Driima

 Driima ‖ 19 || She/They ‖ m.list ‖ 18+ DC Requests: OPEN

[driima]

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT || 18+ BLOG

Heyo! Welcome to my blog! I’m Driima! Take a look around, and make sure to read my rules before you interact with me! Thanks!

★ links:

about me 【☆】 masterlists 【☆】 anon club

★ most recent works:

⭑ Redamancy || Pro Hero!Izuku Midoriya x F!Reader

⭑ The Dragon And The Mouse || Zhongli x Reader

★ currently working on:

⭑ Basorexia || Barbarian!Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

⭑ Viridity || Eren Jaeger x Reader

★ Last Updated: Jan. 3rd, 2022

[54prowl]

⚠️ this blog does not support works created by AI software ⚠️

[strafepanzer]

possibility of me reading a fic increases a million percent when i see capital letters

[petrichorium]

Quid Pro Quo

in which you attempt to seduce il dottore in the desperate hope that he will save your life, and come to realize it’s not entirely faked

dottore x fem!reader

word count: 7.2k reader: afab, leaning fem (no pronouns, neutral names, feminine clothing, pussy/cunt/clit/breast used) tags: EXPLICIT CONTENT, blood, violence/chopping off a hand (not toward the reader), possessiveness/jealousy, manhandling from both parties, corruption vibes, biting, idk what to tell u man it’s dottore, established relationship but also they’re getting together, chronically/terminally ill reader (kept vague; dottore is treating it), reader is called “pet” and dottore is called “my lord” but it’s not a kink thing they’re just emotionally constipated, heavy petting, fingering, edging, pls don’t be fooled genuinely the smut is so vanilla compared to the rest of these tags KDNFKENF, implied oral (reader receiving) at the end but it’s fade-to-black

“my lord, this is absurd. have i not been dutiful? have i strayed?”

“very different things from devotion and affection, i’m afraid.”

who is he, you think bitterly, to demand those of you? to demand you tell him at all, let alone here and now with so little warning?

“well?” his voice is merciless. it has you panicking, desperate not to disappoint.

“i—” the words catch in your throat. you choke on them, swallow them down before they can ruin you. frankly you can’t even be certain what you’d have said.

dottore frowns, slumping back in his chair and lifting an arm to rest his chin in his hand as he regards you. “pity. i thought you less delicate than this.”

“you’re being cruel,” you say in a desperate attempt to make him relent, but he scoffs meanly.

“i’m a cruel man.”

“not to me!” this time it’s a wail. your lip quivers involuntarily, and even to your ears you sound like a petulant child as you cry, “never to me.”

“don’t pout. don’t—” he cuts himself off with a long-suffering sigh. when he speaks again it’s low, muttered; less to you and more to himself. “damn it all, what you do to me…”

you might find it flattering if you weren’t so riled up. tonight, once your blood cools and you return to your room, you’ll let your mind stray to it—the growl of his voice, the tempered emotion, the way his fingers twitch as if to reach out for you.

perhaps you’d have let him, if he’d done so rather than turn his eyes back to you with a glare and spit out yet another accusation.

When you’d first approached Dottore with a proposal, you never anticipated he’d accept it.

You’d been desperate, alone and moraless, shackled with an illness only curable to those more fortunate than you. You weren’t fool enough, not even back then, to think he’d accept out of pity, or even something as human as lust for you. Even now you don’t quite understand why he’d agreed.

But by some miracle he did, and now you stand here months after you’d thought you would die, bundled up in a heavy wool coat lined with plush fur, dragged out to the main palace just to be ordered to sit and wait until his convening with a number of other Harbingers has ended.

You have no right to complain. Being paraded around like a glass doll—or rather hoarded like a priceless jewel, never left in the company of others long enough to consider abandoning your promise—is the price you pay for who you’ve thrown your lot in with. And you can breathe freely without coughing. You can move without growing weary, you can stand without pain. These are the true luxuries Dottore has given you. You’ll wait for him, even if you grow bored in the meanwhile.

Two guards stand watch over you. For a time they were regular, familiar faces who shadowed you whenever you went anywhere beyond Dottore’s wing in the palace. Then you made the mistake of calling one by name in front of him, and now they change every few days.

“Boys,” you call out to them, louder than you mean in the silent, cavernous hall. “Would you come with me to take a walk? Just in the arboretum, nowhere far.”

They exchange a brief look, certainly debating the chances of trouble from such a proposal, before seemingly coming to an agreement and nodding in unison.

You stand, eager for a change in scenery. What happens next, however, you couldn’t anticipate.

A guard’s hand finds your shoulder. As soon as it touches you realize your mistake; you’d started down the wrong way, headed deeper into the underbelly of the palace rather than towards the grand conservatory in the center. If you had more time you’d turn on heel and apologize sheepishly, and he’d remove his touch, and all would be well.

But a second is all it takes. His fingers brush the thick wool covering you and a moment later you feel a whistling blade followed by the horrifying sound of flesh being severed in a single brutal strike.

You scream, lurching back—the severed hand is still on your shoulder, limp, and the horror of that doesn’t sink in until your sudden movement makes it slide off and fall to the floor with a sickening thud.

Before you can get far, though, an arm slings itself around your waist and drags you back in an ironclad grip. Your shoulder slams into the wall first, and then your back, so sudden and forceful that it knocks the wind out of you.

Dottore has you pinned against the back of a recessed niche. You’re tucked away like this, hidden to all eyes except his, which you’re certain take in your disheveled form greedily though you can’t see beneath the mask to confirm—and your gaze stubbornly remains pinned over his shoulder either way. Your chest heaves, still catching your breath, but the heavy beating of your heart is hardly from terror anymore.

His fingers find your jaw. They’re big as they splay across your cheek, grasping firm to tilt your head upward and force you to look at him. That gloved hand is covered in blood, hot and slick; you can feel it smeared over your face and neck.

“My lord—“

He’s kissing you before you can finish the word, teeth clacking against yours, licking in past your lips before you can close them. On instinct you bite down, but despite the taste of copper flooding your tongue he doesn’t pull back—in fact, he presses in closer, groaning into your mouth.

“My lord,” you try again, voice muffled entirely, “you’re out sooner than anticipated.”

He kisses you harder, drawing an embarrassing noise from your throat. It’s all you can do to keep up, but you attempt to speak more anyway.

“What is this? You—“

The sound he lets out is feral, growling; it stops you in your tracks, throws every word out of your head. But it’s too late. He pulls back fully to look at you, unreadable even to your discerning eyes.

“I return to find you attempting to leave,” he says, low and dangerous. “And another man’s hand upon you.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “If anything he was stopping me. I only wanted to visit the arboretum, my lord—“

“The arboretum is the opposite way.”

“Yes, which would be why my guard was directing me the proper way. And you cut off his hand for it!”

Too impassioned. Your mistake. Dottore shoves you against the wall again and you wince, eyes slamming shut. This time he goes for your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses down the taut surface as you angle your head to give him ample room. Soon enough they turn even more heated, nibbling at you with those sharp teeth and sucking harshly at the dip of your jaw.

You melt against him, weak-kneed and floating. His lips leave your skin momentarily. He’s still close enough for his breath to puff against your neck with each pant, but he hovers, waiting until you’ve opened your eyes and let your half-lidded gaze meet his own to lean in again and sink his teeth into your shoulder.

The noise you let out is obscene. You have no control over it; it’s wrenched from your lips instantly, something like a yelp that trails off into a breathy moan. All things considered he hasn’t bitten you too deeply—you’ve certainly received worse by his own hands—but he breaks skin with those teeth, and when he releases you the sting is only slightly soothed by his tongue lathing over the mark.

“Lord Second!”

He pulls away from you with a snarl. You’re left panting, legs shaking, relying on his hold to keep you up as you close your eyes and let your head fall back to rest against the wall. It’s Pulcinella who has played savior long enough for you to catch your breath; you can hear his chiding, the annoyance in his tone, the sternness as he demands Dottore let your unfortunate guard leave to get his wound tended to.

“I’m hardly stopping him,” Dottore says dismissively. His hand comes up to your face. You aren’t anticipating it, jolting and opening your eyes when the leather of his glove makes contact. His grip tightens, fingers pressing into your cheeks and pursing your lips. “No need for you to get involved, rooster.”

You can see how he intends to return where he left off before he leans back in. His grip is so secure you couldn’t turn your head to escape his kiss even if you attempted it, but you know better than to try.

“Wait!” you gasp out against his lips. “Not—ah, in front of—“

“Oh, now you’re feeling demure. Didn’t care about your guards, did you?” His hand slides down to wrap around your throat—not quite choking, but undeniably present. At the same time he bites down hard on your lower lip. “A decision for you, then. Would you like me to stop, or to dismiss the boy?”

“Dismiss him,” you say without hesitation, not entirely altruistically. Dottore is always put in a far better mood if you allow him to do as he pleases with you.

“Listen to your companion, Dottore,” pipes up Pulcinella from the other side of the hall. “Pierro would be displeased by this scene.”

“Lucky, then, that he hasn’t stumbled upon it.” Again, Dottore turns away from you to face Pulcinella. Again, you take the moment to catch your breath. “Why are you here?”

“I was sent to fetch you. Lord First would like a word privately.”

Another snarl. This time, however, he seems to understand he has no choice. When he returns his attention to you it’s clear that he intends to pull away entirely.

Beneath that damned mask, his eyes aren’t visible. Still, his grin is sharp enough that you can imagine the wild look they likely hold, the one that never fails to send a thrill through you. The blood on your skin has dried somewhat to become tacky. He leans in once more, licks a long stripe up the column of your neck, lips coming away covered in scarlet. Something settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Go clean up, pet,” Dottore says, low enough that it’s meant for only you to hear. “I can’t stand the stench of another’s blood on you.”

Frowning, you pry yourself from his hold as much as he’ll let you, unfulfilled though you think you ought to be grateful that he’s willing to let you compose yourself. You huff. “We’ll continue this conversation later.”

Somehow, that grin sharpens. He reaches out with a hand again, fleeting—gentle, even—as he crooks his finger beneath your chin to lift it slightly. “As you wish.”

And with that he pulls away. The hand on your back nudges you over towards your remaining guard and then Dottore is gone, with a final keep your hands off growled at the poor man (who assuredly does not need the warning, not with his partner’s blood still staining the floor beneath his feet) before he stalks off to follow Pulcinella deeper into the palace.

Hours later, after a long bath and attendants having dressed you in clean clothing, Dottore summons you to his lab.

Though it’s located in a separate building, it takes you mere minutes to arrive; you know the path by heart, and while there will always be assigned guards and the occasional assistant lurking, few fatui agents linger longer than necessary in the halls belonging to the second harbinger. Such dallying always increases the risk of being purloined for use as a test subject in some fatal experiment or another.

You’ve been told that when you’re not around the place is crawling with segments, too. You know of their existence, of course—have even seen a few from a distance—but Dottore has long refused to let you near any of them.

His lab always runs on the colder side, even for a Snezhnayan facility. If you regularly wore clothing in it you suppose it might be more bearable, but he rarely summons you for reasons which allow you to keep anything on.

You think longingly back to your chambers, made cozy and warm with the help of your personal effects and a number of mechanical heaters in varying levels of prototype courtesy of your eccentric lover. He can be considerate, you’ve learned, when he truly wants to—though he would never willingly admit it. In the case of providing you warmth he maintains it’s merely because he can’t stand your shivering when in bed with you.

You’ve refrained from pointing out that you never shiver when he is there to keep you warm.

Dottore’s office door is open, and you know you can enter without announcement, but you choose to linger in the doorway and reach out to rap knuckles against it twice.

You can see him sitting at his desk across the room. Despite how you’re the only one who would approach him now, he wears his mask, gloves still on, dutifully paying sole attention to his work—or rather seemingly, because he shifts as you enter, and you feel his eyes on your back when you turn to close and lock the door behind you.

The shoes you wear are soft slippers, flat upon the ground. You almost regret not wearing anything with a solid heel; perhaps if your approach came announced by the loud clacking of metal upon marble he wouldn’t ignore you so. Either way, you note how his arm shifts as you elegantly step past his chair, clearly itching to reach out and hold you.

You settle yourself upon his desk, legs crossed demurely, the chiffon fabric of the nightdress you’d been tugged into pooling prettily around your thighs and draping over the edge.

His eyes might be concealed but you can tell by the angle of his head that he’s staring. You’re glad for it—the little show you put on, leaning back to emphasize your chest and angling to draw attention to your legs, should not go unseen. You sigh dramatically, reaching up to pull the dressing gown from your shoulders and let it fall to your waist, and that’s what ends it.

He huffs (you might be so bold as to call it fondly exasperated) and turns back to his work without a word.

Perched on his desk like this, you can easily lean forward and reach out to lay hands on the mask he wears over his eyes. He stiffens, head snapping up, one hand catching your wrist in a harsh grip just shy of aching.

“Did you lock the door?” he hisses, all too used to your insistence of not fucking a masked man to even ask what you’re doing.

You roll your eyes and stubbornly continue on your mission. “Yes, my lord. When have I ever left it unlocked?”

Nobody but his fellow harbingers would dare to interrupt one of his appointments with you, and a locked door has never kept the likes of them out, but you’re not entirely keen on the idea of being interrupted either, so you dutifully turn the bolt every time.

“I seem to recall my last assistant.”

“That woman had a key and far too much nerve for her own good.” It’s true—you had locked the door that night, though you’d also goaded her privately beforehand just to see the look on her face when Dottore gave her no mercy like every other person unfortunate enough to have walked in on you nude.

Dottore’s eyes glint as you remove the mask fully, his mouth tugging into a pleased little smile. “Jealousy becomes you, pet.”

Your scowl does nothing to deter him. As penance you set the mask down on the far side of you. If he wants it back, he’ll have to lean over you to reach—even with his absurdly long wingspan—and almost certainly end up with his face in your lap.

A very bold part of you hopes he does.

For now, though, your annoyance is unquenched. So you tilt your head, letting his eyes fall to the slope of your shoulder, and speak. “If you called me here for anything, tell me or I’ll simply leave.”

He dips his head as if focusing on the papers before him. “And if I merely wanted you to pose on my desk like a pretty little ornament while I work?”

“You think I’m pretty?” you tease without missing a beat. “Truly?”

He doesn’t deign that with an answer, though he allows himself one more lingering scan of your form before turning back to his work.

When he does, you shift and recross your legs. It’s pointed, timed for the moment his eyes flit over to you; an uncross and a shift to the other leg on top, fast and smooth but with enough time to give him a good look of what’s between your thighs.

Or rather what isn’t, because you’d refused the undergarments your attendants had tried to throw on you. The movement bares your cunt to him in its entirety; you see his eyes hone in on it, his mouth slacken, the reaction involuntary and borderline feral in the fleeting seconds before your legs close again.

And then you watch him frown, as if witnessing his very thought process dawn upon his face—the realization that you’d made the trip without anything beneath your nightdress has him irritated.

“Presumptuous thing you are,” he growls. “What if I’d called you here for treatment?”

“You said we’d finish that talk.”

“This,” he gestures at the entirety of you, and you snicker in return, “does not suggest talking.”

“I didn’t choose what my attendants dressed me in.”

It’d been laid out for you when you’d come out of the bath; all gossamer layers and intricate lace, low in the front and short at the bottom and held together by only a satin ribbon. You’re inclined to think Pantalone is the true culprit. Dottore likes such things on you, though he insists he holds no preference, and therefore one of the tried and true ways the shrewd man has come to flatter your capricious lover is to throw luxuries at you—lavish jewels and thick furs and long billowing dressing gowns—and instruct for you to be dressed up in them like some spoiled, pampered lapdog before you next visit the lab.

You can’t say you mind. The dress you wear now is the kind of soft only an exorbitant amount of mora can buy, perfectly tailored and clinging to every curve that should most be flattered. Calling it a nightdress, while you’ve been doing so, likely does it more credit than deserved. The intent is assuredly not for sleeping. With the matching dressing robe it proves modest enough, though not as you wear it now; pulled low and teasing over your arms, the tie fallen loose to give no coverage.

“Your attendants send you off like a lamb to slaughter.”

You shrug. “A willing one.”

“Fair enough. Tell me, then, willing as you are to enter this wolves’ den. You were particularly appalled by my actions this morning—the longer I’ve had to ruminate, the less remorseful I’ve become. He ought to have known better than to lay hands on you. Unless, of course, you encouraged it.”

“Oh, please.” Now you roll your eyes openly, toss your head with the motion just to emphasize it. “My lord, I don’t even know the boy’s name. I simply believe removing his hand was a punishment unfit for the crime.”

“And yet you kissed me. You threw yourself at me, really, despite all those tepid protests. Would you have let me fuck you there, I wonder? In front of your guards, knowing that I would never let them live after?”

Your cheeks heat at the accusation. “No, I—”

“Is this not what you wanted? My infatuation? Don’t tell me you’re second guessing now that you know exactly what it entails—it’s too late. The thought of another man touching you…” he trails off, but you hardly need him to finish. You’re well aware of just what he’s thinking. “Why do you think I never allow my segments to come near you?”

Your brow furrows. “They are younger than you, of course. I assumed their volatility posed too great a risk.”

Dottore scoffs, low and dismissive. “Hardly. The true reason is that the resources required to remake them are so great.”

It takes you a moment to understand the meaning, but when you do it has your mouth parting. Should a segment interact with you, he’s so certain he’d kill it that he’d determined it simpler to keep the two parties separate. A shiver runs down your spine—to your chagrin, you doubt it’s horror.

“Your segments are yourself, my lord,” you attempt again. “They are bolder than most agents, and guaranteed to be attracted to me as you are. You cannot hold the guards you assigned to the same scrutiny. The boy was merely leading me away.”

“What of my poor assistant, then, hm? What is the difference between the boy and the girl? I should passively allow every warm body to touch you and cannot even have a lab assistant? She was a quick one—certainly not at the caliber of my segments but decent enough in their absence.”

“You regret disposing of her, then?”

“No need to sound so bitter, pet. I have no regrets. Your company is far more preferred, and…” Dottore trails off, letting out a low chuckle, voice a purr laced with meaning not well hidden, “I hardly need to tell you that you paid me back thoroughly for whatever loss I might have incurred that night. But my point remains—the boy easily replaced, the girl less so. What difference do you see?”

“That the boy would not have dared compete with you, even if he’d found me alluring,” you hiss. “The girl had intentions that insulted me.”

“Intentions?”

“With you, which you knew, so I should hardly need to say it. I almost pity the poor thing—you intended all along to kill her, you simply decided to have fun with it along the way.”

“Only when I realized just how much I enjoy your jealousy. Truly, I ought to bring another in. Any agent hungry enough for the position would naturally desire an even higher one at my side…”

You frown and, in a motion so fast you can’t really think it through, reach out to hook your finger into the ring of that harness and yank him upward.

The noise he lets out is something between a hiss and a groan, rich and growling and heated. No shock is clear on his face; rather, he stares up at you with a grin that exposes sharp teeth, teeth which part to let a pink tongue run along his lower lip.

When you speak it’s steely. “Few people in this world would find you standable, my lord. I must be touched in the mind to feel for you as I do.”

“Oh?” You’ve stumbled into some kind of trap, you realize by the tone of his voice. “Tell me, then, what do you feel for me?”

“What?”

“Be candid, now.” His grin only grows wider. “Don’t hold anything back. Admit that you’ve come to love me.”

You recoil, yanking your hand away as though you’ve been burned. He falls forward rather than back, arms against his thighs, laughing harshly while you shuffle further away.

“What?” you say again, poisonous in tone. “Where did you—who said anything about love?”

“Is that not what you were implying?” His words are smug, incapable of being swayed. Still, you have no choice but to try.

“No.” You’re stern, leaving no room for question.

“No? You refuse to admit it? Perhaps we ought to revisit our arrangement, then—“

“No!” He raises an eyebrow at the outburst, but you’re far too panicked to be ashamed. “My lord, this is absurd. Have I not been dutiful? Have I strayed?”

“Very different things from devotion and affection, I’m afraid.”

Who is he, you think bitterly, to demand those of you? To demand you tell him at all, let alone here and now with so little warning?

“Well?” His voice is merciless. It has you panicking, desperate not to disappoint.

“I—” The words catch in your throat. You choke on them, swallow them down before they can ruin you. Frankly you can’t even be certain what you’d have said.

Dottore frowns, slumping back in his chair and lifting an arm to rest his chin in his hand as he regards you. “Pity. I thought you less delicate than this.”

“You’re being cruel,” you say in a desperate attempt to make him relent, but he scoffs meanly.

“I’m a cruel man.”

“Not to me!” This time it’s a wail. Your lip quivers involuntarily, and even to your ears you sound like a petulant child as you cry, “never to me.”

“Don’t pout. Don’t—” he cuts himself off with a long-suffering sigh. When he speaks again it’s low, muttered; less to you and more to himself. “Damn it all, what you do to me…”

You might find it flattering if you weren’t so riled up. Tonight, once your blood cools and you return to your room, you’ll let your mind stray to it—the growl of his voice, the tempered emotion, the way his fingers twitch as if to reach out for you.

Perhaps you’d have let him, if he’d done so rather than turn his eyes back to you with a glare and spit out yet another accusation.

“You lie to yourself more than you lie to me—convincing yourself you find me disgusting, telling yourself your interest is faked. But you and I both know you enjoyed that incident this morning just as you enjoyed what I did to that girl. You enjoy me. You want me, so cease this foolishness and let me have you.”

“You have me,” you say automatically, and the scoff he responds with makes you recoil. It’s snarling, animalistic, accompanied by him lunging up from his chair to corner you in the curve of his desk.

“I don’t mean this scheme.” Dottore looms over you, arms on either side of your body. The hard wood of the desktop digs into your ass as you lean back precariously. “I don’t mean your little stratagem, which I only entertained out of amusement—”

“Yes, of course,” you snap in return, suddenly enraged as the shock wears off and you lunge forward, forcing him to reel back, “this shrewd scheme of mine, desperately selling my life to you lest it be snuffed out, which you only agreed to because you found the concept fascinating. Except now you say it isn’t enough to own my body, you are owed my heart, too—and I must serve it to you on a gilded platter because you are too cowardly to give me yours first.”

“I have no heart to give, stupid thing. This is for your benefit.” Still, you see his jaw tense. He returns to his chair, and the movement is heavy; he sinks back as if in a trance.

No heart, he claims, as if he is still satisfied with the arrangement. No, he can hardly hide such things from you. He has become too fond and now burns with the need for you to tell him you feel the same—you know this, know it like you know his touch against your skin and his body easing into your bed next to you during the night.

But you also know how volatile he is, both at his core and, more precisely, when discussing this very topic. This is not something you can push too far; unfortunate for the both of you, then, that you are just as stubborn, especially in the face of inequity.

It isn’t fair. You shouldn’t have to bare yourself if he’s unwilling to do the same.

Crossing your arms, more for self comfort than any determination on your end, you slide yourself down from the desk and make to leave. You doubt he’ll let you, but you’ve made up your mind to try—and sure enough he sits forward, ready to move.

“Come here,” Dottore demands, and tenses when you shake your head and take a bold step away. “You’re not leaving, pet, we haven’t finished this.”

“I have no interest in discussing anything with you if you’re going to be so callously selfish.” It’s a futile attempt, you know, but you try to dart off anyway, leaving your dressing robe behind to flutter down and settle on the floor. He lunges over and catches you immediately.

You struggle against him, really just to make him work for it now, and he meets the challenge in kind, lifting you easily and dragging you back to his chair despite your squirming and incessant protests. Soon enough he has you sideways on his lap, a heavy arm around your waist to deter any further attempt at escape.

“Are you going to stay put?”

You cross your arms again and stubbornly turn your head away. “I don’t suppose I have a choice.”

Instead of speaking, he lets his hand find your neck, scruffing you like a troublesome kitten and forcing you to face him with a thumb and forefinger on either side of your jaw. For a moment he scans your face. Whatever he sees there excites him somehow; his free hand tightens against the dip of your waist, groping at you, trailing down over your hip to the curve of your thigh and squeezing there, too, as he draws your legs even closer.

Initially, when he leans in, you think he’ll go for your neck. Instead he captures your lips in a surprisingly subdued kiss—closed-mouthed, slow, lingering. Something you might call sweet if it came from anyone else. He doesn’t part much when he pulls away; he stays close, foreheads nearly touching.

“If threats won’t work,” he says, lips brushing against yours with every word, “then I’ll simply try a new tactic.”

When he kisses you again it’s what you’re used to from him, all heavy and hot, his tongue delving into your mouth eagerly. You feel the need to gasp for air within seconds, but he never gives you enough, and always leaves your head spinning.

You wish you could hold out and let him work himself up trying to get you to respond. But it’s as if your very bones cry out for him now, as if your blood sings for his attention. You return the kiss in kind despite the lack of air, coaxed into it without him even trying, only spurred on by each sharp-toothed nip to your lips and suck to your tongue. Soon enough, however, your lungs begin to burn, and you tear away from him to pant desperately, lips parted as you struggle to catch your breath.

Never deterred, his tongue darts out to lick up your chin—you’d been drooling, you realize, and your nose wrinkles at the thought that he apparently hadn’t had his fill of your spit even with a kiss like that. Then he nips at your cheek, hard enough to make you jolt in his lap, which in turn causes that hand on your legs to press you down against him, though none of those things give him pause as he kisses down the line of your jaw.

His hand tilts your head back now, or perhaps it falls on its own, baring your neck. Your eyes flutter closed and your breath hitches as his teeth graze your pulse point, the barest hint of pressure, followed by an open-mouthed kiss, both of which are accompanied by his other hand dragging you closer against him.

Dottore’s gloved fingers are deft (when are they not, you ponder fleetingly) as they slide up your thigh to dip beneath the ridden-up hem of your dress. His thumb finds its mark first—he dips it between your folds, trailing up through the wetness there to slick it before brushing higher against your clit. Already that has your breath hitching, the sensation of his leather gloves against you there always odd; when he presses more firmly, in quick little circles, you gasp and squirm in his hold, your hand instinctively flying to clutch at the wrist that disappears under your skirt.

“My lord—”

He turns his thumb just the right way to have you keening, bucking up against him and turning your head into his arm. His hand has moved from your neck to your back, and he uses it along with a grip around your thigh to pull you up until you’re straddling him entirely. All the while his thumb never stops; the motion has pleasure steadily building in your core, golden-warm and only getting hotter. You can feel how wet you’ve become already.

“We’re still talking, pet.” He might be, but if he thinks you’ll say a word then he’s sorely mistaken. “I’ll draw a confession from you somehow. Perhaps if you phrase it as a demand, you so love to give me orders. What do you want from me?”

That free hand slides further down beneath the nightdress, cupping your ass briefly before sliding higher. It drags the dress with it to reveal the entirety of your legs and presses against the small of your back, urging you to grind harder against his hand, sending white-hot sparks throughout your body.

It’s a slow and steady task, working you up to the edge, but he throws himself into it with vigor. Soon enough you feel yourself coming towards it, climbing up so high you can see the peak, almost inevitable.

“What do you want?” Dottore asks again, and you shake your head in mindless refusal. His thumb dips down to slick itself again, sending a shiver through you as the pad presses just barely into your pussy and brushes over your folds on its way back up to your clit.

You nearly lose control over your voice when it returns with a vengeance, hard and fast, just on the good side of painful. He knows your body acutely well by now; can feel every twitch and writhe, hear every bitten-back moan and breathy whimper, rewarding you for them all until you can feel just how close you are to tumbling off into bliss.

His thumb stills. You whine, struggling against him, determined to get that final bit of stimulation and push yourself over the edge, but the attempt is futile. His hold on you is steadfast; you feel the high fading, desperation seeping in.

“What do you want?”

Not enough for that.

“I want you to make me cum,” you demand petulantly, fingers digging tighter into his arms.

It earns you a disappointed little click of his tongue. You’re forced to sit like this until you’re pulled entirely from that precipice, the sensation bringing tears to your eyes as you bite back a wet sob.

He takes the time to release his grip on your thigh and lift his gloved hand up. The black leather shimmers in the light—you hadn’t realized how wet you were—and he takes his time bringing it up to his face to lick it clean with meticulous fervor.

Then he reaches out, placing the very tip of his thumb against your lip.

“Bite,” he commands, so you do, teeth catching hold of just the folded leather over his skin. He pulls his thumb away, tugging his hand free entirely with the glove left dangling from your mouth.

