Degradation
Demon!Dabi x fem!Reader (NSFW)
Synopsis: It's been a little over a month of secret midnight meetings with a mysterious stranger. He decides to have another during a costume party.
Warnings: nsfw content; degradation, dirty talk (slut and whore used), fingering, public sex, choking, voyeurism, orgasm denial, hair pulling, impact play (spanking), unprotected sex, creampie
Word Count: 2.8k
A/N: Demon!Dabi will forever haunt me in the best possible way.
The costume was tight around you, feeling doubly so as people jumped and danced to the loud music. Spilled alcohol wafted in the space, mixed with other smells you weren’t interested in placing. You had a plastic sword hanging from your waist, a fake hook in your hand. You’d forgone the stuffed parrot and the eyepatch, both more of a hassle than they were worth as you danced to the music.
It felt nice—losing yourself in the music. Only half a drink in, watching your friends dance, taking the break you’d finally get that night. Until you felt that familiar prickling at the back of your neck and you turned. Looking, searching. He was there. That shiver through your body always meant he was there. Watching and waiting. Playing a game of hide and seek as your body twisted with growing desire to find.
You’d met a few weeks ago—showed up one night at a random party, drew you in with just a look. Dangerous blue eyes that lingered, a slow drag of a cigarette that had you watching his lips. His fingers. His tongue as he licked his lip. A stranger, sure, but one you wanted to get to know. No more than a dozen words were exchanged before you were in the bathroom, moaning into his hand as he fucked you against the door.
It was the best sex you’d had and he hadn’t even cum. Got you real close before someone knocked on the door, yelled about needing the bathroom. So he pulled out, moved your underwear back after he came, and gave you a quick spank.
He jerked the door open before you could even collect yourself.
He kept showing up after that. First it was sporadic, accidental sightings. At the coffee shop, at the library, at the music store. You’d bump into each other, share a few words, mostly part ways with nothing more than a few light touches. But when he started showing up more and more, you were wrapped around his finger.
It was out with your friends, running into him at the same showing of a movie, that you confessed how badly you missed him. It came out of you without warning, the words pulled from your chest almost involuntarily. He just drew his cool eyes over you, fingers skimming your arm as your friends bought concessions, and whispered softly in your ear.
“Lasted longer than most,” his low voice cooed. “Kinda wanna see how much you can take.”
He sat behind you during the movie and just his presence was enough to draw your attention away from the screen. Every look he gave you caused a shiver to sneak down your spine. Caused an overwhelming desire to swirl between your legs. You survived the movie simply by crossing your legs and occasionally flexing your thighs.
You said nothing when the movie finished and your groups parted. Your eyes lingered, sure, stealing a glance over at him before leaving. And when he showed up later that night, tangled with you in your sheets, hands holding your legs open as he whispered for you to touch yourself—you weren’t sure if it were a dream or reality. But the agony was there when he wouldn’t let you cum. Stripped bare, hours spent teasing your clit, only to whisper no every time you asked.
You woke up that next morning late, no time to satisfy the throbbing need between your legs. And as you threw your sheets off you, you swore you smelled the ash that he always carried around him.
He came back the next night. Tied your legs open and lapped at your clit. Stayed there until you were on the edge. No. Fingered you until your body was shaking and your teeth nearly drew blood on your lip. No. Played with you until you were panting into your pillow, begs muffled as he kept you on the edge.
No.
Two nights later he fucked you. Hands bound behind your back, whispering how a needy slut like you can take it so well. How you let some guy sneak in, strip you down, fuck you into your mattress while your roommates were just on the other side of the walls. The thin, thin walls that surely didn’t do much to hide those pornographic moans he drew from you.
No. It was always no. He never let you cum.
“I want to see what it takes to break you,” he said in your ear, slamming a hand down against your ass. “How long can a pretty slut like you go without cumming?”
A little over a month was your breaking point. The party, where the music played too loud and your costume felt too tight. The second the shiver snuck down your spine, and you were a goner. Even the slightest touch and you were sure you’d lose it. The cracks instilled from night after night of teasing, of fucking, of no goddamn release and you were spinning frantically trying to find him.
There.
He was standing by the drink table, bringing a red cup to his lips. His eyes flickered to yours the second you saw him. A sly, slow grin grew on his lips and he lowered the glass. He didn’t even have to do anything before you were muttering something to your friends about needing a refill. Your legs moved on their own, trying not to rush up to him too frantically. But you needed it—you needed him.
