Unironically love anime fandoms in certain circles/contexts cause you'll have a female character in canon named Mrs. Tits Ass who wears bikinis into battle at request of her perv husband or coworker or something but then you'll have fanarts of her trying on different clothes in her favorite color that are anything from sweaters to more bikinis and deciding she likes them for herself and you'll get headcanons about her hobbies or habits when the only canon facts we know about her is that she Feels Sad Sometimes and Is Aware She Has Boobs. You'll get fanfictions exploring her relationship with other characters and making her "I'm so shy waaa" personality into something that still feels real to the character but gives genuine qualities. You'll get people that say "she's so cute, look!" And show a picture of her doing something inconspicuous or just smiling despite the fact that the majority of her shots in the series are boob and panty shots. Etc etc. It's actually quite heartwarming.
RESTORATION AND 18TH CENTURY LIT. - COLLEGE AU!TOMURA X READER
✧ pairing: college student!shigaraki x fem!reader | a little bit of shigadabi
✧ word count: 21.3k | AO3 Mirror
✧ warnings: Shigaraki being an asshole, lowkey kinda hates women, fem reader only because he refers to her as female (derogatory) like once gender neutral pronouns for reader though the few times its used, Angst and Fluff and Smut Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, college au no quirks, dabi is a little shit, dirty talk, swearing, like so much, vaginal se, vaginal fingering, oral sex, virgin shigaraki, loss of virginity degradation, mentions of lactation kink, brief exhibitionism
✧ summary: He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch.And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you. Fucking disgusting.
Or Tomura get's paired up with you for a big final project in some bullshit English class he needs to graduate and quickly discovers that he even though he kinda hates women, he hates you a little bit less. And also really wants to stick his dick in you.
✧ a/n: First off yes this is a repost. Second: Happy birthday to the best boy and happy birthday to this fic (and also this blog)! In celebration of all the occasions and because I didn’t have time for anything else, I’ve compiled the entire R18CL main series here in one place. It was the first real shigs fic I’ve written and still one of my favorite pieces I’ve ever done. I think you can tell how much my writing has improved just in this year from reading this, but I love it how it is, so enjoy~ And finally, it goes without saying, don’t fucking rec this anywhere else.
The door at the back of the room creaked open and jarred Tomura from his half-sleep state. He didn’t look at who’d bothered to slip into this fucking class late, and instead tried to let the prof’s inane droning on Timothy Whoever The Fuck’s 18th weirdo letter book lull him into day dreaming.
He only made it about a quarter of the way back into his boredom induced coma until he was dragged unwillingly into wakefulness once more.
“Sorry, could you plug this in for me?”
Tomura jumped again when you leaned over to whisper to him, computer charger in one hand, gesturing to the outlet on the wall by his head. You’d left the typical courtesy seat empty between the two of you and he stared blankly at the way you leaned your weight on the vacant chair.
He recognized you.
The classic, dumbass teacher's pet who was always front and center of the room, iced drink at the ready looking like you belonged on the set of some god awful college b movie.
Well, almost always. You certainly had that loud ass drink, but you’d tucked yourself at the end of his row towards the back of the room and was clearly a bit embarrassed for bursting in almost 15 minutes late.
Tomura swallowed hard as your shirt gaped in the front. It took an immense amount of control to not gaze outright into the swell of your chest.
“You good?” you asked softly, head cocked like you were straight out of a fucking manga panel—tits on display with that stupid innocent, puzzled expression.
“Uh yeah, sorry,” Tomura mumbled.
You offered him this gross, clearly fake smile—because why the hell would you be grinning like that if it wasn’t just because you wanted something from him—as he threaded the cord behind his chair and plugged it in.
“Thanks,” you replied and turned back towards the professor, typing away cause you actually take notes in this class.
Of fucking course you did.
Probably trying to impress everyone with how you typed practically every word the prof said. Tomura decidedly did not take notes, and didn’t really pay that much attention in general. Usually he just played some trashy phone game under the desk or dozed with his head against the cement wall.
It had gotten to that portion of the semester when it was warmer outside but the buildings still had the heat cranked all the way up, especially here in the basement where the classroom was. That environment along with his usual hoodie/joggers combo created grade A napping conditions that Tomura took full advantage of.
As a rule, he actually cared about school and he did relatively well. But this was just some dumbass liberal arts requirement course that had nothing to do with his actual major, so he was perfectly fine with coasting. Why his comp sci degree required him to take a fucking Restoration era English class, he had no clue. Apparently neither did his advisor other than that the ‘administration recommended it’ so their students would have a ‘well rounded learning experience.’
It was almost certainly just a cash grab to make him take more credits than was necessary to graduate, but whatever. He was here now. And so were you. Your presence was overwhelmingly clear, typing away and smelling like one of those insanely specific laundry detergent label scents—fucking rolling meadows and grandmother’s clean linen or something like that.
He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch. You contributed to discussion at every opportunity, turned in shit early, and debated other classmates regularly enough to disrupt his in-course sleep schedule.
The way you dressed pissed him off too, with a particular style that was enough to stand out but not so over the top that it would cause disinterest from any potential mates.
And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you.
Fucking disgusting.
“Tomura Shigaraki.”
He jumped a third time, attention directed from his lap to the front of the room where the prof stood, listing out names from the board. He heard your name next followed by Kai Chisaki. The list was projected on the board as well, grouping everyone into twos or threes with “Final Project Partners” listed in bold Helvetica font at the top.
Only fucking English profs used Helvetica.
He vaguely remembered mentions of a final presentation—one of like three grades in this class cause the prof was almost certainly a sadist.
No, not almost—definitely. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stuck him with you and that weirdo Kai pre-med student who insisted on acting so elitist you’d think he already had his fucking M.D.
One time he asked Tomura to move seats at the start of the semester because he looked “dirty” and Kai liked to sit in the back—which, fair enough, it wasn’t like Tomura showered as frequently as he probably should but what the fuck??
With you rushing in late, chest out and panting every now and again from your apparent sprint across campus, Tomura was certain he’d be subjected to a whole 6 weeks of watching you try to mount that fucking Kai dude instead of actually working.
This was going to be a nightmare.
From the end of the table, he saw you shifting and turned to find that stupid fucking smile flashed his way once again.
If you had a tail, he’d bet it would be wagging.
“Hey, well that’s convenient,” you chuckled and plopped down directly next to him, sliding your noisy ass drink across the table with you and brushing against his thigh when you shifted your bag to the side.
“Yeah,” he nodded.
It most certainly was not.
But Tomura would never say that because—as his roommate put it so kindly—he was kinda a pussy.
People made him nervous, they always had. That’s why he liked computers so much. Code made sense, there were clear rules and when something didn’t work out, he could fix it eventually, but you couldn’t see people’s codes. You had to fucking guess at shit and it made his anxiety skyrocket which the sides of his neck and finger tips suffered for.
So he cowered like the fucking dog you probably thought he was instead and kept his eyes on the floor, letting you set up in silence.
“Who was our third?” you asked, glancing around the room. “Sorry, I was busy making a shared drive and I came in late so I missed that last bit.”
Why the hell did you feel the need to apologize all the goddamn time? Seriously, who would believe you were actually sorry for being irritating as hell.
And god if he thought you were irritating.
“Kai,” he grumbled simply as the man in question sauntered over to the table and fucking clorox wiped down the seat before sitting.
Tomura watched your smile falter just a bit and grinned inwardly at the slip in your fake little persona. But you didn’t say anything more, just moved your chair back so the three of you were in a semi-circle and pulled up a few pdfs on your laptop.
“Cool, so I was looking over the directions on the syllabus last week and I set up a little work delegation thing so we can distribute everything pretty evenly,” you jumped right in, tone matter of fact in the down-to-business manner he was used to hearing from you during class discussions.
It was better than you so clearly forcing yourself to be overly polite, and he honestly couldn’t really care less if you wanted to take charge of this thing. You seemed kinda bossy, but he begrudgingly admitted that your suck up behavior did mean you sort of knew what you were talking about. He was just here to pass and you might actually make that a lot easier.
It was okay as long as he was taking advantage of you, he told himself. And you would be too stupid to notice, so he could play your game and play pretend nice all the way to an A.
That walking condescension on the other hand—
“I’m not doing that,” Kai huffed through his ever-present mask.
Tomura wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen the bastards face without it.
“What?” you laughed awkwardly. “Yes you are, you don’t really have much of a choice.”
You stared at your classmate who simply stared right back with his own, equally confused expression.
“Why do you look so surprised?” you asked after a moment of silence.
You weren’t smiling anymore and your voice had dropped down about a fucking octave. At least you sounded more like a person and not some wannabe uwu gamer bitch.
“People don’t talk to me like that,” Kai looked at you down his nose, legs spread wide and elbow resting on his knees.
Tomura could feel the pretentiousness wafting from him in waves, and waited with baited breath for you to get kicked off your pedestal. Just a bit though, he did need you around to do most of his work for this thing.
But in a shocking turn of events, you just laughed dryly twice and turned back to your laptop screen, mumbling as you did.
“Really? Well they should.”
Tomura would have laughed too, but he didn’t feel like inflating your ego. Kai on the other hand looked a bit like you’d just spit on shoes and furrowed those stupid, plucked thin eyebrows at the back of your head.
“So Tomura, you code right?” you asked, turning away from Kai completely to address him. “I just remember you saying you were in comp sci when we did introductions.”
He was taken aback by the knowledge that he existed as a person in your head outside of this room for a moment and simply nodded—suddenly feeling far too hot in his black on black sweats and hoodie.
God just talking to you made his skin burn.
“Great, cause we’re allowed to chose the medium we present in and I was thinking of taking it in a more creative direction cause I’ve had this prof before and he eats that shit up,” you begin to ramble again, scrolling through a bulleted list, shifting the screen for him to see.
“Right,” he murmured, still surprised you’d thought this far and not...actively hating what you’d brainstormed.
Well, it was a bit juvenile and you clearly didn’t know what you were talking about but the concept wasn’t horrendous. He could work with that and it shouldn’t be too hard. It kinda seemed like you’d overestimated a bit with how challenging it would actually be and saddled yourself with most of the heavy lifting. That or you were just a control freak which was a little more believable.
He wished you would stop looking at him over the edge of the screen. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Rivulets falling down the nape of his neck and racing across his bare chest under the sweatshirt. Tomura sorta regretted not wearing a shirt underneath but he knew that he wouldn’t have taken off the insulating layer even if that had been an option.
It would just mean you had more drying, pale as fuck skin to look at and judge him for because he knew that’s what you were doing. Fucking vapid and shallow like everyone else.
“It’s really rough so far, but I have it the gist outlined,” you indicated to another tab and then turned back to Kai who had been sitting silently glaring daggers into your back. “So, Kai, since you’re in STEM I figured you’d be okay with doing more of the preliminary research—”
“I don’t think so,” Kai interrupted, shaking his head and pushing off his knees to lean back in the cheap, plastic seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for all of us if you two just make it look pretty and I can handle the oral presentation.”
You gaped and looked to Tomura with this pathetic fucking incredulous stare, like you thought he’d back you up.
Which actually, now that he thought about it was probably a good idea—he did need you to remain somewhat cordial with him—but he certainly didn’t care enough to defend you in any way. Kai was a dick, sure, but he wasn’t gonna let you rope him into being your white knight or whatever.
He settled for a similarly disgruntled downward twitch of his lips. The movement pulled at the cracking skin which stung as it tore open even more. Tomura felt the familiar crawling feeling on his neck and shifted in his seat to resist the urge to scratch.
He couldn’t pinpoint why exactly you staring at him was so uncomfortable. He didn’t like you, he didn’t care about you and by extension didn’t give two shits what you thought of him, but anything he might have said shriveled on his tongue when you spoke or looked in his eyes too long.
Tomura had never made a habit of talking to females and they certainly had never wanted anything to do with him either.
Maybe he was fucking allergic or something.
Whatever the case, you seemed to take his half frown as a sign of solidarity and leaned back in your own seat.
“Okay, look,” you retorted. “If you’re seriously not gonna at least try to cooperate, then there is actually an option to do the project by yourself and I suggest you take it.”
The look on your face was distinctly impolite. There was a sharpness to the set of your jaw that Tomura had never seen before, but it looked practiced enough that he could bet it was simply the snake that resided in every woman just waiting to come out.
“Look sweetheart—” that masked jerk began, also for some fucking reason looking to Tomura for support.
For someone who was very much used to blending into the background scenery, this was the most eye contact Tomura had ever made in a day.
Except on the rare occasions his roommate had friends over and he had to make the dreaded trek from his room to reach the fridge.
“Oh yeah I’m not doing that,” you closed your laptop sharply and rolled your eyes. “I get it, but I’m really just trying to graduate. I don’t think this is going to work out and you,” Tomura froze as you shifted your gaze to him once again, “seem okay, so Tomura and I can just work this out by ourselves and you can find a different group.”
Kai scoffed behind the black layer of fabric covering his mouth and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Whatever.”
Tomura watched him saunter straight out the door as the room was filled with the shuffling of notebooks and zipping of backpacks.
“God,” you huffed and turned back to him.
His raw skin burned under the new wave of heat and accompanying moisture that slicked his skin when you scooted closer to him. That clean laundry and shampoo smell was suffocating from this proximity.
Did you fucking bathe in the stuff?
He was becoming increasingly aware of his less than pleasant aroma and the fact that you not scrunching your nose up in disgust just out of some stupid, ingrained need to appease him.
“Well, that was...weird,” you chuckled in a way that was probably meant to break the tension.
Unfortunately Tomura felt more like he was about to break out in hives if you came any closer so it really just ended up making the atmosphere ten times more awkward. At least for him. You, somehow, remained resolutely unaware.
“Mhm,” he hummed in response and picked silently at the skin of his fingers.
“Anyway, I have a meeting in a few but we can trade numbers and pick a time to meet up sometime tomorrow maybe?” you suggested, quickly saving the steadily degrading vibes of the conversation and pulled out your phone.
He really hated the full body pulsation that rushed through him at the thought of getting a girls number. It made him fucking sick at himself for falling into your stupid trap to get him interested. Was your plan to just use him to get a good grade or whatever and then block his texts?
It wasn’t like Tomura didn’t know about his status as the class ‘freak.’ That one guy everyone whispers about and makes sure not to sit next to. And he knows you know, so why the hell else would you act so nice?
He wanted to say something scathing in return. That he could do the whole thing by himself too—which he definitely couldn’t but that was irrelevant—and that he didn’t need you bossing him around either.
“Sure thing,” he said instead and took your offered phone all too eagerly, typing in his number and watching as you shot off a text back so he’d have yours.
His phone buzzed against his thigh and he jumped a fourth time, but you seemed not to notice as you packed your bag and grabbed your basic ass drink. The ice clattered against the tumbler, dropping cool condensation against the searing skin of his hand.
Tomura shivered as you waved over your shoulder and slipped out the door with another rush of students.
He sat silently in the empty room for a moment, trying to process the last hour. He pinched himself idly, wondering if it had all been just a weird dream, but the results were inconclusive. A minute or two passed before he pulled out his phone to scroll through the list of reddit and discord notifs to find your text.
Sent at 2:47 pm:
— pEopLe DoN’t TaLK tO mE liKE ThAt
— not very plus ultra of him...smh
— anyway, library at 6 tomorrow ?
Tomura caved, digging his nails into the side of his neck and hissed at the pain, confirming the day's horrible reality.
---
Tomura hadn’t stopped staring at his phone since he left the apartment. It was second nature by now—head down at a nearly ninety degree angle, hoodie pulled up to hide hair he hadn’t bothered to comb in weeks, and phone out, held just far enough away that he could see the pavement behind the screen.
He’d found that people tended to naturally avoid him this way and he didn’t have to risk accidentally making eye contact. It was still a bit nerve wracking to venture into buildings he didn’t expressly have to for classes, so he was still hesitant to make the voyage from his apartment to the library. But he’d made the mistake of mentioning plans to his roommate and the bastard wouldn’t leave him alone about it afterwards until he was practically shoved out with the door locked behind him.
He was half tempted to make up some excuse last minute and go hide out at the only cafe on campus he could tolerate, but Tomura knew he was just delaying the inevitable. Biting the bullet now would help to not prolong his suffering.
Your text thread glared up at him in stark white on blue as he pushed past a crowd of students by the library entrance and flashed his ID to the attendant.
Group Project Bitch:
— hey I got us a room on the third floor, all the way in the back
—text me when you’re here I’ll wave you in, it’s kinda hard to find T-T
sounds good—
He shot off a quick text to you that he was hoping on the elevator. The other two guys in the lift may have given him a dirty look for only going up to the third floor, but Tomura sure as hell wasn’t going to risk the physical exertion of stares when just the thought being stuck in a small room alone with you for god knows how long already had him sweating.
