probably. 

If there was a spark—and you were fairly certain there was going to be—you had nothing to worry about. Even if that’s all Dabi wanted. You weren’t that old-fashioned. 

You couldn’t find anything to wear. You ransacked your closet trying to find something that was just right, but there was nothing. It was already three, and you'd gone through so many different outfits you were going to drive yourself insane. If you weren't already there. 

So you bit the bullet and drove to the closest clothing store—a small boutique about five miles away that had an assortment of different clothes. They were in the middle of restocking when you got there, making their sizes extremely varied from item to item, and the few things you did find and like weren’t in your size. 

Not the black romper or the purple blouse or the flowy red skirt. 

But then there was a little white sundress. The sales clerk that you'd managed to bond with during the extent of your time there—it was just the two of you in there, after all—held it up. You came out of the dressing room with a frown, dissatisfied with the previous ill-fitting items when she held up the sundress. 

"How about this?" She handed the spaghetti strap dress to you and you eyed it carefully. You'd intended on taking Dabi to a hole-in-the-wall Italian joint—white clothes didn't always go well with red sauce—but the dress was really cute. "My girlfriend swears by sundresses for date nights—they're easy to dress up or down. Guess I do too because she always rocks them."

"Let me try it." You smiled, slipping back behind the curtain.

It was a little tight in places but it was the places you could get away with that. Specifically in the chest, and since it was slightly low cut, it accentuated your cleavage. It hugged your figure a bit along your torso and flowed out around your hips. And when you spun, the skirt flared beautifully. 

It was a bit see-through, though. You were wearing pale pink underwear and it was very clear what color they were. So you led with that when you stepped out, the sales clerk beaming when she saw you.

“That’s it, that’s the one.” She held up her hands. “Sorry, I’m not trying to make a sale—that dress just looks damn good on you.”

"Yeah but…" You angled your hip forward and the sales clerk pursed their lips.

“Got any white underwear at home? You should be fine with that.”

“I don’t.” You owned about every color of underwear under the sun except white. 

“One sec, hold on.” She ran into the back for a minute, and when she returned, she was holding a white bra and underwear set that made your cheeks burn. “Now, it’s a little spicy, but…if you look good underneath, your confidence will, too." 

“Alright, let me try it on.”

You ended up getting the set. The bra had a bit of a push-up effect, accentuating your chest even more in the dress. And the underwear was a sheer and thin lace, so when the fabric fell over you, even under direct lighting, there weren't lines or any color sneaking through. If you pulled the skirt back, though, the little bow on the front was visible. But odds were that wasn't going to happen, so you paid it no mind. 

You slid on some black strappy sandals and grabbed a red purse to carry your stuff. A glance in the mirror showed that the sales clerk hadn’t just been hyping you up for a sale. You looked damn good. 

You looked damn good and you had a night planned to prove it to Dabi. 

Excited and practically bubbling over with excitement and nerves, you drove over to the bookstore, slipping out of your car just a few minutes before six. 

Dabi was already there, waiting outside the front, and you swallowed your nerves as you approached him. He wore his black dress-shirt way too well. Dressed in all black, he looked like the vampire version of him that you'd thought of the first time you saw him. The skull-themed rings and jewelry did nothing but accentuate that image in your mind. 

And you wore the white dress and all. 

“Wow.” He pushed up from the wall, hands sliding out of his pockets. “I wondered what you looked like outta that apron, but my imagination did not do you justice. You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” Your body flushed. “You look good too.”

“So tell me,” he murmured as he sauntered up to you. “Where am I taking you tonight?” 

"Let's go, and I'll show you." 

Despite Dabi being a man of few words, the small talk was fairly easy as you walked to his small car. A small black four-door with a navy and gray interior. You sat comfortably in the passenger seat, even if the small space put you close to Dabi, your eyes occasionally dropping to where his hand rested on the shifter. His thumb ran over the leather knob and you were scaring yourself with what that did to you. 

“Left here,” you blurted after staring a little too long at it. “And you can park in the small parking lot on the right.”

Luckily, Dabi liked Italian. So you’d picked well. He got your door for you, which surprised you, and his hand went to your back as you walked towards the entrance. He whispered after you as he opened the front door and you smiled at the hostess. It may have been small, but you’d called ahead and set a reservation just to be safe. Dabi grinned behind you, hand returning to your back, acting as the only physical contact he’d given you so far. 

And you wanted more. 

It was sort of awkward when you got seated. You were at a two-person table in the corner, setting it up to very clearly look and feel like a date when you hadn't discussed the nature of the outing. But Dabi seemed unbothered, looking over the menu silently and ordering easily when the waiter took your drink order. 

The conversation wasn’t bad, but you were overly aware of how hard you were trying to not come off as an excited interrogator. You wanted to know more about him, but you didn’t want him to feel like you were asking for his life story. But Dabi answered the questions with a sly smile each time. 

He was in town for college. It was cheaper to stay with a friend locally and drive to the campus than paying for all the on-campus amenities. He tutored students in chemistry on the weekends, and worked part-time on campus some days. He lived on the other side of town, and he'd moved in two days before you met at the bookstore, his friends showing him around. 

“I was told that was the only spot worthwhile on this side of town.” He sipped his drink. “Glad I listened to them.”

His eyes were darker under the romantic lighting of the restaurant. And they were doing things to you that you couldn’t explain. 

"So, is this where you take all your dates?" He cocked a brow when another worker walked by and said hello to you—marking the fourth time someone there had greeted you by name. 

“No, no. It’s just close to my house and I like the food.” You held up your hands, the words stammering out. It was hard to ignore Dabi—whether purposefully or accidentally—referring to himself as your date. “I swear, I just eat too much takeout.”

Dabi grinned and sat back as his plate of noodles was set in front of him. You mimicked him as your own was sat down. 

“Besides, I don’t really date anymore.” You nodded as the waiter added some fresh Parmesan to your dish. “Kinda hard to in a small town like this. I tried it, it didn’t work out, so I stopped.” 

“Oh, so I’m a special case.” Dabi’s grin widened. 

“You…” You bit your lip and peered up at him. “You are a special case. I actually like spending time with you.”

Dabi’s eyebrows raised and you sat up a bit straighter. 

"Wait, that came off more pretentious than I intended." You sat your fork down. "That's not what I meant. No, the previous guys I went out with just weren't…compatible. There wasn't that spark or attraction and then when there was, it was minuscule and they tried way too hard to act on it and so they kinda shot themselves in the foot."

“How’d they manage that?” Dabi sat back and tipped his chin up. 

“What?” You blinked at him, fork half raised to your mouth. 

“You said they shot themselves in the foot.” He took another sip of his drink. “I’m curious how. I’d hate to repeat their mistakes.”

Your mouth closed around your fork, and you chewed slowly, buying yourself some time. That wasn't talk you typically did in a small restaurant where there were others around you. Granted, not all the tables around you were occupied, but it still felt weird discussing it in such a public place.

You swallowed the bite and wiped the corners of your mouth with your napkin. 

“They were…overzealous about…” You opened and closed your mouth. You weren’t against telling Dabi, but from past experiences, the thought of it made anxiety twist in your gut. “Behind closed doors stuff.”

Dabi looked utterly amused by your wording. “So they expected sex.”

“Yes. No.” You could cook on your cheeks they felt so hot. “I don’t mind that, it was that they turned into this white knight, overconfident version of themselves when they found out that I’m…”

You couldn’t exactly blurt it out as your waiter walked by or the hostess sat a family nearby. But you didn’t have to. The recognition on Dabi’s features set in and nerves settled in you. His smile never faded and neither did his amusement. There was a hint of surprise, but that was all he gave you as he took his next bite. 

“So you really are a goody-two-shoes.” He grinned when you choked on your drink. “Nothing wrong with having standards.”

“Hey.” You sat your fork down. “It’s not like I’m protecting it like some fragile flower. I just want it to be with someone where I’m not trying to pretend there’s an attraction.”

“Well, attraction will make it easier.” Dabi gave you a knowing smirk and you crossed your legs. “As I’m sure you’ve discovered with yourself.”

When you can’t muster up a response, Dabi sat up and that’s when the surprise really took over. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve never—”

“Sometimes.” You had your eyes fixed on your plate and moved what little remained of your food around. “Just not…often.” 

The waiter came back and when they asked for dessert, you both declined. Your stomach was in knots so you weren’t sure you could handle more food. Dabi, you assumed, probably had his focus shifted on something else entirely. 

"I'm not…experienced…in that department," you said softly when your waiter left to get the check. You hated how it made you feel, and this was where every guy had overshot. Determined to teach you everything or tell you to sit back and relax, they'd rock your world for you. "Kind of hard to be when everyone here is nosy. Can't buy anything without someone else knowing, and can't go on any dates without guys getting way too cocky about…it.”

Dabi nodded, staying silent as the waiter came back. You tried to cover the check, but Dabi stopped you, throwing a fifty down. He didn't say anything until the waiter took it and left. 

“You’re insecure about it.” 

That hit you right in the chest and you bit back your response until Dabi got his change, a tip was left, and you rose from your seats. You walked a little stiffly from your table until Dabi’s hand found your back again. It stayed like that until you left, walking towards his car in the empty parking lot. 