“Hi,” you said, breathing quickly as you stood in front of him.
“Hi,” he murmured back, his grin growing wider as he looked you over. Smirked at how you were shaking, gripping your cup till your hands hurt. He leaned forward and put a hand on your waist. “On the verge, aren’t you?”
You swallowed back embarrassment as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, glanced down at your drink and took a slow sip.
“Take your underwear off.” He spoke as if there weren’t people all around you. Like you weren’t wearing a short enough skirt that, when you bent over, it flashed your dark red underwear. A purposeful tease you’d aimed for with the sexy costume. “You want me to fuck you? Take them off and put them in my hand.”
You looked around you at the conversing groups. Nobody’s eyes were on you, but it felt like it as you took a few slow breaths, hand already reaching down to shove your underwear down your legs as smoothly as you could manage. Humiliation flooded you as they skated down your thighs, eyes flickering around the whole room. You had to kneel down as to not flash anyone as you picked them up from the ground. Put them in his hand.
“Good little slut,” he purred. He shoved them in his pocket. “Go dance. I’ll fetch you when I want you.”
“Wait.” You looked down at where your underwear was. Pressed your knees together as you felt how wet you already were.
“Go dance.” He leaned forward, grazed his mouth beneath your ear. “I like to play with my food, first.”
You danced for an hour, worried about anyone who came up behind you, hands on your hips. Nerves danced through you whenever your skirt would get caught on their clothes, lift up a bit. The only thing that kept you going was the feeling of his eyes on you the whole time. Skated over you like his fingers would in your bed. Even from across the room, it felt like his fingers were skimming up your legs, nudging them apart. Teasing your clit and your entrance—wanting to plunge into you at any second.
You broke when you felt yourself ache to be filled, needing some—just any kind—of relief. And you were sprinting off the dance floor, rushing to the first room you could find. It was an office overlooking the backyard. A few bushes covered the windows, but otherwise, you could look out and see everyone out there smoking, drinking, dancing to the muffled music. The blinds were up, curtains open. And as you reached to close them, a hand grabbed your wrist.
You were jerked back against the massive wooden desk, ass towards the windows as the back of your skirt was hiked up.
“Look at you,” his familiar voice cooed and you squirmed under his hold. “What were you doing in here?”
“Need it,” you plead. You didn’t even know his name—his one stipulation. Couldn’t know his name, but he could know yours. “Can’t take it anymore, I need to cum.”
“No.” He spanked your cunt, the wetness audible.
“Please.”
“But it’s so much fun watching you squirm.” He dropped two fingers down and ran them through your folds, spreading you as he sat on the edge of the desk. A glance back had him looking out the window. “One glance back and they’d see how much of a needy bitch you are.”
His laugh was low and almost evil. He plunged one finger into you, curling it where he knew you’d writhe under his hold. He barely moved it, barely gave you even an ounce of relief. His hand holding your skirt up pushed down on your hips, pinning you in place as you tried to take more from his touch.
“Nope.” He pulled his finger out and spanked you. Did it again when you yelped loud enough to travel through the windows. “Sounds like you want them to hear you. Turn around and see this dripping cunt.”
You felt yourself involuntarily clench and he laughed. Spanked you again before both hands came down and spread you. Watched as your cunt ached to be filled. To be touched again.
“Oh you fucking slut, you do.” He scoffed and teased your cunt with the tips of his fingers. “You wanna cum?”
“Mhm,” you said against the table.
“Then stand up and strip.”
He let go and smiled at you when you glanced back. You shook a bit as you looked back at the windows, at the people completely unaware of you in the room behind them. His eyes held a challenge, the blue darker—like it usually was when he snuck to your room at night. You gave in and dropped your skirt, cunt aching to finally have the release he’d been keeping from you for so long.
His smirk was pure devilish when your top followed, then your bra. He slid off the desk and into the leather chair, unbuckling his pants and tugging you onto his lap. Your back was to his chest as he pulled you onto his cock, making your head fall back against his shoulder. He stretched you as you sank down on him, his knees keeping your legs apart, a hand coming up and grabbing your throat.
“Took longer to break than most,” he whispered in your ear. “Most are begging by night two or three. Not you. Opened your legs every fucking time I showed up like the good slut I know you are.”
His grip tightened around your neck, his hand coming down and teasing your clit.