The glove is removed from your mouth to be replaced with two of his fingers. Even you so rarely get to see his bare hands—you have many more chances than most, to be sure, but it’s always a treat—and you open eagerly to allow them entry, sucking, swirling your tongue around them and grinding down against his lap for stimulation.

Soon enough he’s pulling them out to lower his hand and ease a finger into you. If he’d kept up his rubbing at your clit that would have been enough to bring you over, you think miserably, back arching at the feeling. It fills you up so much better than your own. His thumb returns, warmer and softer and so much more intense without the leather.

Already he’s building you up again, starting off harder than before, prodding at the rim of your cunt with a second finger once you stop clenching so tightly. His other hand moves, reaching up to the thin strap of your top and tugging it over your shoulder. It allows him to free your breast, peaked in the chilly air of the room; still gloved, you squirm when he brushes his thumb against your nipple, then pinches lightly. The mild pain makes you jolt—he takes that moment to lean in and suck it into his mouth, at the same time pulling his finger from your cunt and pushing it back in with the second.

Dottore’s arms don’t hold you anymore, you keep yourself balanced on his lap by clinging to his shoulders. His still-gloved hand slides in to squeeze at your other breast as his teeth graze your nipple and his fingers assault your cunt. It’s all too much, too quickly; you throw your head back and he lets out a muffled groan as the motion presses you further into his mouth.

When you’re openly moaning he can tell you’re nearing the end again. With one final nip at the tender skin of the underside of your breast, he pulls away just enough to speak.

“What do you want?” he tries again, but you can hear it in his voice now—the heady lust, thick on every word. His fingers don’t stop their movement at first, not until he seems to remember what his intentions are, and even then they only slow.

Before he can remove them you reach down to grab his face in both hands and pull him up to kiss you. He returns it with the same vigor you give him; his fingers delve back in, pressing deep and full, thumb coming up to rub at your clit again, and you cum hard.

The wave that washes over you has you moaning into his mouth. His free hand leaves your breast to find your back, big and warm between your shoulders, pulling you even closer as you buck into his still thrusting fingers. Your whole body is buzzing, hot pleasure coursing through you.

You go limp against him when it finally subsides, breaking the kiss, boneless and satiated as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck. He eases his fingers out of you; you clench involuntarily as they exit, whimpering a little and receiving a soothing rub from just his thumb between your shoulder blades for your troubles.

For a long moment you let him hold you like that. Panting, shaking in the aftershocks, you cling to him and he rearranges your dress for some semblance of modesty, pulling the front back over your breast even as he continues to leave sucking kisses to every available part of your shoulders and collarbone and neck. His hands trail across your body, greedy and groping, less to calm you and more to take full advantage of how limp and pliant you’ve become.

And perhaps it’s because of that, or perhaps being satisfied has put you in a more agreeable mood, or perhaps you simply want to reward him for being so weak to you (because, certainly, all those many months ago when you’d first come to him cold and desperate, he wouldn’t have been so lenient), but you give in.

“I want you to court me,” you say, muffled against his shoulder. The moment the words pass your lips you feel him relax beneath you, tension fading from his shoulders. Dottore says nothing, however, and so you continue. “I want to be your lover in actuality, rather than because of an arrangement. I want you to give me treatment because you care for me—I want you to fuck me because you care for me, not because I owe you a willing cunt.”

“I care for nothing, you simple creature.” Still, he shifts beneath you, and for the first time tonight you feel him hardening against your thigh, brought on not by you cumming on his lap but by your confession. “Tenderness is beneath me.”

“Yes, of course, my lord,” you tell him smugly, just to be a brat. “You gave in just now because you do not care for me at all. In fact, this entire conversation was initiated by you because you were completely satisfied by our arrangement, and it didn’t make you seethe every time you thought about my affections being faked to avail myself of your—”

He interrupts you by sinking his teeth into your neck, just a few centimeters above the scabbed-over bite he’d given you earlier, and you break off with a wrecked moan as you fall limp against him. You claw at the back of his neck in retaliation; a poor attempt, as it only seems to rile him further. He laps at your weeping wound for a moment before fixing his mouth to your pulsepoint and setting about leaving another kind of mark.

When he finally pulls away you can feel the low throb of blood blooming beneath your skin, his heavy gaze burning against you as he stares. For a beat he’s silent, and then he’s leaning in to lick at your neck more, hot tongue running over every blemish—you’re quite certain more of your skin there is stained than not, angry black and blue and purple beneath the surface. The wide, low neck of the dress gives him ample access.

“I will allow it,” he finally mutters, muffled with his mouth well occupied.

“Hm?”

“I will court you,” he clarifies, low and annoyed at having to say it. “Though make no mistake, it is entirely for your benefit.”

“Of course. You have no desire whatsoever for courting.”

“Careful, pet.” He shifts you now, positioning you more comfortably on his lap. “If my hearing were worse, I might think you were asking me to throw you out and let you return to your quarters alone for attendants to dote on you rather than me.”

“Don’t you dare.”

You expect him to return to his work with you dozing away on his lap—it would hardly be the first time—and wiggle, shifting against him to rest your head against his chest. Eyes fluttering shut, you settle for the many hours to come.

And then you’re jolted back into the world of the waking when he stands, taking you with him.

Yelping, you scrabble for purchase, grabbing at his shoulders as they shake with mean snickers, but he doesn’t go far. A moment later your back is hitting his desk and he’s sweeping his piles of papers aside to lay you out on the solid wooden surface.

For half a moment, Dottore stares. Those eyes drink in the sight of you—chest heaving as you catch your breath after the scare he’d given you, pretty nightdress pooling at the top of your thighs, which are still trembling from the shattering release he’d drawn from you earlier.

“Epsilon is overseeing the transfer of your belongings to my chambers,” he tells you clinically. “You’ll live there from now on.”

“Oh,” you say, all breathy, sounding more than a little brainless even to your own ears; your mind is admittedly still a haze of endorphins and, stupidly, the giddy high from your newfound status. His hand is soaked with your cum, slick as he grips your jaw and turns your head toward him to look at you as you struggle to keep your heavy lids from closing.

“I don’t imagine they’ll be done for quite some time. In the interim…”

He lets go of your face to bring his hands to the hem of your nightdress and shove it up over your stomach, nipping just beneath your navel as he kneels down.

And then his tongue is sliding through your folds, big and hot, and he’s latching lips to your clit in a sucking kiss that has you gasping and your back arching and your hand flying to grab at his hair. When he pulls away the look on his face is smug; his hands pry your thighs from around his head and pin them to his desk with a strength you’ve never hoped to fight back.

“Perhaps I can draw out a true confession if I bring you to completion a few more times.”

With that Dottore buries his face back into your cunt, and you let your head fall back with a soft thud against his desk.

[aimfor-theheart]

sharing beds like little kids

(SPOILERS, 18+)

Pairings: Hawks | Takami Keigo x Reader, a little bit of Dabi x Reader

Summary: And you, poor thing, singing a song no one understands, future-touched, future-burned. Fate’s poor child. The pain of your cup is already poured. You know it all at once.

As a child, the Hero Commission plucks you from your home because of the potential in your Quirk, where you meet Keigo and Touya.

(Childhood friends to lovers. A lot of angst. Some hurt/comfort. Spoilers.)

Warnings: Angst, smut, unhealthy relationships, dependent relationships, some violence, virgin reader, loss of virginity, electroshock therapy, the reader gets her mind scrambled

If you are under the age of 18, you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello! this is my first fic for the bnha fandom!! it is very very angsty! i promise i have other happier/more fun/sexier ideas that i’m working on/will work on but this is the one that wouldn’t leave my head! it’s also somewhat experimental for me! so i would really love any feedback!! i’ve been writing fanfic for awhile, just in other fandoms, so i’m new to this one and would love to make some friends, too!! pls don’t be shy!

***

You’re six when you’re swept up from the dilapidated house that you’d been born into. You screamed and cried for your mom as unfamiliar hands brought you somewhere new and sleek and modern. No holes in the wall. No clawing in the floorboards, no scuttering in the wainscotting. No rust or creaks. It’s all so pristine.

Keep reading

[aura-draws]

Song of the wind

[inekoamii]

Original —> Fanart

[sauza-deactivated20221025]

─ O FATHER, O SATAN, O SUN

{ demon!mahito x fem!virgin!reader / junpei yoshino x fem!virgin!reader } { 20k words }

៚ · SPOOKTOBER MASTER LIST | PLAYLIST ៚ · there is nothing more romantic than giving your high school sweetheart your virginity, right? well, what happens when he gives it to the devil instead? ⌾๑ˊૢᵕˋૢ๑ warning! { dubcon , violence/gore , murder , blood, devil worshiping/summoning , resurrection , virginity loss, virgin sacrifice , light degradation , humiliation , oral (fem receiving) , rough sex , cuckolding , claiming/marking , creampie , biting , squirting , blood kink , overstimulation , mindbreak , dacryphilia , dumbification , size difference , power dynamic }

"You don't think it's..." Your fingers smooth over the ivory silk, tips tickled by the fine threads, and your flesh burning with a fire you had not even realized been set until, after Junpei took your wrists to seize the excessive running of your hands over the wrinkles in the front of the slip, you recognized the great contrast in temperature between your warm palms and the cool of Junpei's.

The more you eye yourself in his mirror, unsurely twirling back and forth in the provocative slip dress that, if it were not for how it semi-modestly comes down to your knees, would have been too much, the more self-conscious you begin to feel. You touch the laced hem, finger the plunging neckline, and twist the spaghetti straps but with no success in finding what disturbs the otherwise classy lingerie.

You look, in some odd way, absolutely stunning, and yet, somehow, you find yourself repulsed by the sight. Perhaps it's the fact that the ivory does so little for your eyes, or maybe it's just the lighting in the room not letting you get the full essence of the dress — whatever it is, you find yourself curling in on your body, and shying away from your reflection.

"Maybe there is still time to exchange it, yeah?" You ask with a lilt of hope, turning on your heel to face Junpei who, up until this point, had been sitting on the corner of his bed as you stepped into the gift. He stands taller than you now, raven strands of hair messily dusting his jaw and his eyes burning deep, searing holes into your own — the sparkle you had in your pupils begins to dull.

His fingers are like tiny icicles as they scrape along your biceps, giving the soft skin a reassuring squeeze that has the hairs at your neck standing. He is always so cold, every touch as if the crisp winter wind is biting you again for the first time. It makes you feel all the barer, and your arms cross over one another as a makeshift shield.

The truth of the matter is that, despite asking, you are certain that any sort of last-minute trip would be remotely impossible, and so hearing him shut you down is far less disappointing than it could have been, "You know," His voice is sullen despite the gentle dragging of his knuckles over the highest point of your cheek, "There isn't enough time... we've been planning this for so long."

A tremor wracks through your body, and you briefly find yourself fearful of Junpei, briefly. Something about this night is plucking at every nerve in you, and you are sure its the fact that you have glorified tonight your entire life — curse the stigma surrounding the concept of virginity.

"Don't think about it." His hands cup your face, the same way one would smush the face of a puppy that is far too cute to ignore, "To me," Something dark cradles within the windows of his eyes, "You look perfect."

Your heart soars and all sense of dread or impending doom completely caves in and is ultimately replaced by the magnetic, pooling sensation of desire. The feeling festers like a disease, spiderwebbing all through your innards and swelling deep within your belly to the point where, if you had not allowed yourself to sink into his open arms, you may have collapsed under the weight.

Junpei, despite the judgment of your peers that carried from school all the way into your adult life, is your everything. No amount of bad-mouthing or torment could ever change that, no sort of rumor or lie could bring you to the point where you would ever say, 'I can't do this anymore.'

If you could describe it as anything, he is your Earth. You are completely and utterly wrapped around his finger, bending at his every need and want, you live and breathe him. He is, in your own words, your everything. There is not a waking or dying moment that he does not creep into your mind, nor a second of peace where you find yourself blind to a fantasy of him.

Even now, clinging to him with your pretty nails, the neat manicure accentuated with cutesy decals, he feels so far away. That longing just never seems to dissipate, no matter how little space is shared between you both. 

"I know," You manage to whisper, your voice carried by peaceful gusts of wind that scent of ginger, "I just feel..." You pause a moment to try and find a way to word it, the fingers in your head sifting through files upon files of information, deep diving and whisking through all of the data and knowledge that has been gathered through your decades of living... all for that one word.

He is so patient with you, the dull tips of his nails raking over your scalp and, if you had the ability to, you may have even started to purr. He treats you like the finest porcelain, that grip at your waist, despite it being the stability you need to not slip from his arms, is not nearly tight enough to create crescents in your skin.

You feel like a princess, the world's most humble princess who may not have chests of gold and closets full to the brim with real fur and leather boots and snakeskin purses... but a royal with the most charming, handsome prince one could ever dream to call their own — you suppose, technically, that would make you a queen... but to be fair, it makes you feel older than you are. Princess is more darling.

"I don't wanna mess up..."

His fingers stop, "Mess up?" He says it as if it were the most ridiculous thing you could ever say, "Did you forget this is my first time, too?" You had not, but still, in your mind, you are fully convinced that Junpei has it in the bag, that he could do absolutely no wrong... but you? What if you are too loud? What if you hold him too tight? What if you look horrible underneath him? Or above... you are still unsure of who goes where. 

Nonetheless — you feel as if this is the most defining, crucial moment in your life. That if you screw up your first time with Junpei, that if you make this a terrible experience for him, or worse, make him hate sex altogether... you are not sure you could ever show your face again, let alone live with the shame and embarrassment. 

Junpei went through all the trouble of buying you this dress. Something so simple and yet it makes you look transformed with how the top hugs the curves of your breasts, and hangs loosely around your waist but is a little snugger at your hips, how your panties peek out from the bottom hem if you lean a certain way... truly, you are not sure you have ever looked, let alone, felt more pretty. Sexy.

He went through the trouble of cleaning his apartment, laying down new sheets for you, and even lighting a few corny little candles around his bed. All for the sake of you.

Yet, the nerves remain and despite his semi-reassuring talk about this also being his first time, you still feel intimidated. Perhaps, with the sixth sense he developed throughout his time as your boyfriend, he could sense that — the small tremors in your body, how your grip on his arms is a confusing hybrid between apprehension and need, or every time you meet his gaze you immediately downcast your eyes and further hide your face in his chest.

You would be silly to so much as assume he could not tell what you are feeling, especially with how it is written in a bold red marker right across your head. 

"You can't mess up," He whispers into your scalp, pressing a kiss right there, "I don't think it's possible, y'know?" His tone drops into one that is awkwardly sultry, something just so Junpei and yet nothing like him at all. Every word sends a stronger quake through your body, tides of heat crashing into your soul and that ache gradually begins to grow, "All you have to do is look pretty... okay?" 

His words repeat in your mind — all you have to do is look pretty.

A simple sentence should not completely transcend you into something of an orb of fire. Your limbs melt into the flickering wisps of red and orange, blowing wildly in a nonexistent wind. You feel like the most heavenly star, the brightest one that people see first as the sky falls, and the very same star that children wish upon at the foot of their beds.

Everything feels so fuzzy, and though it is only, as you said, a feeling... you swear that you can materialize it. A fuzziness not like that of a knitted sweater, it does not have a rough and itchy base. Nor is it like a kitten's fur, so velvety it's like your fingers phase through it. That fuzziness is like burying your face into the hairs of a leather coat, hemmed with pelts from a rabbit. Soft, smooth, and just so real as your skin caresses every inch of stitching.

But none of that is real, merely a feeling that is so intense you think you could touch it.

Junpei looks at you as if nothing and no one could ever so much as measure up to what you are, this hunger in his eyes that you just cannot place no matter how many times your tongue licks the back of your teeth. A habit you picked up during school, something so simple yet effective when the cogs in your brain stall — could it be lust?

Your eyes are like saucers, big and confused and bright and just so empty yet so telling. He looks into them with intent, reading every word and worry written in your pupils, "I won't hurt you," He husks into the shell of your ear, teeth like hot pearls as they drag over the thin cartilage, "We can take it slow, as slow as you want."

Those words would have been reassuring if it were not for the anticipation turning your insides gray with mold, an anticipation that is neither good nor bad but right there in the middle. A concoction of excitement and dread, one that rattles around the inside of your skull.

Doubt should have crossed your mind like it would for any woman who is teetering between the realities of virginity. Yet, as his cold palms smooth down your sides in a way that could very well be awe, perhaps even curiosity, you willingly lean into his touch — silent permission for him to continue.

The world seems to stop spinning at that very moment, the room slowing and every action like that of being trapped in time. Almost like you are moving underwater, unbearably sluggish in the transition between staring up at him with doe-ish eyes to reaching with your hands to cup his face. 

Something about it is so sensual, so erotic. You wonder if everyone experiences this the first time, if their vision blurs and everything around them suddenly begins to spin or move at a pace that makes even a snail look fast. Do their bodies ignite with sparks? Does every touch on their body feel like voltages of electricity stinging their veins?

"Junpei-" His name sticks to the back of your throat, remaining there all throughout his attack on your neck — chaste kisses peppered just beneath your ear, or along the junction of your jaw, slowly descending towards your shoulder. 

Your mind blanks, succumbing to him entirely and allowing yourself to dance to the rhythm he sets. You tilt your head as he guides you to become lax and hold him tighter, giving him the entirety of your body. Nothing feels quite right until he tells you it is, reassuring your restless conscious that it is natural to feel an ache between your thighs, that you should not be ashamed at the subtle gyrating of your hips when his lips suckle on that sweet, special spot at your nape.

"Relax," He reminds you when your body begins to stiffen, a result of fighting back the urge to chase the friction his knee provides with how it has pinned itself between your legs. Unfortunately for you, the smugness leaves as fast as it came because, when your eyes open again, he is sitting at the edge of his mattress just as he had been minutes prior. Your thoughts fail you but with a simple pat on his thigh, you find yourself already diving in until a hand stops you, "Not like that."

You look dumbfounded, to say the least, unsure of what else he could have possibly meant other than you straddling his thighs and making yourself comfy, and he seems to catch on to your cluelessness. Rather than explain it to you and waste his breath, in one cultivated swoop he spins you around by the hips until your backside faces him, "Now sit— good, just like that. Comfy?"

"Mhm," Perhaps you underestimated his finesse when it came to all things sensual and romantic, or maybe he has been cheating you out of this side of him for all these years. Whether it be the first or the latter, neither really matters, not when his knees nudge yours apart until your legs fall open provocatively over his taut thighs.

Junpei is almost too calculated in his movements, so smoothly waltzing you about this new experience, it almost feels like he has done it a million times — which is as far from the truth as far goes. 

His body is like a furnace pressed against your back, warming you up in seconds despite the crisp night air that had been nipping at your skin since you first changed into your current attire. He is not at all a powerhouse of muscle, however, adulthood has been kind to him in more ways than just one. With the disappearance of teenage acne and awkward patches of growing facial hair, not to mention that ridiculous body odor all boys get in their youth — a set of new characteristics was introduced. 

There is much to admire about him, whether it be the fact he decided to grow his hair out and keep it clipped back so you can admire his entire face, scar and all, or the few inches he put on in height... maybe even the fact that he has a glow that anyone would envy or the prettiest set of pearly whites that always look flawless when he grins.

A sudden readjustment of your body in his lap seems to knock you out of your own head, and though it was brief, that grind of his clothed dick between your legs was enough to send a million ticklish kisses all throughout your body. You almost feel silly for the sound you made, soft and nearly inaudible other than the hushed gasp beneath it.

"Did..." He clears his throat, and though you cannot see his face, which he has strategically pressed at your temple, you can feel him swallow against your shoulder, "Does it feel good when I do that?" 

Words fail you at the simple question, a result of the bleeding shame that blankets you. Sure, he had told you to relax, to not be ashamed — but how can you heed his consolation? You are put off by the thought of doing what you want, of confidently rubbing your clothed cunt against the growing tent in his sweatpants... it just feels dirty.

Junpei seems to read your very thoughts because, before you can marinate in your own self-pity, his hands are on your hips. The way he holds you is unlike before, commitment present in the way his fingers dig into your flesh, no longer handling you like fine china. You find it flustering, to say the least.

The sudden switch leaves you breathless, your lips sealed tight and your lungs throbbing with a need that you just cannot bring yourself to fulfill as of this moment. Your every conscious thought is consumed by him and how good it feels when he begins to control your body. Everything he does feels good, true, yet nothing compares to the sensation that overwhelms every other as he teaches your body that sweet rhythm of rocking back and forth in his lap.

Every drag is like fireworks going off between your legs, your clit insatiably catching on to his dick that presses impatiently against his pants. You have to bite back your moans, tongue caught painfully between your teeth because, even now, as you hump his lap, you cannot find the confidence to spill the dirty sounds festering at the back of your mouth.

But he still hears them, he hears the hitch in your breathing and the squealing hiccups that you swallow back down every time they shoot up. You sound adorable, like a real virgin. All he is doing is grinding your panty-clad pussy against him, rubbing you on his cock because if it feels good for him, it must feel good for you. 

"I-I feel it—" Your hips sputter when he holds you down on his cock, just for a second, long enough to plant his heels into the carpet and rudely jerk his hips into yours over and over and over, "Feels good... whatever you're doin'." 

"Y-Yeah," He chuckles, briefly peeling his body from yours long enough to glance between you both at where your body meets his, "Shit—" His fingers pluck away the skirt of the slip dress so he can get a better look, eyeballing how your panties wrinkle with every pull backward, only to stretch when you move forward. He swears, he can make out what looks to be a dark spot in his sweatpants, a spot that is equally shared at the crotch of your girly pink panties.

Junpei's composure, though it may be better than yours, is not nearly as good as you expected. He reeks of desperation, which is something that you do not see often in him. One of his hands cascades downwards, slipping underneath the white silk and wasting no time feeling around. His palms are cold, but the smoothness of them, lacking the callouses most men have, makes up for the temperature.

You can feel his fingers fiddling with the boring lace that maintains your modesty, pinching the thin cotton and pulling, snapping the elastic against your skin using playful tugs. Really, if it were anyone else, you may have gotten annoyed by the third or fourth time he did it.

"Cute," He murmurs, just barely loud enough for you to catch, "They're so tight, barely even fit you." The pads of his middle and ring finger trace that fine line between skin and cotton, outlining the dip of fat where the panties hug tightly.

"I can feel how hot you are," His words do not piece together right away as they wisp across your temple and swirl around in the shell of your ear. His hand travels with polish, something you never knew he possessed, slowing its movement from your trembling abdomen down between the sheepish spread of your thighs, "Right here."

Oh, you're hot... it took you a moment, brows cinched together in confusion up until the tips of his fingers pressed just above your clit. Your panties remain as this safety barrier between his bare skin and yours, but it does not hinder the butterflies that hatch inside of your belly. 

Junpei toys with the area, tracing shapes against the skin just above your clit, dissecting your every move whilst doing so — watching for that little twitch in your thigh, the arch in your back when you chase his running digits, the squirming and sighing and gripping of the sheets. He watches for it all up until, with a heavy hand, he presses the pads of his middle and index against the hood of your clit.

All he does is gently push on your clit, and yet it sends an electrifying zing through your spine that makes your body jump. He does not even have to move before you find yourself chasing for more, jerking your hips forward in hopes of creating the friction you so desire; however, Junpei is always a step ahead, his heavy arm tight around your waist and locking your body so firmly against him it almost feels claustrophobic.

"Fuck, you're on fire—" He rubs light circles into your clit, eyeing how the soft cotton lazily moves with the pressure, how a buildup of your arousal begins to stain the light pink of your crotch and turn it into a pretty, deeper bubblegum tone, "You're gonna take is so easy, I can just tell." He gives the wet patch a curious stroke, "Look how wet you are..."  Pleasantly surprised that when he lifts his fingers, a bubbly string of slick webs between his nails and the very spot he had just been toying with.

Your eyes can barely lock onto the lewd scene without being overcome by a new wave of tingles through your core, "It... it felt good— whatever you were doing."

"R-Right here?" He presses down on your clit again, "Felt good here, right?" A slow rhythm of circles begins, dragging your clit around agonizingly snail-like. 

Your hips begin to move on their own, pushing forward and gyrating the best they can in order to combat his teasing fingers. Junpei finds it amusing, to say the least, how desperate you are from this being the first time a hand other than your own has touched you there.

"What's wrong, (name)?" He mocks you, cupping your pussy and making it hard to achieve that same pressure you had before — but the heel of his palm, while still disappointing, does the trick.

However, you cannot find the means to appreciate that, "Stop teasing," Comes a whine with a dramatic throw of your head, your skull knocking into his shoulder and upturning until you can get a good look at him, "Please?" Your tone is extra sugary and sweet, a meek little plea that, even if he wanted to, could not be denied.

He fingers the fabric a moment longer, dreary little pulls up and down and all around that wet spot, "Take them off."

For a moment, it sounds nothing like him. That delicate husk is replaced by something more primal, growling back at you like a feral animal — it sends shudders through you, and you almost pull away just to make sure that the chest you are pressed again is, in fact, his.

But you listen, and without another second of hesitation, you do exactly as he asks, of course, not without a request of your own, "Help?" You knew that regardless of whether or not you asked, he would have invited himself to shimmy you out of them.

Junpei removes the flimsy cotton terribly slowly as if to punish you for being so impatient. The lace is ticklish on your bare legs, catching on your bulbous knees and needing a bit of a tug to fall the rest of the way down to your ankles, where they of course get stuck as well. They quickly become your worst enemy, kicking your feet around until, with a climactic fly into the abyss, the pink terror is gone.

Before your legs can even resume their position over his own, he is delving his fingers right back where they had been before, smoothing over your humid cunt with a curiosity he had not previously shown. He is gentle with how his middle finger presses between the puffy folds of your pussy, feeling that gooey slick that had been soaking through the thin crotch.

The sensation is not at all like when he touches your clit, but in its own way it still feels good, enough for your hips to buck forward — you are not sure what you expected it to feel like, his bare skin against yours, but you never imagined it to be like this. His hands are impossibly soft, and that leathery print etched into the pads of his fingers provides this texture that is just so much better than the cotton grinding into your clit. 

"That feel good?" His voice is sudden, nearly slipping by without your notice with how blinded your are by bliss; eyes sealed shut and your head hanging back against his shoulder, if Junpei did not know any better he may have thought you were high, "Can— Can I see you?"

His fingers are strategic, sneaky in their ministrations; deep, slow circles soothed by kind taps that cause the likes of your nerves to tremble and jump. You feel giddy almost, ticklish leaps deep within your belly, and this searing fire only grows. 

You clear your throat, mostly as a means to hinder the moan bubbling up, "See me?"

"Yeah, like—" His fingers stop in favor of holding the fat of your inner thigh, "Y'know, you can lay down on my bed? 's just hard with you in my lap..."

Sure, yeah. You had been expecting, at one point or another, to be bare beneath him, however, now being in that position does not compare to the several times you fantasized about it.

You trust Junpei more than you trust yourself, you are positive he would not, could not, judge you for your body. To put it simply, it just is not in his nature, not after years of endless torment for his own appearance — he loves you, cares for you, adores you... he is willing to wait all night for an answer if he has to, you are sure of it.

But you know your answer, it may not be verbal, but the way in which you slide yourself from his lap rather bunglingly is enough. The linens wrinkle beneath you with every press of your hands and knees as you crawl your way up his bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight and it is only when you lay yourself flat on your back that it evens out. 

One could describe you as angelic, your hands brought together over your chest and the white slip glowing in the pale lighting of the room. The silky skirt does little to maintain what little modesty you still have, and the positioning of your legs, bent at the knee and your heels digging into his sheets, gives him a clear view right up your skirt. 

He eyes the shimmer of your cunt, slick glistening against the pale lamp light and it takes all of his self-control not to abandon what he had stood up to do. Junpei's eyes downcast, and for a moment you can make out a pink hue creeping its way onto his cheeks, that is until he begins to tug the hem of his shirt up. 

That poor piece of fabric is worn so much that the color is faded, and whatever graphic was put on the front has long since become nothing but speckles, and splotches of color. You have seen him shirtless countless times, yet every time feels like the first. His skin is like ivory with this golden undertone that makes him glow — he looks more lively, in a sense, that added color accentuating his strongest features. 

And though Junpei may not be the brute of the bunch, with no defining muscles or chiseled curves to his abdomen and arms, he has the loveliest skin one could ever hope to have. His mother must have blessed him with good genes, not a bump or scar in sight. No evidence of ever having acne, let alone, a simple breakout. Not to mention the even tone all throughout, and the fact that he is as smooth as butter; you could stare, let alone, touch him for hours.