"I'm embarrassed." You settled into his passenger seat, and he started the car. The cool air from the vents felt nice against your skin. "Not the being a virgin part, but what's come with that."

“The right partner won’t care about that.” 

“I know. Hence the need for a spark.”

Dabi put his car into reverse, and you watched his hand on the shifter. Again.

“Like there is between us?” He glanced over and you met his gaze with a panic. 

“What?”

"Earlier, you said 'the previous guys' never had the spark." His smirk was evil. “I read between the lines.”

It was dangerous territory to navigate. You weren't sure what Dabi was implying. Because if the feeling was one-sided, you weren't sure if you'd survive the embarrassment. You barely were about discussing your lack of a sex life. If Dabi felt nothing towards you after the dinner and was getting you to spill all your secrets like this, you'd crawl into a hole and never come out. 

You also didn’t want to imply you were only going out with him to finally get laid. 

"You…there's…" Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you studied his profile. "You're one of the few customers I don't hate seeing regularly." 

“Ouch, just a customer?” Dabi reached over and fixed one of your straps as you shifted in the seat. “And here I thought I’d at least been upgraded to a date.”

His fingers against your shoulder were almost too much. It was such an innocent touch but it went straight between your legs and you pressed your knees together. It was supposed to be subtle but the way Dabi's eyes shot down to your lap told you he was extremely aware of it. 

Unable to hold his gaze when he glanced back from the road to you, you looked out the window. You recognized the ride back to the bookstore, and a portion of you felt disappointed—he was ending the date. You’d had a few other ideas in mind, but it seemed dinner was enough. 

And then his hand fell to your thigh, just below your hem, hand burning hot against your skin. 

Your legs parted subconsciously and Dabi absolutely fucking grinned. 

His thumb ran light lines along your inner thigh, and his hand shifted up just barely and caused your dress to bunch a bit. You couldn't take your eyes off it. He was so close yet still frustratingly far from where you were getting wetter by the second. 

“You are,” you said when you realized you hadn’t responded. “Upgraded to a date.”

“One with a spark?” 

Your exhale was shaky.

“Yeah, one with a spark.”

Dabi parked a few spaces away from your car—it was near the back of the lot where employees typically parked. His hand moved to put his car in park, and you immediately missed the contact. 

"So, if I asked about seeing you again this weekend, you'd be interested?" 

“I work until three Saturday and close Sunday, but yeah. I’m interested.” 

“After work Saturday, then. I’ll pick you up.” 

“You going to take me out in my work clothes? I don’t know if jeans and a polo are date appropriate.” You chuckled softly. “It was a struggle finding an outfit for tonight. I had to buy a whole damn set just to wear under this dress.” 

Dabi’s breath hitched and his eyes dropped from your chest to your lap. 

“Did you?” 

“The dress is very see-through,” you muttered. He was practically undressing you with his eyes and you flexed your thighs. His hand wasn’t there to stop you and Dabi’s eyes narrowed. 

He took a deep breath. “Saturday. Meet me at the old theater in town at four. I won’t make you sit through a movie in your uniform.” 

It wasn’t a dismissal, but the topic change was obvious enough to tell you what Dabi was thinking about. It was no secret to yourself that part of the reason you agreed to buy the set was because you hadn’t dismissed the thought of Dabi seeing it. 

And you really wanted Dabi to see it.

“Wanna see it?” 

Your breathing was quick and Dabi’s hands tensed on his steering wheel. When he said nothing, you moved your hands to the bottom of your dress and started to lift it. The setting sun was coming through his windshield directly over you, and it was hard to ignore how that light basically acted as a spotlight right on your lap. Meaning whatever the lace pretended to cover in the shadows wouldn’t be. 

But Dabi grabbed your wrist just before you could flash him. 

“I do, but not here.” He peered up as a group of people walked by, bags of books hanging from their hands. “I want to be the only one to see it.” 

“Oh.” You hadn’t even noticed the people and you looked away. The thought of them almost seeing made the embarrassment double and you let go of your skirt. 

“Wear it Saturday.” His other hand came up and cupped your jaw. “This dress, too. Can you do that for me?”

“You want me to wear this again?” Your eyes dropped to his mouth and Dabi smirked. 

There was a pause before he leaned forward and closed the gap, his mouth pressing against yours. His smirk remained when you gasped against his lips, and his tongue grazed your bottom lip. You'd made out with someone before, but it'd always been so desperate on their behalf. This wasn't that. This was slow and deliberate. Like he knew each second his mouth was on yours, how his tongue touched you, how his hand slid down over your jaw and to your neck, made you want to squirm.

No, you were squirming. Moaning a bit, too. 

You crossed your legs to try and satiate the growing pressure and it took all of a second for Dabi’s hand to fall to your knee. 

“Open them,” he practically commanded against your mouth. When you didn’t immediately comply, he repeated himself. “Open your legs, (Y/N).” 

You did, and Dabi swerved at the same time, mouth trailing down your neck. His teeth grazed your jugular as his hand slid up your thigh. But he didn’t touch you—he stopped short. You had to bite back the whine you almost let out, on the verge of begging for him to touch you. 

“How inexperienced are you?” He pulled the strap of your dress to the side and kissed along where it’d been. 

“I…” You weren’t sure what you were supposed to say. It also wasn’t easy to say when he had you wound so tight that you thought you were going to burst if he didn’t touch you. “I’ve done some stuff.”

"I need specifics." He lifted his head and kissed beneath your ear. "Like if I were to sneak my fingers into that pretty cunt of yours right now, would I be the first?" 

You shivered—visibly shivered—and Dabi laughed against your neck. 

“Dirty talk and praise kink.” His hand shifted on your leg ever so slightly. “Dirty girl.” 

“Hey, I—”

“Answer my question, (Y/N).” He dug his teeth against your shoulder and kissed the indentations he left. “How inexperienced?”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes, enjoying how his hair tickled your neck. 

“You’d be the first.” You swallowed hard. “I’ve only done over the clothes stuff.”

Dabi cursed against your neck and his hand lifted from your leg and slammed against the dashboard. 

“And do you want to do that with me?” He pulled back, his eyes meeting yours. His pupils were blown and he licked his lips as he waited. 

“Yes.” You glanced down at your lap for a second, then back up. “I want to do more than that with you.” 

"I can work with that." He leaned in and gave you another kiss before he forced himself back and slid out of the driver's seat. He got your door and helped you out, pressing you against it as soon as he had it shut. His mouth stole another long, heated kiss. "Wear this again Saturday."

“I will.”

“Good girl,” he whispered against your lips. “Four o’clock, old theater. Don’t be late.” 

“I won’t.” You staggered away from his car, your knees weak. 

“Oh.” He grabbed your wrist and hauled you back, an arm wrapping around your waist as he held you against him. “And don’t go touching yourself before then. I want to be the one to make you cum.” 

"Okay," you breathed, eyes a bit wide, and Dabi grinned. 

“Atta girl.”

He watched you get into your car, not leaving until you did. It took you a second to drive because you were wound so tight. Replaying the scene only made it worse. But you replayed it all the way home—it was hard not to.

He'd been so close to touching you and the way he fucking devoured you with that kiss was cruel. You would've let him fuck you in the back of his car if he wanted. That was dangerous—you were getting drunk on his actions and he hadn't even done anything besides kiss you and talk a little dirty. 

You took a long, freezing shower when you got home. Stayed in there until you were shivering and covered in goosebumps. But it barely helped. You were still hard thinking about him when you got into bed. You dreamed of him too. Of his hand sneaking up where you wanted it. Teasing your clit through your underwear, whispering about how badly you wanted his fingers in you. 

You woke up soaked. So soaked that you had to take another shower. And for the first time in a while, you actually wanted to take some time and alleviate the pressure between your legs. But the desire to hear Dabi call you his good girl again was bigger. Even if that only made it harder to keep your hands away from your cunt. 

You went to work horny and wired. It was fucking awful.

Especially when Dabi came in halfway through to get a coffee and found you in the romance section again. 

“Hi,” he purred behind you. 

“Hi,” you muttered back. He looked really good in his v-neck, exposing a sliver of his chest. 

“We still on for tomorrow?” 

“Mhm.” You were trying to hide your anticipation for whatever he had planned. A movie, that part was obvious. But he wanted you to wear the dress and underwear set again. That meant there had to be more, right?

“And have you been a good girl?” 

Your eyes locked and you held your breath as a customer walked behind you, looking at the books on the shelves just a few cases down. He cocked a brow, still expecting an answer. 

“Yes, sir,” you answered in your most polite customer service voice. 

"Good." He stepped behind you, hand coming to gently squeeze your waist. In a lower voice, barely audible to you, he added, "keep that up, and I'll reward you for it tomorrow." 

He winked before leaving, a silent see you tomorrow. You barely heard the customer beside you when they asked for assistance. 

You were distracted for the rest of the shift, during your attempt at chores after work, even through your cold shower, and the entirety of the next day. You tried to help the customers as much as possible—that always made the shifts go by faster—but you kept going back to thinking about Dabi. It was increasingly hard not to. 

Especially as three o'clock got closer and closer until you could finally clock out. You rushed home, desperate to get ready and not look like you'd spent the day at work. You rinsed off under cold water to give yourself a fighting chance before slipping back into your now clean clothes from your first date.