When he stepped out, you were leaned against one of the 90s-green shelves, scrolling aimlessly through your phone. He panicked momentarily, thinking he’d have to get your attention cause just walking up without saying anything would be weird right?
He wasn’t sure.
He didn’t do shit like this.
Thankfully, you looked up at the chime of the lift and waved him over. His red sneakers squeaked as they scuffed the linoleum floors and he already regretted choosing his tighter fitting pair of sweats. The tapered legs that hugged his ankles and thin calves rubbed against his skin and stung the raw patches.
“Hey, thanks for coming,” you said softly and he nodded, following as you began to weave through the stacks. “Sorry it was short notice, graduation’s coming up so I'm swamped with meetings.”
“It’s fine, I didn’t have anything going on.”
He cringed internally at the way his voice cracked, trying to keep the usual rasp to a minimum. His roommate said it was from the innumerable hours he spent shouting at his monitor or on discord, which was probably true but to you he was sure he just sounded like a fucking teenager.
“Cool, I’ve been set up for awhile so feel free to move some stuff,” you talked a bit louder now that you’d both stepped into the study room and shut the door.
Tomura looked around. You’d snagged one of the nicer ones at least, with the big monitors he could cast his screen onto and those comfy chairs he liked but could never beat anyone too on the lower floors.
You were right, there was shit all over the big table at the center of the room. Notes and printed out readings with highlights galore and sticky notes littering the pages were scattered all over. What a show off. You probably tossed all this stuff out so he’d think you were actually intelligent or some shit.
Kicking a pile off of the nearest plush armchair, Tomura took a seat and pulled his laptop out. There was a jack in the middle of the table and you plugged yours in to cast onto the big monitor.
You made a fucking power point for him.
This couldn’t be real.
“So I know I ran some stuff by you in class but essentially I was thinking we make like a simple Twine type thing using the rhetorical argument Swift is making…”
You started rambling again and Tomura almost immediately tuned you out. His eyes drifted between the rough outline you were flicking through on the board and the laptop you had your nose buried in.
It was covered in stickers, pretty obviously stereotypical for someone as obsessed with being ‘cool’ as you clearly were. But as he scanned through the various old meme phrases and aesthetic shit, he caught a couple of game references he recognized and a panel cutout from one of his favorite manga.
He almost fell into your trap for a moment, feeling a rush at the prospect of someone—much less a chick—being into his main hyperfixations.
But it was quickly crushed under everything his years trolling subreddits had taught him. People like you didn’t actually have interests beyond the attention and dick it got them. Plus that manga was pretty popular anyway, you probably didn’t even read it, just thought the line was funny or made you sound quirky. That had to be why you felt the need to drop it in your first texts.
“What do you think?” you asked, making good on your new habit of startling the hell out of him.
Tomura blinked, gaze instinctively turning to you but the blatant way you stared made his mouth turn to sand paper, so he looked resolutely back at the color-coded bullet points on the screen.
“Look’s fine,” he mumbled.
The more he glanced over it, the more it actually did look fine. A bit more than fine, really, which pissed him off even more. The little choose-your-own debate style story was not a terrible way to make fucking Whatever Swift interesting and it kinda looked like you’d bothered to google some simple coding which gave him a better idea of what you were looking for.
It was...good.
And that so fucking annoying.
Well, he wasn’t sure if annoying was the right word for it, but the proposal coupled with your apparent lack of disgust at working with him made his face hot and that only ever happened otherwise when his roommate left the dishes out for weeks or when some newb on his server fucked up their raids.
Then, you had the audacity to plop down in the chair next to him and—
“You can tell me to fuck off if you want,” you began, shuffling in the chair to cross your legs on the cushion, “but I was hoping you’d be willing to show me how you do some of the coding stuff? I tried on my own, but I have literally no clue what I’m doing.”
He could smell you again, like the whole fucking health and beauty aisle at the grocery store. When he turned his head a bit to look at you around the curtain of his hair, you were crooked—back against the armrest and facing him.
“Why do you want to know?” he asked, sounding a bit less rude than he would have liked to.
You just fucking stared right at him though, didn’t wrinkle your nose at how greasy his roots were or how he was wearing the same hoodies as yesterday.
“I’ve always been interested in it, but my program is kinda stressful and I don’t have much free time so I never learned,” you offered and for once Tomura found he didn’t feel his skin crawl under your unwavering gaze.
The dry, cracked area around his eyes burned though as sweat beaded on his forehead and he quickly wiped at his face with a loose sweatshirt sleeve. The garment hung off his shoulders, bought a size too big that he never ended up growing into.
“What’s your major?”
He found the words slipped easily from him. It was the quintessential question you asked of anyone in college when you met, but he’d never been interested in the answer before.
You babbled a bit about your specific area of study and your voice was surprisingly not as infuriating as he remembered it being before. It was softer, he thought, than when you were soapboxing in class about the sexist implications of old as fuck poetry—it had a less grating quality and was almost pleasing to the ear.
Or Tomura would have said that if he thought you deserved the compliment.
But, obviously you didn’t.
So he didn’t.
He just pretended to care about what you were saying and didn’t hang onto every word at all. Actually he was more enraptured in the way your lips moved when you talked. You used your hands a lot too, but his eyes were ensnared on the way your mouth quirked and dipped, at the occasional flash of your tongue between strong teeth. When he leaned in a bit, he could smell your breath too: fruity gum and the remnants of whatever you were always drinking in that loud as fuck cup. He wondered now what exactly it was, so he could buy it and get a better idea of what you mouth might taste—
Nope.
No, see this was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about. How were you doing this to him? What a fucking slut.
Tomura steeled his nerves as you started explaining the extracurriculars you did on the side.
“My roommate freshman year actually started a gaming club and so I’ve gotten more into that over the years,” you explained, pointing at the stickers on your laptop case.
“Are you talking about The League?”
“Yeah, I didn’t know if you’d heard of it,” you shrugged.
He knew of the gaming club on campus. He’d thought about joining when he enrolled but the allure of anonymity online gaming provided was too strong. Plus his discord server didn’t have annoying weekly meetings.
The thought of you, up late and illuminated by the blue light of a tv screen, tucked away in one of the basement rooms in the media building was...strange. It also prompted an array of new images—you in those fucking cat ear headsets, seated in his lap as he trashed you in Mario Kart which was even stranger.
Tomura had to physically shake his head to dislodge the thought.
“Uh, we should probably work on this right?” he cringed at the way his voice cracked compared to your own, smooth tone.
You should narrate those fucking sleep time mediation things. His roommate used to hide wireless speakers in his room and blast those when Tomura stayed up too late. It was annoying as shit then, but if it was you talking, he probably wouldn’t have minded so much.
Or no, no he would definitely mind.
Yes. It would have been worse if anything.
“Oh shit, you right. It’s been like two hours.”
He glanced down at his laptop and saw that it had, indeed, been two hours since he got there. He’d willingly spoken to you for two goddamn hours. It felt like no time had passed at all, but the sun was definitely setting, the overhead fluorescent bulbs taking over as the main light source in the room.
Weird.
So you settled back in your chair, typing away like you always did, but the sound wasn’t nearly as frustrating as before. Occasionally, you’d glance over his shoulder and ask questions about what he was working on, but mostly the two of you settled into a comfortable silence.
This pattern continued for the next few weeks. As the weather warmed, you began to show a bit more skin. He never worked up the nerve to comment on the thick expanse of bare thigh that tapered off nicely into your calf, or the curve of your arms not hidden behind knit sweaters—hell even your fucking shoulders were hard not to look at.
Maybe all those high school dress codes weren’t actually so full of shit afterall. Cause he was definitely distracted by the way your neck swooped into the exposed skin of your shoulder and down your back on more than one occasion.
Did all girls know that? Was it some kind of massive conspiracy to crumble the patriarchy or some crap to go flashing bare shoulders everywhere?
Regardless if you really were trying to hypnotize him into liking you, Tomura stayed resolutely in his monochrome, long sleeved attire, and if you noticed the behavior you never said a word.
Never said a word about his allergy ridden skin, peeling lips or scarred throat. Never commented on his terrible posture or said his eyes were creepy. Even when he’d occasionally toss a negative remark your way, you never retaliated maliciously. Just brushed him off with a jovial ‘don’t be a dick’ and a playful, but hard slap to his chest or the back of his head.
The two of you always met in the same, secluded room on the third floor. You’d talk with him in class sometimes or shoot him texts about random bits of inspiration or a late night game memes, but for the most part, your conversations were confined to that room. He found he preferred the study room ‘you’ best. You weren’t as stiff. There was more of a solidity to you, like he’d seen when you told off that Kai bastard.
It...grew on him.
He was irrationally anxious that there would be a time when you couldn’t secure this particular room—with it’s big monitor and comfy chairs and less annoying ‘you’—but he’d been reassured after your third work session.
Someone had knocked softly at the thick, wooden door and a head of wild, bright pink hair peaked around the crack.
“Sup bro,” the intruder quipped, as they stepped fully into the room.
“Hey, Spinner,” you mumbled back, looking up momentarily from the essay portion of your presentation before going back to typing.
Spinner had seemed to notice him at that point and offered a small wave in his direction. “Oh hey, sorry, thought you were alone,” he said quickly.
“Nah, this is Tomura,” you said, glancing up again and jerking your thumb in his direction.
Tomura nodded and tugged at his hoodie strings to stop from scratching under the newcomer’s gaze. He’d gotten used to you, but other people still made him a bit nervous.
“Nice to meet you,” Spinner had a nice smile, bright and flashy when he spoke. He leaned against the door and crossed his arms, looking around the room. “You got the nice one, huh. How’d you manage that?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you half closed your laptop and stretched a bit. “Jin was working the front desk, so I’ve just been bribing him with vending machine snacks.”
“He hasn’t gotten himself fired yet?” Spinner laughed incredulously, but not unkindly.
“Surprisingly not, but he’s completely corrupt now,” you were picking at the cuticle of your thumb and Tomura fixated on the way the skin split off at the nail. Just like his. “A couple packs of chips and a Monster and I get the most bitchin’ study room whenever I want.”
“Damn,” Spinner chuckled again and Tomura really wished that he’d leave already. He was beginning to feel himself fading into the upholstery as the conversation left him in the dust. The divergence of your attention away from him or the project was even more annoying that you were. “Well, are you coming to The League meeting tonight? We’re busting out a Smash tournament.”
“That’s tonight?” you asked, eyes perking up but sliding subtly in Tomura’s direction. “Sorry, I think Tomura and I are gonna be working on this project for a while longer and I’m kinda burnt out. But next time, yeah?”
Spinner rolled his eyes but nodded and kicked off the wall. “That’s not very sexy of you,” he chided and waved a hand in parting. “Gonna work yourself directly into the fucking grave.”
“Jokes on you, I welcome death.”
You buried yourself in the screen again and Tomura actually felt a bit grateful for you ending the conversation before he got too painfully awkward.
But Spinner stopped before he left, looking Tomura up and down from the frayed strings of his black hoodie to the tips of his worn red sneakers.
“Nice to meet you, man,” he said with a wide grin. “Feel free to tag along next time if you want, we always need more players.”
The door clicked softly shut behind him and Tomura relaxed back into the silence.
He did end up tagging along—though he spent most of the time hanging off your heels like a lost puppy—to the next meeting of your gaming club and the one after that. Frustratingly enough, he learned that your interests did also extend into skills as you almost bested him in a few rounds Smash. Your profile, lit only by the flashing screen lights, was even more striking outside of his imagined imitations.
So much so that it found its way into his head late at night when he was too tired to log onto his server. So much so that it had his cock growing firm and tenting his grey sweats without even the visual aid of his go to porn clips. So much so that sometimes, he felt inclined to do something about the throbbing between his legs. So much so that he thought about the way you picked the skin by your fingers. How it looked like his. How your hand might feel like his but softer. Smoother around the edges. With your sweet voice whispering in his ear, making him whine and pant and spill white ropes of release onto his stomach.
But it was only because you were hot.
And you were practically begging for him to jack off to the thought of you with those outfits and liking all the shit he liked and noticing when he shrunk away from conversations or including him in them when he started to feel that awful sense of fading into the background.
Yeah.
Everybody jerks it sometimes to their group project partners if their ass is nice enough.
Right?
---
Dabi’s mouth was wet and so fucking warm as he swallowed around Tomura’s dick.
“Oh fuck…” he groaned as Dabi hummed around his length and did that thing where he flicked the ball of his tongue ring over Tomura’s slit.
Bright blue eyes stared up through deceptively long lashes, smirking at the way Tomura drooled as he got his soul sucked out the tip of dick. The mattress underneath him creaked at the negligible weight of both their bodies. Dabi settled on his stomach between Tomura’s pale thighs leaving fingerprint bruises in soft flesh.
They did this sometimes, though he wasn’t not quite sure when exactly it started. Dabi had been his randomly assigned roommate freshman year and he grew so used to living with him that the two of them had just silently, yet mutually agreed not to fuck something up that wasn’t broken. They both berated each other for their strange and somewhat disgusting habits—Dabi would say that Tomura was a gross shut in creep who needed a fucking shower and Tomura called Dabi out on his slutty pastimes and obsession with piercing the hell out of every available inch of skin.
And sometimes they sucked each other off.
It was overall not a terrible arrangement—Dabi got his fill of dick and Tomura could no longer be made fun of for being completely inexperienced. Plus, as much as he was loathe to admit, Dabi was really fucking good at oral. Like, demonically good. He’d been going down on Tomura for so long now too that he’d learned all the things that had him spilling onto that pierced tongue in minutes.
Tomura jerked from his thoughts when two, lube slicked fingers prodding at his ass.
“Dabi, what the fuck are you—” he protested, wiggling his scrawny hips up the bed and inadvertently letting his cock slip out of the inviting heat between his roommate’s lips.
He couldn’t see much other than the shaking mop of black hair and pale hands with chipped black nail polish digging into his legs and yanking him back.
“Shut up freak,” Dabi slurred, words slick with spit and Tomura’s precum. Dabi said it tasted like battery acid, but it never stopped him from guzzling it like he did with cheap whiskey and cigarettes on the weekends. “I know you like it.”
He did like it but he wasn’t about to contribute to the fucking manic grin Dabi was giving him as he circled the tight ring of muscle, slipping in a finger to the first knuckle.
Tomura’s head flopped back on the pillows as he bit back a low moan, “Fuck off.”
“If you say so,” Dabi shoved his finger in roughly, squeezing a second in behind it and letting Tomura bask in the burn of being stretched too quickly before ripping his hands away.
“No!” Tomura wailed pretty fucking shamelessly and grabbed the retreating wrist, placing Dabi’s tatted hand back on his dick that throbbed and leaked painfully.
“Dude, what’s gotten the fuck into you?” his roommate asked, smirking still, but pumping his cock loosely nonetheless. “Our walls are thin as hell, you know I can hear you jerkin it in here every night, and now you’re practically begging for me to suck you off. Usually I gotta come to you.”
He was infuriatingly right again.
Tomura had indeed asked for him to do this, which was definitely out of character for him. Most of the time they ended up in this position, it was because Dabi spent hours hounding him about it or just fucking dropped to his knees and whipped Tomura’s cock out in the middle of a movie night or snuck into his room while Tomura was gaming and swallowed him whole just to laugh at the way his online friends reacted to the noises.
He’s just been so pent up lately, and you insisting on fucking touching his arm or sitting on the floor between his feet at League meetings was really not helping it.
“I don’t know,” Tomura lied, both to Dabi and himself in the hopes that the head of black hair would just go back to bobbing on his dick like he so desperately needed it to.
“Bro, I have fucked with enough people to know when they’re wishing I was someone else,” Dabi scoffed and ran a blessedly hot tongue from base to tip and suckled softly at the blush pink head before pulling back with a wet pop. “So who is it?”
“I’m not fucking thinking about anyone,” Tomura hissed, fisting Dabi’s spiky, black locks and thrusting into his mouth till he felt the contractions of Dabi gagging around his length. “Usually you're jumping at the chance to get dick in your mouth, so why does it matter?”
Dabi pulled back, wiping the silvery string of spit leaking past his lips away and scowling as his fingers ghosted over Tomura’s balls and sank back into his pliant ass.
“Seriously creep, I’m five seconds away from ghosting and you can fuck your hand like the sad little bitch you are. So tell me their name or I’m walking right now.”