His hands nervously wipe on the front of his sweatpants, and you feel relieved to know it is not only you whose palms seem to be perspiring more than usual, "Do you trust me?" He is breathless when he asks it, panting out each word and so clearly fighting to remain focused. His confidence toned down, replaced by that anxious man you know so well.

"Of course," You respond with sass that says his question is nothing but stupid, "I trust you with my life."

One of his hands takes hold of your ankle, a gentle gesture with no intent. Junpei simply holds it as he joins you on the bed, crawling up your body until, as you expected, his knees knock into the backs of your thighs. His eyes are like dark pools you could get lost in given the chance, but with the alluring touch of his nails, as they migrate from your ankle up your calf, you find your lids fluttering shut — something about it just helps you feel okay.

He skims, just barely touching you, and yet the sensation is there, fingers titillating in their journey north; sliding over your knee with a stroke that is fluid and calligraphy-like in how steady his movements are. The stillness of his hand does not match his face, lips pursed in concentration, sweat beading at his brow, and lines wrinkling into his forehead; he is on edge.

Only when he grabs a handful of your upper thigh, squeezing the fat so tightly that it pools between the gaps of his fingers, do you release that breathe you had been holding, "Junpei—" His name intermingles with your exhale, "Touch me more, please."

He swallows, "Please?" His voice is laced with amusement and a lilt of disbelief, your honesty and straightforwardness are so out of character — he likes it. He likes how quick you were to say it, how your thighs fell open the moment that demand left your pretty lips, how you gave him those doe eyes of yours and batted your lashes because you just know how much he likes it when you do that, "Where do you want me to touch you?"

Your hips wiggle with a sheepish grin and you shimmy yourself further up the bed, "Don't make me say it." A cadence of attitude intermingled with desperation, a look that translates into your puckered lips and puffed-out cheeks, "You know where."

"Do I?" If words could kill, those would be the final blow — the taunting tone, the chaste lay of his palm over that flat of skin above your pussy, the drop in octaves as each syllable rolled off his tongue. Two short words and yet they felt like some hot, steamy, lewd poem that had just been recited with grandeur and grace.

There is nothing royal or rich in his choice of a rebuttal, yet you shy away with shame at the fact that you did not see that cocky retort from a mile away.

Junpei leans down and kisses your knee, a smile stringing through his lips as his eyes never once leave yours, "Hey, 'm just joking." As much as he wants to continue to pester you, to jab and pinch every little inch his fingers can grab, he relents with a softening gaze. His hands hug your hips with so much love that you pardon how he manhandles your body further up the bed until your head is pressed into his goose-feather pillows, "But we're gonna do it my way, 'kay?"

"Your way?" You echo his very words, to which he says the exact same back — 'yes, my way.' spoken with confidence and this hint of something, you are not sure how to word it, but something that says save your questions for later. A thought that rests your worries and blankets you with the comfort of knowing that he is sure of himself.

Feverish kisses are planted along the underside of your neck, trailing down between the valley of your breasts — to which you find yourself disappointed by the fact that the slip dress obstructs his lips from touching your bare skin — until his mouth is centered between his resting hands, still tightly holding you in place.

Junpei looks... pretty. The candle's aura gives his complexion so much more color, and you never noticed how his raven hair has this purplish undertone. The shadows of his eyes and jaw make him look older, but in a good way, mature and husky and just so appealing. You get warm all over, fantasizing about what a middle-aged Junpei would look like, but even better, if you would be with him long enough to see that.

You hope so.

"'m gonna kiss you," He says into your hot flesh, lips mouth at your abdomen and if you were not wet already, you are soaked now, "Close your eyes."

You act without question, the world around you turning black — you tell yourself over and over again to trust him, that he would never do anything to make you uncomfortable, let alone, anything that would hurt you. Part of you wonders if you are telling yourself that to convince yourself it's true, or more so just to keep your nerves calm enough to live through whatever he is prolonging.

But then you feel it, soft and delicate and virginal, as chaste as a kiss to your clit can get. His lips are honeyed in how they brush your bare pussy, teasing you and letting you squirm with every butterfly peck to your pretty pearl, "Junpei—" You gasp his name, thighs closing around either side of his head and squeezing, just a little, "Tickles."

His hands pry your legs back open, a chuckle vibrating against you and causing a jolt to shoot through your palpating core, "I know, I know— just keep still," Your thighs gradually open, "Yeah, like that."

Junpei makes himself comfortable, shoulders pressed into the back of your thighs and his mouth snug against your cunt as he tastes you for the first time. To him, you taste sweet, sugaring onto his tongue with every greedy lap. The whole thing is messy and sloppy and gross, wet smacks of his lips and the tip of his nose nudging your clit over and over again, all so he can stick his tongue in places you never really imagined a tongue should be.

But, as brazen as it is, it feels good — you can barely choke back the little mewls that start before you can stop them, whimpered pleas and utters of his name, hips gyrating and pushing down on his mouth as he completely devours you. 

"You—" He kisses your clit, chuckling when a long whine spills from your tongue, "You taste good." Another kiss, "I don't know what I thought you'd taste like," And another, "But it's better than whatever I had been thinking." And one more right at your cute hole that clenches around absolutely nothing.

"Don't say that," You complain with a shove of the heel of your palm into his forehead, his mouth detaching from you with a wet smack, "You're perverted."

Junpei ignores you in favor of shoving aside your wrist and pressing his face between your legs again, suckling on your heated clit and making sure he keeps his eyes locked with yours. Your eyes bubble with tiny tears of pleasure, giving your already beautiful eyes this even more angelic sheen to them, one that matches the sparkles of the sweat caking across the rest of you. 

Everything about you is just so intoxicating, from the experimental drag of your fingers through his scalp, down to how your press your heels into his back to keep him from pulling away — not that he ever meant to. You would need a crowbar to get him off at this point, especially with how invested he is in showering your swollen clit with all the love and attention it's been craving since he first got you in his lap.

"Junpei, 's so good—" Your pitiful whine is like music to his ears, ringing in his head and encouraging him, "Feels so..." You hiccup over your own words and the added arch of your back lets him know that whatever his tongue is doing to you right now is working some sort of magic. 

He tongues your clit with no real rhythm or coordination, flicking back and forth, dragging it flat over your pussy, tonguing that tight hole of yours until you start to attempt at riding his face. You are so needy and so insatiable, everything he does is just right but none of it is ever enough for you. 

Not until the tip of one of his fingers presses there, circling around your hole a few times just to test your reaction, which, at the moment, is curiously propping yourself up on your elbows and looking down your torso where his mouth meets you, "Is... will it hurt?"

"I'll be gentle," He murmurs into your thigh, kissing the faded stretch marks there before prodding at your cunt a few times, "Tell me to stop if you don't like it, yeah?" You can only nod, worried your words would fail you, but your answer is at least enough of an indication for him to slowly inch his finger inside of you.

The stretch is barely there, not necessarily painful but not exactly pleasing either. The sensation is bland, more like pressure, but it does not feel bad per se. Junpei works his wrist back and forth, eyeing how your body reacts to it, and only when he is sure that you are okay, does he curl it inside of you.

That curl, mixed in with the bumping of his thumb against your clit, is enough for you to slothfully fall flat on the bed again. He likes feeling your clench around him, how your walls squeeze and loosen with every drag and push, scraping your gummy insides with the pad of his finger, "It feels nice," You shakily report, "I like it— I like it a lot, Junpei."

He presses a second finger, not at all shoving it in but easing it alongside the first finger in a way that nearly makes it invisible to you. In fact, you barely feel it when it finally slots itself inside of you, not until Junpei altogether changes the course of his action. The shift is sudden, but not startling, rising onto his knees and angling his arm better so that his hand is imitating that sign for 'I love you', his middle and ring still deep within your cunt.

Junpei does not move his fingers yet, but the heel of his palm grinds down into your clit, "Comfortable?" 

"Mhm," You nod with a small smile, chewing at your bottom lip and eyeing him with this nervous itch, "It's... it's like pressure, and when you move your fingers around I can feel it in my stomach— but it feels nice, I promise. I really like it." Your explanation is cute, unsure and naive, but cute. He especially likes how eager you are to reassure him as if he could not tell you enjoyed his ministrations. 

Before his hand begins to move again, he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss — slow and sloppy with how his lips smear against yours, teeth uncomfortably clicking together, tongues rubbing against one another with no real dance in mind. Everything about it is so on the spot, the complete opposite of sexy, and yet it sends a fresh wave of something down between your legs.

"Mm—" You moan into his mouth, curling your fingers so tightly in his hair that it stings, "Nngh," Tiny gasps in between needy kisses, stealing his breath away each and every time, "Junpei, more."

And he can feel it, if the sudden tensing of your body were not already a given sign, the wetness that's beginning to gather around his knuckles is. 

Every inch of you feels fresh from a sauna, sticky and humid and so pliable that he is almost taken aback by how easy it is to work you open. The hints of unsurety are still present in the tension of your muscles, but the effortless dragging of his fingers inside of you seems to be reversing whatever stiffness there still is. 

For a moment, his lips parted from yours, and the two of you share breath after heated breath with eyes so deeply stunned that you can see the devils of lust swimming about the sea of charcoal mist that make up his irises. They are such a bland and lifeless color, yet you like them no less, and if the position of you both so allowed it, you may have even kissed both of his eyelids.

"Junpei, you're so pretty—"

His forehead knocks against yours, nose tips nuzzling one another as a moment of shared passion is exchanged. Not once does his wrist falter in its rocking, delving his fingers in and out from your core that has since welcomed the foreign affections of his fingertips kissing different patches of your gluey insides, "You're so soft," He huffs, "Can't wait to be inside of you." 

"I want it, too—" The words leave your lips like a bolt of lightning, just in time for your nails to bite at his shoulders "I'm ready, Junpei. Please." 

He had barely had his fingers inside of you, barely let his mouth explore you, and you are already hopping onto the next train — he finds your impatience endearing, but against what he wants deep down, he shakes his head. He does not want to rush this.

You whine brattily, "But Junpei," You tug his face closer, smashing your nose into his cheek and hooking an ankle around his back, "Pretty please, I want it... I can take it, I promise." 

Words fail him, rather, he speaks through his actions; his unoccupied arm is quick in gathering the backs of your knees against the outside of his forearm, pushing them both forward until they nearly knock into your cheeks, "Just a lil' more, I just wanna..." His eyes get lost between your thighs, it's so easy to imagine his cock in place of his hand.

"Gotta make sure you're, uh—" He clears his throat, the confident high he had just been on nothing more than a memory now, "Wanna make you cum first, okay? Just once... it'll make it feel so much better when I fuck you, alright?" Every sentence he says seems to be a means of soothing you, and yet at the same time, it is also to reassure himself in some fashion. To reinstate that power he loses every time he looks at you, really looks at you.

No more than strangled whines spill from your pouty lips, clearly disappointed by the wait, but nothing he cannot solve by jamming his fingers back inside of you and wiggling them around a little. He does not hit that spot immediately, clumsy pokes and prods and curls at your slippery walls, but when he does, he likes to watch your back arch off the bed and your thighs shake with bliss, "There it is."

His fingers abuse the spot relentlessly, your ankles grabbed in one hand and the other beating between your legs, "Does it feel good?" He leans in real close, enough so that he only has to whisper for you to hear him against the filthy wet squelches of your pretty cunt sucking his fingers clean, "Right here..." The heel of his palm lays flat over your clit, giving your pussy a good shake, "Feels good right here, yeah?" 

"Y-Yes," Your response is more like a yelp, toes curling because that is all you can really do with how he has you folded, "I love it, Junpei— love it so much, feels like 'm gonna—" A high strung squeal interrupts your own brainless tirade. When had he gone back down there? How did you miss him slithering his way down between your thighs?

Your legs fall carelessly over his shoulders, making it easy for him to fit his face between them and give your clit that much-needed attention it wanted. He is so gentle when it comes to using his mouth, applying feather-like kisses over your clit, kisses you almost barely feel when in comparison to how his fingers brutally plow in and out of your overworked cunt. 

"Junpei—" You hiccup, back arching into him as that knot deep inside of you begins to grow tighter, "S-Something— feels like..." Your eyes squeeze shut, your entire body contracting in on itself as pleasure borders overstimulation, nearing that high you have heard so much about but never felt like this before, "Junpei, please— please, please, please— I can't, I can't—"

He gives your clit a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss, "C'mon, (name)." He growls and gives your clit another kiss, "You want me to fuck you, right?" You immediately nod in response, your head bobbing up and down wildly, "Then you gotta give it to me, just gotta cum once."

In a matter of seconds, and with a few measly flicks of his tongue over your throbbing, aching clit, you lock up — your arms and legs drawn in on themselves, curled up and shaking as the tides of your high carry you weightlessly. The feeling is unlike anything earthly possible, a million and one electric bolts pricking you over and over and over; you feel like you might explode, or something like that, no words can describe it.

"That's it," He chuckles, the bed shifting under your weight, "That's it, baby. You're doing really good, y'know?" His fingers slow in their pace, dying down from their previous vigor to a more relaxed, lazy drag against the top of your spongey walls, "There we go..."

Your vision is white, and everything around you feels like being underwater; muffled, weightless. You can hear him, but you cannot hear him — his words are no more than this haze of noise that goes in one ear and out the other. It's like those movies where the character regains consciousness and their vision is nothing but pixelated silhouettes and muted voices.

"You're perfect," You can barely decipher what he is saying, "So fuckin' perfect, I'm so fuckin' lucky." A hand is placed over your spasming abdomen, applying just the right amount of pressure to soothe that overwhelming burst of fireworks going on inside of you. The sudden weight also proves to be distracting, enough for him to ease his fingers from your dripping cunt with a soft, gentle squelch.

Webs of your cum string between his fingers which he moves in a scissoring motion, making a show of what he did to you — a certain level of shame pools within your heart, one that urges you to slam your thighs shut and turn your knees away from him, "Junpei," You pout, pressing the heel of your foot into his side, "Stop doing that, it's embarrassing."

"Why?" He muses with a shit-eating grin plastered from cheek to cheek, and you can feel your stomach drop deep within the pit of your stomach when his fingers are slowly brought to his mouth, "You didn't seem to care when you were crushing my head between your thighs." His voice is laced with a tone meant to tease you, making sure your eyes remain on his when he sinks those two fingers into his mouth.

An almost pornographic hum rumbles at the back of his throat, dragging them out with a wet pop and making sure not a single drop of you is still on them. Something about it has that heat springing back to life, even though you were sure Junpei had snuffed that flame the second he pushed you over the edge. You cautiously rub your thighs together, doing your best to be discreet but, as much as you try, he knows you too well.

Junpei is like a cat on the prowl, crawling up your body until he has you caged beneath him. You cannot do anything other than grasp onto his arms and do your best to maintain his gaze, "What's wrong?" He husks, kneeing your legs apart and slotting his body between them, "Still want me to properly—"

"Yes," You cut him off before he can finish, knowing that his word choice would be enough to make you cum a second time, "I want it more than anything, I wanna be completely yours." Your hands cup his face and with a little bit of struggle, you manage to lift yourself just enough to peck his lips with a shy smooch. "Please, I did what you wanted, right?"

He smiles at that, a tender kiss placed above your eyelids, just like he does before you both go to sleep. You even lean in for more, missing his lips every second they are not on you, they are your favorite part of him! The very lips that kiss you every chance they can get, that whisper sweet nothings in your ear, that tell you 'good morning' and 'good night', the very lips that have told you 'I love you' a million times over.

"I love you," You whisper, shying away from him until one of his hands catches your chin, "I love you so much, Junpei— I only want you, I wanna be with you every day." The floodgates open and you can feel a monsoon of emotions crashing through and drenching you, all of your affections laid out for him, and really, you do not expect him to say anything. You just need him to know that you adore him like no other.

For a moment, he is speechless. You begin to worry that maybe you came on too strong, but he reassures your anxieties with a gentle kiss between your brows, "I love you, too..." He whispers against your skin, tickling your skin with his warm, candy-scented words, "We'll be together always, okay?"

"Oka—"

Your voice dies in your throat, you saw something shine out of the corner of your eye and that was all. It was so effortlessly quick, that after a few seconds of hiccuping over your own neck, you almost believe that maybe you inhaled your own saliva and needed to just cough this one out. 

But that feeling never went away, it was not even really pain, more of a deep burning that can best be compared to when a surprise wave falls down on you and you inhale an overabundance of water — it stings your eyes and your sinuses, and the back of your throat. 

You find yourself struggling to breathe, grasping at your neck because, up until this point, you had no idea what was wrong. Your vision had even left you, nothing but flashes of white springing about and obstructing your view. The world felt like a blind maze, one that is solved the second your hands come to grasp around your hot throat spilling over.

"Ju—n—peh—" His name does not come from your slack jaw, but rather, in between your fingers which hold tightly at the laceration in your throat. The sound is awful, this gurgling, atrocious noise that makes you sick to your stomach. You do not even want to try and talk again, not if it means you have to hear yourself speaking through the cut in your neck.

When the initial shock subdues and your vision returns, something inside of you lurches at how Junpei just sits there. Not an ounce of concern or panic on his face, in fact, he looks rather bored by whatever he must have done to you. There is no other explanation for what happened, and as much as you hate to think it, Junpei is the only reasonable culprit... and that makes your heart break.

Perhaps if he looked away it would have helped, because that meant he felt remorse, that he could not look at you without suffering his own guilt. However, he watches with an eerie silence, not a sound other than you choking on your own blood and heaving to try and catch a breath, not realizing that with every forced drag of air you are speeding up the process of drowning yourself.

"You're hurting yourself," He says with a frown, placing the box cutter you had not noticed was still clutched in his hand on the bedside table, "Stop doing that." Junpei pins your shoulders to the soaked mattress, his eyes are like blocks of coal — no light or color, no soul... just this dark abyss of absolutely nothing that makes you tense up in fear.

Had he always looked at you that way? Was there ever any genuine twinkle in his eyes? Somehow, everything you knew about him becomes muddled together, and doubt wells up like bile in the back of your throat. A question of whether any of it was real or not plagues your dying thoughts, making it all the more difficult to let go because, in your dreams, you had hoped that if you ever died you would at least be able to with the thought of Junpei and his unconditional love for you on his mind.

But now, as you succumb to the cut-throat wound and your own blood pooling into your lungs, you are distraught that you have been living a terrible lie. 

"That's it," He hushes, petting his bloodied hand over your wet cheek, "Just relax..." As sick as it is, his hand comforts you, and with what little strength you have left you lean into his palm.

There were hundreds of theories you had about dying — heaven, hell, reincarnation, living as a ghost... but this was different. It felt like floating underwater, with no real temperature to the place, in fact, it felt like when you are in between dreaming and consciousness; there's a stillness to the atmosphere. Not even your own hands and feet were visible to you, just empty space.

In a way, maybe you would have preferred your chances in hell, not that you ever did anything to deserve it, rather than float around in whatever afterlife this is. Somehow it is more ominous, being alone with no real entertainment or sound, and you are positive that within the hour you would absolutely lose your mind. Whether it be the suspense, the isolation, or maybe just not knowing what comes next... whatever it is, you would rather die a hundred times over than be in this position.

What feels like hours, perhaps was only a few minutes, maybe even seconds, but gradually you succumbed to your own restlessness. You think you are looking around, moving, and you cannot be certain without your vision, but it feels like you are walking... swimming? Something like that, but you feel it. The swaying of your limbs, your muscles contracting, you swear you feel it.

No matter how far you travel, if you are even traveling at all, your roaming hands do not come into contact with anything, in fact, not once was there any sign of, well, anything. You never bumped shoulders into a solid surface, never stubbed your toe, or knocked your finger. No sound to be heard for miles, though, you are certain that such measurements of distance do not exist in this dark neverending abyss.

But you smell something, this charred, earthy scent that reminds you of camping — a fresh, crackling firepit fueled by dried twigs and branches, burning hay, and whatever else could be found. That calming, smoky odor sticks to your clothes and hair for weeks no matter how much shampoo or perfume you use. 

You blindly follow it, a teasing game of cat and mouse with only your nose to guide you; turning one way only to realize it is wrong and retrace your steps, trial and error time and time again. To be honest, you are not even sure if you made progress at all, perhaps this entire time you have been making large circles and currently stand where you started.

Then you see it, something flickering off to your right, this deep maroon that, as you scurry to get closer, blossoms into bright pinks and lethargic fuchsias. It reminds you of spring, the colors of dewy flowers but the physical form of a small fire. No heat radiates from it, but when you hold your hand up to it, you can see the silhouette of your palm and fingers.

So you reach for it, expecting to be burnt, but the pain never comes. Rather, it feels warm. You like it, to be able to feel something for a moment, to not be completely alone in this sad excuse of an afterlife. You hold the strange ball of fire closer to you, hugging it despite it being no larger than a baseball, and allowing its cozy embrace to lull you into what feels like sleep, but soon feels like a surge of life.

You have never been resuscitated by a defibrillator before, but if it felt like anything it would have for sure felt like that — this sharp, piercing pulse that ignites every nerve inside of you. For a moment, it's as if you lost absolute control of your body, and your limbs thrashed freely. Your stomach does flips and your fingers seize up just as your arms and legs do, and this stiffness overcomes your neck.

But then it stops, just as quick as it started, all of it stops... except for this pounding in your ear that you can also feel in the tips of your fingers and toes, this rhythmic beating that, if you were not crazy, would have sounded — felt — like a heartbeat. 

"O Father, O Satan, O Sun—

Ov Fire, Ov Light.

I offer Thee a Virgin most true,

and with a heart most pure.

O Father, O Satan, O Sun—

Ov Fire, Ov Light.

For this dearly departed Virgin, 

I ask Thee for power to act on retribution."

Those very words awoke you from the coma you had been in, the volts that you had felt earlier, the ones that restarted your dying corpse, reawakened your body. Though it may have taken a moment for your shell to regain consciousness and its senses, when it did, you shot up like the undead. 

If you could describe the feeling as anything, it was like you got up too fast. Your head suddenly weighed a million pounds, and if it were not for your positioning on the floor, you may have just flopped right back down. 

Maybe it was all just some bad dream, you try to convince yourself, maybe you passed out and when you open your eyes Junpei will be right there with concern written on his face, and the moment you say his name he will tell you all about how scared he was and that he is so happy you are okay.

Your eyes blink open, readjusting to the near pitch-black room, safe for the few candles lit around you. There is no comfort to be found, in fact, fear quickly begins to well up inside of you and the way your blood-soaked dress continues to cling to you does little to ease your anxiety. There is nothing familiar about Junpei's room, had it always been so menacing in the dark? Did his weird posters always give you these chills, or the fact that he has so much macabre decorum nearly curdles whatever your last meal was?

Junpei, just the thought of him, terrifies you—

"Dearly departed," A voice sounds from behind you and if you had not just risen from your grave, you are sure your soul would have taken a hike right then and there, "She is dear, but I don't think she is departed." The voice is sinister, and playful, making it hard to decipher their character by their voice alone, "Not that I really mind, but if you're going to kill your girlfriend you should make sure to do it right."

Your blood goes cold, spinning around on the floor to find whomever that voice belongs to, but you have not even pinpointed where Junpei is. There is so little illumination in the room, at most you can see yourself and the ground beneath you, defiled by your blood. Not knowing who or what lurks within the darkness does not help with your rapidly increasing heartbeat, thrashing into your ribcage to the point it hurts. 

"Junpei?" You squeak, clearing the grogginess from your throat, "This isn't funny..." You kick at the floor uselessly, your strength still weary and you have no means of harnessing enough of it to push yourself onto your feet, "Junpei," Another pained cry, "I'm scared, please—"

But then the hairs on your body stand, just as they do when the feeling of eyes seem to follow you, "Shhh," You whip your head around when a hiss comes from behind you, dumbfounded by the darkness that conceals their identity, "Why are you calling for him?" The voice is that of a man, but it's not Junpei — it is lighter with a playful lilt, no agitation or violence evident in his way of speaking, in fact, it's as if this situation is a game to him.

You refuse to move, squeezing your eyes shut and sitting as stiff as humanly possible. If you disregard him, whoever he is, maybe he will just go away. 

But he does not, in fact, he sinks into the candlelight and gradually your eyes are graced with inch after inch of this terrifying man, if that is what you can even call him. There is nothing quite human about him from the glowing of his heterochromatic eyes, to the majestic ram horns growing from the crown of his head, down to the claws that scratch along the hardwood flooring as he stalks closer to you. 

He is like an angel of darkness, absolutely gorgeous but not without the lingering sense of doom that hangs over him, "Did you think you were dreaming?" You keep yourself from nodding, though it was tempting, if you feed into him he will only continue to pursue you for attention. Your eyes stubbornly remain shut, and so do your lips, "Ignoring me?"

His hand grabs your chin roughly, giving your head a good shake until your eyes rattle open. You find the room brighter than before, catching what looks to be someone else's outline just adjacent to where you are being held, "Junpei?" You call again, hope etched into his name and praying that, against your better judgment, he can provide some explanation as to what is going on 

"Go on," The voice instigates, "Tell her what you did, you seemed pretty confident before she woke up."

"You— You tricked me." Junpei stutters in the darkness, "I did what I was supposed to, I did everything right—" His footsteps are heavy on the ground, advancing towards where you sit until, having grabbed one of the candles he had strategically set on the ground around you, he was visible. Seeing him like this, your blood soaked into the bare skin of his torso and the gray of his sweatpants made you absolutely sick.

The demon, as you have settled on calling him, uses his grip to jerk you forward, "Not even an apology?" He squeezes your cheeks together, making your lips move to his words, "Don't you feel bad for hurting me, Junpei?"Despite your struggle to turn your head away, a pitiful attempt to free yourself, his grasp does not loosen up.

Junpei's face contorted into one of distress, his lips pulled down into a scowl and his browns cinched together — an expression you have never seen on his face. It is an ugly, demented look and it makes you want to look at anything but him. That terrible recollection of what he did to you replays over and over like a broken record; he had no remorse, no sorrow, and no love to show for his actions.

"I... this—" Junpei begins to hyperventilate, "This is all wrong, this is not what was supposed to happen— the book said—"

"Books say a lot of things," He releases your face in favor of cupping the front of your neck, right where you had been gushing blood no more than twenty minutes ago, "But I've never read one that tells the reader to sacrifice their girlfriend—"

Junpei turns hot on his heel, "STOP SAYING THAT." He is explosive, and if cartoons were anything like reality you are sure smoke would be steaming from his ears, "I didn't— it doesn't matter, I did what I was supposed to and now you have to finish your end of the deal." His tongue seethes with venom, dripping with nothing but hate and rage. There is no sign of the Junpei you know, no remains of that sheepish grin he would give you, no awkward linking of his pinky with yours or overlapping your legs if it means being even closer together than before.

You have nothing to show for years of love you so generously, happily gave away.

The room falls eerily silent after that, not a sound other than Junpei's labored breathing and the chattering of his teeth. It doesn't matter, he said. You do not matter to him, just a pawn in whatever game he thinks he is playing, a game that clearly is not working in his favor... and for that, you are even more devastated than you already were. The tears fall freely and wet your cheeks, and as much as you try to be discreet about your sorrow, the shaking of your shoulders paired with the whimpers you swallow give you away.

The figure behind you disappears, and as crazy as it sounds, you almost found him comforting in your state of vulnerability. You feel pitiful, pathetic; sobbing into your palms on the floor of your boyfriend's room... ex-boyfriend you should say. No amount of praying could ever get you to forgive him for this.

But then that sensation returns, that feeling of being watched — you feel him before you heart him, his chin resting against your shoulder and allowing his head to tilt to the side so that he can press his ear to your pulse, "Poor thing," He sighs monotonously, arms snaking around your waist nonchalantly, as if he had done this a million times before with you, "Y'know, I may be evil..." He nestles deeper against the side of your neck, inhaling the lingering odor of perfume, "But I'd never lay a finger on something like you."

For the most part, he sounds genuine, but who are you to trust the words of the devil?

He holds you all the tighter, and your rational thinking begins to slip away, the trauma thrown at you tonight rendering your thought process and you instinctively seek comfort in whoever is closest and most endearing, "Do you remember what happened?" He asks, the tip of his nose dragging along the side of your cheek until his lips are pressed at the shell of your ear, "How it felt?"