Dabi was once again waiting outside when you rolled up to the old theater. It was showing three different movies. An action, a horror, and a romance. About as cliche as the theater could get, and Dabi held up two tickets as you approached. They were for the horror movie that started in about thirty minutes. 

"Hey there, pretty lady," he said, his hand skillfully sneaking into yourself as you walked into the theater. 

"Hi." You liked the feeling of his rings as he held your hand, and Dabi laughed when he caught you staring. 

"Oh, come on, I know you're not that inexperienced. You've had someone hold your hand before." He smirked before handing the tickets off to the same employee that'd been working there the past twenty years, and she didn't even need to glance up to tell you where your theater was. 

"I have. I just wasn't expecting it, that's all." 

"C'mon. Let's get snacks." 

Popcorn, a shared drink, and a handful of napkins. You held the drink and led Dabi towards your theater. But as soon as you entered, he side-stepped and pulled you into a corner. There were maybe two or three other people in the theater, and they were near the center. It wasn't like the theater was big, but you were practically sectioned off in the corner, away from the few whispering people. 

“Bear with me.” You laughed nervously. “I don’t do the best with horror. I don’t get like super scared or anything, but the jump scares always get me.”

Dabi grinned, his thumb running over the back of your hand. "Don't worry. You probably won't be that focused on the movie anyway."

“What does that mean?” 

“Exactly what I said.” He brought your hand up to his mouth and gave it a gentle kiss. “You do as I asked?” 

You blinked at him for a moment before it hit you, and you glanced away. "Yeah."

“You didn’t touch yourself at all?”

"Dabi." You motioned towards the people sitting near the center, and Dabi just continued to grin.

"They can't hear." He leaned a little closer as the lights started to dim, and a few commercials flickered onto the projector screen. 

“No. I didn’t,” you said once the sound started to play from the speakers. “I had to take a few cold showers to help, too.”

“Poor girl,” he murmured as his hand slid from yours and went to your knee. “I’ll make up for that, don’t worry.”

“You will?” You studied his unreadable expression and he reached over, turning you to face the screen as another commercial started. “How so?”

“I’m not fucking you tonight.” He kissed your jaw, then your neck. “We’re taking this slow.”

“So, there’s a this?” You were trying not to gasp as Dabi dragged his teeth over your ear. 

“Wouldn’t have invited you out again if there wasn’t.” Dabi’s hand slid up your leg. 

“So then…how?” Your breath hitched as the skirt of your dress bunched around Dabi’s wrist. “How are you going to make it up to me?”

“We’re going to do some over the clothes stuff.” His hand shifted and he cupped your cunt, making sure to grab as much of your dress as possible to act as an infuriating barrier between his hand and you. “After the movie.” 

He gave you one squeeze before moving his hand, sitting back as the previews started and his other hand rested lazily on your knee. He was grinning as you verbally fought to catch your breath. When you tried to close your legs to get some pressure relief, Dabi's grip tightened and he kept your legs open. 

And that was the position you stayed in during the movie. He was right. You didn’t pay attention to the previews and you didn’t pay attention to the movie. It was too difficult to when Dabi’s hand occasionally slid up your leg, his fingers skimming the sensitive skin. Or when he started playing with the hem of your dress. 

He’d get close to your cunt, making sure your dress touched it but not his fingers. And that was all he gave you. Little grazes of your dress that drove you wild. Nobody else had ever done this to you—nobody had ever made you react this way to them. And he knew it too, he was extremely aware of every little reaction you gave him. 

He had you wound so tight by the end of the movie, you couldn’t move. But he wasn’t waiting for you to tell him, he was standing and giving you a look that said I know you’re wet, but I’m going to pretend like I sat there the whole time not almost touching you. 

You were walking towards the back of the building, enjoying the fresh air, when you remembered you were at the theater. 

“Wait, Dabi, you said after the movie. But where are we—”

Dabi pressed you against the wall of the theater, the old brick making the fabric of your dress snag. His mouth pressed against yours as he snuck a leg between yours, pushing just enough of his weight against your cunt. 

“Right here.” 

“But…” He kissed you again, a little harder before he was leaving kisses on your neck again. “People might see.”

"You weren't worried about that in my car when you were going to flash me." His hands fell to your hips, and he guided you along his thigh. "Getting so shy now?"

The sudden friction against your cunt had you throwing your arms around his neck and burying your face in the crook of it. Dabi chuckled, watching you move your hips on your own, chasing what friction the act gave you. You attempted to remain quiet and even semi-polite, not wanting to draw attention to the two of you even if you'd found yourself at the back of the building, away from the typical crowds. But Dabi wasn't having it.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “So needy for contact. Has anyone ever touched your cunt before?” 

You whined in response, but that wasn't enough of an answer for Dabi.

“Teased that clit until you begged them to finally actually touch you?" He moved his leg, lifting one of yours with his hand under your knee and pressing you back against the wall. Only a small fraction of your dress covered your cunt and you closed your eyes as Dabi pulled back and glanced down. He used one finger to lift your dress and he sucked in a slow breath at the sight. "You weren't kidding. It's real sheer.” 

You kept your eyes shut, trying to balance on one leg as Dabi kept you spread. You were trying to hear for any potential people coming, but your focus was pulled in too many directions. 

“Hold it up.” He guided your hand down and put your dress into your fist. “Keep it like that unless I say otherwise, understood?”

The warmth and desire that spread over you were hard to control. Dabi had you with your dress up in public—nobody else would ever be able to manage that. 

“Mhm.” You were shaking from more than anticipation. 

"That's my girl," he murmured, and he dragged his thumb over your cunt. "So fuckin' wet and so easily.”

His thumb ran a single line over your cunt until he decided to really have some fun. He found your clit, pressing his thumb against it and running slow, deliberate circles. It fucking shot fireworks off in you and he was barely touching you.

“Show me the bra.” 

"What?" Your eyes opened, just barely. It was a struggle when Dabi's thumb kept working your clit.

“Pull the top of your dress down and show me the bra.” 

“But we’re—”

"(Y/N)," he whispered, pushing your leg a little higher and working his thumb a little faster. "I got you spread eagle, gushing into my hand. Someone walks by, they're gonna see me teasing this pretty cunt of yours. Don't think it'll matter if the top of your dress is up or down."

You bit your lip, hesitating as you brought your free hand up to pull the top down. The second you did, Dabi smirked and leaned forward, kissing the newly exposed parts of your chest. It was only a few inches between what the dress covered and what the bra didn’t, but Dabi gobbled it up. 

“Get another question for you.” Dabi bit down on one of the cups and pulled back slightly. If he looked down, he’d see in, but he kept his eyes firmly on yours. 

“W-What’s that?” 

“Over the clothes stuff means nobody’s ever tasted that sweet cunt, have they?” 

“I…” Your head fell back against the wall. “No, they haven’t.”

"What a shame." He switched his thumb for his fingers, getting a more precise touch and you used your free arm to hug him closer. "Never had anyone hold your hips down and lick that clit until you cry." 

You were getting close and you could hear a group of people closer than the last few that'd walked by the building. Which meant they were close to you, which meant they could walk by you. They could see you—they would see you. But you were getting so close. 

“Dabi.” It was a warning for both. “I’m…and people are…”

"I'm not stopping until you cum." He dragged his tongue over your collarbone. "So you better cum quick or they're gonna see how needy you are for me. Couldn't even wait until we got to your bedroom to get off." 

He changed the angle of your leg slightly and that was it—that put his fingers exactly where you needed them. The sounds of the people were getting closer. You figured you had about thirty seconds, but you only needed about ten. Struggling under Dabi's hold, you buried your face in his neck as your orgasm hit you hard enough to whine—making you forcibly silence yourself as much as you could. 

You trembled against him as you tried to hold onto him, his fingers not stopping as your hips twitched up from the wall. 

You'd never cum that hard before. You'd never cum from someone else before. 

"Good girl, that's it, cumming so hard for me," he murmured in your ear. 

“Dabi.” It was a plea this time and he moved his fingers, pulling your top up after setting your leg down. 

He jerked you against him, face against his shoulder, as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. He was letting out the first puff as the group of people walked past, hand gently running along your arm as you silently panicked in his hold. 

When they passed, Dabi pulled you back, cigarette between his fingers as he puffed out another cloud of smoke. 

“See?” Dabi’s hand slid into yours. “Didn’t get caught.” 

"Came close," you muttered, panting and swaying on shaking legs, and Dabi just smirked. 

“Yeah, and you came pretty hard cause of it.” He stopped as you got to the front of the theater. “Next time, it’ll be around my fingers.” 

You already wanted that now. Even with wobbly legs, you wanted to drag him to his car and let him do whatever he wanted to you. 

“Next time?” You were trying to play coy, but you sounded exactly how you felt: horny. 

"Yeah." Dabi nodded. "Next time, I'm going to fucking ruin you."

You tripped over your own feet as you walked towards the parking lot. Dabi caught you and chuckled. 

“Why not right now?” You spotted his car and pulled him towards it. “Ruin me, right now.”

“What,” he purred as he pushed you back against his back door. “Want me to fuck you right here in my car?”

“Maybe I do.” 

“(Y/N).” He slid his hand between your legs and pressed your clit. “When I fuck you, I want to see every inch and hear every sound. And I want to be the only one who does.”