Tomura huffed as he felt Dabi’s long, rough fingers pulled from him again and the heat of his mouth growing farther away.
“Ugh fine, it’s that bitch I’ve been working on the English thing with.”
Dabi made a face like his brain was buffering.
“Seriously?” he asked, mouth gaping in a way that had Tomura even more furious his dick wasn’t buried in it.
“Yes!” he shouted and grabbed Dabi’s cheeks in both hands, sinking past his waiting lips and practically purring when he felt them close around the base as his long tongue massaged the shaft. “Oh god yes…”
Dabi rolled his eyes, managing to look smug even with a cock stretching his lips taught against the piercings. He used to try and tease Tomura about how small his dick was, but it was hard to believe him. Especially with how he choked sometimes when Tomura got rough with him despite his boasts of lacking a gag reflex. Not to mention how he looked now, jaw probably aching with the stretch and loving every second of it.
Tomura lazily bucked his hips up and whined high when the fingers in his ass curled and thrust against that fucking spot he hadn’t known was there until Dabi found it for him.
The pleased sound he made tapered off into a growl though, when his roommate with questionable benefits pulled off again to run his slutty fucking mouth.
“Tell me about it,” he mumbled, kitten licking at Tomura’s cock and running the ball of his piercing through the slit again. Tomura gulped when he pulled it back into his mouth to swallow the bead of precum he’d collected. “I’ve seen your fucking paramour around before, pretty serious about school though. And Kinda out of your league too, not gonna lie. So, what would you do if your cute little partner was here instead?”
Tomura bristled at the insult but couldn’t keep his pissed off look when Dabi went back to sucking his cock like a pro and curling those fucking fingers against his prostate. When he did speak, he blushed hard at the way his voice cracked and sounded like he was crying.
“I don’t fucking—holy shit—know,” he gasped and Dabi hummed both to egg him on and to get a whole new wave of precum gushing out of Tomura’s dick.
“C’mon man,” Dabi groaned, and Tomura distinctly heard the sound of a pants zipper and felt Dabi’s hips canting against the sheets.
That fucking masochistic whore. He would get off to Tomura dirty talking about someone else while he sucked his dick.
He considered stopping the whole thing right there, but then Dabi was sinking a third finger into his ass and thrusting hard while he hallowed his cheeks around Tomura’s cock and sucked—
“Tits!” Tomura cried and covered his burning, red cheeks with his hands. “I want to put my fucking face in them and taste them in my mouth. Sometimes I can see the outline of their nipples when we’re working and the air conditioning comes on and I want to suck on them so fucking bad I can’t think about anything else the whole night.”
Once he got started, Tomura found the words just spilled from him like a dam had burst. Dabi, the depraved bastard, groaned loud and ground his pierced dick harder against the mattress as he continued to deep throat Tomura’s cock and fuck his ass at the perfect angle.
“Sometimes when they drag me to their stupid club I lose the rounds cause I—oh god, oh fuck—just imagine them in my lap, sitting on my cock and fucking writhing and squeezing me while we face off. Such a fucking—Dabi more!—stereotypical try-hard, bitch but I want to be inside them so fucking bad,” he felt actual tears stinging the raw corners of his eyes when Dabi sped up on his dick.
Tomura scrapped his nails against Dabi’s scalp, holding on for dear life as his breathing became even more ragged than usual. His friend’s cruelty streak reared its ugly head as Dabi sensed the tensing of Tomura’s balls and the clench of his tight ass and slowed down a fraction, keeping him teetering on the edge of an explosively pleasurable release.
“Fucking asshole,” he growled, but didn’t dare try to fuck Dabi’s face lest he make good on his threat to leave Tomura high and dry. “I just—shit, ah, don’t stop—they talk to me sometimes and I just wanna suck their tongue into my mouth so they shut up and I need to hear them fucking falling apart for me or using that stupid, stuck up teacher voice on me and fucking my ass—Dabi Fuck—is that what you wanted to hear?”
Dabi, because he got off on being a little shit, gave him one last delicious swallow before pulling back and fisting Tomura’s sopping wet cock. The fingers had stopped thrusting and were now pressed hard against his prostate, sending shocks through his body and making him twitch violently as his blood rushed with endorphins. He never stopped grinding his own dick against Tomura’s cotton sheets the whole time.
“You got it bad huh, don’t ya creep,” he mused, letting a fat glob of spit fall from his lips and keep his palm slick. “That’s the most I’ve ever heard you talk about fucking anything, much less another actual person.”
“No I fucking don’t, “ Tomura writhed against the pillows, giving in to the undeniable urge to simultaneously fuck up into Dabi’s hand and ride his fingers.
“Who knew you were such a desperate whore, falling for the first person to show you a modicum of attention,” Dabi jeered and squeezed the tip of his dick hard, listening to Tomura let out a choked sob. “I’m actually kinda proud of you, bro. My little neckbeard baby’s growing up.”
Dabi cooed at Tomura, sinking sharp teeth deep into the meat of his thigh and sucking a bruise into the flesh.
“You’re the one—nghh—getting off on it,” Tomura clapped back but didn’t bother denying it again.
There was a sense of dread growing in his gut alongside the mounting pleasure of his orgasm that Dabi was currently holding hostage. Dabi may have had a dickish personality just as massive as the actual dick that was currently painting Tomura’s comforter in stains, but he knew him.
And he did, admittedly have much more experience with these types of things than Tomura.
“Fuck yeah I am,” Dabi grunted. “Last time I let you return the favor you bit my fucking cock. I gotta get off somehow.”
“Don’t say rude shit to me and I won’t bite you.”
“Watch it, Tomura,” Dabi huffed and nipped at his thigh again. “You should be thanking me for my services.”
“Not if you’re gonna keep running your mouth instead of sucking me off,” he tried to sound intimidating but he was well and truly wrecked and couldn’t find the energy to give his words an edge.
“You should ask them out,” Dabi continued, ignoring Tomura’s failed attempts at banter. “Bring ‘em over or some shit. Maybe then if I lock down that blonde piece of ass I’ve been talking to, we’ll both have much more interesting things to go down on.”
“Your whore ass is the one always jumping me, don’t act like it’s a fucking chore,” Tomura groaned as Dabi started licking at his cock again, pressing sloppy, half kisses on the tip as he jerked it in his fist.
“Not my fault I get bored sometimes,” he replied and closed his eyes as Tomura clenched particularly hard around Dabi’s relentless fingers. “But seriously, you should go for it. I’d kill to find out if you’re just as bad at eating pussy as you are sucking dick.”
“Fuck y—” Tomura started to say when Dabi reared up till they were chest to chest and their foreheads knocked together.
“I fucking will if you don’t shut up, creep, and I think it’d be so much better if you handed your fucking virginity to that pretty little partner bitch instead,” he said and stunned Tomura into silence when he licked into his mouth.
Dabi had kissed him before, but Tomura could count the number of occasions on one hand and almost all had been when his punk ass roommate was drunk as hell and in his feels about some tortured past. But Dabi’s eyes were bright and lucid now, blinking down at Tomura as he dragged their tongues together, flooding his mouth with the faint taste of cigarettes and jizz.
Their cocks brushed together too, the stimulation making Tomura whine into Dabi’s lips, who dropped a merciful hand down, taking them both in his fist and began pumping.
He didn’t stop as he pulled back, grinning down at Tomura like a fucking maniac—all shitty tattoos and silver piercings. The little barbels that stuck through Dabi’s nipples brushed against his own and made him moan at the cool metal and hot skin on his sensitive chest. Tomura was fucking sensitive everywhere, as Dabi had helped him discover, probably from a lifetime of being touched more by cheap sweatshirts than human hands.
“Now,” Dabi grunted as he thrust loosely against Tomura’s cock and his own fist before pulling away to settle back between his legs. “Shut up and cum down my throat—gotta give your virgin ass a refresher on mind shattering orgasms, so you know if that bitch is any good or not.”
Tomura’s tongue was halfway around a witty comeback when Dabi swallowed him to the hilt once again and started working his ass even harder. He really fucked hoped the neighbors were not home to hear him get his shit rocked at 2pm on a fucking Tuesday, cause Dabi might have been flunking out of his classes but he’d get a goddamn a plus for sucking dick.
The hand on his thigh, spreading him open, migrated to his hip so that Tomura could snap his legs shut hard around Dabi’s ring littered ears as he guided Tomura to grind down on his hand. The pressure in his gut built up exponentially higher now that Dabi wasn’t trying to hold him on the edge of climax. It took an embarrassingly short amount of time for him to acquiesce to Dabi’s request, as he tightened up in a full body clench before gripping Dabi’s hair and spilling rope after rope of hot, sticky release straight onto his roommate’s tongue.
Dabi, the fucking slut, made a show of swallowing every drop that spilled from Tomura’s abused cock, milking his prostate the whole time and only letting Tomura slip from his mouth when he was soft and finally spent.
The fingers in his ass remained though, still for the most part and slowly dipping in and out every so often. Tomura whimpered and clenched but was somewhat thankful for the remaining feeling of fullness.
“So, did you really mean all that?” Dabi asked with his signature smirk. “You really want your group project partner to cockwarm you and fuck your tight little ass?”
“Fuck off,” Tomura scowled and smacked Dabi hard across the face with an errant pillow.
Dabi yanked it from his grasp and tossed his ammunition onto the floor. “Hey, it’s not actually too bad in here,” he wiggled his fingers for emphasis which elicited an embarrassingly high gasp from Tomura, “give ‘em my number if you need a reference for asshole tightness.”
“Get the fuck out of my ass and my room,” Tomura kicked at Dabi’s back as it shook with laughter that lacked it’s usual sneering bite.
“What? Saving the cuddles for your new S/O?” he shot back and nuzzled his cum and spit covered face into Tomura’s neck.
With their chests pressed together, Tomura could feel the cooling, sticky remnants of Dabi’s own release coating his stomach. He squirmed against the feeling and pushed at the offending chest until his friend flopped down onto the scant space left between the mattress and the wall.
“Ew,” Tomura ran a finger through the mess Dabi had left smeared on him. “I’m taking a fucking shower.”
“God, finally!” Dabi exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air and producing a cigarette from god knows where. He let the paper rest between his lips unlit. “I should have thought about getting you fucked out on the reg earlier, creep, if it’ll stop you smelling like ass.”
Tomura launched the discarded pillow which hit it’s mark with a dull thump.
“You better be fucking gone when I get back,” he hissed and stumbled naked, on shaking legs into the hall and to their shared bathroom.
Dabi’s cackling followed him until the door shut and the lock clicked behind him. Tomura turned the water on quickly, letting steam cloud the mirror before he jumped under the spray. The only products on the shelves were Dabi’s for the most part with the exception of a store brand bar of soap and some 3 in one shampoo, conditioner, and body wash.
Tomura new he should clean himself more often, but his skin was so fucking raw all the time it hurt to do, so he mostly avoided it unless the smell got really unbearable—or Dabi was painting him in jizz whenever the opportunity presented itself.
He tried to get in and out as quickly as possible so he didn’t have the opportunity to think too hard about the admission his fuck buddy roommate had pulled from him mid blow job. Because if he did, in his post nut, clingy state, he’d most certainly imagine you were with him, tits pressed against his back and your soft, insistent tongue dipping past his lips, tasting like fruit gum and expensive cafe drinks instead of nicotine and cum.
And he really couldn’t handle that, cause Dabi was right, he had something fucking bad for you and the thought of another rejection loomed large.
When he did towel himself off and shuffle, still naked back into his bedroom Dabi was nowhere to be seen. Tomura’s phone however, was left sitting right next to the jizz stain on his sheets. He frowned at the open balcony door where Dabi was no doubt smoking and snatched the device before tumbling onto the pillows.
He powered it on and scrolled through his notifs before one caught his eyes. You and Dabi were really the only people that ever texted him, but the contact name above this one had changed.
bitch (endearing)
— hey, starting an impromptu round of Smash soon if you’re interested <3
The stupid text heart made his chest throb and he stared at Dabi’s new nickname for you, not even noticing the fucking grin that tugged at his cheeks.
He bit his lip to stop the twitching when it pulled too hard at the chapped skin and scrambled for his clothes before shooting a quick confirmation text back. Tomura opted for his only pair of black jeans this time instead of sweats and the least stained sweatshirt he owned.
Dabi peaked around the corner when he heard the clink of Tomura’s keys. The bastard was smoking in just a pair of underwear that left half his ass on display for all the whole fucking street. He smirked, quirking his eyebrows and bringing his hands up to slip his index finger through the circle of his middle and thumb on the other hand in a silent, vulgar gesture.
“Screw off,” Tomura shouted over his shoulder and made for the door.
“Wrap it before you tap it, bro!” Dabi called after him, cut off by the slamming door.
Tomura took the stairs two at a time, pulling out his phone and tucking the hood over his damp hair, this time to hide the growing smile playing at his lips.
---
Your project was almost complete.
In some ways, it sort of felt like the end of an era. To Tomura, who was, by nature, a creature of habit, it was doubly strange to imagine no longer spending hours a few days each week locked away in your little study room with you bugging him to teach you simple html and him not-so-discreetly sniffing your hair.
He still hadn’t asked you out or whatever he’d been trying to do, much to Dabi’s chagrin. And because of this, Tomura was consistently plagued with the feeling of time running out.
You were supposed to meet today for probably the last time seeing as the presentation was coming up at the end of the week. He knew it was now or never at this point. If he didn’t fucking say something now, he never would and then he’d have to live with the same his roommate wouldn’t let him live down.
So instead of heading directly to the library after class, Tomura took the old route back to his apartment and shot you a quick text—praying to the fucking boner gods, as Dabi called them, that you’d take the bait.
hey would you mind putting the finish touches on shit at my place?—
there’s some parts i gotta do from my desktop—
It wasn’t completely a lie. It was nicer working from his pc setup, but before he wouldn’t have let you come anywhere fucking near there. Not until he’d finally accepted that you’d wormed your way into his brain somehow and he couldn’t live another day not knowing what your tongue tasted like.
bitch (endearing)
—no problem
—what’s your address?
Tomura’s heart fucking pounded mercilessly against the bony prison of his ribs. It wasn’t like he was a stranger to some good old fashioned anxiety, but he’d never felt a strange stirring in his stomach quite like this. Like he might puke, but in a good way.
He quickly sent back his street and apartment number, and waited on the corner for you to text back that you’d be there in an hour before he rushed inside.
“What the hell are you doing, creep?!” Dabi snapped at him when he burst through the door and yeeted his backpack onto the kitchen table.
Tomura didn’t answer, just made a beeline for the bathroom and slammed the door. He doused himself in record time, unbothered by the hot water causing red, patchy flare ups to bloom over his skin. He was almost disgusted with himself for putting in this much effort for someone like you. Someone being definitely kind of a slut if the way you dressed was a good indicator. But he just kept thinking about the way your hair or skin smelled so goddamn good when you leaned in close and he wanted you to be obsessed with him in the same way. Wanted you to want to bury your face in his neck and breath him in.
When he stumbled out into the hall moments later, towel drying his hair roughly, Dabi was taking a shot over the sink.
He looked at Tomura like hell had frozen over.
“Two showers in like a month?” he mused, sucking his teeth as the alcohol slid down his throat. “What’s the occasion? The fucking, second coming of Christ?”
“Well the bitch is coming over so…”
“Oh, that is a fucking miracle,” Dabi whistled and knocked back a second shot.
Tomura glared, stepping into his room and tossing his towel aside to tug on his nicest pair of black joggers and t-shirt that gapped a bit at the front, showing off a large expanse of his chest. It made him a bit nervous even just looking at his reflection but you definitely stared the few times he’d taken off his hoodie while you were working, so the risk seemed worth the reward.
“Yeah, well you’re gonna have to piss off for the night,” Tomura shouted into the kitchen as Dabi sauntered over to lean against his doorframe.
“You know, I conveniently do have a dick appointment with my own bitch, but now I don’t want to go.”
His tone was teasing, eyes hooded and clearly enjoying how flustered Tomura was already before you’d even gotten here. Tomura moved to snatch another pillow and do battle but Dabi raised his hands up quickly in defeat.
“Oh no, no, I just fucking did my hair for this Keigo asshole you are not gonna ruin it with that petty shit,” he shot back and disappeared somewhere into his own room. “I’ll be out of your greasy ass hair don’t worry.”
Tomura seethed and bit back of reply of his hair for once not being greasy as hell, but the multiple cum stains—both his and his nasty fucking roommates—marring the comforter caught his eye.
“Ugh,” he mumbled and balled the whole thing up, shoving it under the bed and spreading out one of his merch blankets from that manga you both liked.