You feel sick to your stomach just thinking about it, dreading sobs bubbling at the back of your throat, and that lump that forms at the back of your tongue reminds you of how it felt to choke over your own blood, "My throat—" You wail into your own hands, muffling your less than attractive noises, "It was cut so deep I could talk out of it— the sound it made," You suck in a breath, shaky and rough and more like a gasp than a genuine breath, "I couldn't breathe."

He coos at you, turning you around so that he can cup your pretty face and wipe your tears with his thumbs, "That must have been scary...," One of his hands travels south, caressing the very spot, "You were planning to give him something special, weren't you? Something no one else could ever have..." His voice drops several octaves, sending a shiver down your spine — he is gentle with you, leaning in close until every exhale wafts across the skin of your neck, "He doesn't deserve it."

A gasp hitches at the back of your throat when hot lips are smushed against the center of your throat, kissing over where a wound should be, "I made it all go away," He tells you in secret, pressing another kiss in the same spot, "You're just too cute to be laying dead in your own blood."

"Made it... go away?" You whisper, more to yourself than him, trying to piece together what he could mean by that, "Like— bring me back to life?"

For the first time tonight, as his face draws away from your throat, are you able to get a proper view of him. He is pretty, really pretty. With long lakeshore blue hair that falls over his broad shoulders in thick bundles, and big heterochromatic eyes in the colors blue and gray with heavy lashes to frame them. You had not even noticed until he leaned in closer the pale etchings in his skin, almost as if he were taken apart and sewn back together.

There is this charm to him, his beauty not conventional in the slightest but perhaps that is what makes him so alluring. 

And he also does not deny your question.

"No," You huff out, turning your face away when he hungrily kisses at that tender spot just beneath your ear, "Are— you're really a demon?" The question had sounded less ridiculous in your head, but the vibration of his chuckles that make your ears ring tell you otherwise.

You catch a glimpse of Junpei from over Mahito's shoulder, a certain look in his eyes that makes your blood run cold, "Mahito." He whispers, large hands cupping your face and guiding you to look up at him, "That is what you will call me." He stares at you a moment, admiring how your little head fits so perfectly in his palms — he has always been fascinated by the delicacy of humans, "Say it."

"Mahito—" His thumb presses into your mouth as you annunciate the 'o' in his name, pinching your tongue that tries to shrink away from his long nail. Your mouth is so warm and soft, he likes how squishy your cheeks are and the smoothness of the backs of your teeth. You look adorable with your mouth stuffed, too embarrassed to keep eye contact so you shut your eyes altogether. 

"What are you doing to her?" Junpei interjects but does not make any move to get closer.

He pauses his assault on your mouth, dragging his finger down your bottom lip and watching it remain pinned against your chin, "I don't think it matters, you gave her to me." Mahito releases you with a grin, his sharp canines shimmering against candlelight, "I can do whatever I want..." He says it dreamily as if he were already thinking of all the things he could possibly do with you, "Why do you care?"

You had not realized you were being made a show of until Mahito brought your face close to his, granting enough room for Junpei to get a good look at you, "Want her back?" He asks it, but he does not care to wait for a response, in fact, no matter what Junpei says he has no intention of listening to him, "I don't think she wants you anymore... do you, (name)?" He shakes your head for you, "No, of course, you don't... I wouldn't wanna hang around someone so pathetic, either!"

"I never asked for her back—" He chokes up on his words, scowling at the childishness of Mahito teasingly devouring that sweet spot at your nape. Emotions arise without his consent, a burning pit of jealousy swirling about his insides and the worst part about it is he cannot do anything to stop it. He feels foolish and insulted that he genuinely believed some funny words would do anything but screw him over.

When he killed you he did it with the resting knowledge that you would die belonging to him, and although he had willingly "gifted" you to the devil he called upon, he never expected to see you reanimate and be defiled by that same dark spirit. Something about it rubs him in all the wrong ways, seeing you be touched by someone else, by someone he has no power or control over.

Junpei feels just as he did in primary school, cornered and vulnerable, and helpless. He is transported back to his days spent locked up in the boy's bathroom during his lunch and study period to avoid any altercation with his bullies. To the days when he would get to school early just so he could find somewhere to hide, and stay in school late until no one else is around and he can sneak off home.

All in a matter of minutes he feels so small again, and that repugnant feeling of having to lay in bed knowing no one gave a shit about him but his mother resurfaced. He feels ignorant for thinking that it would be that easy to reverse everything, to finally be the one in control — and while with you he, in some fashion, had that power he craved, he knew at the end of it all you had the power as to whether you wanted to keep him around or not.

Without you, he would be nothing... and he could not live with that. Even if it meant sacrificing you, at least it provided him a chance at being able to prosper whether or not you were prettily hanging from his arm. 

"Junpei," Mahito's fingers are hot on your spine, dragging his claw through the delicate silk maintaining your modesty, "Did she taste good?" The ripping of the fabric is deafening, and regardless of whether you can look Junpei in the eye or not, you can see the stiffness of his body when he too catches the noise of your dress, "Did she sing for you?"

Shamelessly he plucks the straps off of your shoulders and watches how, in one graceful dance, the dress falls in a small heap of white and crimson before you. You feel like no more than an attraction to restless tourists, the eyes of both men cracking what little composure you still had left. There is nothing right about this situation; your hands neatly folded in your lap and your legs tucked under you, blood still sticking to your skin in blotches of dried murky red... you are a gift, not even human, a prize to be owned.

And you have fallen into the hands of something sinister.

Mahito creeps up behind you, reaching underneath your arms and grabbing a handful of your chest without hesitation, "These are nice," He coos, giving you a playful squeeze just to hear you squeal, "Has he ever touched you here before?" You do not know why you were so quick to answer, maybe it has become second nature while being under the influence of the demon currently fondling you, but you shake your head quickly, "No?" 

Your body is hauled backward, forced to sit between his thighs, knees over his, and your back so firmly pressed to his torso you can feel his heart thumping against your spine. There is a certain level of intimacy to it, you never thought a demon could have a heart, not in the metaphorical sense but a literal sense... you suppose everything that is "living", in some shape or form, has a heart of its own.

You would never openly say it, but having the privilege to feel it thumping steadies the instability within you. It brings you peace. The rhythm is balanced, with no sign of apprehension or doubt or anything but utter confidence. He is dripping with finesse, every point of action executed, although unconventionally, with a certain level of something that just gets you — from how he places his lips right at your ear, whispering sweet little instructions to you, watching how easily you follow each and every one of them, only to shower you in praise you just are not used to.

Mahito pinches your perked nipples, enjoying the lovely little noises that rumble in the back of your throat, "Do you touch yourself when you're alone?" The question makes you squirm, knees knocking together in retaliation to the sudden warmth that spreads through your belly, "Do you think about him while you do it?" Mahito drags his fingers up the length of your torso, cupping underneath your tits and observing your body's instinct to arch into his touch.

"Do you imagine him taking you slowly for the first time?" He grows louder with every question, holding you tighter and grabbing you in places you had never been grabbed in such a way before, "Laying you down just like he had you, locking your fingers together just... like..." He leaves you hanging for a moment, allowing your senses to hone in on the ticklish sensation of his nails skipping down your arm, "This?" His fingers lace together with yours and only now are you able to fully dissect how large he is in comparison to you.

His palms may very well be the size of your head, perhaps even larger. There is a certain level of panic in that, but with an undertone of eroticism. Your fingers squeeze around his and you find yourself, against the odds that are laid out before you, falling for his charmingly devious sense of self.

You feel unholy in every way, and not because a demon is caressing every inch of you, or whispering foul things into your ear in an ever so alluring tone of voice, but rather because of how your body is attracted to that. There is this unspoken magnetism that grows harder and harder to ignore, "When you imagine it... is he gentle enough so that it doesn't hurt?"

You choke up, thighs pressed so tightly together they might as well go through one another, "N-No more—" Your lungs burn, every labored breath you take is like inhaling the fumes of a bonfire — smoke and flame and ash and everything in between that makes your respiratory system cry out.

The air feels stubbornly hot, and his body pressed tightly against yours does little to alleviate that, "Are you one of those virgins that has violent sexual fantasies?" His heart pulsates against your back and yet all you can imagine are the countless nights your fingers shimmied under the hem of your panties, rubbing clumsily at your confused pussy as your mind wandered to several scenarios in which Junpei would take you.

Your favorite was always the one where he tugged your panties down to your knees and bent you over his desk, scolding you because of your insufferable habit of hanging onto him while he works. As he said, in his own words, 'You're too needy for your own good.' He would grab you by the back of your neck, or dig his fingers into three fat of your thigh. The bits that always got you to cum were when you imagined his spanking you, degrading you.

"That's it, isn't it?" Mahito rejoices with a chuckle, "Look at me." He turns your face to him sternly, "Tell me I'm right."

Little tears of humiliation prick the corners of your eyes, lashes fluttering at him like the wings of a butterfly. He finds it cute how emotional you get knowing your dirty secret is out, and the tears really add to the effect. You are just too easy to rile up, every little thing seems to set you off in some direction and perhaps he likes that unpredictability of your swaying emotions — one second in fear, the next rubbing your thighs together shamelessly, and now tearing up in pure embarrassment. 

Your tongue feels numb in your mouth and you almost think to defy him entirely, to keep your lips sealed shut and ignore his demand for a response. However, all that your body wants to do is behave. You want to be good, to do as he asks because, as far as your assumptions lay, if you do what Mahito says he will be nice to you. You want him to like you.

At first, your voice is rough, and you swallow down your reservations before trying again, "Y-You're right," You barely manage just those two words, no louder than meek whimpers and neither spoken without a teeny stutter, "You're right." 

Mahito seems to like that answer because his lips curl into a sinister grin, "What do you imagine, (name)?" His interest is piqued and based on the wild look in his eyes, feral and desperate to know what goes on in your head, you are sure he will not take anything but the truth for an answer.

"I..." He taunts you with only his eyes, your reflection swimming in them, "Being called names," His hands loom at your knees, nudging your legs apart, "Being... Being bent over and—" Mahito's body slips between your legs with an uncalled-for amount of elegance, guiding you to wrap your legs around his waist. You do not want to say the last part, it had been hard enough to say the first two, but you just cannot find the courage to speak one simple word.

"Tell me, (name)." He husks at the valley between your heavy tits, suckling and nipping at the tender flesh, "It can be our little secret, just you and me."  

The world seems to slow at that moment, your body undivided in its attention, solely focused on how his mouth treats your skin, "Mahito—" You whine, hesitant in reaching for his hair, "I like— I like..." Your fingers sink into his thick hair, holding gently and rubbing the strands in between your fingers, "Spanked," You say so quietly, he almost does not hear you, "I wanna be spanked."

He eyes you from below, his soft lips latched onto a patch of skin adjacent to your perky nipple and sucking at it. You can feel his tongue and teeth grinding against the meat, no doubt in an attempt to mark your flesh with a reminder of him. The mark throbs with its own heartbeat and your eyes almost deceive you into thinking that it is pulsating with life, the mark is barely visible against your complexion, no more than the imprints of his teeth and a sheen of saliva.

"Oh, really?" There is mock disbelief laced in his response, brows lifted to feign surprise but you are sure he is anything but such, "Is that all?" He prods and pokes at you because really, nothing gets him off quite like fucking with the feeble, fragile mind of a human. To be able to dissect a human without taking them apart is the most rewarding process, in his humble opinion.

Mahito levels his face with yours, his long wisps of lakeshore blue hair create a beautiful curtain around your face. At that moment, it feels like there is nothing and no one but the two of you. The tips of your noses kissing one another, and if you did not know any better, you would have considered such an act to be romantic, sensual... intimate.

Perhaps, you do not know any better.

"I dunno," You shamefacedly tell, fingers dancing across the various features that make him so incredibly beautiful — you trace his jaw up until his chin where your fingers then ascend upwards to smooth over his lips, smiling at how incredibly velvety they are beneath your fingers. You almost want to ask what lip balm he uses, "I've had other dreams, but— well, I've only been really interested in those main three... I'm still a virgin, Mahito."

His charm is unconventional, not the charm that an ancient vampire has when seducing a beautiful damsel in distress, nor the charm of a sociopath seeking out their latest victim... he has this wonderous charm, one that is not at all meant to be salacious, but rather hold this unspoken of curiosity that reels you in. When you are with him, you feel ageless, and that in itself invokes a wave of clumsy, amateur hormones that in turn carries nostalgia.

None of it makes sense, you realize, but nothing good ever has a clear answer. Regardless of whether it is genuinely "good" or not.

His large hand grabs your face, your chin resting between his thumb and index finger, and squeezes your cheeks together just enough for your lips to pucker, "Yes, you are..." He hums, and his tongue, which you only now realize is long and forked, wets his lower lip, "Does that scare you?"

"Scare me?" You echo with a confusing twist, "Like— does being a virgin scare me?"

Your body is flipped over without warning, hips elevated by one of his arms tucked underneath you and lifting your lower half up just enough for your rear to meet his front. It feels raunchy, and although that is something that, in some other universe, may have disturbed you, in this given reality your body lovingly presses back further until the outline of his cock is sandwiched against your puffy cunt.

Something about it just feels so right, your cheek smushed into the hardwood flooring, just as your tits are, and his hands fondle the fat of your ass with such adoration and care. He kneads the meat, rubbing and spreading and shoving his cock into you just right so that it tugs on your little, needy clit. He knows your body better than even you, guiding your hips back as he presses forward and breathes the little whines that hang from your pouty lips.

"You don't seem scared to me," He sings into your ear, "You almost seem excited to get rid of it..." 

Perhaps you are. Maybe this is what you have wanted for as long as you can remember, the burden of your virginity is heavy and suffocating and the older you get the more difficult it is to lie to your friends that you have had sex with Junpei. Your lips always move faster than your head, and before you knew it, the lies began to pile up — boasting that he is so big and that he can make you cum three times in one round, or the time you gushed about how he has taken you on every surface in his apartment...

All of it lies, simply because, against your own comfort, you are embarrassed by your lack of activity. 

"I want it—" You bite your tongue, hiding your shame in the walls that your arms create around your head, "Junpei—"

A hand grabs the back of your throat and pulls, harshly turning you so that your eyes remain solely on the heterochromatic ones that scrutinize you, "Don't say his name." Mahito hisses with a furrowed brow, clearly offended that even now, as Junpei cowers off to the side to lick his own wounds, you still manage to weep his name, "He had his chance..."

Mahito uses his thumb to tug your pussy open, spitting a scalding glob of drool onto your tight hole, "You're gonna be so sweet," He buzzes with a sunny grin, eyeing how his saliva dribbles down to your swollen clit, "I want you to bleed on my cock." There is risk in his voice, and yet your only reaction is to push back on his thumb that circles your needy cunt, "Can you do that for me?"

"Mhmm," He rewards you with a swipe over your clit, towing it back and forth, "I'll— I'll do it," Another driblet of slobber hits you, and his fingers rub it in until your pussy sparkles, "I want it, Mahito, I need it— I need you."

"Do you need me, little lamb?" He asks, and you can hear what sounds like the undoing of his clothes, "Does it feel like you'll die without me?" 

'Yes,' You want to say, 'I'll die without you.' But even in your head, those words sound nothing like you — they sit heavily on your tongue, beckoning to be freed, for you to breathe life into the idea of a world where Mahito is your everything. You need him, you want him. You have nothing and you are nobody without him. 

There is this looming thought of doom. Little lamb, he said. A pet name he thought up just for you, an exclusive honorific to replace your name, a term of affection. Without connotation it is lovely, it makes you feel special... though, little lambs, in just about every movie ever, never do make it far. They are the first to be laid on the slab, the first to suffer a tragic end.

That is what you are meant to be; the sacrificial lamb. The darling virgin given to the devil to satiate his hunger, a gift to entertain this evil spirit until he grows bored of you. Your fate had been sealed for years, you were always destined to be in this position with your legs spread deliciously for the Lord of Darkness.

"Say it." His voice carries through to your innermost thoughts, coaxing your slack jaw to become of use and emit those simple words he expects from you, "Say it and I'll give you whatever you want... anything at all."

The first thing that crosses your mind is Junpei, you cannot even bring yourself to look at him, but he dallies at the back of your mind. Would you be able to forgive yourself if you selfishly wished for revenge? Could you sleep knowing you were just as demented as he is?

"Mahito," His name is like honey on your tongue, you would say it over and over if it meant filling your mouth with that same sweetness, "I'll die without you." You are almost winded when you hear yourself, it is just so wrong and yet, as you feel his lips curl into a smile against your shoulder, all you feel is unconditional satisfaction.

"That's right," He laughs, dragging his fingers along the indentations of your spine, "You'd die without me, I'm all you have now, aren't I?" 

He is right, you have no one. You have no one but him, and as he traces your body down to the plush fat of your ass, squeezing your heavy cheeks before holding them apart to admire your twinkling pussy, you know you are okay with that. 

There is no process to it for him, no unique finesse when it comes to pressing the blinding tip of his cock at your cunny, "I think you're boyfriend worked you open just fine," He speaks rather confidently, a big toothy grin on his otherwise pretty face, "You'll sing for me, won't you?"

Sing for him, you smile into the back of your hands at that, who knew such simple words could make you feel so fuzzy? Mahito smooths a hand over the small of your back, pushing down until you give him a pretty arch, your upper half sinking into the floor beneath you while the rest remains propped up nicely for him to admire. You are so fragile, he notes, even the tiniest of grabs and pinches seem to make you gasp — he forgets his own strength.

"'s not gonna fit—" You realize when his tip rubs snug at your hole, his tip is like a searing coke can as it mushes around at your stubborn lips, "Mahito," He hums at the sound of his name, though his voice sounds distant, and you doubt he is genuinely paying attention, "'s it gonna hurt?"

The demon sighs at that, and you nearly believe you might have upset him, but then his hand falls heavy onto your left ass cheek; hard enough to be a spank with an added grab and shake of the fat, "It might," He says nonchalantly, playing with your rear end and ignoring how intimidating it is for his huge dick to be flush against your virgin pussy, "Pain is only temporary, think of how good it's gonna feel after... I bet that," One of his arms loops around your waist, fingers dancing from the hood of your clit up to your navel, "My dick will reach all the way up here."

Mahito presses the tips of his fingers into your tummy, massaging that sensitive spot just below your bellow button until you start to squirm, "Does that scare you, little lamb?" He is not at all concerned, only amusement etched in between his words, "I promise not to tear you in half."

You can only nod, you simply do not have the heart to tell him how little his words helped to ease your worries. 

One of his hands holds you open for him, gripping your left cheek and spreading, the sound of your pussy lips pulling apart is deafening; like smacking your tongue against the back of your teeth. It makes you cringe almost, knowing Mahito has such a personal view between your legs, you feel judged beneath his eyes. Not a word or sound is spoken and doubt begins to tumble within you, are you not good enough?

But then he is huskily smearing the tip of his cock between your parted folds, watching how it begins to sparkle with the collection of your arousal, "So cuuute~" His words are breathless, "Can't even fit the tip in..." There is this frustration to him, every gentle nudge against your puckered hole only results in your cunt disregarding him entirely — no amount of coaxing by rubbing your clit, or stretching you with his fingers seems to open you up enough.

However, he is no quitter, and that scares you, "Well," He sighs with disappointment, "I wanted Junpei to watch your face while I made love to you, but I suppose this will have to work." Your body is manhandled onto its back, legs in the air, and your arms pressed into your chest, "I'm lucky your front is just as pretty as your back." Mahito guides your limbs into a very specific position, pretzeled in half with your knees just below where your arms are folded over your tits.

"So pretty," He muses, shuffling until his knees are at the back of your thighs, your ankles doing their best to wrap around his waist but the firm grip he has on your knees makes it difficult for you to move your legs from their pinned state, "What do you want?" He is taunting you, teasing you. That look in his eye that says you are at my mercy.

"You," Mahito grinds his cock between your legs, "I want you, Mahito, please—" A hand drags down the length of your thigh, cupping the back of it and using his thumb to press down on his cock to guide it. Not once do your eyes leave him, too embarrassed to look down your body where the two of you meet — though he still feels inhumanly large pressed against you, the position provides a bit of relief when you can feel what is only the beginning of him easing his tip through that first barrier of muscle.

Everything seems to be still; your breathing, the trembling, the nerves. Your conscience solely focused on that pressure between your legs, how uncomfortably good it feels the more he fills you up. You almost think to let the breath you had been holding out, fully convinced that this entire time you may have been overreacting about the whole ordeal.

But then he stops, and you feel why he stops, "'s gonna hurt, isn't hurt?" His eyes flicker up to you, a pout on your pretty face and your teeth stressing your bottom lip. Your eyes, for the first time, flicker down and you almost feel sick. There is still so much of him not yet stuffed in your gooey cunt, and already he is nudging at that little wall of skin that marks you as pure.

That thin curtain mocks you, makes fun of you — even just the tiniest of prodding elicits this string of sensitivity, and your thighs, as a result, try to close around him, "No, no, no..." He seethes, lowering himself until your legs are trapped over his shoulders and his nose tickles the highest point of your cheek, "All you have to do is keep still, be a good girl for me and close your eyes— yeah, just like that... 's not hard following directions, right?

"No, but—" He hushes you, lips peppering fresh kisses around your face, just as he knows you humans like it, "Ow—" You had not even realized his intentions were to distract you, and though his onslaught of affections proves to be warming, it does not entirely rid you of that tearing feeling, "Mahito, it hurts— wait."

You feel it pop, just as quick as he started to press inside of you. Your entire body curls in on itself and your nails, with nowhere else to reach but up, claw his shoulders raw. You look like absolute perfection if he has ever seen such a thing, you have such a cute pain face; bottom lip caught so viciously between your teeth that it begins to bleed, eyes squeezed shut to match the cinch of your brows... but his favorite part? How madly your insides clench around him.

He could just eat you up where you are, starting with those soft lips of yours. 

The kiss is feverish and messy, no rhythm planned out and it is more like you both are sucking on each other's faces than anything. Your teeth knocking against his, eyelashes mixing together, and noses being crushed — it is hot and disgusting and you love it. All you want to do is taste his tongue on your forever, wet spongy muscles curling around one another and dragging over teeth; he tastes like cinnamon and pistachio. Two flavors you never thought could taste so harmonic.

Your body melts against his and you completely forget about the searing pain inside your belly, the lax state of your muscles allowing him the window he needed to jam as much as he could inside of you until, much to his dismay, his tip kissed your tender cervix. He knew he found it the second you seized up with a gasp, whining that it hurt.

"Open your eyes," He whispers into your ear, granting you a brief few seconds of nothing but a view of his ivory complexion and his beautiful lakeshore blue hair that fell over your face like a blindfold, "You did so well, look how full you are— touch right here, yeah." You press down on the spot, feeling this subtle bulge underneath the pudge of your belly, "Can you guess what that is?"

Really, it took no rocket scientist to figure it out, but that did not keep you from playing coy, "Doesn't matter," There is a certain level of desperation in your voice, one that makes it so very clear to him that you are absolutely weak to his flirtations. 

And he knows part of the reason for your reservations is due to the gray eyes ever so present across the room, Junpei is, in every way, a kettle pot boiling over. The young man does not have a hint of an idea of what to do with himself and it is painfully obvious with his boyish shuffling, leaning against his windowsill — Mahito knows exactly where his eyes are trained, pupils blown wide as if he had eaten a tray of edibles and yet glowing with his unmistakable vexation.

But the college student whips his gaze up to the demon he sold his girlfriend to, and at that moment, jealousy joined the mix; hate, frustration, betrayal, jealousy. He drips with animosity, and though he is well aware that he has no power over the situation, at least he can glare. Junpei has no one to blame but himself and his own sinister selfishness yet he projects it onto the entity before him, the entity that has taken his place.

That should be him, he thinks to himself, watching as your eyes roll back into your skull and a breathy sigh spills between the spaces of your teeth. You look entirely different from this angle, wisps of candlelight making you radiate under the flickering flame, your lashes casting a feathery shadow over your cheeks... but what really gets him is the suckling of your bottom lip between your teeth, something you would often do after parting your kiss swollen lips from his.

He remembers how worked up you would get over so little, and kisses were always the death of you — sizzling, watery, disorderly kisses that left drool sticking to your chin and your lips aching with how many times teeth nipped and tugged at them. Those very kisses would result in the squeezing of your thighs, rubbing them up and down against one another until, with a shadow of humiliation hanging over you, you would scurry off to the bathroom to press a cold rag to your face.

"She's real soft," Junpei's eyes snap back up from where they had fallen to the floor in the midst of his reminiscing, "Tight, too— can barely even move." He accentuates his point with a slow dragging of his dick from your gooey cunt, the action stimulating a pitiful whine from you. The envy inside of him flourishes, spreading like a virus to the point where he altogether turns away from you both — but there is no escaping your pleasured croons.

Or Mahito's psychological warfare, describing every bit of how your pussy hugs him, how you get all tense if he pulls out too fast, or the fact that every time he nudges his tip at that special angle you seem to lose it. That tangible fantasy of his, one he has had most days since you both started dating, the one where you are beneath him and he is fucking years of pent-up desire right inside of you, crumbles before his eyes.

He is an idiot.

"Mahito—!" God, you sound even cuter than he thought you would, ignoring that foul name you call, "Slow down, 's too much too fast." You draw him in like a siren, charming him to turn back around as quickly as he had turned away. Your little whines and struggled gasps flow through him like an angel's singing, and against his previous wishes, he is once again staring at your body.

Your skin glows with a sheen of sweat and he wonders if that is how you had looked earlier when he was the one making you sing. Did you roll your eyes into the back of your head when his mouth first kissed you down between the valleys of your thighs? Were you gasping in between each and every stroke his fingers gave your gummy walls? Had your toes curled and your jaw gone slack when you came undone beneath him?

Against his inner turmoil, he can hear your pussy being torn apart; with every smack of skin meeting skin comes the echo of wet squelching, your spoiled cunt moaning right along with you. And as much as it disgusts him to see another man— a devil defiling you, even he cannot bring himself to feel shame as he watches with deep interest how Mahito rocks his hips with yours.

"Takin' it so well, I knew you'd be a good girl— isn't that right, little lamb?" You nod your head vigorously, less out of a means to please the man above you and more as a result of how violently his hips jerk your body. He had hoped for a more verbal response, something needy and adorable, "Since you're so cute, I'll let that slide... but I wanna hear you more."

One of your thighs is released from its prison against your chest, gradually unwinding from the muscle-aching mating press he had you in up until now — your hip pops when that very leg falls on the outside of his, and only when you are maneuvered onto your side with one leg hoisted over his shoulder, do you realize what his intension is.

The first thrust inside of you upon the position change nearly makes you see stars, his cock going as deep as it can manage without bruising your poor cervix. You feel so full it hurts, and yet simultaneously you want more of it. The grip you have on the wrist pinning your thigh at your shoulder is ambiguous as to whether you are trying to push him away or tug him closer, maybe a bit of both.

"Th-There—" You practically choke out, "Right there, Mahito—" He watches his cock plunge inside of you, the erotic spread of your puffy lips, how scalding and swollen your poor cunt is, the little hints of blood smeared on his pulsating dick. You are an absolute mess, still cute, but absolutely ruined.

"Right..." His palm, the one not holding your leg, pressed down at your tummy right where he feels himself through you, "Here?" He chuckles, slowing his blinding thrusts to better push and rub your tummy, admiring how quick you are to go lax and just roll your hips against him, "Does that feel nice?" There is a certain level of faux naivety to his question, and, in some demented manner, that sends ripples straight down between your legs

Mahito is relentless in how he fucks you. There is no rhythm or pattern, just uncoordinated, desperate sex through and through. His hips are erratic in how they pound against you, stuttering over one another, and yet not once does he miss that patch of heaven deep inside of you. He knows you from the inside out without even trying, he knows where to pinch and squeeze and bite and kiss and he does it just right.

"Can't imagine sacrificing this pussy for anything," He jabs at your boyfriend, "Nothing could get me to give this sweet thing up, you'd have to kill me." There is truth to his words, really, what was Junpei thinking? You are the epitome of perfection, so quick to spread your legs and listen to what you are told to, so quick to play it naive and innocent if that is what he wants... if he were not the devil himself, he may have thanked God for letting you stumble right into his lap.

"Shut the fuck—"

A high squeal interrupts him, in fact, multiple mewls and keens. Your breathy whimpers and deep-throated whines quickly accelerate into something more passionate, straining your vocal cords and bouncing off of the walls of his bedroom. 