His fingers slid down and he found your entrance, pressing as far as your underwear would let him. 

“And as much as I want to throw you in the back of my car and see how tight that cunt is around my fingers, I’m sticking to my word.” He kissed your cheek. “Next time, I promise.” 

“Does that mean next time we’re going to…”

“Fuck?” 

“Yeah.” You stared up at him with accidental doe eyes. 

"No." He lifted his hand and dragged his thumb over your bottom lip. "But I am going to lick that cunt until you're begging me to fuck you." 

"Okay." You glanced around as Dabi puffed his cigarette, blow the smoke away from you." Okay, next time. After work, tomorrow. Are you free?"

“Needy, aren’t we? And even after I made you cum.” He pinched your chin and kissed you. “Busy the next few days. How about Wednesday night? Nine o’ clock, your place. I’ll grab take out from the little Italian joint.” 

"Wednesday?" You could hear the neediness in your voice, and Dabi laughed.

“What? Don’t think you’ll survive until then?” He reached into his car and grabbed a piece of paper, handing it to you to write down your address. “Poor girl.” 

“Dabi." You struggled to write legibly, and pouted when you handed him the paper. He cupped your cheek almost tenderly.

“It’ll be worth the wait. I promise.” He kissed you again. “If you get needy, just pretend your hand is mine. But if you do, I wanna hear about it.”

“You do?” You breathed, leaning back for support against his car. 

“Mhm.” He picked you up as soon as you got comfortable, his hand going for yours as he walked you towards your car. “Every little dirty detail.” 

“Wednesday. Nine o’clock.” You bit your lip as Dabi got your car door, helping you in. “Don’t be late.”

“For you?” Dabi pinched your chin. “Never.” 

The days passed way too slowly. Saturday night dragged on, Sunday, too. Dabi stopped by for a coffee and pastry on Monday, staying no longer than the time it took to whisper hanging in there? When you got all flustered, Dabi smirked and stole a quick kiss, lingering to push you back against the shelves before parting. 

“See you Wednesday, (Y/N),” he cooed. 

Then he was gone. And you had to wait another two days before you saw him again. That was even worse—so much worse. Your cold showers stopped working Monday night, but you weren't sure you'd survive telling Dabi about…taking care of yourself. So you didn't give in to the desire. No matter how much you needed it. 

Although you regretted it Wednesday afternoon when you went into work wired. Your whole body tingled with anticipation for the evening. Dabi wanted to ruin you. You already knew what the evening was going to entail: his mouth between your legs. But what was going to lead up to that and what was going to happen after and what was it going to feel like? 

About half a dozen customers asking for assistance managed to accidentally scare you since you were so lost in thought. The manager on duty even pulled you aside and asked if everything was alright. After apologizing and saying you just had a lot on your mind, they nodded and let you get back to work. 

For once, you were grateful you worked so close to closing. No duties of the closing cashier but it got you close enough to nine that you weren’t losing your mind with time when you got home. You had just enough time to rinse off in the shower, change into a low-cut blouse and jeans, and clean up around the place before Dabi got there.

He was there exactly at nine. You nearly tripped over yourself trying to answer the door when he knocked. Frantically fixing your shirt, trying to tuck it back in, you opened the door. Dabi smiled, a paper bag in one hand, his other in his pocket. 

“Hi, come in.” You jumped aside and held out your arm, showing off your little apartment to Dabi. “I hope parking was easy—it can be a bitch sometimes.”

“It was fine.” His hand went to your waist and he pulled you in for a kiss. He smelled a bit like smoke and the flashback to your time behind the theater was quick and clear. “How was work?”

“Fine. Long. Very long.” You brought him into the kitchen where you had a small table for dining. “You had classes today, right? How were those?”

“Boring. Would’ve preferred to have been elsewhere.” He sat the bag down and started unloading the food. “And long? Any particular reason for that?”

"I wonder." You gave him a knowing but somewhat shy glance, and Dabi chuckled. "What do I owe you for the food?"

Dabi snuck up behind you and spun you, pushing you back against your kitchen wall. His mouth pressed against yours and he was real quick to reach down and hook his fingers through your belt loops. He jerked you against him, and you could feel something strikingly hard in his pants. 

“Owe me nothing.” 

You clawed at his shirt, suddenly entirely uninterested in the food on the table. 

“Let me show you my bedroom.” You tried to tug him in that direction, but he didn’t budge. 

“After.” His hand snuck around and he squeezed your ass. “Gotta save dessert for after dinner, baby. Come on.”

You ate dinner with a bouncing leg and a wicked grin from Dabi as you talked about work and school. You weren’t so blinded by need that you didn’t pay attention, but Dabi was having a field day watching you squirm. He even purposefully slowed down when he got to the last few bites. 

“You get a little taste and you get all needy, don’t you?” He finally said as he rose, putting his takeout dish in the trash. “Poor girl—last few days must’ve been torture.”

“They were.”

“Did you do anything about it?” He leaned over you, one had on the back of your chair as he shoved it back, coming down to be face to face. 

“No. I didn’t.”

Dabi’s eyes widened. “You didn’t?”

“No.” You pressed your mouth into a fine line. “Not once.”

“Oh, you poor girl, you really are needy.” He kissed your cheek. “Let me see that bedroom.”

You jumped to your feet and dragged him in there. It was spotless—it was the one room you'd dedicated yourself to cleaning. And Dabi looked around with those same curious eyes he'd had when you first saw him. Taking in every small detail as he looked over the space. 

When he finally had his focus back on you, your legs were against your bed, and Dabi shoved you onto your back. By the time you registered you were on your bed, Dabi was on top of you, kissing you so deeply you thought you were going to get drunk off of it. 

You didn’t get to touch Dabi last time—this time he was letting you. Your hands skimmed over his arms, his chest, down to the waistband of his pants. He stopped you there, taking your wrists in his hands and pinning them against the bed. 

“Tell me,” he muttered as he kicked your legs open and slotted a knee between them. “Am I still allowed to—”

“Ruin me?” 

“I was going to use different words, but yeah.” His teeth captured your bottom lip and you whimpered. “Am I still allowed to ruin you?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Dabi sat back, moving your wrists to one of his hands and skimming the other down your chest, stomach, all the way to your jeans. He toyed with the button, making you squirm as he finally undid it. He moved the zipper even slower, sucking in a sharp breath when he saw your sheer pink underwear. 

You’d gone back and gotten some more sets to wear. 

"You want me here?" His fingers toyed with the bow on the front and you nodded. Dabi scoffed and grinned, moving back up and untucking the rest of your shirt. "We'll get there. I want to see those tits, first."

He slowly unbuttoned your shirt, watching you as your wrists twitched in his hold. He made sure his fingers skimmed over your stomach as he moved up, only stopping once your shirt was entirely open and displaying the equally sheer pink bra. It left nothing to the imagination, and Dabi's grin grew sinister. 

“You wore this for me?” His hand slid over your breast, thumb swiping across your hard nipple. You gasped at the contact, and Dabi repeated it. “That’s not an answer, (Y/N).”

“Yes, I did. I bought it for you.” You closed your eyes—it was the first time anyone had seen you in something so sheer.  

“You did?” He pinched your nipple before swiping his thumb back over it. “So sweet to me, aren’t you?”

"Mhm." It was more of a whimper, and Dabi kissed your jaw. 

“Shame that it looks so good on you—gonna need it off to really have some fun.”

He gave you no time to respond before he yanked the cup down, freeing your breast. There was a momentary pause before his thumb swiped your nipple, and then you felt his breath against it. You pressed your head back as his mouth closed around it, tongue swirling it gently, and the feeling went directly between your legs. Where his mouth was going to do the same thing later. At least that's what you assumed. 

He pushed down on your wrists as you squirmed, and without warning, he moved to the other side of your chest, freeing the other side and taking it into his mouth. He slid a knee back between your legs, giving you just a tease of friction as he devoured your chest. He left love bites all over your chest, grinning each time he made you whimper and whine as he teased your nipples. 

“You gonna leave your wrists there if I let you go?” 

“Do you want me to?” You only slightly opened your eyes, and as soon as you did, you caught sight of your chest. Covered in love bites, hard nipples, rising and falling as you huffed. 

“Mhm. I do.” He ran his fingers along your waist and cocked his head to the side. “If you don’t think you can, gimme a scarf. I’ll keep them in place.”

“A scarf?” Your brows furrowed and Dabi dropped his head, kissing your stomach. “For…?” 

Dabi jerked his head up, brows pinched as he studied your expression. There was a realization dawning on him and his expression was a mixture of seriousness and mischief. 

“Where are your scarves, (Y/N)?" It was a demand—a burning behind his eyes made your heart skip a beat. 

“Closet. Hanging.” 

Dabi moved so fast, and you tried to compose yourself as he retrieved a scarf. When he got back, he sat beside you, wrapping your wrists practically expertly before yanking them farther back and tying them to your metal headboard. 

“That’s what it’s for,” he said as he gave it a hard tug and it didn’t budge. Softly, he leaned down and spoke in your ear. “You don’t like it, you tell me, got it?”

“Mhm.” You tugged on it a few times and Dabi watched with an amused expression. 

“Got a question for you.” He slid down the bed and slowly started to pull your pants down your legs, leaving your underwear on. “How many times have you made yourself cum in one sitting?” 