Hopefully you wouldn’t think that was too cringey, but he had definitely seen your room plastered with merch in the background of your social media profiles which he totally did not stalk at all and maybe jerk off to on occasion.
The rest of his room was quickly cleared by a combination of shoving random crap into his closet and filling up their recycling bin to the brim with empty energy drink cans. He tackled the kitchen next which wasn’t as hard as he’d expected. Neither he nor Dabi cooked all that frequently, so the dishes weren’t an issue and the vague, lingering smell of whatever the fuck Dabi had been smoking early was cleared out a bit by leaving the balcony door ajar.
He checked the time on his phone obsessively, about ready to pound on Dabi’s door and throw him out on the step when the man in question emerged on his own—black platform boots donned with his ass hugging ripped jeans and loose tank top. He had on fucking eyeliner.
God and he thought Tomura was being desperate.
“What? Wishing you’d locked this down first?” Dabi sneered, grabbing his jacket from the rack and shoulder checking Tomura on his way to the door.
“I—” he stammered for a second, bristling as Dabi towered over him a bit in those fucking boots. “No, asshole, just leave before they get here.”
But at the exact moment that Dabi rolled his eyes and flung open the door, Tomura’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Looking up in mingled horror and embarrassment, he watched the door hit the wall and reveal you, a little more casually dressed than usual looking stunned as Dabi grinned down at you with pierced lips.
“Hi, I’m-” you started but Tomura’s live-in nightmare cut you off.
“Oh I know who you are, dollface,” Dabi wiggled his fucking eyebrows at you, clearly playing up the dramatics as much as possible to a degree even Tomura didn’t think he could pull off. “Name’s Dabi—”
“Uh, yeah and he was just leaving,” Tomura hissed and placed his shoulder firmly in the center of his roommate’s back, launching him onto the welcome mat as you side-stepped through the door.
“Yeah, see ya later creep,” he fucking winked as the door slammed shut in his face.
Tomura’s cheeks burned in the following silence which was only broken by your quiet chuckle. He noticed you did that a lot. Laughed at things without even thinking about whether it would sound weird.
“He seems like a lot,” you mumbled and glanced around at the living room/kitchen/foyer of his tiny apartment.
“Yeah…”
He thought he might feel the same sort of disturbance he usually did when Dabi brought his dates home but you seemed to fit easily into the space, unobtrusive but bright against the dingy walls.
“So, should we get to it?” you asked with a wry smile, spinning to face him and silhouetted by the sun set filtering in past the balcony.
He may not have felt the usual discomfort of intruders in his space, but his hands shook where he clutched at his thighs nonetheless. And just like always, if you noticed the bunched up fabric and the not so slight tremor in his bony arms, you didn’t say a thing about it.
You looked so good propped up on his bed, back against the wall and legs dangling off the sides as the now strangely comforting sound of your furious typing filled his room. It had been a few hours now, and Dabi had been true to his work, seemingly gone until tomorrow morning. The room was lit only by your screens and his small desk lamp that lit up your legs like a stage spot light.
His mind fogged over more than once with the fantasy of laying in between them.
“I just shared the final bit of script,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence.
The notification pinged at the top of his screen and he hummed in acknowledgement, plugging in your last pieces of text and saving the program.
And just like that.
It was over.
“I think we’re done,” Tomura whispered.
He didn’t really mean to say it so softly but it felt strange to talk at full volume so he just rasped out the words, knowing you wouldn’t care how shitty his voice sounded.
There was a creak and soft footsteps behind him as you shuffled off the bed and over to his desk, hands resting way too close to his shoulders than necessary while you leaned over his chair to look at the finished product.
It was still a little rough around the edges but Tomura found himself feeling a little swell of satisfaction now that it was complete. All things considered, you’d come up with a pretty damn good concept and he liked knowing he played a role in helping it come to fruition.
The piece you picked was weird as shit. Some political satire about eating babies, lots of juxtaposition about the private life versus the public self and some bullshit rants on the nature of humanity blah blah blah.
It actually reminded him of you a little bit, now that he thought about it and used your position as an excuse to stare intently at your eyes scanning the screen. Not the eating babies thing, but the whole private self stuff. In the half semester he’d spent locked away with you in quiet rooms and noisy, dimly lit basements, he could see such a stark contrast between the you he’d known from class all those weeks ago and the you currently sighing in relief over his shoulder.
Softer, more real—not so Stacy, bimbo, pick me slut like he’d always imagined you to be.
“Damn, we did it my guy,” you nodded, clearly impressed with yourself and him as well, which had Tomura’s chest puffing out just a bit under the attention. “I could fucking kiss you, I thought we’d never get it done.”
You turned to him, eyes closed in a half laugh but Tomura was so far from laughing. Cause you were really, really fucking close and he could smell you again and you’d been chewing that fucking gum cause it was hot on your breath and he knew, he really did, that you were kidding, that tis was just a thing people say when they’re relieved but he couldn’t help the weird, deer in the headlights stare that his face froze in.
Blinking, you raised your eyebrows at him questioningly when he didn’t make some crude comment about your chest brushing against his arm or shrug you off like he might have before.
And then you got this knowing, little mischievous look that reminds him far too much of Dabi for a split second before you pressed your face just an inch closer.
His eyes flicked down instinctively to your lips and his face burned when realized there was no way you didn’t see the way he looked at you. Shockingly, despite the churning in his gut and the shaking in his legs, Tomura leaned forward just a bit too, working up just enough scant courage to maybe close the gap, but then you started laughing?
It bubbled up quietly in your chest, more of a giggle than anything else.
You were laughing and shaking your head and his stomach fucking dropped to the ground and his face was on fire cause you were laughing and that meant he’d been fucking played like a goddamn fiddle but—
But then you gave him this faint smile and you weren't laughing anymore, because you were kissing him.
You were fucking kissing him.
Which, while yes he had set out to have this be the end goal of the night, he hadn’t actually believed it would ever happen. He’d never felt it in his bones, like he was supposed to.
And holy shit your lips were so soft??
So soft and smooth with no cool, sharp metal poking or pulling at the splits on his. It was like fucking crack, or what he imagined crack might be like with the way your mouth just glided against his. It was so easy to follow you, which was good cause he didn’t have a goddamn clue what he was doing for the most part. But you made it feel simple, and you even ran your tongue over the little scar that bisected his lips in this painfully adorable way that had Tomura pitching a tent in his pants like lightning.
God but when you pulled back and just enough to look him in the eye—
It was like every one of those cutesy, shojo manga suddenly made sense. The panels where the main character’s look at each other and flowers bloom off the fucking page while they stare with those dark, hungry eyes—
Yeah.
Yeah he got it now.
And he was gonna ride that wave while he had it. So Tomura steeled himself and surged forward, grabbing both your arms and smashing his face much less gracefully against yours. He stood and you straightened with him, that same half giggle slipping out in the gaps where your lips parted on his as he clacked your teeth together and pulled back at the jarring sting.
“Eager are we?” you have that stupid smile on your face again but he honestly didn’t care anymore if it was an act or if your face really just looked like that with no fucking ulterior motive.
“Shut up,” he muttered, trying to catch your lips again and you mercifully let him.
And Tomura nearly fucking came in his pants when your licked into his mouth and oh fucking god he really could taste the gum and that loud ass shit you were always drinking. Dabi was right, this was a fucking miracle. Did other people always taste this good or was it just you?
He responded enthusiastically to say the least, sucking your tongue into his mouth and letting out a choked little noise when you licked at the back of his teeth. The movement of your legs, pulling him back towards the bed went mostly unnoticed until he felt himself tipping forward, landing with a thump on top of you as you both tumbled onto his mattress.
Tomura’s lips wondered boldly down your throat, smelling the soap or lotion or whatever the hell made you so fucking baby smooth compared to him and he actually growled into your nape when you laughed again.
“God, what the fuck is so funny?” he sounded muffled from where he was tonguing at the fleshy joining of your neck and shoulder.
“Sorry, sorry,” you pressed your lips against the peeling crown of his head and that alone made up for the interruption, “I’m just basking in the glory of being right.”
“About?” Tomura nipped at your skin once before lifting his chin to rest on your sternum.
“I just always thought you were sorta into me, but it was hard to tell cause you’re so quiet about that sorta thing.”
“....oh,” he didn’t really have an argument for that so he didn’t try to fight you.
“Did you think I didn’t notice all the convenient excuses to touch me or like the fact that you’re mean as shit to everyone else but me?“ you asked not unkindly as you stroked a hand through his hair, frizzy from being left to air dry. “I also got the vibes you thought I was kinda a slut anyway and it wasn’t super clear if that was a turn on or not.”
He cringed a bit at the blatant way you acknowledged all ruder inner monologues about your character.
“Well, I did a bit initially,” Tomura glanced off to the side, suddenly finding the chipping paint much more fascinating. God he really wanted to get back to the good stuff. “But I don’t now…”
“Oh no,” you cupped his face, running a thumb against the cracked skin on his cheeks and didn’t cringe when the drying skin flaked onto your shirt, “that was a pretty astute assumption.”
“Uh, what?”
He felt his draw drop and you dipped your thumb past his front row of teeth, towing with the pooling saliva.
“All the better for you though,” you continued dragging his chest against yours so he could feel your nipples through his shirt, “cause that just means I know how to show you a good time, and I get the feeling you’ve never had that happen before.”
You punctuated your words with roll of your hips against the fucking iron rod in his pants. The noise that left Tomura was inhuman. He thought back to the day you got partnered with him. How he thought it would be a fucking nightmare and Tomura wanted to let the record show that he officially retracted that statement. This was in no uncertain terms, actually a wet dream come true and he was sure Dabi would never fucking believe him unless he walked through the door right now.
“That works,” he stuttered around the finger in his mouth and you reared up to wrap your legs around his waist.
Your lips found his again and he hummed in approval only cut off as you rolled so he was laying back and looking up. When you pulled away, he shivered at the way you raked your nails over his chest.
“So, you gonna tell me how much of a disgusting whore you think I am?”
---
“I don’t—”
He couldn't finish the sentence, not when you were grinding down on him like that. How the hell did you even know how to move your hips in those little circles? Was there some Being a Massive Slut for Dummies book he was missing out on or?
“C’mon, Tomura, we’ve been through this,” you sighed and leaned down to such a trail of sloppy kisses from his jaw to his ear, biting down on the soft flesh, “I know you’ve been thinking so much nasty shit about me, the least you can do is let me hear it.”
Those hands on his chest were moving again, curling into the hem of his t-shirt and tugging until it was over his head and tossed aside on the floor. On an embarrassing instinct, Tomura’s hands shot up to cover himself, only stopped when you leaned onto your haunches and tugged off your own.
“Shit,” Tomura whispered.
You weren’t wearing anything underneath.
He drank in the sight of those cute fucking tits he’d only ever caught glimpses of through those low cut tops you always wore. You grinned down at him, both hands coming up to play with your chest, fingers pinching and rolling the pretty buds. Tomura felt drool slip from the corner of his mouth.
“Is that all you got?”
He wasn’t completely in control of his body as it catapulted off the bed to smash his face between your squished up tits, but neither of you were complaining if the sounds that followed were any indication. You hummed happily as he pressed his cheeks to the warm, soft flesh and his lips closed around your nipple, sucking and laving his tongue over the pebbled skin.
“You really wanted everyone to see these, huh?” he meant the words to have more bite but it was hard with your fucking boob in his mouth.
And he wasn’t looking to stop suckling at you anytime soon so….
“They’re nice tits, what can I say,” you shot back and he couldn’t wait to have you fucked so stupid all those witty one-liners would die on your tongue.
You fucking tasted so good. He hadn’t ever thought that tits would have a fucking taste but it was like some odd combination of skin and spit and it was addictive.
“Got a whole fucking eye full that first time you talked to me in class,” he growled, sinking his teeth in hard enough to leave a mark around your nipple. “Fucking parading them around every time you leaned over. Thought you were so fucking desperate for attention.”
If you really wanted to know all the vile, gross shit he thought on the daily then who was he to deny you that pleasure.
Cause you were definitely feeling some type of way about it based on the way your fingers threaded through his hair and held him to your chest as he tongued and bit at the skin.
“Think I’m just a stupid attention whore, is that it?” you moaned when he switched breasts, palm kneading at the one he’d abandoned.
“I think you’re a useless slut who’ll do anything to get a guy to fucking look your way,” Tomura gasped and sunk his teeth in again.
A shiver ran through him at the whine leaving your lips.
He did that.
He needed to do more of that immediately.
“You like it when I call you a fucking slut?”
Tomura didn’t know what came over him in that moment—what weird spirit of horny confidence possessed his body—but suddenly, with a surge of motion, his hand left your chest and latched onto the smooth column of your throat. The move had actually been quite graceful until he tried to flip your positions and got his legs tangled with yours, resulting in more of a...sexy pile than the smooth transition of power he was going for.
You didn’t seem to mind though.
You never did.
Tomura guessed if he was going to admit something nice about you, then it would be that at least you were consistent.
“I do like it when you call me that,” you breathed into his ear, hands under his arms to haul him back over top of you and replace the hand at your throat with a smirk, “and you love that it’s true.”
Fuck.
He really did, now that he thought about it. All those message boards always talked about finding virgins who you could mold to your dick just like they were meant to be, but…he was so fucking anxious at the best of times, having those eyes that pissed him off and knew it made this so much more fun.
There was probably a more eloquent word than that, and you would probably more than willing to supply it, but the goal was to shut you up and he wasn’t gonna be okay with just coasting this time.
“God, you need to learn how to shut the fuck up,” he spat and subsequently yelped as you leaned forward, licking a wet trail up his chest before latching onto one of his nipples.
The flushed, pink skin disappeared into the heat of your mouth, leaving his dick twitching violently in his pants that had grown too tight and damp for comfort. The languid motion of your tongue over the rapidly pebbling flesh and the goldilocks perfect way in which you nipped at him was enough to corroborate all your claims of experience. With the constant, electric spark pleasure running from his chest to his pants, Tomura found formulating sentences a little challenging, so he just said the first thing that came to mind.
“Why don’t we give you something even better to with that fucking whore mouth, hm?”
It was cliche as hell, stolen straight from one of the admittedly plentiful pornos he’d watched in his day, but you just grinned and popped off his nipple, nodded frantically at the innuendo.
Those clever little fingers that seemed to type without ever stopping dropped to the waistband of his sweats and tugged them down his thighs. He kicked a bit awkwardly to get them off his ankles but you were already yanking the elastic of his boxers. You smiled up at him through your lashes as you tucked the fabric just under his balls and let your eyes wander slowly from his splotchy red chest to the patch of hair just at the base of his dick.
If he hadn’t known better, he might have thought you were drooling.
Tomura felt a bit more in his element here, having had some actual frame of reference—as his asshole roommate was so generous to provide—so he didn’t waste any time. Falling onto his back, he squirmed up the sheets until his head was resting on a pillow and you were crawling between his thighs. God and you and you had your ass up too, wiggling it back and forth like you were wagging your tail at just the thought of getting his cock in your mouth.
Well, since you were so eager, Tomura decided to jump right in. You seemed to like things a bit rough anyway, so he reached out, burying a hand roughly in your hair and plunging in.
The cute and kinda disgusting choking gasp you let out was addictive.
And now he fucking knew Dabi was lying about his dick being small, cause you had a big fucking mouth to talk all that shit and it was absolutely stuffed full. Your lips were stretched obscenely not even halfway down his shaft and your eyes were already pricked with tears at the edges. The fucking feel of your mouth was like how he imagine silk might feel, if it was soaked and scorching. Your throat constricted around him as you gagged and oh it was fucking cock sucking heaven he was in.
Tomura was almost tempted to grab his phone and snap a—
Actually, that was a fucking great idea.
His free hand fumbled for his pants, closing around his phone and unlocking it while you hummed and pulled back, bobbing your head twice before sinking back down, Your eyes flew open when the camera flash lit up the dark corner of his room. He could feel you trying to move away, to snap at him for taking his little keepsake but he quickly fisted your hair and bucked his hips up to keep you firmly on his dick.
“Oh no, you were so eager to suck me off, you’re gonna finish the fucking job before you breathe again,” he panted, holding the sides of your face and fucking your mouth in earnest.
He’d found it easy to simply follow the instinctive rhythm of his hips, constantly seeking out the wet heat source. Your eyes rolled back in your goddamn as his length slid past your lips over and over again
Holy shit it felt so good.
And it felt even better when he could see how much you loved it.
How much you loved his filthy fucking almost virgin cock shoved down your throat and he finally felt the vulgar dam in his mind break.