The devil above you leans forward into your space, his hips not once stalling in their abuse, merely slowing down into long, hard pumps that have your toes curling with anticipation with every inch that pulls out, and your body lurching when his hips slam into you with a force that will leave the backs of your thighs bruised with welts. His mouth splays a million and one teasing nips and kisses along the side of your sweaty face, the taste of salt pungent on the tip of his tongue — they almost taste as good as your tears.

"I can feel you," He huffs, your skin burning with the warmth of his breathing, "All of it, can tell how close you are..." He emphasizes his words with a tight squeeze of the thigh belonging to the leg thrown over his shoulder, "'s too much for you, isn't it?"

"Yes," You practically throw up the words, your eyes loose in your skull and merely bouncing around the room with how difficult it is to focus on one thing long enough to readjust your vision, "'s too much, Mahito— feels like 'm gonna," You cut yourself off with a pained cry, palm pushing at his hips, "'s too deep, 's too deep— oh, God—"

You get no response other than a manic chuckle, his eyes looking down at your little hand shoving at his waist to no avail. You are just so much smaller and weaker than him, no amount of weight you put behind your arm causes him to budge, "'s not too much, little lamb..." He coos lovingly, kissing away the stray tears that stick to your cheeks, "You've been so good, don't start misbehaving now~"

Something about the way he says it makes you bite your tongue, not wanting to upset him and make him see you as anything less than perfect — you want Mahito to like you, to care for you, to enjoy being with you. And he finds that cute, he does not need to be able to read minds to know how badly you want him to think kindly of you; it is written in your face, in the rocking of your hips to meet his thrusts, but especially in how you moan his name extra pretty.

And because he appreciates all the effort you are putting into being a good doll for him, he snakes one of his slender hands between your thighs, "You can't cum until I say so, m'kay?"

"Yes, Mahito— promise not to cum, 'm not gonna!" He rewards you with slow and steady circles, smiling at how quickly it crumbles what little self-control you still had. You can feel your body unwinding rapidly, all the knots and kinks dissipating beneath your skin, that coil inside of your belly becoming unbearably tight to the point it almost hurts. 

He admires your determination, never did he think a puny human like yourself would be so enthusiastic about pleasing him. It almost makes him like you a little more, having someone as doting as you crawling around would be fun; he just knows you would be the perfect pet, answering to your name, and doing adorable little tricks — maybe he will keep you.

Mahito slows down his thrusts, watching every drag of your swollen cunt along his cock, eyeing the icky goo that your disgusting hole leaves on his length, "Fuck," He curses with a grin, using the thumb that had been stroking your clit to instead tug one of your lips open, "'m gonna breed you," He blurts out with this dark lilt hanging from his tongue, "Gonna fill you right up, make that tummy ache go right away."

You have no sense of rational thinking left, all that your mind processes are that he is going to make you feel good— better than good. The thought of his cum running hot in your belly is enough to have you desperately tugging his body closer; arms, ankles, legs, and the rest wrapped around him like a threatening boa constrictor — your only goal is to wrestle him as close as atoms will allow.

"You're being too greedy," Followed by your hips being put in their place, the hardwood flooring creating no cushion or comfort between your side and the floor, "Be nice and still... just like that, wasn't so hard, right?"

A new wave of tears slips from your lashes, "'m sorry, Mahito— 'm sorry, 's just sooo much... I wanna cum so bad," You hiccup over your own whimpers, body curling forward so that you can watch his cock sinking inside of you, "F-Feels so good, feels so so so good— can I cum? Please, can I cum?"

He feigns a look of contemplation, humming at your request all the while blindly fucking you whilst his eyes look up as if an answer may just materialize before him. He is so very clearly mocking you, and if you were not so cock drunk, you might have realized that. However, you lay there with anticipation, and suspense all in the hopes he will give in to your whiny begs and puppy dog eyes.

Mahito presses on your clit, hard and mean, enough to get your knees buckling and quivering, "How about this..." He starts with a soft smile that is absent of any ridicule, sin, or sadism, "I'm going to count down from ten, and once I say zero, you can cum. Does that sound fair?" Coming from his lips, it sounds simple enough, just ten seconds before you can feel heaven start at your head and run down to your toes.

You naively nod your head, your voice far too gone and consumed by the erotic sounds he keeps pulling from you. Luckily, your answer is enough, and as he stated, he begins to count — slowly.

"Ten..." He returns to rubbing your clit gently, creating that divide between a little too much and complete overstimulation. Your head feels like it is spinning the moment his thumb pulls one full circle, your clit bloated and turning colors from Mahito's fluctuating kindness towards it. You know that come tomorrow, your poor pussy will feel bruised and hurt even more than it had when he first jammed his dick inside of you. 

Mahito, bored of the position he has had you in, rolls you onto your stomach and arches your hips in the air. Just as he had you earlier. The change has your head feeling heavy, and for a second you feel your consciousness fade, only to be revived when he plows his cock right back as it had been, "Nine..." 

His thrusts are with purpose, fucking you into the floor as if his life depends on it — there is no room for sweet talk or sappy words of encouragement, in fact, not much else comes from his mouth other than labored huffs and shuddering gasps. That, mixed in with the lewd smacking of skin and the sloppy wetness between your supple thighs. The room is simply an orchestra of eroticism, even Junpei's unintentional voyeurism invokes a sort of kinkiness to this act, "Eight..." God, you hate how slow he is counting.

The new position causes difficulties in maintaining what little dignity you still had, Mahito can see everything — the white ring of your arousal building up at the base of his dick, the webs of your slick that stick and snap with every depart of his balls from your cock-hungry cunt, but even more how your jaw has gone absolutely slack and a pool of saliva spills onto the floor beneath you, "Seven..."

Your entire body, your entire thoughts, are completely plagued by that itching deep within your center. Every time you get close enough to teetering over the edge, he pulls his thumb from your clit, and even worse, he laughs at your struggle to find it again, "Six..." He knows exactly what he is doing to you.

"Five..." With your body limp, all of your strength focused on not letting your knees buckle out from beneath you, Mahito takes advantage of your pliancy and hoists your torso up against him — your body knelt before him with your back flush to his front and your hips arched just enough for him to, with his arms tucked under yours and pinning you in place, tugging your body down onto his cock with every thrust upward, "Four..."

If you thought the previous position was torture, this one must be hell; and not necessarily in a bad way. He reaches all those special spots, all those tender patches within your gummy, gooey, sticky cunt. He always makes sure to bump his tip at that sweet lump that sends currents of electricity straight to your core, before pushing forward with little regard as to how badly he has bruised your tender cervix, "Three..."

Every thrust is a blinding mixture of pain and pleasure,  the lines becoming blurred and the longer he rocks your body onto his cock the more those two feelings turn into nothing more but a scalding need for release, "Two..." He deliberately drags it out, knowing how you are just barely hanging by that worn thread he has been working, "Tell me how badly you wanna cum."

You groan in frustration, he was so close — you almost feel stupid for not realizing he would do anything to torture you a tad longer; that sadist. No longer are those somersaults in your belly like fireworks, but instead, they have grown to be sickening. You feel yourself becoming nauseous the longer he has you like this, and all you want right now is for it to end, "Please, Mahito— please, please, please—" Your cries are pitiful.

When he does little to satiate your pleas, you reach up for his arms, and your nail dig into his boney wrists, "I can't do it anymore," You sob, head thrown back against his shoulder and shamefully wriggling your hips to see if anything could trigger that switch, "I need to cum, 'm gonna explode— 's makin' me sick, I need to—"

One of his arms slides down your body, the tips of his middle and marriage finger slipping between your thighs and applying that needed pressure to your clit, "Then cum," He deadpans, "Cum for me since you waited so nicely."

He had not even finished his sentence before your body began convulsing, thighs shaking worse than any earthquake known to man, your knees just barely holding your weight not that it mattered with his vice grip around your front. Not a sound escapes you, no more than strangled gasps and rasped whines that start quietly at the back of your throat before gradually raising in volume — you almost look possessed, eyes rolled back and drool running from the corners of your mouth.

The warmth of his cum is a soothing pool within your tummy, heavy and thick and just so right as it settles deep inside of you. You can practically feel it sloshing around with every dying thrust he fucks into you, his cock dragging with a lack of purpose other than to just ride you through your high; it works, though it was sadistic. His cum is unreasonably high in temperature, and it makes you feel so full.

And if the power of your orgasm, which has you seeing stars and planets, were not enough, his hand, hot to the touch, lays flat over your lower abdomen — it starts off just unbearably smothering like he is giving you too tight of a hug, but eventually, something like that of scorching magma begins to etch into your flesh. You do not know much about branding, but if you were to ever experience it, you are sure this is what it would feel like.

His hand, as much as you try to squirm your way out of its grip, keeps its steady spot; flat and calm right where it had been, and for a good ten seconds or so it stays there. What you imagine could feel far worse is numbed by your adrenaline and overstimulation, dulling what little pain you already feel. It is not until he removes his hand, allowing a gust of cool air to fan over the itchy patch of flesh, that you are able to make out what it is that you had felt.

A set of intricate lines are burned into your skin, swollen and welted, the design complicated but extremely high fashion. It reminds you of pinstriping on a car, the center of the design a pretty heart surrounded by blossoming curls that resemble flowing wings, or perhaps flames. You can hardly make it out from this angle.

"Don't you just look cute," Mahito purrs with a satisfied, cocky grin, "Now you're all mine~" He says it as if he ever had to share you in the first place, which, as far as you knew, was not established at all considering Junpei had practically relinquished your rights to this evil spirit.

Speaking of Junpei, who stands rather awkwardly just as he had been twenty minutes earlier, he has no interjection. There are no words that he could ever say to convince you to feel safe with him again, let alone, no words would ever be enough of an apology for you. In his mind, he knows that he sacrificed not just you, but your trust and undivided love and attention. Something about it stings, in some selfish way, but he cannot argue — you are not his to fight for.

The mark at your belly, which had been throbbing mere seconds earlier, subdues into a sensation far more relaxing; like a cool tide flowing through you. The tattoo-esque design looks as if it has been healed for months, all the swelling and rawness fully healed in a matter of three agonizing seconds. You should be in awe, but there is hardly any room to even process half of what is going on at the moment. 

All you know is that you want to sleep forever, your body slumping into Mahito who, with not a hint of emotion in his expression, allows your frail body to sink against his. Begrudgingly he guides you into a more comfortable set-up, stretching his legs in front of himself, and only after coaxing you to slide your pretty self off of his softening dick, tugging you to straddle his waist and rest your head on his shoulder.

"Mm, how fun—" He sighs, tracing shapes into the bruises on your sides, "I quite like this one, Junpei..." Mahito hums to himself as if agreeing with his own observation. He can feel the start of his cum spilling from your insides, running steadily over the thigh you had chosen to straddle in your sluggish struggle to get comfy, "You may not believe me, but I like cute things... cute things with even prettier—"

He knows Junpei is drowning him out, he can see it in how the young adult stares not at him but through him. His lack of attention, though irritating, is entirely called for, despite Mahito finding it baffling how quick Junpei had been to give you up for some silly magic. He finds it interesting — he finds you and  Junpei quite fascinating, far more entertaining than the average human.

"I may be technically evil, but I'm no monster!" Mahito cheerily declares, and when he opens his eyes again, those beautiful heterochromatic orbs have turned into a more ominous shad of crimson, glowing against the darkened room.

"And I always offer my time to fair trades... so what were you interested in?"

[tteokdoroki]

OCTOBER 1ST. VENOM

“eyes. lungs. pancreas. so many snacks, so little time.”

♱ — katsuki bakugou + monsterfucking.

♱ — synopsis; katsuki’s been a bad fiancé recently, he tries to tell himself that it’s all in his head ( literally ) and when his neglectful behaviour nearly ruins your engagement dinner — he has no choice but to make it up to you, with the help of a little symbiotic friend.

♱ — length; 5K

♱ — warnings; please read for your own safety! mdni, smut 18+, heavy smut, characters aged up to 20s, mentions of eating people, monsterfucking, dry humping, tentacles, overstimulation, pussy jobs, public sex, clothed sex, oral sex ( f!receiving ), pegging ( m!receiving ), venom!bakugou. not beta read !

♱ — notes; waaa!! hello everyone, welcome back to kinktober!! im so happy to be participating again, i hope you all enjoy whats in store for this year. starting with this baddie !! - m.list ₊ kinktober m.list ₊ taglist 𓆩♡𓆪

“just eat her…katsuki…” 

“no, you can fuck right off.” 

“why not? she is unpleasant…katsuki…its not like we like her anyways…” 

for the first time that night, katsuki indulges the mangled voice in his head— listening to the symbiotic alien that sludges through his voice and his body. venom is right. he hates his mother in law, soon to be mother in law, but the practicalities of it all aren’t what matter. red eyes drift to the devil’s incarnation of a woman, traditional yet rude and deserving of a beat down— katsuki thinks. if he could just take a bite, crunch down on the woman’s skull and swallow her whole, all of his problems would be solved.

“goodness, bakugou,” the woman leers with a nasty curl of her sweaty upper lip. “i’m paying for the wedding not for you to be dressed like a complete slob— you look awful, and at my only daughter’s engagement party!” she drones on and if venom were to murder this woman right now, she really would deserve it. 

“see? you are a loser, bakugou.”

he wasn’t dressed that bad, sure, it wasn’t the burgundy blazer and pressed white shirt you’d told him to pick up from the dry cleaners on the way home from work but— it was smart casual, a nice pair of jeans and a smart jacket. you liked that. that’s all that mattered.

Keep reading

[cryptidcola]

[inkykeiji]

character: takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut

notes: hello!!! this is the final piece in my 2022 summer collection!! it is set within my touya-nii AU, meaning it is written with my iteration of keigo from that universe, but you do not need to read that series to understand and enjoy this piece! as such, the reader in this piece is an entirely new reader, separate from touya’s reader + tomura’s reader.

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, semi-public sex, shower sex, no prep, rough sex, size kink/size difference, a hint of coercion, a tiny bit of praise, dubcon if you squint

words: 2.7k

synopsis:

“Keigo,” you begin, slow and cautious. “We’re in public.”

“Technically. Technically, we’re in public. But no one can see us.”

“We’ll still be slapped with a public indecency charge if we get caught.”  

The words are breathed into his mouth, lips grazing his own as you speak, a playful glint shimmering in your glazed eyes as you stare up at him. He huffs out a laugh, sweet as toffee on your tongue, and the appendage curls, savouring the sound.

“We better not get caught, then,”

Keep reading

[ayanbel]

some exercises with style and expressions featuring best boy Tanjiro twitter

[puirell-deactivated20221122]

an incomplete list of slightly weird AUs

journalist au / ghost (1990) au / ghosts au / ghostbusters au / librarian au / the mummy au / scientist au / farmer/fisherman au / marine biologist au / afl au / nfl au / nba au / pga au / wimbledon au / musician au / doctor au / early edition (1996) au / breakfast club au / back to the future au / archaeologist au / artist au / twitch streamer au / celebrity au / high school/uni au / ancient civilisations au / caveman au / surfer au / glee au / professor au / florist au / astronaut/passengers au / dune au / victorian au / medieval au / jane austen au / inheritance cycle au / gold is au / la noire au / cat/dog au / pilot/cabin crew au / cyberpunk au / steampunk au / solarpunk au / superhero au / fashion designer au / olympics au / game show au / american idol au / fortune teller au / roaring 20s au / f1 au / great depression au / 80s au / disco au / rockstar au / wild west au / hitman au / hollow knight au / jurassic park au / zoo/aquarium au / minecraft au / pirate au / war au / prison au / circus au / shire au / nyse au / startup company au / alien au / lawyer au / ikea au / president au / mailman au / secret agent au / hairdresser au / birdwatcher au / angel au / falafel restaurant au / biker au

[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.” 

[shibaraki]

Maritime encounter

synopsis: you’d been endlessly forewarned by elders and friends to ignore the ocean when it called to you. it’s too bad they never instructed you on what to do when it bit you. 

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader, merman/siren Aizawa, blood and injury (he tried to eat us), reader has basic surfing skill, brief descriptions of drowning in the beginning, dubcon, fictional merfolk lore / abilities, kidnapping / soft yan (there is a reason), he guts a fish at one point, medical inaccuracies probably (acute pulmonary edema and dehydration), accidental acceptance of courting, porn with too much plot, eventual monsterfucking, non-human genitalia (but NO belly bulging), oral sex (f! receiving), unprotected vaginal sex

wc: 18k+

The first time you’d truly heard about the true horrors of Mers was from the mouth of your best friend’s grandfather, Shinsou Matsuo, when you were twelve years old. Before his unfortunate passing he had been a retired navy man, weathered by the decades he spent at sea, and his mind was not as it once was. 

“Be careful of the tides. There are songs between the waves”. 

Living by the coast meant you’d been naturally exposed to such fairytales, perpetuated for the sake of selling trinkets and toys to any passing tourist gullible enough to believe them. Even at such a young age you thought it to be nothing but a childish story, and his grandchild Hitoshi felt much the same. 

“Merfolk aren’t real pops,” he’d laughed in response. The sound had been cut off by the pinch of crooked fingers around his nose. His grandfather’s expression, scowling and further narrowed by the wrinkles around his mouth, softened into something haunting at the dismissal. 

Matsuo-san’s face still lingers to this day. With an intonation of grief, he told you of the subordinates he’d lost. Some kept away from their loved ones for months at a time, lured into the waters by the call of their voices; others starved for a soft touch, drawn to the seductive shadow lingering by their porthole windows. There had been humanoid silhouettes caught in their nets, thin-pupiled eyes pooling with gold where the light did not touch, quickly cut free for fear they would be punished. They could be cunning too, he warned, bobbing with only their torsos above the surface and preying on people’s empathy as they feigned need of rescue. 

“Reality is nothin’ like that ridiculous westernised version. No pretty young thing wantin’ to be with her prince,” he snorted incredulously, the breath catching in his throat as his lungs seized. They were weak at the time, riddled with tobacco, and he’d batted away Hitoshi’s hand as he reached to assist him. If you think hard enough you can still smell it, the pervasive smoke on his tongue. 

“If you don’t keep yer wits about you they’ll eat’cha,” he continued, the strained rasp to his words only seemed to make them more frightening to you as a child, pointedly emphasising his claim with a thud to his prosthetic foot, “if the tide calls your name, don’t answer it”.

Keep reading

[prettyboykatsuki-moved]

a glimpse of us | bkdk x reader

✧ tags ;; fem!reader (afab, she/they pronuns used), cigarettes / nicotine addiction, drinking to cope, heavy hurt/comfort, polyamorous negotiations, arguing, unhealthy coping, miscommunications / bad communication, rebounding, getting together, bkdk interact both sexually and intimately, oral (m+f recieving), threesomes, double penetration, anal fingering / anal with prep, intimacy, no power dynamics but reader is confident sexually, petnames (sweetheart, baby), 18+, mdni

✧ wc ;; 19.8k (putting on my clown shoes)

✧ a/n;; i wrote this for me and no one else and you will notice this right away. my bkg bias is also kinda present HDFJKSD

✧ synopsis ;; you always knew you were a stand-in. why wouldn't you be? but you hoped that at least once, he saw you for what you were. that all those years together meant something more.

You haven’t touched a cigarette since your last year of college. 

It’s the middle of the night, and the September air is colder than you know what to do with. Part of you knows you should wear a jacket since the weather is persistently bad. It’ll storm soon. 

But another part of you doesn’t really care if you get sick. So, instead of dwelling - you follow your whims and rub the sleep out of your eyes. Sitting up in your bed, all of your limbs feel heavy. Your eyes are swollen almost shut, crusty from a long night of crying and drinking. 

You laugh a little humorlessly for being so upset about the whole thing, sober enough to do so. Right now, at least after some sleep, you feel okay. Not bad, definitely not good, but okay. And you want to smoke a cigarette, which is probably a sign that you’re not coping with this as well as you’ve hoped.

You don’t think about it. You choose not. Instead, you swing your legs over the side of your bed and stand to your feet. You look around your room. Your cat, Ganache, is asleep in a cardboard box, making you laugh. Your laundry is in a pile, and your work is sprawled all over your desk. Tomorrow, you’ll finish some of it and maybe take a hike alone. 

There’s no light in your room besides the moon, covered by clouds. Through the glass doors in your bedroom - leading to the balcony, you look at it for a long time. The sky is starless. It’s light pollution, but somehow it feels like you. Lonely.

You laugh at your own misery and walk to the bathroom to examine your face. You’re worse for wear. Your hair hasn’t been touched in god knows how long, and your face is covered in oil. Reaching your hands out for the faucet, you run the warm water, pumping face wash into your hands and rubbing your skin maybe a little harder than necessary. 

You don’t want to think about it. Your fingers scrub along your cheek, and around the area of your nose that gets crusty during the cooler season. Splashing warm water into your skin, you wash the soap away and pat it dry into a towel. 

Better, you think while looking into the mirror. At least a little bit. 

You put some cream on, and some chapstick but don’t bother brushing your teeth. It’d be pointless to do it now, knowing you’re going to smoke yourself halfway through a pack and it’ll linger on your lips for days. 

You don’t change out of your PJs. Worn basketball shorts, and a muscle tank top that shows off the skin stay on. You rummage around in your drawer for a windbreaker and put it on over your clothes. It’s 2 sizes too big but covers you decently. 

Before you leave your apartment, you give your cat a little rub on the head but don’t wake her. You grab your keys, some pepper spray, and a lighter and shove them into your pocket before taking a look around your barren apartment. 

You were planning on moving out, just a few weeks ago, somewhere closer to them. The irony isn’t lost on you.  

You turn the knob and close the door behind you - checking to make sure it’s locked before descending down your hallway. There’s a single light at the end but the rest is dark. It’s a quiet walk. You take an elevator to the first floor. and then leave the whole place behind. 

You turn your head to look at it, worried it’ll disappear for a minute. Afterward, you’re out on the street alone for the first time in a long time. 

You tilt your head back and stare at the sky. With chapped skin and the tip of your nose freezing, you look at the moon again. It cradles you. Alone, so utterly and terribly alone you think. But the two of you are alone together, and even though it’s silly - it keeps you from crying. 

You didn’t bring your headphones, though your phone is in your pocket.  Normally, being alone at night makes you nervous. You used to always have company or someone you could call. 

You could still probably call them. If you wanted. They’re heroes before they’re anything else. 

But the walk is simply cumbersome. You’re not afraid. Too numb, or too desperate to hold onto the brief relief of apathy to be afraid. Nothing happens on the walk there, but you’re not really paying attention. Even if the world collapsed right now, you wouldn’t know. 

You know you’re at your location because the light is almost blinding. The luminescent glow of the neon lights makes your vision feel bleary, flickering red kanji and sterile white from the inside. You look around to see no one else is really there, aside from you.

You hesitate to walk in. Is it worth it to break a 4-year streak over this?

But you can feel the itch in your throat, the dryness in your mouth. The memory of relief overwhelms your every sense. Your stomach lurches, scratching your neck. 

You walk into the store. 

A noise goes off, a little ding. The person at the cash register doesn’t even lift his head to look at you. A college student, you think. He looks young. 

You miss college, sometimes. You were a lot more of a mess. Stressed out, frantic, with a fully functioning liver  at the start which was nice. But at least then, everything felt more temporary. Every wound felt like it would heal,  no matter how big. Everything felt like an impactful part of your growth. 

And it’s not like you’re not growing anymore, but now misery just feels like misery. You don’t feel it as much as you live it passively. You have bills to pay. A pet to take care of. Parents old enough to retire. So every bad thing just becomes part of the wave that crashes at your feet every so often. 

If this happened in college, you’d be crying and partying and whatever else. You wouldn’t be as desperate to move on, maybe. Letting yourself be broken was a luxury that you didn’t think you still had.

But you don’t want that for yourself either. You just want to stop it altogether and disappear. Under a cloud of white, or the stream of a creak. You just want to go. 

You can’t though. Can’t leave. Can’t uproot yourself into new soil, so you lean into old habits for comfort.

Smoking helps you disappear. Your lungs, passively intaking the nicotine and replacing the remaining parts of you. 

You search the fridges for a 6 pack of beers. Some cat food, some microwave meals, a candy bar. You take it all in your hands and dump it onto the counter. The kid at the counter gives you a look like he’s startled. He’s reading manga, though you can’t see the cover. 

“Could I get two packs of cigarettes? Seven Stars, Revo Lights Menthol.” You say, voice still thick with sleep. You give him a half-smile as he seems startled, watching as his hands fiddle with the keys of the cigarette case. 

He puts the two packs on the table, closing it back up. It squeaks as the glass is pulled back into place. His manga is left open on the table. You glance at it.

“Fire Punch?” 

He looks surprised as he scans your things, a flush on his face. 

“Oh, Uhm, yeah. You know it?” 

You nod your head. 

“Read it in high school. Agni is a cool protagonist.” 

All of a sudden he’s beaming at you. It catches you off-guard, but it makes sense. It’s an older manga and never got all that popular. He shakes his head in disbelief. 

“I’ve never met anyone who’s read it. I uhm.. would love to talk about it. You know.” 

He puts your stuff in a plastic bag, with the tips of his ears going pink. Your eyes widen, and you give him a little grin. While you look like this, huh? You’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel nice. 

“You know I’m older than you, yeah?” 

He looks startled that you read through his intentions. He’s good-looking. Tall, with dark hair and a mole under his eye. 

“I know I look like a kid, but I’m 22.” 

“So, only a few years.  Not bad for looking the way I do right now. You got a thing for older girls?” You joke. 

“That’ll be 4,100 yen. And, not really. You just…seemed cool.”  He says, trailing off. You chuckle at him, looking at his nametag before offering him a look.

“I’m not, I can guarantee you. Getting hit on made me feel a little better though. Thanks for that. Do you want my number?” You ask, with a half-smile. His eyes go wide, then he nods hard. You laugh at him. 

It’s not like you have anything left to lose. 

“Got a pen?” 

He looks frantically around for a pen and then hands it to you. You give him the money you owe him first. When he hands you a receipt and change, you flip the flimsy paper over and scribble your number down on it. You grab the bag off the counter, pocketing the cigarettes and holding the rest.

Passing your number down, you pat it twice. 

“I can’t guarantee I’ll go out with you any time soon. But you made me feel better, so I’ll give you this. We can talk manga some time. and maybe catch a drink. You’ve got a good face, so don’t waste it on people like me.”

He looks at you startled but takes the paper anyway in a daze. You smile. He seems nice at least. Harmless. 

“Y-Yeah. Right. that’d be nice. I uh, hope your night gets better.” 

You can feel the melancholy all over your skin as you smile. 

“Thanks. Have a nice night.” 

You grab your things, turning to walk around. Almost unwilling. But if you stay any longer, you know you’re gonna end up letting yourself talk and you don’t wanna dump all that on a person you just met. Just before he goes, he calls for you. 

“Hey, uh - be careful. It’s kind of late. I’d walk you home if I wasn’t on the clock. There might be a hero around, so you know -” 

You turn your head, looking at him for a minute. Your chest aches at the thought of having people to call. 

“Thanks for looking out. I’ll be alright. Night,” 

You leave, with a hand in your pocket and another one curled around the plastic shopping bag. 

You should probably go back home. 

You keep walking, though. A bad choice, maybe. Instead of turning back onto that road, you walk down another one that you recognize, taking one left until you find a bench underneath a streetlight. 

It’s quiet. Empty. There aren’t any heroes patrolling but it’s a local road surrounded by houses and apartments. You don’t feel any danger as you sit down on the wood bench, brushing it once with your hands beforehand. 

It’s freezing. Your whole body is icy to the touch. A shiver tears through you as your skin comes in contact with the seat. It’s chillier than it was when you left. Your bag lets out a soft clunk as you set it down next to you.  You reach into your windbreaker for the pack of cigarettes and your lighter. 

Balancing the lighter between your thighs, you lean forward. With your elbows on your knees, you smack the pack of cigarettes against your palm. Your fingers tremble from the weather, the wind blowing in a hard gust. 

You don’t think about it. You use your keys to get rid of the plastic outside, and then open the pack up. The one in the middle of the top row, your hands shake when you take it.

You bring the end to your chapped lip, fishing for your lighter. It’s an expensive thing you got as a gift, engraved. It’s almost out of fuel so it feels light in the palm of your hands. Even so, you flick it open. You run your finger over the wheel, stopping when the flame flickers on. 

You bring it to the end of your cigarette, watching it burn. The orange-red glow soothes you. The fire keeps you warm. It burns, and you watch it burn - and with your lips closed around one end, you take a deep and long inhale. 