“I…twice. Just twice.” 

“Care if I break that record?” He moved to his knees and sat between your legs. 

You tried your best to maintain composure, but it was getting really hard.

“You that confident?” 

“(Y/N), I’m pretty sure I could blow on your clit and you’d cum.” He cupped your cunt and you realized just how wet you were. “I could give you half my effort and still have you cumming on my fingers.” 

“Then prove it.” 

Dabi snickered and tugged on the bow. “Oh, baby, you don’t know the challenge you’re starting.”

Dabi wasn't joking about ruining you. You were still in your underwear when he had you grinding your hips against his hand. He was just giving you his thumb against your clit, but he was taking his sweet damn time touching you. Last time had been about getting you off before someone caught you. Now it was dragging it out at an agonizingly slow speed. 

“Oh, so needy. Poor cunt having nothing to fill it.” He cocked his head to the side. “You want my fingers, (Y/N)?”

“Yes,” you groaned. “Please, yes.”

You never thought you’d ever actually beg anyone to finger you—you never thought you’d find the person who’d make you.

“Beg for it.” He pushed down on your stomach, keeping your hips still. “So desperate to finally have someone fill that cunt. Beg for it.” 

“Dabi, please. Please, I need you to. Fuck.”

“Need me to what? Say the words.” 

“Fill me. Use your fingers. Please. I need you to.”

“Poor guys who never got this far. Never got hear how sweet you sound when you beg.” He shifted, pulling your underwear down your legs. “Never got to see those tits, and never got to see how sweet you look when you cum. And this? Open your eyes.”

When you looked down, you were naked. Dabi was pushing your legs open, and he waited until your eyes fell from him to your cunt before he moved his fingers. He cooed as he spread your folds, grinning as he very lazily leaned down and blew against your clit. 

“So wet and needy. Keep watching.” He did a quick glance up before exposing your clit and pinching it, grinning as you squirmed and gasped. “So swollen. Sensitive.” 

He swiped his fingers across it a few times, watching you twitch under the direct contact. And you could feel yourself practically gushing between your legs, and Dabi was clearly enjoying the realization that was donning on your features. You were naked, tied to your headboard, legs spread for him. For him. Drenched from him. Aching for him. 

And then he pushed a finger in, and your eyes fluttered closed. 

“Fucking tight, damn, (Y/N).” 

You weren’t one to use your fingers like that whenever you wanted to alleviate your needs. It was always outside action. Whenever you tried inside action, you never got the same reaction. You couldn’t find the spot that made you see stars the same way your clit did. 

But Dabi found it. And he fucking teased the hell out of it as soon as he did. 

"Oh, right there?" He rubbed the little spongy spot, and you yanked on the restraints. "Got one finger in you, and you're already squeezing me like you're ready to cum. I still gotta fill you up, (Y/N). I ain't even getting started." 

He worked you open like that for a while, going slow enough to make the pleasure almost painful. Watching with mischievous amusement as he finally got to the point where he could put in a second finger. And then he worked you harder, faster, almost mocking how you tightened around him so quickly. 

His other hand went to your lower stomach, thumb swiping over your clit just as fast as his fingers worked your cunt. You weren't ready to cum yet—despite everything, despite how worked up you were, despite how badly you wanted to cum—you weren't ready yet. You were enjoying the feeling of Dabi's fingers stretching you, how they filled you. Once you came, he'd take them out, and you weren't ready for that. You wanted it to last a little longer. 

But Dabi wasn’t having any of that. 

“Wait, Dabi…”

"Hm? You like my fingers that much?" He spat down onto your clit, letting his thumb glide even easier over it than before. "You waited this long for someone to strip you naked and fuck you, and you want to wait?” 

He worked his fingers a little deeper and faster, and you weren't trained enough to be able to hold on. 

“No, I want to feel you cum around my fingers. Fucking gush. Squeeze my fingers like you want to squeeze my cock, baby. Yeah, just like that, so fucking needy.” 

You came, the attempt at holding it back slipping right through your fingers. Your heels dug into the mattress as you raised somewhat off the bed, and Dabi laughed, continuing to pump his fingers. Your eyes closed harder and your moan choked itself out of you, the first wave of pleasure slamming into you unapologetically. And Dabi's fingers dragged it out, fucking you until you came back down, feet kicking beside him as he continued to hit that sensitive spot inside you. 

“Look at that.” He pulled his fingers out and held them up, showing you how wet they were. “Good girl, doing just as I asked. Cumming nice and hard for me.” 

He brought his fingers down as he lowered himself to his stomach. He glanced up at you from between your legs and blew on your clit. 

“You got thirty more seconds, then this?” He blew again. “Is mine.” 

It was closer to twenty-five seconds when he spread your folds and closed his mouth around your clit. So swollen and sensitive, your hips immediately lifted off the bed and he had to hold them down. 

He went slow, giving you every bit of sensation of his tongue sliding over your clit, between your folds, even swiping over your entrance. He sucked and kissed and licked, holding your legs open and hips down. 

And when your thighs started to shake, he sucked your clit into his mouth and hummed. 

When he started licking it quickly, you could feel tears joining your impending second orgasm. He was getting you there so fast, so relentlessly, you almost couldn’t keep up. 

There was no warning when you came the second time—not from him, nor from you—you just yanked on the restraints and cried out a half whimper, half moan. Dabi, once again, didn’t stop until you were squirming, unable to withstand the contact. 

“All those people you work with,” he murmured as he ran his fingers over your clit. “They see you as this perfect little worker. Don’t break the rules. So innocent and sweet. They got no idea you got a guy like me tasting exactly how sweet you are.”

Your response was a whine, and Dabi laughed. 

“You think they’d even believe it if they knew you were begging me to fuck you in my car? Or that you let me tie your pretty wrists up as I play with your cunt?” He slipped his fingers back into you, finding your sweet spot instantly, chasing your next orgasm without restraint. “That you flashed me that sweet cunt behind the theater and came even when someone could’ve seen?”

Dabi licked your clit a few times before returning his fingers there. 

“Inexperienced, sure. But innocent?” Dabi scoffed as you squeezed his fingers again. “I think you’re far from it.”

You groaned as you came again, a sheen of sweat covering you as Dabi kept finger fucking you. 

He was serious—he was going to fucking ruin you. 

He made you cum two more times before he crawled up and untied your wrists, telling you to open your mouth and pressing his drenched fingers into it. You hummed around them, tasting yourself first there, then on his lips when he kissed you. 

"Atta girl," he murmured first as you cleaned his fingers, again after he kissed you.

"You…" You nodded down at his lap, and Dabi smirked. 

“I think I’ve ruined you enough for one night.” He undid the scarf from your wrists. “I ain’t fucking you tonight, (Y/N).” 

"No, not that." You licked your lips, and Dabi froze. "Show me how. On you."

“You want to blow me?”

“Mhm.” 

Dabi studied you for a second—a long second. Then he lifted his chin and nodded at the floor. 

“Then get on your knees.” 

You did as you were told, sliding off the bed onto shaky legs. Dabi motioned to his belt, and you took the not-so-subtle hint, undoing it. It jingled as you opened it, then went for his button and fly. Your hands trembled as you exposed the bulge in his navy boxers, and he sat back on his hands. 

“Go on.” 

You bit your lip and tentatively pulled his cock out. He was thick, hard, and—your mouth parted. It was pierced. 

First cock you held, touched, seen in person, and it was pierced. 

“Open your mouth, put it around the tip.” Dabi’s voice was cool and calm. Only a hint of the sternness he had with his commands before. You did as you were told, and he was hot in your mouth. “Now bob your head, take what you can, adding just a little bit of suction.”

You bobbed your head slowly, going as far down as you could, and Dabi lasted only a short while before he hissed. 

“Just like that, that’s my girl. Fucking hell. Taking my cock so well. That’s it.” His hand went to the back of your head, guiding you a little faster. “I take it back. I don’t think they’d believe such a sweet girl would take my cock like this. So fucking hungry for it. Sucking it so damn well.”

Despite how many times Dabi made you cum, the praise went directly between your legs. Dabi’s thumb wiped away a spare tear, but he made you keep your mouth on him, holding you steady as you swallowed before bobbing your head again. 

“You wanna keep being my good girl?” 

“Mhm.”

"Then when I tell you to move, you fucking move and gimme those tits to cum on, understand?" When you didn't respond right away, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and tugged. "Understand?” 

“Mhm,” you hummed around his cock. 

“Atta girl.” He groaned, his thighs flexing in his jeans. “Fucking perfect.”

He lasted a little while longer, moaning as you continued to blow him. It was a bit of a struggle to fight your gag reflex, but Dabi wasn't letting you pull off. His hand kept that firm grip on your hair as he helped move your head. 

And then he was there, breathing heavy and uneven, thighs flexing under your hands. He yanked your head back for extra measure when he said the one word, move. And then his fist was around his cock, pumping it a few more times as you sat up, and he came. All over your chest. It dripped down over your stomach, and you studied how his face scrunched, the soft sounds he made as he came, and the faint blush that covered his cheeks. 

“Hell, (Y/N).” His eyes went from your face to your chest. “Look at you, fucking filthy.” 