“I think about you all the time,” he gasped, keening high when you ran your tongue over his slit on ever upstroke, just how he liked it. “I lay here at night and fuck my hand and think about sinking into your tight fucking cunt. I wanna fill you up so bad, it’s the only thing on my mind whenever I talk to you.”
The only thing stopping him from cumming straight down your throat in that moment was sheer horny force of will.
“When you mouth off in class, all I hear is you just begging for someone to bend you over and fuck that cocky fucking arrogance right out of you,” below him, you reached a hand up, pinching hard at his nipple and humming at the squeal he made. “Fuck, and I want eat your pussy while you’re up there presenting this shit, so I can watch you try and keep it together so know one else knows what a fucking whore you are for me. Such a fucking slut for me.”
Something was washing over him, some weird, intense revelation of something that perhaps he’d always known but just needed the motivation of a fucking earth shattering blowjob to work out of him—that he wanted you. Really wanted you. Felt entitled to you. He’d spent so much mental energy obsessing over it, that really, no one else fucking deserved to touch you but him.
No one else would want you this much.
No one else would want him this much.
Your hands had found their way to his thighs and they were rubbing sweet little circles into the soft skin.
“You’d love that wouldn’t you?” his voice was wrecked, even more than usual, from the near constant string of high pitched whining “You’d love to have me fucking ruin you, make you cum all over my tongue in front of everyone. Let them fucking know who does that shit to you.”
You managed a nod, even with his cock buried deepdeepdeep in your throat. And Tomura was fucking twitching at the thought. The muscles in his legs jumped under your touch. A slimy mix of spit and precum was gushing down his length, slipping over his balls and slicking his ass. It was sloppy and the room was so full of the wet slap of his hips against your mouth.
It was so much, too much, oh shit, shit he didn’t want to cum like this—
“Wait, wait!” he cried, back arching with the agony of leaving the plush paradise between your lips. “Please—I wanna cum in you.”
You looked up at him, head hanging from his grip in your hair, with your jaw slack and dripping and nodded. He felt as though his ribs were lined with magnets that pulled him into your outstretched arms, kneeling as he pressed his mouth frantically to yours, uncaring of the mess of the faint taste of bitter precum.
There was something frantic in the air, like a switch had been flipped. The need to feel you, to be connected at every point— to get just a little bit more of what he’d earned—grew stronger with every passing second.
His lips were rough and raw and stung when you licked them but that only made it sweeter. You tongued at his teeth and sucked him into your mouth like he was warm food after months without. It was needy. Needy and ragged because you needed him.
You needed him.
What a fucking thought that was.
Your pants were quickly discarded along with his boxers, and for the first time in his life, Tomura didn’t care about all the exposed skin. He didn’t think about all the unsightly patches of irritation or scaring, because you never had. Not once had you ever stared or commented and you weren’t starting now. Your hands smoothed over every inch of him, just as desperate like he always knew you would be.
Because you were so—
Perfect.
Fucking disgusting.
Tomura let you fall back onto the mattress and whimpered at the feeling of your thighs hitched around his waist. He made the mistake of letting his eyes leave your mouth to glance down and oh, oh he was enraptured.
Dabi was right, he’d never actually seen a pussy in real life and holy shit.
His fingers gravitated immediately to your lips, fucking soaked, soaked in arousal that had smeared on your thighs.
“You get this fucking hot just from my cock in your mouth?” he asked, grinning as he collected some of the slick on his fingers and brought them curiously to his mouth.
Delicious.
“Yes—fuck—yes!” you whined and pulled him closer with your thighs.
“You want me to fuck you that bad?” his fingers ghosted over where he thought your clit might be and was rewarded when you moaned low as he brushed over a raised little bud. “Does this nasty little slut want me that fucking bad?”
“Please Tomura…” his name on your tongue was better than any crazy ass party drug Dabi ever brought home, “you have no fucking idea how long I’ve been wanting you so fucking deep in me—”
Your words cut off with a sob as he ran his fingers down, searching for your entrance and sinking in hard when he found it. And it was so nice in there. So fucking hot.
“What are you?” he asked, thrusting his fingers in and out, trying to remember how Dabi did it to him and what felt good.
He plunged them deep and curled up towards your belly and you sobbed, “A fucking slut!”
God he was so glad no one else was here to hear that.
This was just for him.
“And who’s fucking slut are you?”
He really could help himself, he just wanted to hear it so fucking bad.
“Yours,” you whined and rolled your hips down so his thumb caught on your clit and. “I’m your fucking slut!”
“Shit,” he rasped and ripped his fingers from you.
He wasn’t entirely conscious of his movements. There was just one, very loud voice, screaming in his head to bury his cock in that perfect fucking heat and suddenly his was gripping himself and pushing in and—
“Ahh, fucking god,” Tomura whimpered, body going limp as his tip was sheathed fully inside you.
His forehead dropped down to rest against yours, arms like half cooked pasta on either side of your head, failing to hold him up. You brought your arms up, sliding fingers through his hair and down his back as your ankles locked right above his ass to urge him forward.
Tomura’s cock sunk in inch by inch until he bottomed out with a groan. His mouth moved even when the rest of him couldn’t
“So tight…” he mumbled, head slipping into the crook of your neck and sucking lightly at the skin, feeling the comfort of it in his mouth. “Didn’t think it’d be this tight.”
“Are you trying to insult me or were you just a virgin?” you huffed out, but there was a laugh bubbling just behind the words.
He weakly held up to fingers to indicate the second, dropping them immediately to clutch at the sheets when you clamped down on his cock, nestled sweetly against your cervix.
“Wait really?” you asked, hands skimming up his back to grip his cheeks.
Tomura tried to hide himself in your shoulder, because the fucking dopey ass smile on his face would surely feed your ego and he didn’t need you knowing that your pussy had him fucking higher than a goddamn kite.
If only his bones hadn’t suddenly taken on all the physical properties of jello.
“I’ve fucked around before,” he said, which was technically true, “just never...like this.”
He didn’t even need to move—which, well, wasn’t entirely true he was burning with the urge to drive himself frantically into your dripping cunt—but he was so blissed out from just the soft, warm, tight hug of your walls around his cock that pulsed precum with ever clench, was enough.
What he wouldn’t give to have this all the time. Have you constantly sitting on his cock, keeping him warm and hard and cumming inside you.
At the reminder of why exactly he’d set out to do this, his body regained a bit of it’s former solidity.
“Oh,” you began, voice strained and hips shaking with the effort of not rocking back on his dick. “Well, you feel fucking amazing—”
Tomura cut you off with an experimental thrust. He pulled all the way back, watching as his tip just nearly popped out of your cute fucking hole and then snapped in again. You were a fucking mess above him, gripping at the pillows and then at his arms, dragging red scratches down the pale, fragile skin there.
It only spurred him on.
“You like that? Like my huge fucking cock in you?” he growled, flopping down so he could feel your nipples brush against his while he railed into you.
As much as you apparently enjoyed hearing all the filth that spewed from him, he really liked having a receptacle for it all. It had been hidden inside him for so long, the release was only made sweeter with the addition of your slutty fucking pussy clenching at every word.
“So fucking big, Tomura—”
You rocked up to slip your tongue into his mouth again, sucking softly at his rough lower lip and drinking down all the less than dominant cries that poured from him as his release grew again. He wasn’t really sure how to get you off, but you seemed to understand the intentions behind his hand wandering to nudge at the space he was driving his cock into.
Those soft fingers held his and guided them up to that nub he’d found before and moved his hand in little, rhythmic circles that had you fucking sobbing into his mouth.
Real tears streaked down your face as you moaned into him, “Oh fuck, yes Tomura, baby, just like that…!”
And for once, he had absolutely no qualms with doing exactly what you said. He wanted—needed—to know what it would feel like for you to cream all over his dick. Wanted to see the stupid fucking face you would make as he ripped you apart on his definitely massive length.
You were rocked back into ever thrust, drinking in the sound of slapping skin, mouth permanently attached to his—tongues locked together.
The taste of fruit gum mixed with salty cum and the smell of sweat and sex and cleanlaundryshampoo was fucking everywhere. It was intoxicating and heady and all he had ever needed.
Really, you weren’t so bad when you were crying on his cock.
And you were fucking crying, screaming for him—his name, calling him ‘baby’ in a way that had his heart stuttering uncomfortably in his throat and babbling about how good, how fucking perfect he felt inside.
“C’mon,” he grunted, “c’mon, I wanna see my fucking slut cum for me, all over my cock.”
And for once, you actually followed an order.
His fingers on your clit never gave up and he could fucking feel the orgasm wash over you. Your cunt spasmed and clamped hard like a vice, tighter than anything he ever could have imagined. And you choked out his name, so desperate:
“Tomura, fuck yes baby!”
God your face was so good, all scrunched up and then relaxing into a blissful, panting, open-mouth grin.
It was sort of beautiful.
But he wasn’t gonna fucking say that.
“Good fucking slut,” he said instead, and arched his chest into yours so he could feel the swell of your pretty tits against his chest.
And he almost fucking lost it right there but he needed more, needed to feel full too. The clenching of your pussy was so unmatched by any sensation but he guessed Dabi always called him a greedy whore for a reason.
His hand grabbed at yours—hips only letting up when he couldn’t actively get his dick out of you as you came—and brought it roughly to his lips. Tomura was still slick, covered in spit and sweat but he sucked two of your fingers into his mouth anyway. His tongue delved between them as you watched with wide eyes as he spat onto them and whined.
“I need—oh shit—inside, inside...fuck…”
He could fucking get his tongue to make words but he dragged your hand to his ass and prayed you’d get the hint. Prayed you’d fill him up too.
And you certainly delivered.
His hips started up their unforgiving rhythm again now that you’d rode out your release, slipping even more easily into your pussy with all the slick spilling out of you. God that would be his cum soon—his cum dripping out onto your thighs. Your feet dropped to the bed and Tomura grabbed your waist for leverage.
Your clever little finger circled his hole, wrist bent from the awkward angle below him but working nonetheless. His spit and precum made less than ideal lube but he welcomed the burn of you entering him. A second one joined behind the first and it was rough going for a moment until he was able to rock back fully, finding a certain bend of the knee and half thrust that had him simultaneously grinding into you and fucking himself on your fingers.
And then you managed to get deep enough to brush against that fucking spot, that magic fucking spot that had him seeing stars and screaming your name—not slut, not bitch, not some other fucking cruelty—your name and spilling rope after rope of hot cum against your walls.
Your eyes did that thing where they rolled halfway up and crossed like this was some fucking hentai and you weren’t knuckles deep in his ass while he came inside you.
Tomura went completely limp then, boneless like a cheap chicken wing and collapsed onto your chest, whimpering when your fingers left him empty but comforted by the rhythmic clenching of your cunt, warming his cock and keeping his cum safe inside.
“So good,” you whispered into his hair, soft palms smoothing over his back in slow circles. “Felt so good, Tomura. You were so good.”
He shivered in your arms, lulled by the feeling of your breasts under him and breathing in the mixture of soap and sex that radiated from your skin. Everything about it was strange, but in that wonderful kind of way that new games sometimes were. A tingling at the prospect of a new adventure, a new world, and a new journey to embark on.
You pressed your lips to his sweat slicked forehead and didn’t turn away in disgust.
No, instead you just held him on his cum soaked sheets and slept.
---
Tomura woke about an hour later, dick finally soft and tangled in a knot of limbs with you on his bed. You’d stretched and let him kiss you without asking, accepting his tongue on yours just as easily as you had before.
After detangling yourself from him, you left to take a shower and Tomura found that he couldn’t bare the notion of being apart from you for more than twenty minutes now even more than he couldn’t fucking stand showering, so he’d joined you anyway.
You didn’t talk much and neither did he, but it was that same comfortable silence you’d formed in your little study room hideout. He let you drag him under the spray just long enough to wash most of the jizz and spit from his thighs before he stepped back to lean on the tile and watch as you rinsed yourself.
Only once did you mention the rough, scaly skin on his neck and face. Your hand was gentle, roving over the cracks and asking him if he’d tried any soap for sensitive skin. That yours was like that too and you’d let him borrow some to try out. He blushed at the implication of seeing you again after this.
It was well past midnight when you toweled off and dried him as well. He lent you one of his few clean t-shirts and you wore it without any underwear. Tomura shameless stared at your bare ass when you bent over to strip the ruined comforter from his bed.
He thought about burying himself in you again, and because he hasn’t dressed yet—and you don’t push him away when he presses against you—he does. And you moan for him again when he fucks you from behind, just as rough but it all comes easier the second time around.
You told Tomura, later—when you were both exhausted again and stained with release—he was kinda a natural and something about the praise really got to him.
“You’d fucking know,” he snipped at you, curled on his side with his face in your tits.
This was his new favorite position, he’d decided and he snickered at the thought of planting his face right in your chest while you were both in class. He’d pay money to see the horrified look on your prim fucking face.
“Yes I would,” you hummed into his hairline, mouthing softly at the baby curls around his crown. “So, when are you gonna take me out?”
Tomura felt the loading circle of death spinning in his brain for a moment. Like a 404 error had occurred somewhere in amongst his neural pathways.
“I thought you said you were a slut?” he asked and almost immediately wished he could quit the game, even if it meant he had to replay all the scenes before this moment.
But you didn’t pull away.
You really never do.
He thought idly that you both must have some weirdo bug making you enjoy all the disgusting bits of the other.
“Well yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t take me on a date if that’s something you’d like,” you chuckled and he felt your chest rise with it and the breath on his forehead.
He nestled his face deeper into your tits, “yeahsurefinewhatever.”
The lips pressed to his head smiled but you didn’t say anything again for a long time. Not until both of you were drifting off again, falling into the trap of shared body heat and the odd human craving of skin against skin.
“Your freaky roommate isn’t going to walk in right?”
Tomura grumbled, mouthing at your nipple and suckling softly, “no, you’re mine now, he can’t have either of us.”
You signed contentedly for a moment, moaning lightly as he swiped his tongue over your sensitive skin before the words caught up to you.
“Wait, what?”
“Nothing, go to sleep.”
You didn’t push it any farther, or remove Tomura from his sucking at your tits. It was quite possibly the most peaceful night of sleep he’d ever gotten, which only ensured the fact that you would never be allowed to sleep anywhere else.
This was your responsibility now, after all, and you fucking loved responsibility so he didn’t see any problems.
Shockingly, Tomura did let you leave the next morning to grab some things from home and change clothes. He watched you walk down the sidewalk from his window and only meandered back into the kitchen when you turned a corner out of sight and the front door slammed open.
Dabi was plopped on the couch when he ventured out, shirtless and absolutely covered in hickeys. Tomura would have commented on it, but he knew he didn’t look much better and didn't want to invite the comparison.
“What the hell got into you, creep?” he asked incredulously, leering from the cushions, looking him up and down.
“I got into bitch (endearing),” he cupped his hands to form parenthesis in the air and grabbed a Monster from the fridge.
Dabi gaped, pushing himself up and not so subtly limping over to cage him against the counter, “No you fucking did not.”
“Did so,” he shot back, knocking his shoulder roughly into Dabi’s chest so he could stalk back into his room. “Looks more like someone got into you.”
You’d put him in such a weirdly pleasant mood, he really didn’t want to give that up, but Dabi was present, the bitch.
“We got into each other,” Dabi huffed, flopping down on Tomura’s bed and ruining your scent on his sheets, “No fucking way you had the balls dude.”
Impulsively—in part because he really needed to ego boost of proving Dabi wrong and to convince himself as well that last night (and this morning) had really happened—Tomura whipped out his phone, flashing that pretty picture of you choking on his dick right into that smug bastards face.
The fucking grin only grew wider.
“I’ll be fucking damned, creep,” he stood from the bed to get a closer look, but Tomura locked the screen quickly and shoved it back in his pocket. “How much did you have to pay her?”
“I don’t know what you have to do to get some,” Tomura scoffed, “but mine was free.”
Dabi looked like he had something smart to say back to that but Tomura didn’t want to hear it.
“Get out,” he called over his shoulder as he took Dabi’s place on his bed, inhaling the little wisps of you left over on the cotton. God he was never gonna wash these.
“Aw, don’t wanna give me all the details?”
He peaked up at Dabi, leaned against his doorframe.
“No, I have to get dressed,” he paused before the next words that left his mouth, hiding his face in the pillow so Dabi wouldn’t see the furious red of blood rushing to his cheeks. “I have a date later.”
---
“Stop fucking squirming,” you leaned forward to bite at Tomura’s lips as he shifted under you.