It’s been a long time. Longer than you thought. It feels raw.  Nicotine and menthol mix together making your lips tingle and your lungs sting. It tastes like tar and long nights — like a college party, like a balcony, like a place far from here. 

Like a time, far far away from this. You balance the stick between your fingers, pulling it away as you exhale the first drag. Blowing a cloud of grey smoke into the air, you lose yourself in it. You smoke and pass the time. 

You can’t feel anything but that. The adrenaline crawls up your spine and makes your fingers all jittery. You lean into it without even meaning to. Four years down the drain, you think. It would’ve been 5 in a few months

But you take another drag anyway. Your joints hurt. You smoke, and when the feeling is starting to make your stomach sour - you reach into the pack for a can of beer and drink that to soothe your nerves. 

Letting your head rest on the edge of the bench, you stretch yourself out. With a beer can on the ground, you ash your cigarette out. You stretch your arm over your face, the end still burning. 

For one minute, you really had forgotten. The interaction at the store helped. The cigarette helped. The sleep helped. The beer helped. 

But nothing was enough to make you forget it completely. 

You fear that things might always feel like this. That even time can’t stretch itself over a wound this big. Would there ever be enough to fill the sudden crater of a loss like this, to ever fix you? 

At some point, you’ll have to accept nothing can ever be the same.. 

For a long, long time - you cry by yourself. It’s not a desperate sob like it had been 2 weeks ago. It’s just an exhausted, soft little one. Somewhere, inside of yourself, you cry like a baby. Like a child aching to be held though part of you knows no one is there to listen. Self soothe, you say to yourself. Stop crying.

 It’s not like you don’t know how to be alone. What that was like. 

You just never thought you’d have to be again, and maybe you aren’t all the way. You’ve got a slew of concerned messages on your phone that you’ve been replying to automatically and you’ve been completely disconnected from everyone for a while now. 

Reaching out to them will help. In time, you know that. When you’re ready you will. You don’t have the luxury to let the pain linger for as long as you know it will, as it has to. Eventually, you’ll get back up. Even now, the days pass silently without you living them. 

You know everything there is to know. Of course, you do. You know what they’ll say. You know that they’ll feel sorry for you. You know Kirishima would’ve held you without ever hesitating. You know your mother would’ve welcomed you if you showed up without a word. Of course, you know. 

But knowing where a wound is, you’ve learned, doesn’t make it stop hurting it. Knowing the cause, the color, the shape, and the taste of your injury will never heal it. Your familiarity with your pain doesn’t do anything at all, to make it stop. 

You light another cigarette, sitting forward with your elbows on your knees. Wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, you swear. 

“Fuck.” 

The memories suffocate you. 

You met them both while you were in college. When you were a sophomore in college, they’d saved you from a villain attack. They weren’t dating then, but they made conversation with you after you’d gotten a pretty big injury. 

You didn’t care for Bakugou at first. He was loud, mean, and crass. Midoriya has always been the same - friendly, awkward, genuine. Their friendship didn’t really make sense to you, like they spoke in a language you couldn’t ever learn. Midoriya always placated him. They looked at each other with a history that you never imagined having with anyone. 

You never thought you would see them again, so you asked. Sitting in the back of an ambulance getting patched up - they told you the story of them. Like they’ve told it a hundred times before. Childhood friends, they told you. They wanted to become heroes, it was rocky then it wasn’t. Midoriya gushed about Bakugou’s ability the whole time, and Bakguou told him to fuck off but blushed the entire time. 

You kept running into them, afterward. You were all convinced it was fate. They’d saved you 3 times before Bakugou told you to stop being an idiot with nothing but good intentions and maybe that’s when you knew you were in it. 

It was a long time. Not an overnight spark or sense of magnetism, not destiny. Just luck. Just chance that deepened and grew roots over time. You don’t remember much of it in full, just bits and pieces. Like a drop of water building an ocean - you can’t count for each time. 

You can name the rainstorms though, the floods, the days where it was clear they started to matter to you.  

And they mattered to you a lot where it counted. You went to college in a city far from your hometown, and you didn’t make many friends so you could keep up with your scholarship. College was mostly very stressful. You were just trying to keep yourself but you met them. And you think afterwards you started living.

You knew about them from the beginning. How they looked at each other, not realizing how obvious they made it that they loved each other. Perhaps hiding it after everything felt unnatural. 

You were content they wanted to be your friend. It was that simple. When they invited you out with them on their day off, you were confused but you always went. You were happy that they wanted you around. 

They never stopped showing up for you. They went to your stupid club events and made a scene. Bought you gifts for the years you were sure you’d spend your birthday alone. Texted you on their patrols, first individually then together. 

You learned to make your own friends too, but so much of your life is steeped in them. You thought, at first, that Midoirya took pity on you. You’ve always looked lonely. He was always the type to go out of his way for strangers. Bakugou just came along for the ride.

You realized later he never did anything he didn’t want to do. Even his admission meant that you were supposed to be there. 

Time passed. And the two of them, slowly, brought you into their lives. You met their friends and attended their big awards and major achievements while they did yours. On weekend horror movie showings they dragged you along, and during Hero Expo season you always got V.I.P passes. You never told them you only ever went to see them.

They were busy people. It took you a long time to let yourself be a part of that at all. You would always be on the outside, you knew - but they were good to you. You got on with them both so easily, more than anyone else you’d ever met and it— 

It felt special to you at least. 

You think somewhere down the line, you were content to be an outsider. Everything about them had become so comfortable, that you would’ve been content staying in that same place forever. As an outsider, a watcher, a friend. Just a friend. 

They started dating the year you were set to graduate college, and it really wasn’t all that different. Sometimes you caught them kissing, or hugging, or with a hickey on someone's neck but they treated you the same. Kept you at the same distance which wasn’t all that far.

It was in that same year, you realized you’d fallen in love with them both horribly.

Surprisingly, knowing that wasn’t all that bad. You knew it kind of instinctively when you realized it for the first time. It was shocking at first, but you were still content. You could swallow the ache in your chest seeing them happy. You were always an outsider to that, anyway. From the moment you met, there was history between them that would always surpass you and you knew that. Better than anyone. There was never a place for you to be, but you liked the one you had. You cherished that friendship so much you put it above your own feelings, for a long time. You had never met people who put you first so eagerly. Who went out of their way for you so often.

You like to believe they loved you like a friend. It helps to think that.

Four years. You’d loved them both, and so much - for four long years. You were just content to see them love each other because you could always tell they did. You wanted them to be happy.

Looking back they never put real distance between you both. You should’ve done that sooner. 

More than anything. More than yourself. From the start, maybe you should’ve guarded your heart more. You were always weak to them. They were the only people to welcome you so much to anything, but maybe you should’ve—

When they broke up, you didn’t know what to do. 

They’d always been.. together. For as long as you can remember. 

It was Midoriya who showed up at your door. You should’ve sent him home. It’s your own fault, for cramming yourself into a space never meant for you. 

He cried in your arms for two days and two nights. You felt sorry for him and texted Bakugou who told you to go fuck yourself. Whatever happened, neither of them would say or tell. It was serious. In the four years they’d been together, they fought but you never saw them like this. 

Even though you dated for 6 months, your time with Midoriya all feels very blurry. 

You blame yourself. No matter what anyone tells you, deep down, it would always be your fault. After those two days, he just needed someone to lean on.

It didn’t happen right away. Midoriya isn’t capable of that. It was after a few months of him visiting, of him dropping by, of him touching you. He leaned on you, even now - you don’t really know why.

You don’t really understand it but you think he must’ve mistaken the comfort you gave him for love. He’s only ever loved Bakugou so it’s possible he never really understood. You kissed, hugged, touched here and again but never had sex.

In hindsight, you’re glad about that. 

Months passed like that, in each other’s company. Midoriya came back after work and slept in your bed every night. You woke up together. But you knew, that whole time, there was an inevitable end. 

You always knew. When he hesitated when he looked at you. But sometimes, you got to see the melancholy go away. You watched movies and laughed, and made dinner together. There were enough happy memories to let you forget everything else. 

It’s funny. Loving someone so wholly you wouldn’t ask them to love you back. No one would believe you if you told them, but even knowing you were just a stand-in - you were content to experience affection for a while. Like you mattered. You liked being able to make him happy. 

You wanted Bakugou to be happy too, but every text you sent him got left on read. You called but never got a reply. 

You figured he might’ve resented you. You wouldn’t blame him. Truthfully, you question what you ever had. Maybe you deluded yourself into thinking tolerance was longing. You tried that whole time to get them together, but they did it on their own. 

He broke up with you after your new promotion. You never got a chance to tell him. The bottle of wine was still in your apartment. 

Just like before, he cried for a long time. Said sorry more times than you knew what to do. He called himself selfish, apologized, said he still wanted to be friends, that Kacchan missed you too. 

Over and over, he apologized to you.

You had always been an outsider. Even in your last minutes together, you comforted him when he cried. You didn’t know how to do anything else. You wish you felt contempt. 

You’re mostly confused. None of it made any sense. But why would it? You’re just a stranger caught in a storm, too big for your boots. 

It was when he said that one thing it broke you. 

“I couldn’t stop seeing him in your face. I’m so so sorry. I should’ve never—”

You think that was the first time it all collapsed. Nothing registered after. He didn’t see you, even once. Maybe neither of them did. You were just someone they had been nice to. You got involved in this all by yourself. 

You didn’t say anything to him. What would you have? All you said, very quietly at the end, was that you don’t want to see either of them again.

“Please respect that. And, I really do hope the both of you are happy.” 

You cried for 3 days. You took your first days off from work, and your manager didn’t question your paid time off. It’s been 3 weeks, and you haven’t spoken to anyone.

And now you’re here, alone - halfway through a packet of cigarettes and hoping your next breath will carry you out of here. It’s freezing cold, and you're numb all over. You blame yourself, and it hurts so much it makes you sick. You want everything to disappear. You want to scream, cry, curl in on yourself. 

But there’s nothing left for you to do or say. It’s all over, anyway. And it’s your fault for being greedy. For hoping that in the end, he would’ve at least seen you for what you were.

You’ve finished another cigarette. Your fourth one, which means you’ve only been sitting for 20 minutes. It feels like a century.

You wipe your eyes of stray tears, laughing to yourself.

“God, what the hell's wrong with me?”

Your throat is hoarse so you drink some more beer. You cool it on the cigarettes because you don't want to finish the pack before tomorrow. 

You don’t even get to check your voice before a terribly familiar voice catches your attention. 

You think for a second you're hallucinating.

“Oh! Hello. I’m Pro-Hero Deku, I’m doing some nightly patrols in this area. Do you need someone to escort you—“

Whatever higher power there is must be pretty sadistic. You hold your breath. 

He stops in front of you. You freeze up completely. It doesn’t even feel real when you look at him. You blink a few times trying to make sure you’re seeing clearly. 

“Y/N? What are you doing out here?”

His voice is so soft. The same as you remember. You swallow your discomfort, frazzled. Don’t be greedy.

You pick your beer can up, drinking the last of it before trashing it. 

“I didn’t know you patrolled here.”

You don’t have to see him to hear the frown in his voice. 

“…I usually don't. I’m covering for Mindjack, but that’s.. why are you out here?” He says, voice filled with concern. You don’t know what to say, so you opt to say as little as possible. 

“I live close by.”

He knows that. His frown deepens. 

“It’s nearly midnight.”

“I just wanted to get some air. I’m going home now, anyway—”

“Wait a minute, please.” 

You screw your eyes shut, back turned away from him. Every inch of your skin is burning. Your heart is sinking like it’s made of glass.

You sigh, voice trembling. 

“What do you want?” 

“Would you please turn around so we can at least talk face to face?” 

You don’t mean to say it. You don't mean to sound so bitter and broken and utterly defeated. The words slip out of you like a tire losing air. 

“Are you sure you know what it looks like when you’re not looking for someone else?”

He stiffens behind you. 

“Please,” is all he says. Like it's all he needs to say. All he can really offer.

You only turn around so he can bear witness to your suffering. Not that you want him to feel guilty but maybe it’ll make him leave you alone. Your eyes are red and swollen when you turn to face him, hands in your pockets. You don’t look at him. You’re afraid to. 

“…Have you been smoking?”

“Yeah.” 

“But you were clean for—”

“It’s none of your business what I was or wasn’t, Midoriya.” 

Midoriya. Not Izuku. Your stomach twists.

“Please don’t be like this.” He says, sounding desperate. 

You smile. It's sorrowful. Everything is tangled and messy and confusing. Like everything was a lie, and you were the last person to know. You don’t get it anymore. Your voice comes out, worn and gentle. 

“I always knew it would end. I was never under the illusion that you really loved me. That either of you did,” You start, voice breaking. It’s cathartic. 

And if this is really the last time, you should say what you wanted. 

“Of course we—why wouldn’t we—“

“I always knew you didn’t really feel that way.  It was just… nice to feel like I was important. No one in my life ever went out of their way for me like the two of you did,”

His voice breaks. 

“Y/N, please”

“I was always afraid to call you my best friends. It’s funny but it never felt right. Kirishima and Todoroki - they were your best friends. What was I, then? I never knew.  You were always each other’s. And I was there, and we were so close. But I never really fit. It never really made any sense,” 

He looks like he’s crying. You wish you could comfort him and you hate yourself for wanting to. 

“I mostly feel pathetic. I think that’s all. I have nothing to show for everything I went through,” You laugh a little under your breath, wiping your tears “It’s my fault. If I wasn’t so eager to feel loved. To love you in what capacity I could. Maybe things would be different,”

You reflect on your life with them. All that life you lived with people who you probably won’t ever see again, they’re easy enough to avoid. 

“It might be better if we pretend that we never knew each other. That way, you have nothing to feel guilty for. Kats—Bakugou won’t have to acknowledge me. And I can forget it all together,” 

“I don’t want to lose y-you, and Kacchan he—” 

You shake your head with a smile. Now that it’s all out, it feels clear. Of course, they loved you. 

Just not enough.

 Really, that’s all it's ever been. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” 

You think this time, you’ll really be able to move on. He doesn’t reply, but you can hear him hiccup. 

“I loved you both for four long years. That whole time. I was so happy we got to all be together, it didn’t even hurt. I don’t regret a lot of it. Maybe just those six months, and maybe not being able to see Bakugou. I miss him. I miss you too,” 

You breathe. It finally feels alright to do it. 

“But, I don’t want to see either of you ever again. If you’re in an emergency you can come to find me. I think it’s about time to move on,” 

You can hear him calling out for you when you turn around. Asking to walk you home, but you know he won’t follow you. You just keep walking and don’t look back. You turn the corner and head down the empty street. Back home by yourself. 

On the way, you smoke another cigarette. You keep the pack in your pocket. 

You let go. 

It’s just about that time, anyway. 

__ 

Weeks pass by like their nothing.

Your confrontation with Midoriya knocked some of the sense back into you. You came home, cried for 15 minutes, and then took a long shower under hot water. Afterward, you put on some nice lotion, replied to emails, and picked out an outfit for going to work tomorrow. 

Slowly but surely, you tried to get your life back in order to some degree. You threw yourself at your job since that made the most sense to you, working over time. Being alone with your thoughts for too long has proved to lead to drinking or smoking in excess, so you hang out with a crowd where you can.  

You met with your friends, all of which have supported you completely but only yelled at you for isolating yourself, to begin with. You visited your parents where your dad threatened to knock Midoriya’s lights out, claiming he was still very strong. The sentiment made you feel warm. 

You climbed yourself back into something of stability. It’s not like you’re over it. You feel considerably empty and fall into random fits of crying more often than you like  and you still smoke whenever you feel the stress of a long day overtake you. But it’s notably better. You’re hanging on and you hadn’t really been before. 

Some days are worse than others. Sometimes you pass a street vendor you used to frequent and have to sob over your steering wheel before going home. You see them in the news so often it’s starting to be funny in a dramatic irony sort of way - like the universe wants you to remember they exist. 

You’ve been careful to avoid them, though, it’s not as easy to avoid their friends. Kirishima got choked up when you ran into each other, making you promise that you’d keep in contact. In the last few weeks, you’ve seen Jirou, Todoroki, and Shinso all of which seemed happy to see you doing okay. 

It was nice. Knowing that they were your friend too, and not just someone who saw them by extension. No one really asked any invasive questions so you figured word got around. 

It’s been alright. You’ve been okay at best. It’s mostly been lonely.  You’re just trying to live with it, and you’re thinking about seeing a therapist just to get yourself sorted. 

Today is a Wednesday. You switched out one of your days off to accompany Ganache to the vet for a routine check-up. It was early in the day, so you had the rest of it to yourself.

Lately, you’ve been texting the guy from the convenience store. His name is Akio, and he’s an exchange student. You mostly text back and forth about manga, and he does a thing where he sends you selfies where he ends up being. He’s cute and a good enough distraction from your misery, plus he’s actually pretty funny when he calls or texts.

You lean back into your couch, picking your feet up to get comfortable. You’re freshly showered and hairless after the impulse choice to shave. The TV is playing some daytime soap that you’re not normally home to see, and there’s a cold beer on a coaster waiting to be opened. 

You swipe open your phone after receiving a text. It’s him, studying for an exam. That makes you laugh. 

(from akio, 2:45pm): long day OTL 

(sent 2:46): it’s my day off. do your best and maybe we can go drink. 

(from akio, 2:46): wait really? 

You laugh. 

(sent 2:47) only if you do your work ❤️

(from akio, 2:48): ON IT. where do you wanna get drinks? 

You conjure up a location, close-by where you leave - sending him to it. You watch him type back with a laugh. 

(from akio, sent 2:48): im suddenly very busy and im gonna finish studying. see you at 6?

(sent: 2:9): see you at 6 

He sends you a slew of very excited emojis and you bite your lip. Admittedly, you feel a little guilty. Though you’re careful to make your intentions clear, a guy so eager to even be in your presence is a nice change. A little harmless flirting has been good for your self-esteem and he’s a great guy. Him being younger than you isn’t as deterrent when you check his Instagram  and find out he’s very jacked. 

You feel a little embarrassed by the whole thing and all the time. But it’s nice to be wanted and send risque selfies to get a hesitant reply. It might be good to sleep with him, get your mind off of it. 

You only ever dated on guy in college and hooked up with a couple of people that you can count on your hand. Your relationship was nice but not memorable, and you broke up over a disagreement about finances in your junior year. After that, you went on sparse dates to keep up appearances. 

But it felt wrong to even try when your heart was in other place. So now, you’re just being careful and having fun. And it is fun.

Maybe you can get laid. He seems like he’d have good stamina. 

You cover your own face in embarrassment at the train of thought, giggling.

“Fuck what am I even thinking about?” 

You shake your head like you’re trying to shoo the thoughts away. You reach over for the beer on the table, shivering as the cold can comes in contact with your skin. Undoing the tab, you take a long sip - warmed by the taste. You don’t even know what flavor this is supposed to be since it was a gift but it’s expensive and malty. 

You drink and watch the T.V. A girl caught in a love triangle with two male leads. Both of the male leads are rich and powerful, and the girl comes from a small town. You snort. 

“Get out of there while you can, little lady. Save yourself.” 

You don’t know how long you sit there and melt into your couch, watching the TV and scrolling on your phone. Doing something productive feels out of reach for now and you’re comfortable passing the day like this. You haven’t really had a normal day of relaxation that doesn’t devolve rapidly into feeling sorry for yourself, so even being able to sit around be lazy without any other pretense feels luxurious. 

You think you spend 2 hours like that before your body signals you that it needs fed. Ganache comes up to sit on your lap, accompanying you while you order something to eat. Your finger reacches out for her little head, scratching just under her chin. 

“You’re getting hungry too, huh?” 

She lets out a soft purr before plopping her head against your bare thigh. You smile, perusing what feels like hundreds of options. It always feels like picking a place is the hardest part. 

Trying not to be paralyzed by choice, you jump out of your skin when you hear the doorbell ring. Your cat hops off of your lap at the noise. With furrowed brows, you try to think about who would be ringing your door without dropping by first. 

You ordered a new air purifier for your room last week. Maybe it came early? You would’ve got a notification from them, wouldn’t you? You shake your head. Either way, you’d prefer to have it instead of having to pick it up from the post office. 

On pure chance that it is that, you stand up and dust yourself off. Pulling your shorts down slightly, you grab a zip-up hoodie from the side of your couch making sure nothing is falling out. You pad softly to the door, unlocking it. 

“Hello?” 

As soon as you open the door, you see the last person you were expecting. Everything just sort of.. stops in it’s place. For a minute, you don’t breathe. You don’t think. You just… tense. And stare, your hands on door knob. Debating whether or not you should even open it all the way, or say anything. 

You would close it if you didn’t see his face. You’ve never seen him look so tired, and seeing that makes your heart drop into your gut. 

“...Bakugou?” 

He looks up and then looks at you. His shoulders sag in what seems like relief but you can’t be certain. 

“What are you…?” 

He opens his mouth to say something, and then closes it again like he’s come up short on the right words. He’s not in his costume for work, and his hands are in his pockets. He’s bigger than you by a mile, but he looks.. terribly small. Maybe frail. Not like himself. 

“Hey.” He says, short  and quiet. His hand reaches up around his neck “Can we talk?”

Your gut reaction is to turn him down. You’ve made all this progress, and you think that letting him in through the door would be ruining it. But he looks so depserate, and that looks so unusual. He doesn’t look angry, and that scares you. 

You don’t mean to let him, but you owe him that much you think. Answers for those 6 months. He was blameless for everything that had happened between the two of you, anyways. You open the door, stepping to one side. 

He looks at you, a pained expression passing over him before stepping in. Your breath catches, quietly watching as he takes off his combat boots. Ganache meanders over to him. She was always fond of Bakugou. You watch the two of them interact and you feel your heart rip in half. 

Your entanglements show in ways you don’t expect. It’s too much.

He wears the house slippers left out for him, almost out of habit. And then he looks at you for a minte. You snap out of your trance, scratching your cheek. 

“Oh, uhm. You can… sit. Did you want a drink maybe? A beer?” 

He shakes his head. 

“You don’t have to be so damn courteous to me,” He says. Your expressions softens, heart squeezed in your ribs. The disparity settles in the bottom of your lungs, crawling up your throat like a bile. It’s still so early in the day. You can see his expression so clearly. So obviously melancholy. 

You choke around the words. 

“I don’t know why I wouldn’t be,” You say. You offer him a half-smile. It’s true. You never really had any reason to be angry with him. If he hated or resented you, it wasn’t like you didn’t deserve it. 

He closes his eyes than looks away, silently walking off to your living room. You follow him, sitting diagonal to him. You stare at your feet, pulling the sleeves of your hoodie over your hands. Fidgeting. 

You don’t know how long you sit there. The TV is muted, so you direct your eyes to the soaps - trying to avoid the obvious. 

Bakugou breaks the silence first. 

“You’re smokin’ again.”

His voice of devoid of anything you can read. You look at the ash-tray on the table, before you nod. 

“Yeah.” You reply simply. He leans forward on his elbows. 

“...You haven’t smoked since college grad.” He says. You smile. 

“Yeah.” 

You’ve been alone with Bakugou before. Engaged in quiet, comfortable silences. Midoriya normally did the talking for you, so the two of you were accustomed to letting him ramble. Alone though, you normally just enjoyed each others company or talked in depth about something you found important. 

When he wasn’t blowing a fuse, you found Bakugou intelligent and practical. You talked about a lot of things, like money and the failings of the Hero Commission and the news. Stuff people found boring, he would normally have something to say. He was always opinionated on everything. Movie, music, books. 

You haven’t seen him in over half a year. Not in person, anyway. It’s hard to avoid the number one and two hero in media as it would be. 

“I don’t wanna kick you out or anything. Uh, we have a lot to talk about I guess. I just—I’m going out for drinks at 6 so—” 

He cuts in abruptly. 

“With who?” 

You pull back. 

“...A guy I met the other day.”

His jaw clenches. Irritation passes over his face as he scrubs a palm over it. He looks upset but you can’t figure out why. 

“Have I met him?”

You shake your head. 

“Probably not. He’s in college. Met him while I was buying cigarettes, actually.” You muse, feeling fond. “He’s a good kid.” 

“Are you—Are you interested him?” 

Your eyes widen, staring at him. His voice is holding something in it, half-way between anger and sadness. You don’t really understand him or why he seems like that. Does he think you’re moving on too fast from Izuku?

But that doesn’t feel right to you either. Maybe seeing you happy is upsetting. You don’t know. 

“We’re not dating, if that’s what you’re asking. We just.. talk. Flirt, I guess.” You say, shaking your head. You turn your attention back on him “Don’t know why that’s important. What’d you wanna talk about?” 

His eyes widen, and then his face fall. You’re more confused than before. 

“Don’t know why that’s important huh?”

You watch him. His face after you’ve said that. He looks upset. Part of you thinks you’re imagining it. But you’ve never seen him look like this. He buries his face in his hands, swearing. 

“Fuck this.. fuck this is—”

You decide to interject. 

“I don’t know why you’re here but since you are I wanted to say… I wanted to say sorry. I figure that’s why you’re here. That it’s related to that somehow, but before anything I wanted to say I’m sorry.” 

It’s been on the tip of your tongue. Weighted, heavy on the inside and impatiently trying to pry itself from between your teeth. Your words come out in a jumbled mess. Part of you can’t help but expect rejection. You sit here, and stare at him and you think to yourself that you’re sorry. 

You understand Midoriya at times like this. But you won’t say it more than once, fearful it’ll be a burden to you both. You just spit it out. Like a loose tooth. The blood comes after, filling your tongue with bitter taste of iron.  

Lately, you’ve lost the words for heartache. Ache as in bruise, as in hurt that’s lingered for a long time. Your heart aches terribly, and every passing day feels like being trampled on. You look at Bakugou when you say sorry, and your heart expands into the stiffness of your ribs. And it hurts all over, like one raw injury. Lately the taste of your suffering is a cigarette and beer. You wonder what that says about you.

You feel something thick in your throat, looking away. 

“Why the fuck are you saying sorry?” He asks, voice shaking with anger. You wince. 

“For everything.” You say, griefstricken with every word. You feel your vision get blurry, looking away as you try to take the tremble out of your voice “Sorry for everything, Katsuki.”

You try your best not to cry but you can feel the gaping hole reopen in your chest. You wish this was just a reunion. The longing is so sharp and so endless. It wasn’t like Midoriya. You didn’t have memories to help you cope. You never got a chance to tell him thank you or i love you. 

He had always made it clear he didn’t want you around, but you still.. still found yourself clinging to his tolerance. To the fact he was always the first one to reach for you. That he listened to you intently and pushed you to do what you wanted. 

Midoriya was soft. Comfortable. Bakugou was tough. He held you steady through all your stress. Cleaned your apartment when life was too much to bear and picked you up at your lowest without a word of judgement. 

And in the end you touched the one thing that was never yours. You thought it would be okay because you hadn’t seen him for 7 long months in person. It would’ve beem if you hadn’t seen him again. 

But he’s here just the same. And you love him. You love him so much, so deeply, and all at once you feel consumed by the reminder. It burns inside of you hotly. The tears flow naturally. 

Don’t be greedy, you tell yourself. This is the universes way of reminding you of what you did. There was never any place for you.

“Hey, fuck. Sweetheart, stop cryin’. Please just fucking look at me, can’t stand seeing you cry,” 

You can’t stop yourself from wailing. It’s ugly, and loud, and horrible. No matter how much you try to clamp it down, it spills from between your fingers and stains everything. Your whole body shakes with it. Hiccuping, you swallow a noise of distress. 

“I didn’t m-mean for it to end like this. I didn’t want—I didn’t want to hurt you, either of you I just. I got selfish a-and I—fuck, I got greedy. I never meant to, I didn’t want this.”

Before you understand what’s happening, you feel a body around you. 

Strong arms. Bakugou’s arms. He’s standing up to hug you, and you can feel him trembling when he pulls you to him. Your heart squeezes, but you don’t let yourself sink. His hands cup the back of your head, and you sob softly into the fabric of his shirt. 

“Fuck. I’m such an idiot. Please stop crying, sweetheart. Please.” 

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry” 

For a while, you can’t do anything but weep. Bakugou doesn’t let go of you. He’s never been good at comforting people, but his grip on you is tight. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting like that, sobbing into his arms with your fingers in his shirt. 

Your head feels messy, throbbing when you finally manage to stop. You pull away, your eyes swollen. You lick your lips, chapped before pulling back. 