His thumb wiped the corner of your mouth and looked at you, surprised, aroused, and proud. Like he wanted to throw you back on your bed and fuck you right then. But he didn't. He just looked at you, your chest, every naked inch, and seemed to memorize you. He swiped a thumb over a nipple before tucking his cock back into his boxers and stood. 

He didn't spend the night. You both cleaned up—mostly him wiping you down with a rag—and he helped you back into bed after you changed. He stayed beside you for a bit, letting your head rest on his chest as he ran his fingers along your arm.

“If I didn’t have a class at eight tomorrow—and I trusted myself to have the strength to not want to fuck you in the morning—I’d stay.” He kissed the side of your head. 

“What if I want you to stay and fuck me?” 

“Not yet.” He reached down and spanked your cunt, making you jump at the contact. You were already sore. “Need to let you recover first, baby.” 

“Friday.” You played with one of his necklaces—it had a little flame pendant. “What are you doing Friday?”

“Depends on why you ask.”

"There's a mini golf place thirty minutes north. They have a deal on Fridays, and I don't work. They also have really crappy pizza and burgers." 

Dabi smirked—seemingly amused that you'd asked him to play mini gulf. 

“I’ll pick you up at one.”

Dabi let you fall asleep before leaving. Well, sorta. You were awake enough to register his goodbye kiss, and then you were out, missing his warmth. You ended up dreaming that Dabi had spent the night. 

You woke up sore. Sorer than you expected. All you thought of was Dabi each time you winced at the slight pain. It wasn't anything unbearable—but it was noticeable. 

You stared down at yourself in the shower, chest covered in hickies of varying sizes. So much had happened last night. Dinner, naked, wrists bound, legs open. His fingers, mouth, both. Then he finally—finally—let you touch him. And you took him in your mouth. That was the first time you’d done that. That was a night of firsts. 

You spent the shift thinking about that. Thinking about the soreness, what caused it. You joked with your coworker, something about going to the gym for the first time in a while as a way to cover for your constant wincing. They bought it, but you weren't exactly paying enough attention to care. 

Dabi was right—you needed time to recover. 

A fair amount of time, too. You were still semi-sore when Friday rolled around. 

It was casual, more than you were expecting. Dabi wore the same dark clothing, and you opted for shorts and a tank top. The warm breeze felt nice as he drove with the windows down, and it was even better on the golf course. Dabi got a blue ball, and you got a red, and he looked comical holding the small putt. He laughed sarcastically, still sliding his hand into yours as you walked between holes, even when he threatened to withhold it for the teasing.

It was surprisingly sweet. He'd shown his sweet side before, but this was something different. It was all hand-holding and little fun whispers. And only the occasional innuendo at your soreness. 

You split a pizza when you finished the course, lingering back to let your stomachs settle before leaving. Dabi drove back with his hand on your thigh the whole time. 

"Thanks for going. I had fun." You ran your fingers over the back of his hand, studying his silver rings. "I hope you did."

“I did. Little out of my usual activities, but I had fun.” 

"Can I ask a question?" You traced the rings. "Well, two, actually." 

“Shoot.”

“What are your usual activities?" You bit your lip, trying to figure out how to phrase the next part. "I know we haven't labeled what we're doing—and this isn't me asking to label it—but if we are going to hang out like this, I want to do things you like, too."

"I don't know if my scene is the same as yours." Dabi cocked a brow and glanced down at his lap. "I wasn't exaggerating with what I said Wednesday night. People look at you, and they see little miss innocence. They'd eat you alive where I hang out."

“Try me.” 

“What’s your second question?” 

“Again, not me prying for any reason other than curiosity. But do you have a cellphone?” 

"I was wondering how long it'd take you to ask that. No, I don't." He grinned. "I prefer a more 'off the grid' kind of life."

"I kind of assumed." You pointed down at his wallet chain. "No rewards card, cash only. You seem exactly like the kinda guy who'd send a dirty text just to fuck with me, so when that didn't present itself as a possibility, I just assumed."

"You caught me red-handed." He held up his hands. "It's part of the reason I stop by and double-check plans with you at work. Plus, it's a good excuse to see you." 

"Fair enough. I'll take the compliment. But I'm not letting it go, by the way." You leaned towards him and poked his arm. "I want to do something from your scene. I’ll even dress the part, too.” 

“Oh, now you’ve got my attention. How exactly would you dress for it?” 

You tugged on his shirt. “Lots of black.”

Dabi chuckled and shook his head, staring up at your apartment building for a bit. The silence that fell between you was comfortable—Dabi was thinking. For a while. 

Finally, he spoke.

“You work Thursday night?”

"Off at eight, but I don't work Friday. Why?"

“Alright. I’m picking you up at eight-thirty. I’ll take you to one of the places I hang out at.” He leaned forward and gave you a teasing kiss. “You better wear that outfit—I want to see what you come up with for it.”

“I can do that.” You smirked. “I’ll see you Thursday night.”

You had a plan. You were going to absolutely nail the outfit on all fronts. The accessories, the makeup, the underwear. Going as hard as your budget could afford. And you fucking did—with the help of the sales clerk from the boutique. 

“I need your most punk outfit.” 

She looked at the pale pink sundress you were wearing and cocked a brow. “I’m insanely curious. Okay.”

While the boutique usually had a diverse selection, most of their pieces seemed to be of the pastel and bright colors variety. Although, near the back, they had some items that were more in the "Dabi would like this" demographic. It was still slim pickings, though—but you made it work. 

It wasn’t perfect—and you were sure Dabi would probably get a chuckle out of it—but it worked well enough. 

You just needed shoes, accessories, and makeup. But that was easily covered between the drugstore, another boutique about twenty minutes away, and a shoe store nearby. 

You had the entire outfit settled and ready by Wednesday when Dabi stopped by to double-check that you were still interested in hanging out the next night. 

“Oh yeah. I’m more than ready.” You scanned his book. “I got the outfit all ready.”

"Can't wait to see it." He handed you the cash, and you grinned. "I'm curious to see what you think my style is. Especially on yourself."

“It’s good, I promise. I think you’ll like it. Mostly.”

"Mostly?" He cocked a brow and gave you a smirk that went directly between your legs. "I really look forward to seeing it now." 

His hand lingered on yours as he took the change. 

It was that little touch that got you through that shift and the next. Luckily, all the shopping to make the outfit made the days pass reasonably fast. And after an annoyingly long shift with frustrating customers—and the on-duty manager being especially micromanaging—you were rushing back to your apartment to change. 

Remnants of the anger remained, but the excitement took over most of it. You nearly tripped over yourself trying to change before Dabi got there.

A very specific underwear set, a cropped red t-shirt, high-waisted fishnets that sat higher than your high-waisted black shorts. A thick black belt that cinched your waist and some chunky red and black sneakers on your feet were the best you could find. A bit of silver jewelry that reminded you of Dabi's, a little bit of dark eye makeup, and a black purse. It wasn't perfect. 

But Dabi’s reaction was. 

He was speechless. His eyes were wide as his mouth tipped into an insanely amused grin, and he whistled. 

“This is going to take some getting used to.” Dabi stepped back as you locked your door. “Looking good.”

“So you like it?” You beamed, grabbing Dabi’s hand and hugging his arm. “I did a good job?”

"It's a fun outfit, and you look good." He kissed your cheek. "But you may want to tone down the…cuteness...when we get there. Just a tad."

“What, don’t want me to embarrass you?” 

“No, I don’t want them to try and fuck with you.” 

You blinked at him as he opened your car door. 

“Dabi, where are you taking me?”

“Nowhere bad. Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.” 

The car ride was handsy. Dabi couldn’t fucking keep his hands to himself. He really liked the fishnets. A lot. And the little patch of skin you were showing with your crop top? Drove him fucking wild. His hand started on your knee, and by the time you pulled up to your location, he’d dragged his fingers over the front of your shorts and was lazily playing with the button. 

But he stopped to put the car in park, and you glanced up at the run-down building. 

It wasn't like you didn't come to this side of town—saying one side was worse than the other was unfair. Both had their rundown and considerably dangerous sections. You just didn't go into those parts by yourself very often. You just went to and from work, the grocery store, restaurants for take-out, and occasionally saw a movie with your friends. 

This was a bar. People stood outside smoking, some motorcycles were in the corner of the gravel parking lot, and loud music snuck through open doors and windows. And Dabi, walking around to get your door, looked entirely in his element as he slid his hand into yours and guided you inside. 

"Stick by me; nobody's gonna bug you." 

“I’ve been to a bar before, Dabi,” you said back.

And you had. It just had less smoke, and the beers were double the price they were here. But you weren't that sheltered. Dabi switched to having his arm around your waist when you entered, holding you close as he approached a group by a cornered pool table. Half were drinking, all dressed in different assortments of clothing. They almost looked like they belonged in a sitcom. Or an after-school special. Maybe both. 

“Toga, Twice, Spinner, Shigs, Magne, and Compress.” Dabi pointed to each person in the group, but the way they were all mid-conversation, Compress and Magne were the only ones to say hello. “They all already know who you are.”

“They do?” You looked at him a little surprised. 

"You think we wouldn't notice Dabi driving thirty minutes out of his way for another book or a random cup of coffee?" Compress wiggled his eyebrows, and Dabi shot him a glare. 

“Come on,” he whispered in your ear. “Let me get you a drink.” 