Your hands were gathering his hair and pulling it in twists to the side, tying the strands away from his face. It wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but your legs wrapped around his waist as he sat in his desk chair, cock soaked and deliciously warm in your pussy was harder to ignore. Especially when you clamped down on him every time he moved while you worked.
“Then get off my dick,” he snapped, leaning back in the chair for better leverage as he snapped his hips up. You looked straight out of those hentai memes, eyes almost crossing when he pushed you down to meet his thrust. “Fucking greedy slut.”
“Excuse-ah,” this time it was you bouncing on his length unprompted, “me, but I wasn’t the one with my cock out begging cause it was so cold.”
Your tone was entirely too even for his liking, and Tomura frowned as he dug his hands into your hips and made you grind into his lap. He really was dating such a fucking whore.
“Well, if you hadn’t fucking insisted we go to this dumbass party, then I could have fucked you hours ago,” he knew he was pouting, but you’d started meeting every roll of his hips halfway, using your thighs now to start up a slow rhythm. “Maybe don’t take so long picking an outfit next time.”
“I was picking yours asshole,” you caught his lip between your teeth again and sucked.
Joke was on you though, the more you tried to fucking tease him, the deeper he was gonna fuck you.
How d’you like that, bitch?
“What—don’t you dare fucking stop—was wrong with my outfit?”
He could feel spit pooling under his tongue. Your fucking pussy always did this to him, made his mouth water and this thighs shake while you rode him in earnest now, moaning into his ear as he made sure you felt him in your fucking guts.
God, he was never gonna get over that—the sounds you made. The sounds he pulled from you.
“Tomura, baby,” every word was punctuated with a gasp, one of his thumbs drawing those little circles on your clit that he figured out pretty quick made you cry. “I love you—and the easy dick access sweatpants provide—dearly, but your ass looks so fucking good in these jeans.”
Something weird always happened to his chest when you said stupid, cheesy shit like that. He knew that was thing fucking normies said all the time, and he used to gag whenever he heard people in the halls professing their feelings to each other. But whenever you did it, Tomura’s lips just instinctively fought to turn up at the edges and his lungs suddenly forgot what air felt like in favor of dedicating ever braincell in his body to memorizing whatever dumb as hell, sweet thing you said.
“Why does—mm yes fuck...” he stared entranced at his lap where your slutty goddamn pussy swallowed him up and pulsed around his cock with every tight circle drawn on your clit. “Why does it matter how my ass looks?”
You paused while he fought with the neckline of your top so your tits bounced free and he could suck at your nipples. And holy shit, you could call him a baby all you wanted, but he’d never get tired of the fucking taste feel smell of your chest filling his mouth and pressed so nice against his face.
Shit, he’d fucking live in your tits if he could. Suckle at you endlessly until you poured sweet fucking milk onto his waiting tongue.
Cause you told him one time that was a thing that could happen. Swatted his head away when he pawed at you for too long cause apparently if he sucked hard enough all the time—
“Listen, if your cute little boyfriend had the tightest ass on the fucking planet, wouldn’t you want to show that off to all your friends.”
His face lit up. Tomura could feel whatever blood left not pumping through this dick, rush to his cheeks and he buried his face more resolutely in your tits so as not to give you the satisfaction of flustering him.
You fucking cooed at him every time and squished his cheeks up, calling him your baby boy.
Fucking disgusting.
But damn if he didn’t love it.
“Whatever,” he groaned, picking up his pace and drinking down the delicious little whimpers you let out every time his cock met you coming down on his lap. “Shut the fuck up, and take it like a good fucking whore.”
“My fucking pleasure,” you grunted before losing all semblance of attempted hairstyling entirely, letting out a long, low moan as he pummeled that pretty pussy and sped up on your clit.
Tomura would absolutely never admit to it, but fucking you always had him feeling so fucking needy. The second your lips or your cunt were swallowing him up it was like a dam broke and every selfish request just poured out of him.
“Wanna cum,” he mumbled into your breast, whining as your walls fluttered and pulsed.
He knew what that meant now. Tomura was what you called ‘quick on the uptake’ and honed in fast on what it felt like when you started to lose it.
“Yeah? Does my pretty boy want me to make him feel good?”
God fuck yeah.
He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it out loud but, yes. Tomura was your pretty, baby boy and he needed he sweet fucking bitch to make him bust so deep inside you.
He was about to reach his peak too, teetering on the edge when the pounding started.
And not the fun kind. Not the bend you over his bed and rail you till you couldn’t fucking walk.
No, no, no.
This was balled fist slamming against his door and Dabi’s grating, smoky voice shouting from the hall.
“Could you fornicate later freaks?!” he called through the door. “You’re gonna be fucking late.”
Tomura’s orgasm hurtled to a painful halt and you groaned again—well growled was probably a more appropriate term for the snarl you let out into the crook of his neck.
“Why the hell does it matter to you?!” Tomura shouted back, the force of his voice shifting the angle of his cock. The minute stimulation felt so good he kept up the slow grinding motion.
You groaned again—decidedly much sweeter—and sucked a cheeky fucking mark right on the side of his neck.
“What are you fucking doing?” he hissed to you, but it was Dabi’s voice who answered.
Along with the click of his knob turning.
“Well, it sounded like you were having a hard time getting your bitch off, so I was gonna offer—“
Dabi stopped, taking the split second before the controller Tomura chucked at his head connected to stare fixedly at your bare ass seated on Tomura’s thighs.
“Yes, my bitch, so get the fuck out!” he yelled, coming out a little choked at the end as your slutty self kept grinding on his cock.
“Yeah, and he’s doing a great job,” you mused, languidly raising your head from his shoulder and kissing up his jawline, completely unfazed entirely by the new audience.
Tomura’s brain was ping ponging so hard between rage, cheek burning embarrassment, and being the most turned on he’d ever been in his life.
The things you fucking did to him.
“If you say so sweetheart,” Dabi, also completely unperturbed by watching you grind on his roommates dick, leaned against the doorframe like you all were chatting about the fucking mayoral election.
“I do,” you lifted your hips then, showing off one full bounce that had both Dabi and Tomura’s eyes rolling.
Though the latter was much more annoyed than Tomura could hope to be.
“Fucking show off,” his roommate muttered.
“Isn’t your boyfriend waiting in the kitchen?” you huffed and glared over your shoulder at Dabi in his platform boots and mesh top.
He scowled and flipped the two of you off with chipped, black nails and sauntered back down the hall calling, “not my boyfriend,” as he went.
He left the door wide open.
Tomura almost yelled for him to come back and close it, but you took the silence as an opportunity to start riding him full force and even though you were the one bouncing in his lap, he had to grip your waist and hold on for the ride.
Fucking bitch.
Tomura’s fucking bitch.
You held his hand as you walked across campus to the media building in the budding Spring evening. And that was almost as bad as you saying all those pointless, nice things to him.
Cause people looked, like they watched you linking fingers with that creepy guy in their classes or from the dining hall, and you walked swinging his hand in yours the whole way like it didn’t fucking matter.
Didn’t even occur to you that everyone on campus would know now that the hot chick they saw walking around was with him.
But all those imaginary eyes seemed to melt away as you dragged him behind you, down the old path you both used to take everyday after working in the library. Along the worn concrete sidewalk to the ‘secret door’ in the alley that was perpetually propped open with a copy of the Manifesto, taking two flights of stairs down to the basement and following the soft blue glow to the unofficial layer of The League.
You didn’t let go of his hand even after your both walked through the door.
Tomura recognized most of the people there as friends you introduced him to. You’d met them all through classes or through other friends, forming a close knit group of everyone who knew everyone which was apparent from the way they all cheered when you walked in.
He suddenly was reminded why he never came to shit like this. Not that people were scrambling to invite Tomura Shigaraki to their parties, but his skin itched even when the eyes never focused on him.
Across the room Spinner, the other co-leader of the club, who he knew the best out of everyone, waved at him, and Tomura nodded back. His eyes quickly picked Dabi out of the crowd, leaning off in the corner with a red cup in hand, forehead pushed up against his blond boyfriend’s. Keigo was apparently a reluctant member of the other gaming club on campus—cause of course there was a demand for fucking two—the president of which knew Spinner and who, of course, knew you, which led to Tomura’s asshole, sometimes voyeur roommate being invited along.
Fucking social circles were so needlessly complicated.
Tomura vaguely recognized the other blond guy in the room—Jin was his name? Maybe?—enough to pick his wild, sandy hair out of the crowd, tucked off to the side of the table laden with shitty vending machine snacks. He had his arm slung around someone Tomura had never met before, talking with another short blond girl he didn’t know and Jin’s roommate, Magne. He patted himself on the back for remembering two out of the four names. He also remembered Jin worked at the library, though he hated it, and had been tangentially responsible for hooking the two of you up in that study room, your study room.
Tomura nodded at Jin too as he saw the two of you walk in and enthusiastically shouted some greetings and only one profanity. A new record for him.
Someone else Tomura hadn’t been introduced to shouted from the floor by the gaming set up as Spinner punched the air in triumph in the glow of the victory screen.
“I’m gonna grab us some drinks,” you whispered to him, and he let go of your hand reluctantly, watching as you stopped, doling out hugs to everyone—excluding Dabi—as you went.
He looked around, cast adrift without you to hold him to the dock of social interaction.
It was clear he’d have to find a backup person to cling to for the remainder of the night if you were just gonna fucking abandon him for your friends.
Though Tomura did his best to not be all that salty about it. The residual anger melted a little bit as he watched Magne bear hug you off the floor so hard your back popped. It was only when he felt a hand on his shaking shoulder that Tomura realized he’d been laughing at the spectacle.
Spinner flashed him a toothy smile, arms crossed and watching intently as you pretended to gasp in a breath when Magne finally dropped you from her massive arms.
“Hey man,” he said, wild hair the color of those weird unicorn drinks from that cafe you liked sticking up on end. “How’s it going?”
Tomura shrugged, unsure how to respond without you to fill in the unmediated gaps in conversation.
“Fine, I guess.”
Spinner was not who he would have chosen to hang with all night. Yeah, he knew him the best, but Tomura sorta got the vibes your roommate lowkey hated his fucking guts. And while no one would say he was the master at interpersonal relationships, Tomura could fucking tell when someone didn’t like him. Most of his life till now had been spent in a constant state of snide side eyes and fake politeness.
Maybe that’s why he used to find you so fucking off putting.
But you were different now. He knew you meant all that bullshit. Spinner just wasn’t as good at pretending as he thought he was.
“Nice,” Spinner acted as though he didn’t notice the edge in Tomura’s tone. Or he was just fucking stupid. “I’m glad you guys actually came tonight, I haven’t seen you in awhile.”
He chuckled a bit to soften the blow of that last part, rubbing his neck and smiling sheepishly. Tomura didn’t return the gesture.
“Yeah,” he said simply, kicking at the scuffed linoleum with his sneakers.
He very much wished that you hadn’t tied his hair back so he could hide his face away from Spinner’s stare.
“Listen bro,” that pink head ducked down to catch Tomura’s eye, looking a little bit more guilty now than before. “I know I’ve been kind of a dick lately—and I already talked with them,” he gestured to you, currently pouring some awful, glittery concoction into Jin’s mouth as the smaller blond girl clapped beside you. “But I was just sort of ‘going through it’ for awhile and, well it doesn’t fucking matter, anyway sorry for being such an asshole...”
Tomura’s mouth got dry like it did whenever you hugged him in public or said you liked his eyes. The words drifted around in his head, spitting back error codes as they swirled.
He honestly couldn’t recall a time anyone had ever apologized to him. And he never knew what to say in normal conversation, much less fucking this. Spinner kept looking at him expectantly, but as the silence dragged on, Tomura watched his face falter just a bit.
And that made him feel even worse.
Fuck.
What would you say? Something nice??
“Don’t worry about it,” he blurted—which really was your catchphrase, but he was sure you wouldn’t mind him borrowing it.
“Thanks bro,” Spinner grinned again, this eyes closed, thin lipped thing that made Tomura feel hot just looking into the glow of it. “We’re cool yeah?”
He couldn’t see you, but he could feel that disgusting, proud stare you got every time he elected to order both your drinks when you went out or asked for extra ketchup on his own.
“Whatever, yeah,” Tomura scratched absently at his throat and Spinner jerked his head over to the gaming setup. The Smash music was drifting softly out of twin speakers.
“Wanna play a round?” he asked.
Tomura glanced quickly over at you, now watching as Jin attempted to juggle some of the small snack bags and Magne tossed more flying chips into the mix.
Yeah, you’d probably be awhile.
“...sure.”
It was halfway through the round—in which Tomura was goddamn slaughtering Spinner’s Kirby—that you finally wandered back over to him, two red cups in hand and a few bags of stolen Chex mix.
You set them both down on the small coffee table—also ‘donated’ from the theater department—and plopped next to him on the couch. Spinner growled from the floor, the other club president—The Commission apparently, who the fuck was coming up with these names?—sat kneeled behind him, hands on his shoulders and shouting words of encouragement.
The adrenaline of the fight rushing through him increased exponentially when you gripped his bicep and added your voice to the din.
“Fuck yeah, baby! Kick his fucking ass!”
“Oh wow,” Spinner yelled back. “Now I see where your fucking loyalties lie.”
“Has nothing to do with loyalty,” you laughed. “I just want to see you eat shit for once.”
“Should have come to the big tournament then!” The Commission president chuckled too, looking over their shoulder with a grin.
“Damn, now I’m really sorry I missed it,” you swung your legs up onto the cushions only to tuck them up under yourself as you stared down at the couch. “Ew what the hell is this stain?”
The Commission president was suddenly very much not looking back at you anymore, Tomura noticed. Spinner, at your comment, choked on his fucking spit, not quite dodging Tomura fast enough and tumbling straight off the map.
As Tomura’s character flashed first on the screen you cheered and gripped his face, landing a quick, wet smack of a kiss straight to his fucking lips. Spinner and his friend groaned in unison and there was a chorus of friendly disgust from everyone else gathered around watching.
He could care less.
The air felt strangely alive, people’s gazes flitting over him as though he were part of the scenery. But in a good way this time. Not the purposeful overlooking of his existence, not as though he were an accessory to the room, but a crucial part of it. Like there might be an empty space they would notice if he wasn’t occupying it.
Like he belonged attached to your hand or your hip or just on his own, playing games and drinking shitty juice and laughing at whatever weird as fuck thing Jin shouted at unprompted, random intervals.
Everyone remained gathered by the monitor as you selected your character to face off against him in the next round.
“I’m gonna...” you growled, coming in with an impressive attack and backing out of range, a move signature of yours, “suck your fucking dick!”
“I’m gonna fucking suck yours first, bitch,” he retorted and Magne offered up a kind “hell yeah” in support.
Her large fist came into view over his shoulder, which he found himself bumping against his own without a second thought.
The music filled his ears, the shouting voices no longer suffocating, but adding to the thrum in his chest—the same beat that had his lips pulled up in a smile which ached in his cheeks, but it didn’t matter.
The burn in the cracking skin around his lips and eyes was inconsequential. His face bare of the usual curtains of hair was turned up towards the screen in full display.
He watched you, silhouetted in the blue like of the monitor, saw the figures of your friends gather close around him, engulfing him like an ameba, adding Tomura in as another cell to this new organism.
y’all really vibed with the cute aggression thoughts so,,,
consider men whose hands ache when they see you. that subtle twitch in their fingers--the primordial urge to hold you so tight to their chests that your bones crack under the pressure of their affection. who see some kind of softness in you that their minds have not evolved to process. who can’t tell if they want to snap you in half or tuck you between their ribs for safekeeping. if they want to hurt you or love you. men who start to wonder if their is a difference between the two.
I have yet to see as many people as I'd like talk about how goddamn beautiful Lee Yut-Lung is in the 2009 live banana fish stage play because my MAN. They did him dirty in the other stage play, but in that one WHEW he is AMAZING.
I absolutely believe that shigaraki would get so overwhelmed by the concoction of emotions you stir up in him that he’d enter into that ‘cute-thing-must- squeeze-it until-it-pops’ mindset and just bite your fuckin cheek
A HAND THAT WILL NOT HARM YOU - TWICE X HERO!READER
✧ pairing: Jin Bubaigawara (Twice) x hero!reader
✧ word count: 5.3k | AO3 Mirror
✧ warnings: angst, like discussions of suicide but not in a specific or detailed way, smut, light smut, afab reader no pronouns, semi-public sex technically, sex outdoors, smoking cigarettes, mentions of blood, canon typical violence
✧ summary: After an encounter with a hero who has no qualms accepting death in the line of duty, Jin comes face to face with the reason for his existence, and the futility behind this constant battle with good he fights, while sharing smoke with his new friend on a rooftop as you partake in one of the few reasons to remain horribly alive.