“Usually when they break, it’s on their knees, begging for me to give it to them. Behind closed doors, their bedrooms like their cage. But you? Out here? Cunt stuffed where everyone can see?” He scoffed when you clenched around him, mouth gaping as he rubbed your clit faster. “Want them to turn and look? See the whore you are? How fucking easy it is to get you to do what I want?”
He reached up and grabbed your cheeks, turning and making you keep your mouth open. He spat inside, holding you like that before stuffing his fingers in your mouth. The same ones that’d been inside you before.
“Wouldn’t take much.” His hips slowly started to move and your eyes rolled to the back of your head. “Could probably get all of them to look if I wanted. You like that idea? Pretty sure some of your friends are out there, want them to see you like this?”
“Mmm,” was all you could say as he kept the air from your lungs.
“No,” he said. Spanked your cunt again. Harder than last time. But his hips snapped up. Hit you hard and deep, like he always did in your room. Like he did when he wanted you crying into your pillow, clawing at your mattress, close to cumming as he came in you. “There are still pieces intact.”
He had you on the desk, hair in his hand, holding your head down against it. He’d never done this—never staved off his own orgasm as he fucked you. It’d been an hour at least with him in the room. If your friends noticed you were gone, they’d go looking for you by now. And you knew the door behind you was unlocked.
Your ass stung as he brought his hand down against it again and again. You could see your costume balled up on the floor across from you, and if you peered up, you could make out the bushes and some of the people through the window. Every time you did that, though, he shoved your head back down, spanked you a little harder.
And then, when you started to lose composure, clawing at the desk as your orgasm inched closer, he stalled his hips and reached for the sharpie in the group of pens beside you. Drew the cold end over your back before you heard the top pop off, the felt tip skating over your skin.
“S-L-U-T,” he murmured. “Needy. Fucking desperate. Opens her legs so easily at the first sign of decent fucking.”
He tossed the marker aside, spanked you again before his hips rutted forward.
“Had you on your knees so quickly that first night. Could fucking tell from across the room. So desperate for a good fucking. So desperate for me.” He jerked your hips back so he could reach down and find your clit. “A quiet thing like you—standing all shy with your friends. Took minutes to have you screaming in the bathroom. Fucking hadn’t even intended on finding a new toy that night, but you were way too much fun to mess with.”
Your nails dug into the desk as his fingers glided over your clit. The rough thrusts, the added sensation—you couldn’t hold it back. But if he didn’t want you to cum, he wouldn't let you. He was eerily good at stopping before you came. Stopping right at the last goddamn second. Sometimes he’d push it, too, tipping you over the edge just to stop, stealing away the building sensation but making you clench around him regardless. He loved those, watching you curse into your pillow as you basically came without cumming.
“Whoops,” he’d whisper like he hadn’t done it on purpose. Then he’d leave you, cum leaking down onto your mattress, cunt convulsing as you ached for the release he hadn’t given you. That he’d come back and build up the next night only to leave you without it again.
But he made no hint at stopping, leaning down and digging his teeth into your shoulder as he continued to thrust into you. As his fingers rubbed your clit until the twisted, iron, burning chains that’d been wrapped around your body finally broke. They clinked together, bouncing on the desk, the floor, everywhere as you sobbed. The sound tore through you until it hurt, the building in your lower abdomen snapping until you felt yourself burst. Shaking and gasping as wetness drenched your thighs and he laughed.
His hips rutted deep a final time before he came, the hot ropes shooting inside you like always. You could hear it as he pulled out, hand cupping your cunt as you relaxed against the table. The bliss was otherworldly as you trembled, the lingering remnants of the orgasm unlike anything you’d ever felt.
“First time anyone’s made you squirt, isn’t it?” His fingers lazily rubbed your clit and you barely recognized that you’d started grinding against his hand. “Ain’t that sad. Wonder if anyone will ever make you do that again. If anyone will make you feel that good again. Poor fucking whore.”
He spanked your cunt once more before pulling back and you heard him redo his belt. Said nothing as his footsteps retreated and you heard the door open and close—leaving like he always did, silently. His cum leaked down your legs as you slowly slid off the desk and reached for your costume, eyes flickering up to glanced out the window. Underwear nowhere to be found.
When you glanced down, wondering what he’d written, if it’d be visible, it took some maneuvering to see the writing. Your brows furrowed and you glanced up at the door, teeth biting your lip.
It was one four-letter word.
Dabi.