“Oh, I don’t really drink.” That garnered you a few surprised looks. “Often. I don’t drink often. I’ll take a beer.”

“Don’t feel pressured.” Dabi pinched your chin and kissed you—it felt like a clear sense of she’s mine, back off to everyone who glanced over. “You’re here to have fun with me, not mimic me.”

"A water then," you muttered, and Dabi's grin didn't falter. 

“That’s what I thought. Atta girl.” 

He left you alone, even if you weren't even remotely close to being alone. But Magne held out a hand and waved you over, practically shoving Compress out of his seat. 

“Let her sit, Compress. Be a gentleman.” 

"Dabi would kill me if I didn't." Compress did jazz hands at his seat, and you reluctantly sat down. He leaned against the pool table, beer in his hand. "Speaking of, you gotta tell us—what's Dabi like when it's just the two of you? Is he secretly a softy? Is his favorite color actually one of the ones on the rainbow? Does he smoke around you?" 

You took half a breath. It smelled like stale beer, cigarette smoke, and like something had caught fire a few days ago and was never cleaned. It was certainly a change of pace from the fresh pastries and brewed coffee from work.

"He's a mystery. I don't have anything to compare it to, so I don't know what you consider soft for him. I had the same question about his favorite color. And yes—he has smoked around me." You sat back and blinked at him. "My own question: does he actually read the books he comes and gets, or are they just excuses to come to the bookstore?" 

“I read them.” Dabi handed you a bottle of water and curled his fingers, instructing you to stand. As soon as you did, Dabi slid into the chair and pulled you down onto his lap. “I was there originally to find books, you know. I just happened to find someone far more interesting instead.”

You’d never sat on Dabi’s lap before. Just like the kiss before, this was a show of who you were with there. Especially as Dabi’s hand came down and slid into your front pocket. A physical representation that not just you, but he was off limits too. A sentiment that became clear when you saw a few side eyes from some women in a corner. 

Some damn gorgeous women, too. 

But Dabi's move had basically issued a challenge. Luckily, none of which were any guys coming over to greet you. You already dealt with creeps at work. You really didn't want to do that here.

For Dabi, though, it was different. 

It took a matter of minutes before a few girls came over and leaned over the table. 

"Care to play a game of pool, Dabs?" She cooed the words so effortlessly, and you tried not to show your reaction on your face. "Usual bet? Winner takes the other home. Win-win."

You steeled your expression—this was Dabi's world. This was where he hung out, the type of people he'd normally be interested in. Hot, confident, dressed like they weren't wearing a costume for a night. 

“Not interested.” He sipped his beer, his hold tightening a bit in your pocket, pulling you back on his lap. 

"Even if all three of us play again?" She batted her eyelashes, leaning a bit more forward to show off her really nice cleavage, and you weren't even mad at her. She was good at what she was doing—and she managed to accomplish it in less than twenty minutes. "I know you liked that last time."

But you weren't weak-willed enough to let it show on your face—customer service has taught you better than that. 

"Mind if I take that bet?" You cocked your head to the side and did your best innocent gaze you could muster. "Although I'd prefer you fuck off and leave us alone instead of getting in bed with you. But I'm amenable to that." 

“I don’t believe I was talking to you—”

“And I don’t believe we invited you over.” 

“Dabs—”

"You heard the lady," Dabi said over your shoulder. His mouth grazed your neck, and his hand left your pocket, slinging itself over your shoulder so he could basically hang off you. "Fuck off.”

They lingered for a second before giving up and turning, sulking back to their corner with the rest of their group. You were tense on Dabi's lap, and he was aware of it, turning you to face him. The kiss was slow, and he tasted slightly like the bitter beer he'd been drinking. The insecurity, the anger, it was still there. But Dabi was a fantastic kisser. So you gave yourself the kiss, making him come to you to deepen it. 

But you broke it just as it started. 

“Hey,” he murmured, fingers swiping along your jaw. “Ignore them. I don’t even know their names.”

“I…” You took a slow breath. “I need to get some air.” 

Dabi followed you outside, away from the smokers. It didn’t make the air much cleaner, but it was fine enough. Dabi ran his hand over your back. 

“I don’t know them.” 

"I don't care if you do." You shook your head. "We didn't...we don't have a label. You can sleep with whoever you want. I don't care about that.” 

Dabi looked skeptical, but all he said was, “okay.”

“But you didn’t warn me about that. I would’ve liked to know beforehand I was going to walk into a space full of people you’d fucked.” 

"I didn't..." He leaned against the side of the building. "I slept with one girl there. First night here. Just needed to blow off some steam, she let me."

“I would’ve liked to know that I might run into them before we went in there.” You dropped your head back and closed your eyes. “Just so I could prepare myself.”

"You handled yourself more than well enough." Dabi narrowed his eyes, and you just shook your head. 

“It’s not about throwing a bitchy comment back. It’s about…” You ran your hands over your face. “Nevermind, it doesn’t matter. Let’s go back inside.”

“Hey.” Dabi grabbed your wrist, brows pinched. “What’s it about?” 

You gave him a soft smile. It wasn't his insecurity to worry about. "Nothing. It's nothing you gotta worry yourself with. C'mon, your friends are in there."

You managed another hour before the insecurities set in deep. Dabi had you back on his lap, occasionally kissing your neck or running his hand over your waist. But your mind wasn't in the bar—not entirely. 

His friends were fun—a little crazy—but fun. But they only could do so much to keep yourself out of your head. And it was starting to become hard to throw your thoughts aside and participate in the conversation. 

Not until there was the harsh sound of glass shattering on the ground nearby. 

Under you, Dabi cursed. He was on his feet before the first punch was thrown. The two guys landed on a table first, then on the pool table in front of you. You yelped and jumped back, and Dabi was already putting himself between you and the fight. You jumped again when another glass was broken, and you tripped over someone engrossed by the fight. Dabi caught you but your hand also caught the table where a shard of glass sliced your palm. 

You cursed under your breath and the anger that flashed on Dabi's face was visceral. You thought he was going to punch the person who'd inadvertently tripped you, so you grabbed his hand and moved towards the door. As soon as you hit the outside, Dabi was on you, pulling out a white handkerchief and wrapping it around your hand. 

“I’m sorry.” He led you to his car. “I thought…I’m sorry.”

“Dabi, it’s fine. I’ve cut my hand before.” 

"Keep pressure on it till I get back, okay?"

You nodded, expecting him to start the drive back to your apartment. But he didn't. It was a five-minute drive before he pulled up to another apartment complex. He got your door, and he was leading you inside, up some stairs, and inside a three-bedroom apartment. 

You were dragged from their kitchen and living section into a very navy, gray, and black color-schemed room. Dabi sat you on his bed, and he disappeared only to return with a first aid kit. 

"So, this is where you live." 

“I live with Shigs and Compress.” He opened the kit and took your hand. “This might sting.” 

You winced as he cleaned the cut but did your best not to make a sound. The concern was prominent in his features, irritation too.

“Dabi.”

“What don’t I have to worry about?” His brows were pinched hard when he looked up. “What you said when we were outside. What don’t I have to worry about?”

“It’s not…it’s…it’s stupid, Dabi.” 

“Tell me.” He bandaged your hand. “Please.”

He peered up at you from where he was squatting on the floor, his eyes dark and sharp. There was a deep-seated softness in his features that made you speak—it was one you'd never seen on him before.

“You had to show me how to…” You motioned down at his lap. “Blow you. The other people you’ve been with, you didn’t have to teach them. I’m…it makes me feel inadequate. Like you should be with someone whose hand you don’t have to hold through every step.” 

Dabi was quiet as he closed the kit and set it aside. He rose and sat beside you on the bed, cupping your cheek as he leaned forward and kissed you. It was an uncharacteristically sweet kiss. Slow and tender. 

“Never call yourself inadequate.” He kissed you deeper. “Never.” 

"I am, compared to them. I'm not being self-deprecating there. It's just a fact."

"Every damn part of you is wonderful." He kissed you harder, and you gasped. "You want to talk about inadequate? You're looking at him, baby. You're not inadequate. Don’t call yourself that.” 

His hands skimmed up your waist and he pulled back, turning away and breathing heavily. 

"Dabi." You reached out for him, and he held up a hand. "Everything okay?"

You meant it beyond him moving away, but Dabi stuck with only answering it partially. 

“We need to move to the living room.” When he glanced back at you, he just nodded down at you. “It’s easy to have restraint in your room. It’s harder when you’re on my bed, dressed like that, and I really want to show you how wonderful you are.”

You bit your lip and, mind still a bit fuzzy from everything and body wired from adrenaline, leaned back on your good hand. Swinging your legs open just barely, you glanced up at Dabi. His breath was slow and shaky. 

“Show me, then.” 

“(Y/N).”

“Fuck me. Ruin me.” You swallowed your nerves. “Please, Dabi. Fuck me.”

There was only a beat where Dabi exhaled again, and then he was on you. An arm wrapped around your waist as he nudged your legs open. He kissed you drunk as his hips settled between your legs and his other hand grabbed a fistful of your hair. 

“You want me to fuck you that badly?” He rolled his hips against yours. “Beg for it. I know you will. Praise kink, dirty talk, loves to beg.” 