✧ a/n: For my 1k Don’t Go Breaking My Heart Collab ! Thanks so much to everyone else who participated, I’m working on the masterlist! Also mine is very late to my own collab but eh. It’s been awhile since I wrote anything so hope it turned out! Be warned it is angst and reader is kinda losin the will to live literally in the beginning, but it’s also not ~heavy~ I don’t think. Has more dnd tired warrior vibes than anything else. Still head the warning!
Jin wasn’t sure why exactly he did it.
Or, more appropriately, why he didn’t do it.
Spinner and Dabi were shouting behind him, the sound of their boots pounding against the concrete floor of the parking garage reverberated around in his skull. The jarring clack of panicked footsteps drowning out every other voice except for go, run—
“Get on the ground!”
The hero’s voice rang deep in his chest and stung like a shot as they called after him. Spinner swore somewhere to his left, the metallic rattling of knife blades the only warning Jin got before a pained shriek echoed through the maze of cement pillars.
“Stop where you are!”
He felt the blistering heat of Dabi’s flames burst to life over his shoulder as another unfamiliar voice joined the din. Jin’s eyes watered as the thick, cloying smell of charred flesh stuck to the fabric of his mask and choked any attempt at measured breathing. As the air grew unbearably hotter, every shout began to muddle together—forming a single, discordant cacophony.
Jin’s legs shook as he broke into a sprint, sweat running in waves down his back and stinging his eyes. His vision began to tunnel, growing murky black around the edges, leaving nothing but the slow incline of each new floor. The mass of grating sound mingled with the blood pounding in his ears. He stumbled as the rapidly depleting oxygen—eaten away by Dabi’s attempts to clear a route out—destroyed the last remnant of any coherent thoughts.
He knew nothing more than escape—the slowest of suffocations.
His partners ran across his field of view and Jin was only vaguely aware of the slash adorning Spinner’s back, quickly leaking dark red and the smoke that poured from each of the staples in Dabi’s cheeks.
Jin couldn’t be certain when they’d reached the roof, but the new, uninhibited gust of city wind alleviated some of the shock from his system.
Just enough that his burning eyes could register another figure amongst the fray.
You lept into view, standing firmly on the roof’s ledge and blocking his only means of exit. Behind you were lower buildings, a jump to which meant safety.
Meant success.
Meant freedom.
“Twice,” Spinner shouted, still fighting off one of the remaining pursers. “Get us the fuck out of here!”
He could.
It would be easy for Jin to take care of you. Just a few doubles and a shove and they’d be on their way back to the bar.
“Fucking do it, man!” Dabi called to his left as your eyes locked on him.
Your footing wasn’t solid. Jin honed in easily on the stiffness in your knees from one too many injuries. The set of your shoulders was stooped too low, your balance shifted forward to make up for the wind.
A single shove and you’d be spiraling down to your death six stories below.
It would be easy.
“Twice, let's go!” Spinner commanded from his right, sword currently impaled in the chest of your cohort.
And he would have done it—really truly sent you to die without a second thought, had every intention of doing it. The clones sprang quickly to life, drawing your focus away just long enough for Jin to rush forward and place his hands hard on your shoulder’s, ready to shove with the force of the wind—
But then he happened to glance at your face, and the world seemed to pause around him for just a single moment.
The blood quickly pooling at Spinner’s feet came to a halt and the explosion of gas-stove blue fire at Dabi’s fingertips ceased to flicker as Twice met your eye and made three crucial observations.
The fabric under his hands was flimsy, thin spandex and cotton that offered no protection or leg up in a fight and quite nearly ripped as he gripped at your throat to throw you off kilter.
His eyes traveled up from your chest and found your face once again, registering as he did then that it was bare. No mask to disguise your identity or protect the vital points at your temples or neck. You bore the marks of it as well, the evidence of past battles written on all the bare skin you’d left undefended.
But what truly caused him to falter—what made him pull you in and bury his knee into your ribs instead of casting you down to the pavement below—was the look you gave him.
Your hands that had balled into fists, ready to knock his jaw from its socket, relaxed into open palms, and the snarl that sat in your teeth turned up at the edges.
The strange, phantom smile was soft on you despite the surrounding gore. Soft and barely there, like snow on warm asphalt. Jin would have missed it if it hadn’t been for your eyelids drifting shut and your hands coming to rest on his forearms, pulling him in too. Making certain his grip stayed strong, ensuring you’d not walk away from this particular fight.
But Jin didn’t miss it.
He saw the horrific relief in the crinkles at the corners of your eyes and how smooth your palms were as they held him to you at that single point of deadly contact. How they squeezed gently at the skin, the way Magne often did as she directed him through a crowd—like a friend, with no ill intent, guiding him where he was meant to be.
He saw the many openings you had at your disposal to kill him too, the strength evident in your hold.
And he saw how you took none of them.
It was some combination of all of these things that sucked every ounce of strength from his arms where they held you. As he stared through his mask at your face—relaxed as though in sleep, holding him softly as though you knew him, trusted him—Jin was struck with the realization that he simply couldn’t do it.
Couldn’t land the blow.
Couldn’t send you over the edge.
Couldn’t kill you.
So he didn’t.
Instead of following the shouts of his comrades, Jin kicked up into your chest so hard he could nearly see the wind being knocked straight out of your lungs. Your eyes shot open only for a moment—that awful look of peace distorted in shock. Heavy you fell, slumped into his chest before he had the time to scramble back as his clone rushed forward to land a second blow.
Gasping to the ground, you heaved at the second kick to your head, eyes rolling back and body going still.
But still breathing, he noted in the midst of it all. Cracked ribs still working under the strain of each breath.
His doubles were shouting around him. Spinner was wounded and stumbling away from another hero, now crumpled as well in their own bloody mess. The two identical figures helped to drag his friend to the edge and carry him safely down to the second, lower roof. Jin scrambled away too, only moving forward as Dabi shoved him over the side and brought up the rear.
Your wheezing breaths—the sight of you smiling, holding him, waiting for the final push, shove, then nothing—followed him across each new rooftop and did not fade until he was safely tucked away in the bar Shigaraki had offered them shelter in.
Shigaraki who snapped at him when Dabi snitched on his decision to spare you. Shigaraki who let him keep his bed anyway, who didn’t complain about the blood he’d tracked inside. Shigaraki who still didn’t understand. Still told him not to show any mercy again.
Shigaraki, who hadn’t seen you in that moment. Hadn’t experienced the odd, time stopping silence and felt the weight of your confounding, half smile, the soft weight of your hands.
Jin was certain in the small span of time it took to sulk off to his room that had his boss been there, he’d have done the same.
But the minute his head came to rest on the familiar, bare mattress, he couldn’t help but think that really—had it been Shigaraki in his shoes—had it been Dabi or Spinner or anyone else on his small list of allies—there would be nothing left in that cage of concrete but a small pile of dust and not a single look back.
When he closed his eyes, it was your face he saw again. Staring at him, surprise and fear and betrayal written in the crease of your brow and the turn of your lips as he left you on the ground.
Still breathing.
---
“You’re thinking about it again?”
“No I’m not—yes I am!”
Dabi turned in his seat to give Jin the full experience of his incredulous look, whiskey spilling over the rim of his glass as he waved it.
“Wow, very subtle,” Dabi spoke with a slow drawl which Jin chose to attribute solely to the drink and not to his friend’s general affinity for sarcastic teasing. “You’re really improving.”
He didn’t bother clapping back, he’d only end up proving the point further. So Jin went back to sulking, digging around in his pocket for a smoke, pulling a cigarette from the box with his teeth. Dabi sat, still watching from the corner of his eye, reaching over a hand with two fingers glowing blue at the tips before Jin had a chance to fumble around for a lighter.
He was kind enough to let Jin have the first, calming drag, before snatching the cig for his own. Dabi’s thumb absently brushed against his lips as he pulled back to take the stolen hit of nicotine. Jin couldn’t help but notice how smooth the pads of his fingers were.
Smooth, soft hands. No gloves, bare on his arms, pulling him in—
“I could have.”
Dabi exhaled before speaking, little rings of smoke drifting from his parted lips through the hazy bar lighting. “Could’ve what?”
It wasn’t really a question even though he said it like one. Dabi knew. He was there. He was the one who dragged Jin from the scene of his crime—the evidence left hacking in the dust hundreds of roofs away.
“I could have done it.”
Dabi didn’t believe him, even though it was the only small truth Jin had dared to offer about that night. He was right.
He could have, he just—
“So why didn’t you?”
Jin thought for a moment.
Because your hands were soft, maybe.
Because even through the fabric of his suit, Jin could feel it. Not soft in an easy way either, but soft in the way that a callous gets over time the more you work at it. Like you’d spent years grinding them down until they were smooth and worn as a river stone.
Or maybe because you held him, no matter how split second short it was and he couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched him kindly.
It might have been any number of reasons, any multitude of maybe’s.
So yes, he could have killed you, but no he didn’t.
And that’s why every penny offered for his thoughts these past few weeks had been wasted. It had been you since the moment you smiled in the face of your doom.
“I don’t know,” he said, after a long pause.
Because it was the truth, no matter what Dabi chose to believe.
A scarred hand placed the cigarette back between Jin’s lips, before it trailed down along the stubble of his exposed jaw and settled for cupping his cheek.
Two fingers inched their way under the fabric of his mask, shoved half up and pinched at the sensitive skin there.
“You’re too good for this world, man,” Dabi murmured before pulling away and sauntering off up the stairs.
Jin could tell by the chill in his stare, that he hadn’t meant it as a compliment.
---
In all his, admittedly short, time alive, Jin had found very few things that truly rendered him speechless. In fact, it was quite a feat for anything to astound him so thoroughly that no stream of thought was bursting forth to spill from between his teeth.
Seeing you—alive of course and leaning casually against the front wall of a convenience store with neon lighting casting shadows on your face—did the job.
The plastic bag of stolen goods tumbled to the sidewalk as the sliding glass doors closed behind him. Jin watched your head snap to the side as cans and bottles rattled against the pavement and he stood, dumbstruck and frozen to the spot.
He ought to run, he thought—give himself a head start in the chase that was sure to come.
But he didn’t.
You seemed to have that effect on him.
Though you stayed rooted to your spot as well, foot kicked back against the siding. Your eyes were clearer now, without the haze of adrenaline and ash. They traveled up from his boots, taking in the casual clothes until they met his face, mask still obscuring any defining features.
He saw the slight widening in your gaze, the moment of recognition, and tensed himself for battle.
But it did not come.
Instead, you nodded to him almost politely, turning your face away from the harsh, blue and pink lights as if to say:
Go on.
I didn’t see anything.
But Jin did not go on, against whatever better judgment he still possessed. No, he stayed where he was, surrounded by cheap, shoplifted food in crinkled plastic packaging, staring into the face of a phantom. Because you definitely saw him and he couldn’t have stopped looking at you if he tried.
For all his shock, you seemed generally unaffected. Even peered at him expectantly from the coroner of your eye, waiting for him to scurry like a rat into the night.
Though, as with all decisions, Jin made the worst possible of all and did exactly the opposite of that.
The wall was cool against his back as he leaned against it. Mirroring your stance with a foot kicked back and his bag of contraband settled on the ground by his feet. Jin’s hand habitually reached for the small box in his pocket, flicking out a cigarette and biting the filter.
“You mind?” he asked as he clicked the lighter to life, lifting his mask and taking a drag before you’d actually had time to respond.
The answer was no anyway, judging by the quiet laugh and somewhat exasperated shake of your head.
You stood with your chin tilted up towards the streetlights, nothing but the sliding door separating your shoulder from his. It was strange how the distance seemed so small and so gaping at once.
“How’ve you been?”
Jin wasn’t sure why exactly he chose that question other than it seemed to be the thing to ask when there wasn’t anything else to say.
That and he wanted to hear the answer.
There was a pause and a sigh and then:
“Tired,” you said the way Jin imagined any salary worker might—all wry smile and eyes cast to the ceiling. “You?”
“Better” he responded in kind. “Terrible.”
The comforting burn of smoke filled his lungs and he held in the drag as long as he could before blowing out a cloud of breath into the glowing, neon air.
You nodded again, like you understood, and he supposed you might. It seems like if anyone would understand the particularly crushing weight of circumstances you never asked for and a life you couldn’t escape, it would be you. A hero, standing in the harsh blue light of the city at night, keeping a criminal company while he steals and tries to smoke out the pain from his bones like bees from their hive—both of you knowing the ache will always return home.
From the corner of his eye, Jin watched you crouch on your heels. The next time he reached up to place the cigarette between his lips, he found your nose only inches from his own.
From this close he could see the texture of your skin, the ridges and dips of life in your cheeks. He felt his own grow warm under the harsh, unforgiving light as you leaned in and snatched the smoldering cig from his hand before placing it between your teeth.
Jin stared with wide eyes through the mesh of his mask, as you leaned in close enough for him to feel the heat emanating from your breath—still breathing. Because of him. Because he couldn’t do it.
He jolted as something heavy and cold was placed in his palm. The metal fit in his grasp and for a moment it seemed as though you’d placed a gun into his hand, soft fingers wrapping over his to tighten his hold on the grip before pulling away.
“I can’t,” Jin tried to whisper to you, pushing the weapon back towards your chest but you were already turning on your heel.
He stood frozen to the spot, cold in the darkness of winter and with none of the heat that followed your stare. In silence he watched as you sauntered off down the sidewalk, disappearing into the maze of buildings.
When he finally glanced down, in his palm sat one of the stolen cans of coffee.
His back hit the brick wall of the convenience store, brows knit together and feeling as though he ought to light up another cigarette. Instead, he cracked open the can and gulped the contents, the cool, acidic burn of it settled on his tongue.
Jin guessed that neither of you would get much sleep tonight.
---
The next time he saw you felt like years later.
Or maybe it was more appropriate to say it looked as though years had passed. Nothing had truly changed and it had only been a month at most since that short evening outside the convenience store.
But you seemed to have aged so much in such a short time. Eyes indescribably tired in a way that made Jin’s chest tight.
His breath caught as he tried to convince himself it was just the dim, flickering street light and alley haze that made you appear so insubstantial. That it was simply the eerie, ghost like manner that your figure had emerged from the low hanging steam that made him feel so unsettled.
Not that same, uncomfortably familiar smile. Not the way you turned to let him go, despite the blood on his hands.
“Wait!” he called, unsure when the word had formed and why he’d said anything at all.
He ought to be relieved it was you running into him after a mission gone wrong, any other hero and Jin would be in deep shit.
And then you did wait. You paused halfway through a step towards the brighter lights of the street, illuminated by the headlights of cars—the people inside a star's length away, lightyears between their world and the microcosm contained in the alley, Jin and you the only inhabitants.
“Hey there,” you said, like an old friend. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah,” he responded lamely, the hand he hadn’t noticed reaching out to you across the miles of sidewalk hovering awkwardly in the air.
He watched your brows knit together for just a moment, feet hesitating as though you may leave it at that. But that moment passed quickly, like a breath, like a scream. And Jin found he didn’t flinch when you took a step towards him, warm hand grasping his wrist.
“Let’s take a walk.”
You tugged lightly on his arm and Jin nearly toppled forward with a nod, trailing along behind you as you led him through a maze of side streets, away from the bustling traffic and his crime scene.
Your boots clacked against the cement stairs of the parking structure as you climbed them with Jin at your heels. He watched as you disappeared around a corner and when he clambered up onto the roof, you were stood leaning against the concrete ledge, eyes fixed on the street below.
Jin blinked like his eyes burned. When he breathed in, he tasted ash.
When he came to stand beside you there was an unlit cigarette perched between your fingers, filter first as an offering. Jin caught a sliver of your glance as he muttered a quiet ‘thank you,’ and took the little gift.
His lungs welcomed the familiar, sweet burn.
“I didn’t think you smoked,” he offered, not sure what else to say to break the quiet.
You chuckled beside him. “I don’t—it’s not fast enough.”
“Fast enough?”
The only answer you gave was a long stare and a wry smile.
Jin changed the subject.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve been following me,” he brushed his shoulder against yours in what he hoped was a playful gesture. “What a stalker!”
It seemed to have the desired effect, you laughed beside him, light and airy.
“I think that's just the nature of the city. It’s impossible to be alone here even if you want to be,” you said and Jin nodded like he understood.
“Do you want to be?”
You turned to face him fully as he took another drag choking on the smoke when you spoke again.