“Thanks for comforting me.” You say, pulling away. You try to anyway.

Bakugou cups your face in his hands. It catches you off guard, the feeling of his calloused palms. He lifts your face, examining you. Your mouth parts in confusion, as you feel his thumb running under your eyes. 

“All fucking wrong. We did this shit all so fucking wrong.” 

“B-Bakugou?” 

He doesn’t let go of you. Just looks for a long time. 

“Bakugou?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

“Why’re you..?” 

“I missed you.” He says in a murmur, soft and uneasy and so regretful it stuns you “I’m so fucking sorry. We whoulda never—I’m gonna kick that shitnerds ass, swear.” 

“You…what?”

He lets go of you, then runs a hand through his hair. 

“You should.. text your friend or whatever. We should talk.” 

Bakugou looks at you apologetically, handing your phone. You watch him disappear into your kitchen, pouring you a glass of water and handing you some tissues. You don’t know what to say, completely dazed. You send Akio a text, making an excuse about a work emergency and saying you’ll drink with him this Saturday. 

Bakugou hands you the glass, leaving your tissues on the coffee table before sitting right where he was. 

For the first time, you’re completely at a loss.

“I don’t understand.” Are the first words out of your mouth. Bakugou gives you a laugh. 

“With the way shits been going, don’t know why you would.” 

“D-Did something happen between you and Midoriya?”

He frowns. 

“Fuck, no. Promise no stupid shit this time. Izuku just told me I should come talk to you.”

“…He did?”

He smiles at you. 

“Yeah, he did. Not like I’m any better at this shit than he is, but he said you weren’t gonna listen to him,” He pauses, turning away from him “Said you never wanted to see him again.”

You look at your lap, listening to the sound of passing cars.

“I thought it’d be for the best. It’s uhm.. It’s hard for me to see either of you. You know,” 

There’s a tense look on Bakugou’s face when he stares at you. You’ve never seen it before.

“…Did you mean what you said to Deku?”

Your throat constricts. 

“A-about?”

“About your feelings. For the both of us, you said—“

You feel your heart race, uncomfortable.

“…Does it matter?”

“Matters a hell of a lot.”

You repeat it to yourself like a mantra. Over and over, the word sticks to you. Don’t get greedy. You want to say nothing. To close your eyes and deny it. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

You feel your sense of stability crumble the instant the words leave your mouth. Like a sandcastle collapsed under the tide, you melt into unease. 

Your eyes sting with fresh tears that you hurry to wipe away. You don’t even know what they’re for. 

“Hey. Stop, look—it’s not what you think, alright? The feeling is mutual, but you've gotta listen to me.” 

Your eyes widen. Looking up again, you frantically look at his face then shake your head. Did you mishear?

“It’s what?”

“It’s mutual. We both… it’s a lot to explain alright? But from the beginning, it’s been mutual and it wasn’t some freak accident you ended up in our lives. I don’t want you thinkin’ that” 

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You shake your head. 

“I don’t…I don’t get it. From the beginning? You say you both have feelings for me, but I haven’t seen you in 7 months. A-and I-Izuku said—” 

Bakugou grits his teeth suddenly. He looks sharp, vicious. 

“Ignore what that half-brained idiot said, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about.” 

You sit back, unsure of how to proceed. You want to be shocked, or even angry but all you feel is confusion. You fiddle with your hands, and hear Bakugou sigh over his. His voice sounds exhausted. 

“All those months ago, when Izuku and I got into a fight… we were fighting over you.” 

The world comes to a halt. You choke on a gasp of air. Bakugou doesn’t pick his head up to look at you. The sun shadows the shame on his shoulders before you get a minute to speak. His face softens, then regret sifts through. 

He looks tired. Terribly tired. 

“It was because of me. Izuku… he realized how he felt early on. How we both did. He brought it up to me and I just…froze. I didn’t know what to do.” 

You hold your breath as you watch his face. 

“You…?” 

“We fought about it. I blew up on him, and he wouldn’t back down on the whole thing. I was scared outta my mind. Me.. and Izuku - it took us a long time to get where we were.” 

You laugh a little at that, scratching your hand. 

“Yeah I know.” 

He lets out a puff of air. 

“I bet you do. It freaked me out. It wasn’t like… I didn’t realize. We fought and I told him to go fuck off and be with you then. I regretted as soon as I did, but he walked off. Left me alone for a while.” 

You frown. 

“I’m sorry. You didn’t… I didn’t want that for you. I was a-always worried about you.” 

He gives you a light-hearted scoff. 

“I know. I got every call and text, sweetheart. Truth to be told, I would’ve lost my fucking mind if you hadn’t. That whole time.., you were looking out us both. I was still pissed, so I threw myself at my job. Saw Deku and got into some altercations.” 

This surprises you. It makes sense. It’s hard to avoid each other, you’re sure. You wonder why Deku never told you, but all those days he came home extra upset - maybe it was that. 

“I had no idea.” 

“With the way you texted me updates, I figured he didn’t tell you. He’s a shit-head like that. Keeps everything in and then lets it all out. He forgets that he’s a human being sometimes.” 

“It makes sense but…what happened? How’d you get here?” 

“We had a big fight and made up, eventually. I hadn’t really thought about anything. I was working over-time to avoid it, but I was so angry all the time I didn’t feel like myself. Shitty Hair and them kept me calm.” 

“Kirishima cried when he saw me,” You say in a daze. Bakugou laughs. 

“He was pissed at me when I told him everything.” 

“Kirishima was?” 

“You think he’s nice like the rest of ‘em but he’s scary as fuck when he’s mad. He didn’t let me hear the end of it for fucking up. And I’m…sorry for that. For fucking this up.” 

You shake your head at him. 

“I don’t blame you. I still don’t really understand it, but I should’ve pushed him away. My feelings were getting in the way, and I didn’t think about how I was—” 

“Hey. Stop that. Get this through your head, you didn’t do shit. Izuku leaned on you because he fucking cares about you.” 

“But he said—” 

“We’re not complete without each other.” 

Everything stops in an abrupt manner. His words are muddled, like they’ve been shaken around in his heart for much longer than you thought. 

“Izuku doesn’t know his own feelings. He thought that I was right. He thought he just misunderstood himself and he’s always been like that. He’s not good at knowing his own shit.” 

And then, you think you see him cry. You don’t remember the last time you’ve ever seen Bakugou Katsuki cry but his eyes look red. 

“We tried. To go back to how things were, we tried so fuckin’ hard sweetheart. You never wanted to see us again and I was too damn stubborn to admit to myself not getting your texts was breaking me. We tried.” 

You swallow the feeling in your throat. You’re so disoriented. 

“And..?” 

“It didn’t work. We couldn’t stop arguing and it wasn’t like before. We were both on edge all the time and we both knew why. Izuku realized his feelings after you left. And I couldn’t deny that the idea of never seeing you again fucking broke me.” 

You don’t think you could cry anymore if you tried, but you manage. 

“I just… it doesn’t feel real. You two have so much history. Without me. A whole life together and there’s no space for me to be involved. You love each other so much, how could you love me too? How could it ever compare?” 

“How could we not fucking love you, sweetheart? All those years together. You kept us grounded for how long? I never knew what it meant.. whatever bullshit Deku talked about saving people. But then we met you and I would’ve done anything to keep you safe.” 

“Katsuki,” 

You don’t even know what to do anymore. What to think or believe.

“Deku loves you to death. I can see it on his face. He loves seeing you with your dumbass cat. He loves listening to you recite lines from movies.”

“And you?” 

“And I’m here trying to convince you I’m still worth your time. I can’t do all that sappy shit. This is all I got.”

“You’re doing fine.” You say with a smile. He smiles back. 

“I feel like I’m gonna puke right now.” He admits. 

“I’m just scared. None of this feels real to me.” 

“When that shitnerd and I got together, I couldn’t get my head around it for 3 days. I was terrified of what that meant for me. Being vulnerable with people is terrifying and I still can’t stand it.” 

“Yeah.” 

“But if I never confronted my fears, I would’ve been alone and blind for the rest of my life. Shit gets bad. You fuck up and fight and things are hard - but it’s way fucking better to fight with people you love than it is to by yourself with your misery. Life got easier when I let myself feel my feelings and whatnot.” 

“You sound really wise.” 

He laughs under his breath. 

“Don’t be a dick.” 

“I’m being serious. You sound so mature and stuff.” 

“And stuff? You been hanging around that college brat way too much.” He says through gritted teeth. You laugh. 

“He’s nice, Katsuki.” 

“He can kiss my fucking ass, corrupting you with his bullshit—” 

“He is not doing that!” 

“You think I don’t see your legs shaven? You’re a shit liar.” 

“It was coincidence. I was gonna sleep with him though.” You say the last part a little quieter. He immediately gets mad again. 

“The hell you are.” 

You give him a smile, crinkling your nose. 

“Jeez, it’s not even your business, you know.” 

He groans. 

“My hearts too weak for that right now, yeah? Be fucking easy on me.” 

You look down at your lap, unsure of what else too. Your voice is hoarse so you reach for the glass on the table. 

“Sorry. Just… processing, I guess.” 

Neither of you talk for a long while. It’s just.. silent. It’s starting to get dark out, but not enough that it’s noticeable. The sunset is just teetering around the skyline. You take a deep long breath, tapping your foot. Picking the skin on your fingers. Fighting the urge to smoke an entire packet, you take a long breath. 

“Hey.” 

You lift your head to look at him. He looks nervous. 

“Is it okay if I… fuck, like would it be okay if I kissed you?” 

You nearly cough up a lung from shock. 

“Would that be okay? Wouldn’t Izuku be—” 

Bakugou gives you a little grin. 

“He got 6 months. He’ll get over it.” 

You squirm a little in your chair heart. Heart-racing. 

“...T-Then, it’d be okay. I guess.” 

“C’mere.” 

You feel shaky when you stand to your feet. Awkward. But as soon as you’re in reaching distance, you feel Bakugou’s hand touch yours. His hands are nice. Smooth and long and nimble but calloused on some parts. Irrevocably warm, when they wrap around your pointer. 

“If I do something you don’t like, headbutt me,” He offers. You frown at him, 

“I’ll tell you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” 

Without word, you feel him touch you. One hand busies itself with your hands, palms running up the back side of your forearm, then over the top before opening your hands to him.  Pulling the sleeves of your hoodie with it and exposing your skin to cool air. He touches you quietly, thoughtfully passing down until he’s holding your hand. Not with your your fingers intertwined, but cupped against yours in a silent, gentle reprieve. 

The other hand rests on the back of your thigh before brushing behind your knee and staying there. He’s just holding you, and there’s nothing especially risky about it. But it leaves you a mess, enough that you can’t even look at him. 

He tugs you to him. Spreading his legs, shifting to help you into his lap. Like a lamb to shepherd, you follow. Too dazed to protest him, he looks up at you and you look down at him. He brings your hands to his chest, and you slink them around his neck. He leans you forward until you’re only a few inches apart, breath mingling. 

He smells like smoke. You take a deep breath, studying his face before realizing his doing the same to. His eyes are outlining your mouth. 

“You smell like cigarettes.” He tells you. 

“Sorry.”

He shakes his head. 

“You made me like the smell way back. Used to think it was awful.” 

“And now?” 

“Now it makes me lightheaded.” 

“Like you wanna kiss me?” You tease. He takes a deep breath. 

“So fucking bad.” 

“Kiss me, Katuski.” 

“Mm,” 

His mouth is soft. You think that first. Even as your bodies so desperately and almost wholly on instinct, your skin starting to buzzy faintly. It’s so utterly blissful all you can think to feel is that he’s soft. He tastes sweet. His hands are the back of your thighs squeezing tight and you want them forever. You like that he lets you lead a little, and you take pleasure in touching him. 

Squeezing the back of his neck, you thread your fingers gently through his hair. Soft and ticklish against your fingers - he lets out a moan when you squeeze at the root. You did again and he does it one more time. Something warm unfurls in your stomach, starting to unwind like loose thread. 

“You sound pretty like that.” You tell him once you pull away. He shivers. 

“You’re gonna put me in an early grave,” 

“So you’re just gonna let Izuku become number one?” 

He gives you the brightest smile you’ve seen all day. It looks so familiar on him, your chest feels like it’s being crushed. 

“Not a chance in fucking hell.” 

“That’s the spirit, Katsuki.” 

“Speaking of.. we should probably invite that lewd nerd over here.” He says, burying his face in your neck. You hug him close to your chest. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. He’s gonna cry the whole damn time. Been losing his shit all day.” 

“Poor Izuku.” 

“He’s gonna cry when you call him that too. Cried about being Midoriya for 2 whole days.” 

“He’s such a baby.” 

Bakugo smiles into your neck. 

“I’d cry too.” 

__ 

You wait for Izuku to come back to your apartment at your front door, with Bakugou clinging to your shoulders. 

Nothing much had happened since your kiss. You and Bakugou laid together and made-out to pass the time - watching TV and quietly catching up.  When Izuku sent you a text about being 5 minutes out, you decided to wait at the door to greet him. 

You feel like the whole day has been one long dream. Seeing Izuku, you think, will make it feel more real.

When you hear the nob of your front door turn, you look up at Bakugou with excitement. He looks down at you, pressing his lips to your temple, his voice a soft, excited murmur in your ear. 

“He’s gonna cry right away.” He says, hushed, tone light. Amused. You elbow him. 

“Don’t be mean, Katsuki.” 

Your breath hitches when you do see the door open. He looks a little disoriented when he passes the threshold into your apartment. His dark green curls are messy from the wind and he’s all out of breath like his heart is racing. 

You smile at him as soon as he lifts his head up to look you. His lower lip trembles with immediacy, hands flying up to his face to catch the tears already threatening to spill. You feel Bakugou squeeze a little tighter around your waist, smiling into your neck.

“Welcome home, Izuku.” 

“Oh god.”

You forget how big he is until he runs forward to tackle you both in his arms. You hear Bakugou fuss over you, something about you damn crybaby being mumbled. But more than that, you feel the familiar warmth of Deku. Izuku and Katsuki, all together. He smells like the sun and sweat, , it’s familiar and comfortable. Like home. You lean forward to wrap your arms around his midriff. You melt into the touch, as easy as it always been. 

“I’m sorry, oh my god, I’m so sorry, I love you.”

When he pulls away, he’s already blubbering. His skin is a blotchy, familiar red and his eyes are watery. He looks down at you like you aren’t real. He’s the tallest of the three of you, so you have to get on your tippy toes to kiss him. 

Familiar. Your hands touch base at his chest before running up, cradling his face in your hands. You swipe the tears from him, giving him a biggrin. 

“I missed you, Izuku.” 

“Oh god, oh god—Can I?—Wanna kiss you both so bad, missed you so much, I’m so happy.” 

“Slow down, you idiot. You’re gonna scare ‘em, jeez.” Katsuki says, but his face betrays him. You can see that he wants that too, when you look up. They both look at you expectantly, and you nod. 

Izuku kisses you first. It’s just like him, terribly overwhelmed. He tastes mildly like salt, maybe from all the tears. He grabs your face and presses your lips to you like the world will end if he doesn’t. He does it once, pulls away, and does it two more times just to be safe. You giggle when he pulls away, looking at you in your eyes. 

“We should t-talk properly, but I’m so so sorry, I just—” 

You look at him. The scars all over him. The splattered freckles along the bridge of his nose and his dark lashes. You shake your head. 

“Later,” — You offer, fingers slipping under his shirt — “Need you both.” You say, a little quieter. 

This makes his eyes go wide before he pulls back completely, covering his face with hands. You hear Katsuki laugh behind you. 

“Lewd fucking nerd.” He says, with a terrible amount of affection. Izuku’s voice goes raspy. 

“Shut up, Kacchan.” 

“Oh that’s right. The two of you never went all the way, right?” 

You flush this time.

Katsuki  nips at your neck with his teeth, soft and playful. 

“You’re gonna make him cum in his pants, sweetheart,” 

You feel something tickle in the back of your throat. 

“I thought you weren’t… uhm. You know. Into me.” You admit. Izuku’s eyes widen so far his brows touch his hairline. Katsuku shake with laughter behind you. 

“You got no idea how fucking gross he is. Haah, that’s funny. Not into you my ass.” 

“Kacchan!” 

Before you register it, Katsuki whispers in your ears. They’re making eye-contact with each other with you sandwiched in the middle. They’re both so much. Too much for any one person to handle, you don’t know how you’re going to do it. 

Katsuki’s voice is smug. 

“Reach your hand out. Go on,” 

You do as he says, convinced you should. You want to. It’s not like you’ve never touched him before but never fully. You never really did anything, you just… 

You touch it. Touch him. Your whole body goes hot as you feel something heavy in the palm of your hand. thick. It twitches against the material of his pants. Above you, Izuku shudders. His whole body shakes slightly. 

“I didn’t even…”

“You think I call him ‘lewd nerd’ for fun. He’s a pervert, sweets. It’s just how it is.”

Your heart races. Fuck, what are you getting yourself into right now? 

But it feels right. And with the both of them over you, the warmth of their bodies and strong forms - you can’t help but want to fall into it. You close your eyes, look up and glancing at both of them. 

“I wanna do it.” You whisper, low. You feel your skin prickle with heat. Izuku groans and Katsuki chuckles. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

__

From the moment you stumble in your bedroom, everything around sort of disappears. 

You’re quick to lock the door behind you, to ensure your cat doesn’t follow you but the moment you’re in - you’re practically surrounded. The energy alone is enough to melt your spine. Izuku carries you in his arms and Katsuki trails behind you, giving you a vicisious grin that makes you wetter than you know to handle. 

It’s all very messy and desperate, trying to situate yourself into the bed. They keep you in the middle the entire time. At times like these, you’re grateful for the investment you made in your firm mattress. The two of them alone take up so much of the once roomy king-sized you find it hard to breathe. 

You’re sitting on your legs with Katsuki mirroring you, behind you. Izuku hovers over you like a shadow. Your head feels jumbled with everything surrounding you. The first thing you feel is the shape of Katsuki’s mouth. His lips are tender and soft, pressing into your shoulder blade. You let out a fluttery little sigh, unsure of what to do. 

It’s disorienting as much as it’s hot. You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, two people who are wholly enigmatic without each other. Together you’re like stars colliding. Or maybe, yu’re the world between them, keeping them at bay - squeezed by the matter of their existence. Katsuki’s hand travel under your t-shirt, his hands squeezing your waist. 

Izuku tilts your head up to kiss you first, then reach over your shoulder kissing Katsuki. You think, sometimes, you like seeing them kiss more than you like being kissed on your own.

“You’re so pretty… She’s so pretty, right Kacchan?” 

He does an affirmative hum behind you. Heat rips through you, as Bakugou’s hands reach up. He cups your tits, bare underneath the fabric of your shirt. His chest rumbles with a groan, thumb, and pointer tweaking your nipples till they're hard. You let out a soft mewl. 

“Fuck.. fuck look at that.” 

He’s not talking to you, but to Izuku who’s watching you both with a shadowy expression. His eyes suddenly look dark. Terribly and utterly focused on your tits, where your nipples peek through your cotton white t-shirt. You would’ve worn something cute if you had the time. Thank god you showered at all, though you don’t think either of them would care. 

Instead of answering, Izuku tugs at the bottom of your shirt. You feel Katsuki behind you, lifting the material up. They work together well. You raise your hands to let it to taken off, feeling shy you try to tuck your chin. Izuku’s quick to draw you back, using his hand to turn your head with a gentle force. He’s soft, but authoritative. It shakes you to your core. 

“Hey. None of that okay. Keey your eyes on us.” 

“What he said, sweetheart.” 

You gasp a little as your bare skin touches the cold air. Goosebumps raise in patches all over your body. 

At a loss for words, your eyes follow Izuku in his movements. How he scoots back on the bed, then dips his head down. His mouth is a surprise - he kisses down your sternum and with no warning at all - gropes your chest like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do. 

It’s different from before. The way he squeezes them in his palms, pushes them together, watches them move and spill between his finger. He’s taking his time to explore you with the single-minded focus he always gets. His tongue planes over the hardened buds, around the creased skin before sucking the whole thing into his mouth. 

You throw your head back, mouth open in a quiet gasp. Katsuki slowly slides your hands over your navel, across your stomach. Around your middle, his fingers fidget with the waist-band of your shorts, before dipping into the line. Your thighs squeeze instinctively, chewing the inside of your cheek. 

It’s too much. You whimper a little as Izuku pays attention to your tits, your body flaring upr. Izuku is shameless in wanting you. His eyes are so focused on your every move, and his hands feel so impossibly big. It feels like he could eat you, swallow you - the way he touches you so shamelessly. 

You’re so aroused.  Wet enough that it’s soaking your cotton panties all the way through. It’s humiliating when Katsuki touches just over the seam, how his finger soaks on the damp spot. 

“You’re making her so wet, nerd.” 

“Really, Kacchan?” 

“Fuck, yeah. She’s soaked. Feel good?” 

The last part is talking to you. Izuku rubs your nipples with his thumbs, hands cradling your sides when you nod,

“Feels good.” You say back, halfway panting. You open your eyes up to look over at Izuku, then look back to Katsuki “I want you guys to take it off. Too many clothes.” 

Katsuki laughs behind you, and you feel him pull away. Izuku places a kiss on your hairline. You scoot over, away from them, and watch them as you get undressed.

Your eyes land on Katsuki first. You’ve seen Izuku naked before, almost completely. You’d never seen Katsuki, so you watch. He catches you staring, giving you a little smirk before he turns over to you. 

“You’re a freak too. Gettin’  off on watching me strip.”

You lean back on your palms. 

“Should I tip you?” 

He laughs. 

“Fuck off.” 

He takes it off a little more deliberately. Your eyes follow the curves in his body. The two of them are so stupidly jacked. Katsuki is a little leaner in his make up. His strength is concentrated in his back muscles and his arms. You see it when he reaches over his head. He’s lithe, smooth everywhere else but his arms are pure and almost brutish. It’s so sexy on him. There’s only one big scar on his body that you already know the story of. 

You don’t even realize you’re staring at him until you hear his voice, smug as he calls you over. 

“You wanna touch it?” 

You nod, a little sheepish about being caught. Crawling over to him, you’re standing on your knee.. Izuku watches the two of you, out of the corner of his eyes. His lower lip is tugged, pressed under his teeth. 

You let your fingers do the guiding. You start at his waist. He looks at you, intent. He’s artwork, you fight the urge to treat him rough - your fingers tracing over his obliques. Gently grabbing him, you trace all the way up the natural lines of his body, Even without flexing, you can see his physique. Your palms plane over the muscle of his back and arms before curling around his shoulders. 

“You’re arms are so nice.” 

“Yeah?” 

“And you’re…” 

Words escape you when you look down. His chest.. fuck. Katsuki is pale everywhere. His nipples are pink against his skin, noticeably bright. The cold season makes him pale where as Izuku is always tan. His chest is so fucking big. It’s so distracting you lose whatever you want to say. Your hands drop then reach forward, and without so much as a choice - you squeeze the fat of his chest between your fingers just like Izuku had been before. 

Izuku comes up behind you. The two of them share a look you don’t have the mind to pay attention  to. 

“Kacchan has nice tits, doesn’t he?” 

“Go fuck yourself, Deku.”

Your mouth feels so dry. 

“Y-Yeah.” 

“They’re sensitive.” Izuku tells you, voice thick. Revenge, or something along those lines. It piques your interest. 

“Yeah?” 

“Flick them. He likes it.” 

When you look at Katsuki’s face it’s strained. A warm shade of pink dances over every inch of his exposed skin, and he’s holding his breath. Oh, you think. He wants this. 

You flick his nipples and watch as his whole body crumbles forward. He drops his head on his shoulders, as you tweak and play with them. His voice is raspy, teeth gritted. 

“Fuck, y-you’re evil. Fuck, there.”

“Pick your head up, Kat.” 

He does so. He looks.. soft. Pretty. His eyes are a little glassy. You lean forward, letting your mouth close around one of his tits. He cries out, wobbly. Izuku is quick to keep him steady, hands reaching around to his hips. 

“You learn fast.” 

You hum sucking on each of them. Katsuki is a mess over you. His body is so hot, and you can see his cock against his clothes. You stay like that, the three of you stood on your knees with just enough space to tease and touch. Your body relishes the contact, mind-swimming. You indulge your desires to explore, tentatively testing the boundaries. 

You pull away briefly saliva making his tits shiny. He looks at you, dazed. 

“Can I leave marks on either of you?” 

“Freak.” Katsuki says. You flush. 

“Should be fine. Kacchan is wearing his winter costume, anyway.” 

You nod your head, then let your tongue lave over Katsuki’s neck before biting and sucking. You leave it a little under the collar, low enough to be easily covered. He lets out a soft hiss. 

“You’re so touchy with me. Gonna leave Izuku out to dry?” 

You laugh, rubbing your cheek into his pec. Grabbing his ass, he gives you a little scowl but doesn’t tell you to stop. 

“I never got to touch you. I touched Izuku at least.” 

You feel Izuku’s chin on your shoulder. 

“Kacchan’s right though, I feel neglected.” 

Izuku’s arm closes around your waist. You turn your head slightly, enough to see him behind him. 

“You want a hickey too?” 

Izuku buries his face in your neck. 

“Mm, maybe,” 

“Are you both usually this needy?” You ask amused.

“You would be too if you were us, y’know?” 

You think on what he’s said. Surrounded by the warmth of their bodies, you laugh. 

“You had each other,” You tease. Katsuki scoffs and Izuku sounds like he’s whining. They’re both cute when they act like that. 

“Like you didn’t have your fucking boy-toy.” Katsuki spits, petty jealousy clear in his voice. Izuku suddenly gets very tense and pulls away. 

The utter devastation in his voice makes you feel a little bad, but another part of you feels vindicated and kinda happy they care. You hide a smile. 

“...Are you seeing someone else?” 

“If I was?” 

Izuku makes a face you can only describe as heartbroken, making you burst out in laughter. 

“Izuku, I was just kidding! Stop looking so sad.” 

“You’re so mean.” 

To think you could bring the number one hero in the country to tears fills you with silent pride. Katsuki pipes up behind you. 

“She was gonna fuck him. Her legs are all shaved.” 

Izuku gasps scandalized. 

“Who even is he?!” 

“A college boy,” You interject, dropping your head onto his shoulder “He was flirting with me when I went to buy cigarettes. Akio.” 

Izuku frowns deep and frustrated. 

“Sounds like a jackass.” 

“He’s a nice kid, Katsuki. I’m still gonna get drinks with him on Saturday, anyway.” 

Two voices shout at you at once. 

“What?” 

“The fuck?” 

You break out into a fit of giggles. 

“I promised I would if he studied.” 

“And you’re gonna go and tell the kid that you’ve got two great boyfriends at home right?” 

You grin a little. The possession in Katsuki’s voice is tangible. Izuku is silent but you can practically feel the frustration off him. You hum, pretending to think. 

“Is that what you two are?” 

“You’re so fucking evil, baby. Evil.” 

You shrug. 

“Dunno. The role of ‘significant other’ was vacant for a long time. Think I should give it up so easily?” 

Katsuki sits up, leaning forward and trapping you between them. Your heart leaps. 

“Wanna know what I think?” 

You nod, Katsuki’s eyes sharpen. 

“I think it’s a bad idea to provoke two heroes who could run laps around you, yeah?” 

You look up at him, smiling. 

“All that stamina should be put to good use, then. Earn your title, heroes. Sound good?” 

“You’re such a tease.” Izuku rasps behind you. You look up to see him, eyes cloudy. 

“I’m nice to boys who deserve it.” You say on a whim. Both of them react in a way you can’t predict, shock first then lust right after.

“Need you now.” Izuku says through a breath. 

“How do you want me?” 

“Want you to sit on my face. Want Kacchan to suck my cock.” 

The way he says it makes you reel. You look at Katsuki. He looks.. obedient. It’s the only way you can think to call it. Excited. Your insides twitch. 

“Fuck.” You groan “I want that.” 

“Kacchan?” 

“Shut up and take your dick out, nerd.” 

His demeanors cools you off a little, but it’s not enough to stop the anticipation growing. The three of you suddenly move in haste. There’s enough room to move around, bed creaking as everyone adjusts to comfort. You watch Izuku lay down flat on the bed, the whole thing dipping under the weight of his body. You’ve seen him naked before, but it’s always a sight to behold. His whole body is covered in freckles, dense around his shoulders and his thighs. 