He grabbed your wrist and pinned your hurt hand to the bed, squeezing it once before bringing his hand to slide underneath your shirt. He pushed it up and groaned at the bra. It was a black push-up bra that really accentuated your chest. And Dabi fucking loved it. 

He pulled the cup down and his mouth was on your nipple instantly. He sucked as he freed and twisted the other. Licked as his thumb swiped. Nibbled at the sensitive skin as you squirmed underneath him. 

“I don’t fucking hear you.” He pulled your shirt over your head and threw it aside. Then his hands went to your belt. “Whatcha want, baby? Whatcha want me to do to you?”

“Fuck me, please.” Your eyes closed as Dabi finally unbuckled your belt. As soon as that was done, he was pulling your shorts off. 

And then he saw you were wearing crotch-less panties, and he cursed loudly. He looked fucking feral.

He ripped the crotch of your tights open and shoved your legs open. 

“Really?” His eyes were so wide. “You wore these for me?”

“Mhm.” You nodded. “Just for you.”

Dabi looked back down and grinned wildly. His fingers parted your folds almost lazily, and despite how wet you were, he still spat on your clit. He kept you spread and bare, fingers going to your clit as he lolled his head to the side and watched you. 

“You want me to fuck this pretty pussy tonight?” He pinched your clit. “Look at your poor clit—so needy. Maybe I’ll just give that attention all night.” 

“No, please.” You grabbed at his comforter. “Dabi, please.”

"What?" He brought his other hand up and pressed a finger to your entrance. "I could tie you up just how you like and tease that clit until you can't cum anymore. Don't you wanna cum?" 

He got one finger, then a second in you in easy succession, and found the spot that made you dig your feet into the mattress. Dabi wasn't going slow—it was almost a relentless pace. 

“I do.” You couldn’t keep up with all he was throwing at you. “But I also want you to fuck me. I…I want you to fill me. Stretch me.” 

Dabi’s fingers hesitated briefly before he was back to chasing your orgasm. He had no intention of stopping, even mocking you a bit as you started to squeeze his fingers. 

"Wow, already? The fight turn you on that much at the end there?" He slapped your clit once, and you yelped. "Or does the dirty talk really do it for you?"

When you didn't answer, he tested a third finger, and you gasped at the stretch. His fingers slowed—stealing your orgasm away—but it alleviated the burning sensation. 

"I forgot, you're also a slut for praise, aren't you, baby?" He worked his fingers slowly. "I mean, look at you, taking three fingers already. That's it, good girl. Doing wonderfully.”

You instinctively opened your legs more, and Dabi laughed, pushing his fingers deeper, rocking them against the spot that made you whimper. 

"When you met me, you ever think I'd have you on my bed taking my fingers like this? Moaning so pretty, soaking fucking wet, wishing I'd give you my cock?" Your orgasm was closing in again, and Dabi was well aware of it. "Cause I didn't. The pretty little sweetheart at the bookstore? Never thought she'd give me the time of day. Boy, was that a pleasant surprise."

“Dabi.” 

“Ain’t nobody holding you back from cumming. Fucking cum, baby. Cum for me and I’ll fuck you as long and hard as you want.” 

You did, groaning loudly and pushing your head back against his thin pillows. It was like a bolt of lightning through you, and Dabi fucked you through it, keeping his fingers in you until the last wave hit you. 

“Look at you all fucked out.” He slowly pulled his fingers out. “You still want more?”

You took a very careful breath and pushed yourself up on your elbows so you could look at him straight. 

"I want your damn cock in me, Dabi. Now. So take your damn pants off and fuck me."

That feral expression was back, and Dabi looked excited to strip.

He had scars. They'd been covered by his shirt, so you'd never seen them. They were faint, but they littered his upper body. But you didn't ask questions—Dabi wouldn't give you any answers. Not right now, at least. There were a few on his legs too, but you weren't as up close and personal with those. 

“You’re not inadequate,” Dabi whispered against your lips. “You’re not. You’re more than I could ever deserve.” 

He ran his cock between your folds, grazing your clit with each little thrust. The condom was bright pink—it was the only one he had left from a joke pack Compress had gotten with fun flavors. 

“Breathe.” He kissed you gently as he lined his tip up with your entrance and pushed in. It burned and stretched, but he went in easily. “That’s it, good girl. Fuck.”

He paused somewhere around halfway in and gave you a second to adjust. The only thing you could do was hug him close, eyes clamped shut, trying to get yourself to relax. Then he continued, going until he was flush against you. 

“That’s my girl—fuck—taking every inch. Doing so fucking well.” He dropped his head into the crook of your neck as he shuddered. “So fucking tight.”

His thrusts were slow and shallow, carefully deepening them only when your body started to relax. 

“I have so many ways I wanna fuck you. So much I wanna show you.” He moved a little faster when your whimpers turned to moans. “But tonight, I’m just gonna fuck you sweetly. Wanna feel you cum around my cock.” 

When you didn’t answer with anything more than a whine, Dabi kissed your jaw. 

“Doin’ alright there, baby?”

"Mhm." You were feeling a mixture of pleasure and pain, both fairly equal. A few tears snuck out, and Dabi kissed them away. 

“Tell me when.”

"What?" You were slightly cut off as Dabi shifted, adjusting his hips and yours. That pleasure-pain mixture fluctuated from that to just pain to sudden pleasure, and you yelped. "There, right there."

"There it is." Dabi's thrusts were a little harder, making sure each one slammed against the spot that made you desperately latch onto him and sob in all the best ways. "Feelin' that good, huh?"

“Don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan on it.”

It was a gradual increase in speed and Dabi's hand dropped to your neck. Experimentally, as you chased the high he was throwing your way, you reached up and closed his fingers around your throat. Dabi almost stopped, his hips stuttering for a few thrusts, kissing you fucking hard as he tightened his grip on your throat. 

“So fuckin’ dirty.” He groaned. “Fucking who would’ve thought, huh? Little goody-two-shoes likes to get choked. I can’t wait to find out what else makes you go fucking wild."

“Dabi, I’m…keep going.”

“You gonna cum from my cock? Spread fucking wide in my bed in those crotchless panties?” He groaned presumably because your walls tightened around him—you were so damn close. “Wore those for me. Fucking magnificent.” 

Dabi closed his hand around your throat a little tighter again and slightly angled his hips, so as his cock hit deep, he grazed against your clit with each thrust. You lasted about fifteen more seconds, and then you were done. You buried your face in his shoulder as you came, biting down as that bolt of lightning from earlier was back, spreading over every inch of your body. 

The pleasure twisted, and you practically gushed over his cock, and Dabi fucking lost it. 

“My girl.” 

He fucked you through it, slamming into the spot that made you grateful nobody else was home—you couldn't keep yourself quiet. There wasn't much pause before he was following you over the edge, hitting deep as his hips stuttered, and he groaned. His arm hooked around your waist as he hugged you. 

He held you close like that as you both trembled, feeling Dabi soften inside you. 

“Fucking hell, (Y/N).” He kissed your jaw, cheek, and then nose. “You okay?” 

"M'fine." You blinked up at him, cheeks wet from tears and cold from the AC. 

“You did so well.” He wiped your cheeks. 

“I didn’t do much.”

"Mm. You did. But next time, I'll have you ride me. How about that?" 

“Ride you?”

Dabi laughed and pulled out. He kissed your forehead and sat on the edge of the bed, removing the condom and tying it off. You watched as he turned and tried his best to take the fishnets off smoothly. But it wasn’t exactly easy to be suave at removing tights. Especially when your legs were like jelly. 

He handed you a large shirt from his drawer and pulled on his boxers, very pointedly helping you under the covers and even tucking you in. With an arm thrown around you, he pressed his chest against your back. 

“I’m sorry again about the bar.” He kissed the back of your neck. 

“Don’t apologize.” Your eyelids were heavy. “Worth it. And I like Compress—he’s fun.” 

“Mm.” He held you firmly. “I’m very glad Toga suggested we go check out the bookstore. Got to meet you.”

You closed your eyes and let yourself enjoy Dabi’s hold. He was protective at the bar, but this was all personal comfort here. And for a moment, there was the wonder if Dabi ever got this kind of comfort. Whether he did or didn’t, he was enjoying every damn second of you in his arms. And so were you. 

It felt perfect. 

“Yeah,” you murmured. “Me too.” 

[2tropic]

once i get comfy with someone i get so annoying

[the-absolute-best-posts]

walking into school wearing a new outfit

[trashboat]

i go absolutely ape shit buck wild when people ask me if i want to run errands with them like Let’s Fucking Go. and my mind absolutely maxes out of dopamine when they ask if i wanna stop for coffee. and if someone took me to the park id go bonkers in funcking yonkers

[trashboat]

i got so high last night that i started ghostwriting for a golden retriever apparently

[jihyunscompass]

V please 😩😩😩

[coco-chip]

The fbi man behind my webcam whenever I reblog “fbi man who’s spying on me” memes:

[sikuzxxx]

[just-shower-thoughts]

The opposite of waterfall is firefly

[freinoir]

Talented Prodigies

[freinoir]

I really dont know how I would interpret Akira + Makoto in the future. I just think she convinced him to finally use a comb ε-(´∀｀; )

[freinoir]

Oh no my hand slipped..ᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)ᕗ Also it’s been awhile since i’ve drawn my God tier OTP so yay! Back to basics again