He’s strong everywhere. As jacked as someone at his height could be, to deal with the burden of his quirk. Even so, the strongest part of him are his legs. Thick, muscular thighs that make your whole body go alight. He’s covered in scars of different sizes, smaller around his waist and middle. Dense on his arms and chest. 

There’s hair on his stomach and over his pecs. Above his cock, well-trimmed and neat. 

You feel your mouth go dry seeing Izuku’s cock sitting between his legs. You’ve never.. not like this. Your eyes are focus on it, trailing down the line. He isn’t cut, and the tip is darker than the rest. It does a hard curve left.

It’s so thick. Your stomach does a flip ar how unfathomable it is just looking at it. 

“Nerd’s fucking hung, isn’t he?” 

“You’re so big, Izuku. How do you even…?” 

“You scared?” 

You nod soft, and the both of them laugh. 

“Worry about it later. Want you to sit on my face.” Izuku tells you. His tone is so agreeable, crushing your remaining barriers. Welcoming. You squirm a little thinking about taking it, but resign yourself to his request. You crawl over to him, situating your thighs on either side of his face. 

Katsuki observers you for a minute before sitting between Izuku’s legs. You can tell from his confidence that he’s done it a hundred times before. There’s something about the position, the feeling that you’re getting off on each other that has your core feeling tight. Izuku puts his hands on the tops of your thighs. 

For the first time, you’re fully at a loss. Katsuki gives you a grin when he realizes what you’re thinking. Your eyes are glued to his form, his physique. The curves of is body when he gets on his knees and arches up. Your heart thuds against your ribs desperately. The blood is rushing into your ears, your hand tingles with nerves.

Izuku must know where you’re focusing too, because his hands gently squeeze the tops of your thighs. He doesn’t take you down, or even move. His breath fans against your sticky cunt.

“Wanna see me suck cock so bad?” 

Whatever over takes you is unspeakable. He just makes it sounds so good. The words die off in your mouth. You’re so wet, hyperfocused on the visual. Katsuki wraps his hands around the base of Izuku’s cock, and from under you there’s a moan. The realization hits all at once like a bulldozer leveling a city. You find yourself sinking under the crushing realization of what you’re doing. They’re pleasuring you, and each other. All together. 

The thought alone makes your head spin. 

“Keep your eyes on me. Don’t close ‘em, since you wanna be a fuckin’ pervert. And nerd,” 

“Hn?” 

“Don’t let her cum if I tell you she’s closin’ her eyes.” 

You can feel his smile under you. 

“Good idea, Kacchan.”

You gasp. Mumble something about them being evil, but the words don’t register. Without another minute of hesitation, Izuku all but drags you down to him. 

The moment you feel Izuku dart his tongue out, you think the world from under you falling. You want, desperately, to close your eyes. It’s not like you’ve never had someone go down on you. 

But Izuku isn’t just eating you out. He isn’t even really doing it for you. There’s a drunkeneness to it that has your thighs squeezing around his head. His hair tickles your skin and you’re so close you’re sure you’re suffocating him.  His arms secure themselves around your thighs until you’re trapped in his grip. His tongue is gentle for a briefly,  if only to welcome you the sensation.

 But right after, with only a second between, he sucks his clit into the heat of his mouth. It’s so shameless it startles you. Your jaw hangs open, and your eyes squeeze shut. Your facing forward. You can feel the ridges of his nose, the point of his chin as the full weight of your body drops onto his face. Your hands fly forward, splaying on his chest to give yourself some semblance of balance. 

Izuku moves like he isn’t thinking about anything other than tasting you. The drag of his tongue, muscles moving against your clit makes your toes curl. You bite your lip to cut off the sounds threatening to leave you only to give up minutes later. 

“Ngh, ‘zuku—” 

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.” 

You struggle but listen. Blearily, you set your focus on Katsuki. The feeling of Izuku and his ruthlessness adds to your delirium. Suspended, you watch Katsuki work Izuku’s cock and feel like you might really die. The visual impact is enough to send you tipping over an edge more quick you ever have in your life and the intoxicated way Izuku’s latched onto your pussy makes you feel like giving in. 

Katsuki is watching you back. This stuns you the most of anything. His eyes, red and fixed, are hard and looking at the place where your pussy meets Izuku’s chin. Even as he swallows around your cock, he’s looking at you. Meeting your gaze as he slides is tongue under the swollen head of his cock, flicking the tip. He’s only got one hand, placed carefully on Izuku’s thigh for balance. 

But the other is fisted around his cock. His cock. Long, pink, leaking in his palms. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Izuku moans under you, into you. Submerged in the feeling of euphoria, you let out a pathetic cry. Katsuki watches you. His gaze is like splitting atoms, an impossibility happening infront of your eyes. All at once, you take everything in to process. You take Katsuki dipping his head down, his pinks lips stretching around Izuku’s cock. His eyes, stuck on your silhouttete as he takes it down the base without so much as a gag - the drool dripping down onto his chin in the same way you’re doing into Izuku’s face. 

You take in the sight of him pulling off, mesmirzed by how much he’s taken. How good he is, how sloppy. Izuku is too, and something occurs in your head that maybe this is another way they mirror each other. The messy way Izuku eats your pussy, with his tongue and the whole of his mouth. With ridiculous fervor, with hazy determination. 

You can’t take your eyes off of Katsuki. You’re consumed by the way they both make you feel, and you want to reach across to kiss him. Leaning forward, you rock your hips against Izuku’s tongue. 

You want to kiss him. You’re going to kiss him. 

“Katsuki,” You breathe out, voice broken. You rut yourself against Izuku’s face again this time, harder, clit rubbing hard against his tongue. He lets out an appreciative little moan, that encourages you chase your own high. 

Balancing on Izuku with one hand and leaning forward, you reach your other one around Katsuki’s neck.

You kiss him. Over Izuku’s cock at first then around. The realization of what’s happening makes him moan into your mouth. Finger tangled in the blonde hair, you kiss him with tongue. The gesture is utterly absent minded. It’s greedy. You can’t help but want everything all at once and being apart from him is making you agitated. 

You make out around Izuku’s cock after you feel sorry enough. Fucking yourself into his mouth, hips rocking - you take it upon yourself to join Katsuki. Whenever Izuku feels it, his fingers dig into your legs. Little crescent shaped indentations appear from how hard he’s gripping, how much he’s whining against your cunt and sending waves through you. 

You’re so turned on, it’s hard to clear your head. Riding Izuku’s face with complete disregard, helping Katsuki suck his cock. The both of you around his shaft, trying to kiss each other while pre-cum stains the exchange. Everything feels like it’s blurry, like a motion shot - a picture taken with a moving subject.  

You’ve held out for so long - you don’t have a chance to warn Izuku as an orgasm approaches you a full, frightening speed. Raggedly, you cry out his name. Katsuki groans, stopping to fix his eyes on your face. 

Izuku makes a sound of appreciation, helping you fuck onto his tongue in the rhythm you did before. You hold yourself just barely. 

All at once, with everything fibre of your being - you find yourself cumming. It doesn’t feel like any orgasm you’ve ever had before, not ever in your life. Like a bow and arrow, your entire body goes taut before the string snaps hard. All the muscles in your body freeze then release, the tension replaced with an unending wave of euphoria. 

It feels so fucking good. So good you can’t breathe. 

“O—Oh, fuck. Fuuh, fuck.” 

You cum and can’t stop. Even as you try to pry yourself off, Izuku holds you down. They both stop in their motions, glued to you. Something warm and desperate starts to rush. A warbled warning comes out of you. 

“I-Izuku, it’s—” 

All at once, you lean completely bacl another brief wave of release hits. You can feel it. Fuck, you’re—

“Holy shit, sweetheart.” 

You reel all the way back as you squirt into Izuku’s mouth - left to listening to him swallow it down. An audible gulp sends your stomach in knots, and you nearly fall. If Izuku wasn’t holding you, you would’ve. 

You collapse forward again, this time completely. Wiggling your hips away. 

Izuku lets go of you. Gasping for a breath of air immediately as you pull away, you see his cock twitch. Your cheek pressed against his navel, you take a minute to collect yourself. 

“Oh my god. You two are going to kill me.” 

The room is almost completely silent. 

“...Have you ever?” 

“I didn’t even know I could do that.” 

Muffled underneath you, you hear Izuku. 

“Can I please get a warning the next time the two of you  decide to go at me at once? I almost came.” Izuku whines. You share a look with Bakugou before breaking out into laughter. 

“Be fucking grateful nerd, Fuck that was so hot. You have a mean streak, sweetheart. Pulling my fucking hair.” 

You laugh shakily. 

“You suck dick like a champ, Katsuki.” 

He snorts. 

“Shut up.” 

For a minute, silence stretches between you. You squirm slightly, before frowning.  Appreciative it’s comfortable despite the intense emotions left to linger. 

“I was the only one who came.” You say thoughtfully. 

“To be fair I almost did. I was flexing my muscles to stop.” Izuku admits. You giggle at the bit of honesty. 

“Katsuki… wanna make you cum. Both of you, but it doesn’t feel fair,” 

“I had fun, don’t worry. I dunno about the nerd, but I do wanna fuck you.” 

Even after doing something so insanely sexual, a flush crawls up your spine. 

“I..I want you to fuck me.” 

“Wanna fuck you too,” Izuku says underneath you. You wiggle your hips, closing your eyes. You feel a little guilty, even suggesting it. 

You flop onto your back, pulling away from Izuku. With your legs kicked up, you cover your face with your hands about what you want to suggest. 

“I… uhm. The both of you could.. fuck me at once. If you wanted to.” 

You’re almost too afraid of opening your eyes when you hear Katsuki pipe up. 

“Holy shit, are you serious?” 

You roll over, away from them. You try to anyway. 

Before you know what’s happening, Izuku is sitting up. Like you weightless than piece of paper, he flips you over and grabs you until you’re situating his lap. Katsuki sits up, behind you. His chest is pressed against your spine. The two of them look at you hard but you keep covering your face. 

Izuku swallows the spit in his mouth, starting at you. 

“Do you mean.. like.. the both of us? At once?” 

“Y-Yeah.” 

“...You ever taken it in the ass before, sweetheart? Shit aint easy,” Katsuki says in something akin to earnesty. 

You laugh warmly. 

“In college.” 

Katsuki snorts. 

“Fucking really? With your dweeb ass boyfriend?” 

“Kacchan.” Izuku tsks, though you’re sure they share the same sentiment. You nod. 

“Anyway, I have. A-and it.. that way we’d all be super close, yknow?” 

Katsuki groans. 

“Fucking hell,” 

“What Kacchan said.” Izuku says, blowing an amused puff of air through this nose.

“It’s not a big deal,” You grumble. Katsuki laughs. 

“Hearing our newly acquired significant other say they want us to D.P. them is a big deal, idiot.”

“You’re so vulgar.” 

Izuku smiles at you both fondly, absently reaching a hand out. He cups Katsuki’s face in his palm, looking down at you. 

“We have to prep you really well. And if it’s too painful at any point, you have to tell me or Kacchan, Okay?” 

“Mm…Okay. Love you, Izuku.” 

He splutters. Katsuki clicks his teeth behind you. 

“Love you too, Katsuki. Love you both so much.” 

“We love you too,” Izuku says, alreacdy on the verge of tears. Katsuki laughs. 

“What the nerd said.”

You relish in each others company for a while, soft and leaning into each other. After everyone’s caught their breath, Izuku pats your thigh. 

“Do you have lube?” Izuku asks. You laugh, nodding. 

“Top drawer of my vanity.” 

Izuku pressed a kiss to your temple, getting up. 

“Okay. Get comfortable and lay down, Kacchan, lay with her.” 

“Not the boss of me, shitnerd.” 

Despite himself, Izuku gets up to get your things and Katsuki does as he asks. You get yourself comfortable in the bed and your blonde boyfriend follows suit. He lays down close to you, turned slightly to face you. 

He puts a hand out, running his middle finger along your jaw until your face is pointed to him. The proximity is comforting, your eyes following his lips. It’s an awfully  tender gesture when he kisses you, softly pressing his lips to yours. You make a little sound of approval into his mouth, making him grin. 

“Nervous?” 

“A little. Two at once is a lot” 

He snorts. 

“I bet. Just relax yeah. We’ll start with the hard part. Should make it easier.” 

You give him a little smile, kissing the corner of his mouth. 

“You make anal sound very romantic.” 

“You fucking saps are rubbing off on me. Do you know how you want us?” 

You scrunch your nose in embarrassment. It’s not like you don’t have an answer. 

“I want you inside and Izuku in.. y’know.” 

He gives you a playful grin. 

“You a masochist or something?” 

“Shut up,” You say weakly, tucking your chin “Just seems like something he’d be into.”  

“Guess you’re not wrong about that,” 

Like you’ve conjured him from thin air, Izuku returns to your bed with a familiar  bottle of lube and some condoms. His face looks unusually red as you watch him get back on the mattress, settling in between your spread legs. 

“Izuku?” 

He stops for a minute, startled. 

“You… have so many sex toys.” He says. Your eyes widen before you break out into a laugh. You thought you’d be embarrassed if anyone ever saw but for some reason, you mostly find it funny. 

“You serious nerd?” 

“More than the two of us combined, Kacchan,” 

Katsuki turns to look at you, leaning in to give you a giggly kiss. 

“Nasty.” 

“It slipped my mind, You found what you were looking for though, right?” 

He gives you a nod, holding up a bottle of lube - nearly full. You ran out a couple of weeks ago.

Izuku puts a palm underneath your knee, your breath hitching. He looks at you seriously for a minute, thumb rubbing a circle into your skin. He gives you a look. 

“Tell me if it hurts. I’m gonna go really slow, ‘kay? And Kacchan, keep her comfy.” 

“Got a good idea for that,” Katsuki says. You look at him curiously. 

“Keep your eyes on us, sweetheart.” 

Nodding, you lift your legs a little higher. You hold yourself up, nails pressed into the back of your thighs. Just like Katsuki insists on, you keep your eyes on Izuku. He looks determined as he flicks the lid open. The lube is shiny as it pours onto his fingers in a thick, clear stream. Warming it up, he looks down. You’re conscious of his gaze, the way you’re so bare and exposed. You can feel how spread out you are because of the position. 

Izuku rubs the ring of muscle first, before doing anything else. You squirm at the sensation. It’s not unpleasant, but it isn’t pleasant either. It just feels a little intrusive as he touches it, rubbing along the creased skin. 

“Relax, love. Don’t think about it.” 

You try to follow his words, so you turn your attention to Katsuki. He gives you a mild look before you feel his hand reach out, groping your tits before sliding his palm down your body, squeezing you gentle. 

“When he pushes in, take a deep breath and exhale. And don’t worry about anything else.” 

You nod, feeling him inch closer to you. He kisses you this time, soft. His hand keeps going lower and lower until you feel a finger against your puffy clit. It aches from his fingers. You try not to move. 

“Good?” Katsuki asks.

“Little more to the left, please.” 

He hums at the feedback and does as you ask, rubbing your clit just enough to take your mind off of everything. You find yourself relaxing involuntarily from the pleasure. While your head is busied with it, he kisses you. Engages you in making out, taking time to suck on your tongue in the way he’s learned you like. It’s a messy kiss, too drooly than you think someone like him would be comfortable with. 

But the contact feels good, feels nice. Your pussy responds to each of his gestures noticably, a dull throb growing inside from the ache. You want to be fucked, and you’d take it in whatever way you can have.

“Don’t squirm, baby.” Katsuki says, pulling away from you in a pant. 

“Hard,” You say simply. He laugh, biting the roundest part of your cheek. 

“Sooner you’re prepped, sooner we can fuck you.” 

“Gonna push in okay? Take a deep breath.” 

You nod. Katsuki keeps you steady, breathing with you as you feel Izuku push in his middle finger in. It’s a just barely there sensation. You’re expecting some pain, but there’s nothing more than a dull sense of discomfort. You let out a long, deep breath, until you feel him reach the first knuckle. The prep is relatively uninteresting, but you can feel a stretch. A mild, sensitive feeling of invasion. 

But it feels.. dirty? Forbidden, somehow and that’s making your breath hitch. The both of them are staring so hard at you. Katsuki keeps rubbing your pussy to keep you at bay. You hiccup.

“Okay?” 

You nod. 

“Doesn’t hurt. Just feels… funny.” You say. Izuku breathes a sigh before he very slow pulls the finger out of you. Your heart pulses, a sense of relief when he takes it out that leaves you curious. Your eyes widen. Katsuki takes notice of your expression. 

“Feels nice?” 

“Y-Yeah.” 

Izuku goes a little faster this time, a little harder. When the motion is fluid, he’s careful to add another finger. You feel lube drip down onto your ass, the thick and sticky sensation. Katsuki leans into you. 

“Deep breath,” 

You listen, breathing deep as another finger joins him. This time the stretch is more noticeable. Izuku leans forward, kissing your knee where you’re holding it up. 

“Pretty little hole,” Izuku muses. Your eyes go wide from embarrassment when you hear Katsuki snicker at you.  Izuku doesn’t stop his mumbling, fixed on how your fingers suck him in “Can’t wait to fuck you.” 

Lost in a haze, his eyes flick up to you with a smile. It’s so disarming it startles you. You lean back. 

“Okay, baby?” 

“You’re s-so dangerous.” 

He frowns. 

“Why do you say that?” 

Katsuki scoffs above you, making you feel marginally better. You take another breath as he repeats the motions of before, slowly fucking into you. You feel your ass give as you get comfortable, your body no longer instinctively resisting the sensation. You feel yourself stretch and stretch and stretch, but it doesn’t feel the same as being torn open. There’s something strangely familiar about the gesture. 

Katsuki touches you through it. Teases your clit with his fingers and brings you to the edge, always stopping before you can cum. Despite your protest, you get the feeling it’s to help you cum while you’re getting fucked but not before then. You let out soft little moans of pleasure and the way Izuku is starting to fuck you open on his fingers is finally starting to feel like something besides funny. 

You look down at Izuku, who gives you a half smile. Something deep in you aches, it’s a sensation you haven’t felt in a long time. Bone-deep desire to be fucked and filled and close together leaves you oddly emotionaly. 

“You, okay? Think you’re ready?” 

You feel yourself squirm against Katsuki’s hand, who’s busied himself by cupping your pussy with his palm.

“I’m ready. Want you in my ass, and Katsuki in me,” You tell him. His eyes widen before he lets an involuntary groan. Sometimes his predictability is charming in it’s own way. 

“Yeah.. yeah. Then let Kacchan get underneath you, and I’ll get on top. Sound okay?” 

“Mm,”

It takes a minute to switch positions again but eventually you end up where you want. Katsuki lays comfortably on the mattress, head propped up on some pillows. Rubbing his cock with one hand lazily, he gives you smirk. 

“Hop on?” 

“Oh fuck you,” 

A laugh bubbles out of you as you crawl ontop of him, throwing your legs on either side of his hips. You hover over his cock, getting comfortable as you feel his hands grab your ass and squeeze, pullin them apart without shame. He’s got the same look as always, a cocky looking smile as he pivots his hips and rubs the head of his cock against your folds. Shuddering, you wrap your hand around the base. 

“Sure you don’t need prep?” 

You nod your head, biting your lip as you guide the head of his cock down a little lower. You feel Izuku behind you. 

“No condom?” 

“Wanna feel it.” You reply. Katsuki groans under as you guide the head to your entrance. You take a deep breath as you start to sink yourself on it. Going as slow as possible to make sure it doesn’t hurt, Katsuki does a hard hiss underneath you. His head tilts back, mouth open in loud moan. You feel his cock twitch inside of you as you finally push yourself to the last inch. 

When you bottom out you sigh, the familiar and pleasant sensation starting to ensnare you. Eyes heavy, you look at Katsuki who looks like he’s having a hard time keeping his head above water. Your hands go on  his chest. 

“Katsuki?” 

“I’ve never—holy shit—” 

“You’ve never done it like this?” 

“Bakugou lost his virginity to Kirishima and I lost mine to Ochako. So he’s never…” 

Unable to help your shock, an idea pops into your head as you lean forward. He feels so fucking good. He’s got a curve just upright that sits nicely inside of you, keeps you full and touches you in all the right ways. Beneath you he’s trembling, unable to shake the feeling. 

“Katsuki,” You purr, breathy as you lift your hips up. “Does that feel good?” 

“H-Holy fuck. Fuck, baby—you’re so wet. Feels like you’re gonna melt me,” 

With a little effort, you do an intentional squeeze around him. His eyes shoot open, gasping for air. 

“D-Don’t—You little shit. Squeezing me like that, stupid brat.” 

He holds your hips down where you stop, giving you a look that’s only half angry. 

“I’m just making you feel good.” You maintain. His hand comes down on your ass hard, making you laugh. 

“You can make me feel good without trying to milk me, fucksake. Slow down and let Izuku in,” 

You give him smile, leaning forward. Katsuki gets what you’re trying to do almost immediately. His hands squeeze your ass again, this time spreading you apart intentionally. You can only see from the corner of your eye because you’re squished into Katsuki’s chest - bare chest on his. But Izuku shoots off a deep, guttural groan as Katsuki offers him a smile. You feel his chin atop your head. 

“Don’t make her wait long, dweeb.” 

It happens just like that. Izuku approaches you, cock in hand and situates behind the two of you. You take in a deep breath when you feel the tip protruding against your hole. Everything… halts. Like the sound of something, a faint quiet before everything hits the ground running. You’re already stretched, already full with cock. Your head can’t wrap around taking anymore but still, Izuku persists. He grabs you with great strain, and pushes his cock into the tight ring with a choked cry. 

All three of you react to the feeling. He’s not even all the way in, but the deep sensation and pressure has you reeling already. Katsuki lets out a yelp. The both of them are grabbing you, anchoring themselves as Izuku pushes himself just barely inside. A tight fit wouldn’t even begging to describe it. You feel plugged up completely, from the inside. 

“C-Can I…? Can I please—” 

“Move, Izuku, move.” 

And he does. He does it slowly, at an awfully slow pace like he’s trying to keep you all the way together. Brain full of static, you’re absolutely fucking astounded. He pushes in a little more, and the heavy weight of his cock feels like it’s sinking. You can feel his cock against Katsuki’s inside of you. They both feel it at the same time because underneath Katsuki is twitching. Letting out pants, face strained and absolutely fucking out of it. 

The room is filled with a wet, sticky sort of noise as Izuku moves himself. He checks in, pushes when you confirm, and does it for what feels like ages until you feel his navel against you. He’s inside of you, completely inside of you. You feel… complete. It’s so fucking unbelievable. It feels like being torn apart, ripped in half. A sensation you couldn’t imagine existing. 

All while feeling incredible. It’s deep enough to push the air out of you, out of your lungs in a ragged breath. Your body goes limp, sweaty between the two of them. 

“Baby, baby, you feel incredible and K-Kacchan, can f-feel Kacchan in, Kacchan’s cock you, feels so good, love you both, love you so much—wanna move, can I? Can I move baby, need to—” 

“Fuck me,”

Like they do everything, they work together in sync so seamlessly in breaks you. Katsuki gives Izuku room to thrust first, letting him control the pace to make sure you’re not hurt. The feeling of his big cock, fucking your ass when you’re already so hopelessly full, is making your body feel completely limp. Every single nerve of pleasure that could be touched or toyed with is being rubbed against. Pleasured from the inside out, your mouth is fallen open in a silent scream. 

You’re all so close. You’re face is tucked into Katsuki’s neck where you can hear his every breath or moan or cry. Izuku is draped over you, his chin over your shoulder - mouth against your neck and licking the sweat off of your skin. One of your hands is on Katsuki’s chest, and the other is reaching around for Izuku - for something of him to hold onto. Your vision is blurry, and the world outside is finally starting to sink into the night.

 Room painted in an vibrant orange daylight, you’re soaked in pleasure that feels hedonistic. The violent waves of pleasure leave you feeling like kindling - the thing that makes fires burn. The first time you cum from this, you don’t register it completely. The bliss of the experience isn’t concentrated. You feel the dull throb of desire - starting from the top of your head to the soles of your feet. 

You cum, the first time, without any intention. The forces around make it happen and the way you squeeze makes both men have to stop completely as you ride out your high - the feeling of it overshadows your first orgasm. 

It’s an out-of-body experience. You start to see your vision go white, and when you’re finished - you feel the two of them start to fuck you again. This time it’s slower, more deliberate as they try to drag the feeling out.

Izuku wraps a hand around your waist, sticks between your body and Katsukis. You feel his fingers on your clit, wincing. His voice is soothing, gentle. 

“I love you. Want us all to cum together. I love you so much. We’re so close. One more, okay? Just one more.” 

“I love you, sweetheart. Love you too, nerd. Give us one more. Together?” 

You don’t know what it is. It’s a weird fucking time to get all emotional, all worked up into nothing. Still, you find yourself nodding. It’s a strange time to think you’re so in love but you’re so worked up, so blissful like you’re being cradled by the golden threads of the sun. Warm all over your body in as much measure as you’re burning with lust. The feeling of their bodies, of Katuski placing kisses on your skin and Izuku pressing himself to your cheek. 

Izuku panics when you cry, but you reassure him that you’re fine. And you are fine, completely and utterly fine. There’s just something terrifying about being loved at such a magnitude - being able to do something like this at all without any pretense or fear. The mutual sensation of trust and all the pleasure.

Everything that happened, the life you’ve lived so far that once felt blurry comes to you with clarity. Like clear water, your love appears in front of your eyes, and it appears clear. It was never worthless. Never meaningless. Always meant to be, and always purposeful. The two of them have loved you with so much intention since the beginning, and it’s taken this long to take it in. To realize. 

With a shaky, soft voice - you warn them. 

“G-gonna cum.” 

You let go this time, pure relief running through. A few more short thrusts have them both following suit. Feeling them twitch inside of you at the same time makes your heart feel strangely full. It’s all a little stupid, but when the adrenaline starts to settle - you can’t help but smile. 

The room is completely dark as the three of you lay together in the silent aftermath. Your eyes  feel heavy as you fall forward. 

__ 

You don’t wake up till the next morning. 

It’s a little disorienting, truthfully. The sun isn’t out, instead the day is wrapped by comfortable clouds and cool rainfall. You don’t even know the time as you finally get yourself up - though you’re both naked and clean. 

Sitting up in your bed, memories of last night return to you swiftly. Your lower back throbs painfully. You laugh, putting your hand on it while you rub your eyes. Looking around your room, you find a stack of clothes with a note on top. 

“In the kitchen. Get dressed and come join us.” Written in Katsuki’s handwriting. 

Standing up to stretch, you rub the remaining tired out of your vision and throw out what clothes have been set for you before unlocking your door and stepping out into the living room. 

You’re surprised to find the both of them still there. Izuku is pouring cat food for Ganache, while Katsuki is at the stove making something that smells nice though you aren’t sure what it is. 

You hear Izuku first. He turns around to find you dressed, his face breaking out into a smile. Without a warning, he picks you up and spins you around in his arms. You let out a squeal. 

“Ah, Izuku! Wait, I haven’t brushed my teeth,” 

“Don’t care. Kiss! Kiss!” 

You can’t help but relent to him as he carries you effortlessly in his arms. He places kisses all over your neck and face before kissing you on the lips. You get comfortable against him, surprised by how sturdy it is. He rubs his face against you as he carries you on one arm, dragging you to Katsuki who looks at you a little unamused. 

You lean over to kiss him on the lips which he returns with soft smile. 

“You fucking idiots better sit down to eat. Swear to god.” 

Instead of answering, you kiss him one more time. He rolls his eyes but returns the gesture before busying himself back with the food. 

Izuku eases you on the counter instead of either you going back to sit. He stands between your legs. 

“Thanks for making breakfast. What time is it?” 

“11:32,” 

Your eyes widen immediately, as you scramble up. 

“Shit, I have work today.” 

Izuku stops you, looking sheepish. 

“No you don’t.” He says, looking away. 

“Huh?” 

Katsuki grins, flipping over the rolled egg with a self-satisifed laugh, 

“Sometimes,” He starts, pouring more egg into the pan “Being a Pro-Hero has it’s perks.” 

You immediately start into a fit of laughter, leaning forward to nuzzle into Izuku’s chest. 

“And you two?” 

Izuku’s voice reverberates. 

“Called in some favors. Thought it’d be good to spend a day together.” 

You feel like you’re in one long dream. After everything. There’s still so much to talk about but you let yourself ride the high.  Contented, you sigh, wrapping your arms around Izuku and closing your eyes. 

“I think so too.”

[keigosbirdie]

Some OC angst :(