“Why didn’t you kill me?”
Jin stared at that face, so tired. Better. Terrible.
“I don’t—Why didn’t you kill me?”
When you smiled this time, it was all teeth and bone.
“I think that’s a bit of a longer story.”
“I don’t have anything better to do,” he said, far too quickly, but Jin was an old hat when it came to embarrassment and his cheeks only tingled when you smiled at his eager response.
“No, I suppose you don’t,” you muttered, sinking to the ground with your back to the roof and staring up at the light polluted sky.
Jin shuffled down to your level.
“Do you know why people become heroes?” you asked softly, after a moment. Beside you, Jin shook his head, enamored by the timbre your voice had taken on—so much fuller than before. “Because they like to be right—like the success and the praise from always being justified. The desire in and of itself is perfectly human, but once you become a hero, everything you do is the right thing even if it’s wrong.”
“Are you always right?” Jin asked, not unkindly, but because he wanted to know.
You chuckled beside him.
“Whether I’m actually right is pretty inconsequential,” you move closer, hips shifting against the cement to press against his side in the chill. “Nothing will ever change—it’ll be me against you for eternity.”
“You’re doing a pretty piss poor job of it now,” he flinched as the words spilled out unbidden, but it only earned him a friendly elbow to the side.
His face felt warm under the mask when you laughed in your chest and let more of your weight rest on him. Your fingers brushed against his.
“We all are, really,” you sighed. “It’s our job to negate ourselves, and when have you ever known a person willing to fight for the loss of their own purpose?”
Jin didn’t know what to say to that, and so he didn’t say anything at all. Just slowly nudged his fingers against your palm until you let the warmth of it rest against his hand.
“So, to answer your question,” you murmured, tilting your head against the concrete wall and turning to stare at him. “I’m tired.”
“Yeah.”
Jin’s fingers twitched in under your hand and you shifted to twin yours in the gaps in his grip, squeezing in the ensuing silence.
“I owe you an apology, I think,” you whispered beside him, eyes trained back on the sky.
“Man, you really are a bad hero,” Jin quipped, hoping to hear that laugh from your gut but you stayed quiet instead, avoiding his gaze.
“Sometimes I think I must really be worse than the rest of them,” you spoke into the night wind. “I was willing to let you carry all that weight just to be free of it.”
“You’re the best of them I’ve ever met,” he said, thigh warm where you fitted your legs against him.
“You didn’t answer my question,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder.
Jin swallowed thickly.
“Why didn’t I kill you? I don’t know, probably because you weren’t going to kill me.”
“And isn’t that the real paradox?” you asked. “We’re all just hurting each other in defense of ourselves. But against what? And how did it start?”
“Where does it all end?” he threw back at you.
“I don’t know,” your answer echoed into the night while the two of you sat in a few more moments of city quiet while he gathered his courage and gripped your hand.
“Like this maybe,” Jin murmured, leaning down to brush his nose to yours, hesitating for a moment.
As always with you, the reasons for his actions were muddled and unclear, but felt like the thing to do. In the half dark parking garage, exposed in the cool air, it felt right to tilt his chin and savor the pull of his stubble on your cheek, the swell of your lips smoothing over his own.
Your cheek was cold in his palm, even through the gloves of his suit. So open, so exposed, Jin couldn’t tell if you no longer required the defense of cloth and metal or if you’d purposefully left your armor behind years ago. Too tired now to dodge the blows. Hoping one day they wouldn’t miss.
He hummed when you slotted your mouth more firmly against his, palm snaking up his forearm and squeezing. When you drew back, a thin string of silvery spit hung between your lips.
“I think I was expecting something a bit bloodier,” you chuckled, resting your forehead on his, pressing against the rough skin of his scar.
“I can do that,” he grunted, feeling the rush of his blood pooling low in his gut as he gripped your waist.
You landed softly in his lap, legs trained to move at a moment's notice easily fitting themselves on either side of him, your ass nestled against his thighs. There were not many words that followed after that. The cool night air had goosebumps erupting over the skin of your chest as Jin tugged at your shirt to bare more skin to him. He groaned when he finally got his mouth around the pebbling skin of your nipple and suckled there. Above him your hands hugged him closer and your hips shifted back and forth against his dick, slowly filling out under your weight.
He nipped at your chest, pulling back with a wet pop as you sighed and dipped down to press sloppy kisses along his jaw and suck his tongue into your mouth. All the while, two sets of clumsy hands pushed and pulled at the fabric between you, creating just enough space for his cock to spring free and slide along the sweet slick leaking from you.
The air caught in your throat as the tip nudged your clit and warmth began to build between your bodies, steam wafting away into the swiftly brightening sky.
This time, when he caught your eye, so close with your foreheads pressed together and sharing your breath, the smile you gave him was just as warm as the feeling of you slowly enveloping his length.
And Jin didn’t hesitate.
In a flurry of movement he rose up on his knees and had your back pressed flush with the cool concrete, ankles locked above the curve of his ass as his hips rolled and you buried your face in the crook of his neck.
You were tight around him, clamping down as he thrust into you at an even pace, the slap of your skin lost to the growing sounds of the city coming alive with the sun. And as he pushed you both towards your highs, Jin thought that right there, right then, he was right.
This is where it would end, whatever battle was being fought would start and end with two strangers on the roof of this desolate parking garage—shouldering a weight unimaginable, and choosing to live anyway.
And then you moaned in his ear, tugging him impossibly closer and rocking your hips up to meet each slam of his, any coherent thought concerning the grander morality of this years long conflict drowned in your gasps and praise and the softness of your skin on his own.
---
There was a small pile of ash growing at his feet when you finally rejoined him at the edge of the roof, clothed again though not nearly enough to ward off the early morning chill.
Jin slung an arm around your shoulder and pulled you close as he took another drag. He held the smoke deep in his lungs as he offered you the cigarette.
You shook your head again, but leaned in to press another kiss to his lips, smoke curling around your teeth.
“I told you I don’t smoke,” you mumbled between licks behind his teeth. “I’d rather go out with a bang, ya know?”
Jin nudged your cheek with his and turned his face back out towards the city skyline where the sun was gently rising over the sea of buildings.
“I love the sunrises here,” he said, casually, as though this was nothing more than a meeting between friends.
And really wasn’t that true? Jin smiled at the thought.
The two of you were quiet again as the morning grew brighter until you softly slipped out from his grasp.
“My shift’ll be ending soon,” you huffed by way of explanation and gathered the rest of your gear from the ground. “I gotta report back.”
“Hey,” Jin called after, panicked by the thought of suddenly being left with the sun and the ignorant crowds soon to be pouring onto the streets.
Never alone, even if you want to be.
“You have to make it back now,” he continued, catching your eye and for the second time, feeling unwavering resolve. “I want to see you again when it’s all over.”
You smiled again, that same one from before but with life behind it. And he thought that maybe that was what you’d looked like at the start. New and young and full of heroic will to fight.
He found he couldn’t wait to know what you’d look like when everything was said and done.
“I guess I’ll have to watch my back then,” you chuckled, turning your wrist to grip his forearm and nodding. “Watch yours too, okay?”
“I will,” he grinned and nodded, slipping his grip to your hand and shaking on the pact.
You tugged then with a strength he hadn’t expected, throwing him off balance and stumbling behind as you lept to the cement ledge.
“See then, Jin.”
He didn’t have the time to shout before you’d disappeared over the side. He scrambled forward, nearly throwing himself off after you, but the ground below was clear as he stared wide eyed. There was no sign to say you’d been here at all except for the burn in his thighs and the indents of your nails on his hand.
He took a deep breath, calming the rattle in his chest and fighting the urge to light another cigarette. As the sidewalks began to fill with commuters, Jin decided it was time that he slipped away as well. And as he walked he thought again that you really must be the best hero he’d ever met.
As much as he’d spent obsessing over for what unknowable reason he had spared your life, he hadn’t thought at all about the implications of you sparing him too.
Worse than the rest of them.
The words echoed in Jin’s head and he scoffed as he shuffled down the stairs to the street.
He shielded his eyes against the sun as he emerged into the crowd and made his way back towards the League’s hideout, confident in the knowledge that you were the best of them all.
And he would see you again, sometime on the other side.
✧ warnings: angst, magne’s death scene, canon compliant character death, trans character written by a trans author, mentions of blood and violence, smut and fluff, first kiss, first time, amab and afab anatomical terms used for Magne, reader has a pussy, but no other gender indicators, the dynamics are all over the place, but mostly service dom Magne, mating press, creampie, oral sex (reader and character receiving), thigh riding, reader is a little bit of a brat but Magne is here for it, angst with an ambiguous/satisfying ending
✧ summary: She’s been dead since the beginning, that Magne knows. The only thing she finds she truly regrets though--as Overhaul sends her back to the stardust she came from--is that she can’t recall the last time she kissed you. So, in her final moments, Magne replays all the days leading up to it, and is pleased to find that her story is not the tragedy she always feared it would become.
✧ a/n: hey my first fic in like two months, anyway thank you so much @cyancherub and @/chaos-night for hosting this collab, check out the masterlist for all the other great works of under appreciated characters! I’m not sure whether you’ll love me or want me dead by the end of this but I promise it’s worth it. Magne deserves so much more love and she’s gonna get it dammit.
Magne was dead.
Or she would be dead soon, in a few more seconds maybe. It was a strange death and not entirely fitting. The moment Overhaul’s hand affixed its grip, she’d been dead on impact—restored back to her natural state. Atomized and drifting in the unknowable ether.
Though, now that she thought about it, hadn’t she been dead this whole time?
Magne had a friend once, when she was younger—grew up to be some author of middling success—and hadn’t they always said something about books and ghosts? Stories were like that—if you die at the end, you’ve been dead from the start. Even as a kid, she’d always known that to be true. That this life was a narrative with an expiration date printed in fading ink. The rest was just a matter of how and when and what would be left behind.
It didn’t hurt as much as she thought it would.
Well, it did, but the pain wasn’t in her joints and muscle and bone being ripped apart at the seams.
It was in your eyes, in the sound of her name on your tongue as you ran with arms outstretched, flying from Spinner’s grip even as he tried to hold you back. She clung onto that. The sound of your tongue working its way across the syllables. It had never sounded more like hers than when it came from your lips. Even now, as she was drifting swiftly out of existence, Magne had never felt more herself than when your gaze fell on her.
Even full of fear and horror and pain.
So no, Magne’s pain was not in her vaporizing physical form. It was in the fact that, right then in those last few moments, she couldn’t quite recall the last time she’d kissed you. And that, in summation of all your time together, she hadn’t done so nearly enough.
Now that was her lot in the camp of villainy. Her life was never going to be any more than a novella’s worth of memories, but it seemed cruel then that so little of that limited space was occupied by you.
Maybe it was fitting then that the ending of it was nothing more than your hands falling just an inch too short to reach her.
Fitting that she spent her last few thoughts trying desperately to remember when and how and where exactly you wormed your way between the lines—took the plot by the throat and said that no story of yours will be a tragedy.
Fitting that she let herself do a little rereading.
---
You were wearing red that first time.
Some ragged, threadbare hoodie Jin scrounged up from the back of some closet in the bar. The other various scraps of fabric left clinging to you looked suspiciously singed as Dabi led you into the taproom.
There was blood on your face and dirt under your fingernails.
Magne couldn’t have stopped staring even if she wanted to. Which she didn’t. Who would when looking at you had her chest getting all tight just like finding the scrappiest of alley cats wandering out of the dark street and watching it presenting its head for pets.
Though judging by the twitch of your lips, you were a bit more ready to bite than let her pat your head and scoop you up, squeezing just a bit too tight.
She listened from the sidelines as Dabi tossed you to the boss like a particularly choice cut of meat and introduced you as his newest recruit.
“Found ‘em beating the living shit outta those guys that swiped Twice’s goods the other day,” he gave a noncommittal wave in your direction before helping himself to a bottle behind the bar.
Shigaraki was looking you up and down with his typical air of skepticism that followed anything Dabi said.
You sniffed, wiping some of the streaks of crimson from your lips like you were proud of the wound. Grinning behind your hand as if to say you don’t know the fucking half of it.
And judging by the bruise just barely forming on the small amount of unscarred cheek, Magne supposed she didn’t. But she found herself very much wanting to, wanting to hear the whole story spoken from your split and punch-swollen lips.
The boss was observant though, to say the least, and he must have seen it too because he laughed that scratchy chuckle of his before welcoming you to the League.
After all, anyone who could get the drop on Dabi— close enough to leave a mark—and not come out a pile of ashes was an asset in and of themselves. But Magne’s smile at the knowledge of this newest addition to the family was a bit wider, a bit toothier than the rest. And her eyes followed you the rest of the night.
The others did not take to you as decidedly as she did though. Not right away in any case.
And you were not entirely without blame.
“The newbie fucking sucks,” Spinner groused as he sat beside her, perched on one of the worn barstools a few weeks later. “Always in shitty mood, talkin’ back to the boss so much I’m shocked he hasn’t dusted—”
“Watch it,” Toga hissed, peering around conspiratorially. “You never know who might be listening.”
She directed a final, knowing yellow glare in Magne’s direction and skipped off with her pilfered kitchen knife back up the stairs. Twice yelled something a few moments after but neither of them moved to investigate further.
Spinner side-eyed her over his clasped hands.
“Yeah, never know who,” he grumbled, though it was a bit more light hearted than she guessed he meant it to be.
Magne rolled her eyes and picked at the fraying hem of her shirt. “I don’t kiss and tell, you know.”
“No,” Spinner agreed with a dry chuckle and added softly, “but you want to.”
If someone had told her at that moment Dabi had decided to put his hands on her cheeks and see how hot he could go before any third degree burns developed, she would have believed them.
“I have no idea what you mean,” she mumbled and tried to hide the very obvious dusting of rose on her cheeks.
“Mm, yeah sure you don’t,” he rolled his eyes and Magne felt some of his teasing tone slip away. “I just don’t understand how it doesn’t bother you.”
“What are you on about now?” she asked
“The monologuing! The parading around acting like Stain himself, the fucking cocky attitude that could quite honestly give Dabi a run for his money—that’s what I’m on about,”
“Well that seems a bit harsh—”
Spinner interrupted her with a huff, “Weren’t you listening last night?”
Magne went silent for a moment. The answer was yes, but also no. Yes, technically she had been in the room and was in possession of a working pair of ears. But not many of the words had really been processed considering her eyes were far more concerned with watching the way your mouth moved as you ‘monologued like Stain himself.’
You were nice to look at, that wasn’t her fault.
But even when she had been tuned in to the group conversation—you at the center, engaged in a heated discussion with Compress and the boss—it wasn’t as though you weren’t making sense.
Although, to be completely fair, your interruption was not entirely invited, so she understood a bit of the animosity.
“You keep talking about them like we’re different,” you spoke with the conversational tone of someone who had said this all before and was used to not being listened to. “Us and the heroes, you’re acting like we all aren’t just rodents with different names.”
Magne might have noticed the tense silence that fell across the bar if it wasn’t for the way your eyes seemed to glow in the dim, overhead light. You were still wearing that ratty old sweatshirt you were on the first night, but she thought it looked brighter on you somehow. There was just some set to your shoulders that made it seem as though all the rips and tears and stains were on purpose.
Something in the set of your jaw that seemed to ask and what about it?
“We’re all rats chewing on each other's bones when it comes down to it. The press can call us whatever they want, but really we’re just heroes that nobody likes,” you paused and caught her eye, holding her gaze for just a second longer than was strictly necessary, “and they’re just villains with higher quality costuming.
“Everything goes to shit when the masses start thinking they aren’t exactly like us,” you knocked back the remains of your glass and brushed past Compress, turning your back on the boss with the kind of confidence often mistaken as reckless abandon. “Just prettier.”
She half expected you to spit the last words—and maybe you did—but you were looking at her when you said them. Looking her in the eye as you passed, you whispered it to her like a secret.
Just prettier.
Magne felt something strange being under your gaze. That grin she knew was hidden behind your hand, those eyes that glowed when you spoke.
That assurance in every word you said.
Just prettier.
And never once had she believed something more.
---
Months later, Magne stood under a streetlight, waiting.
She found that she had done quite a lot of waiting recently. Though she wasn’t quite sure what for. Or at least that’s what she told herself.
It was just a simple resource collection mission the two of you had been volunteered for.
Or you had volunteered and Magne had, with poorly suppressed excitement, offered to accompany you. Though shoplifting from convenience stores wasn’t exactly a two man job and so the both of you had decided to split up and hopefully come up with a bigger haul.
Now Magne was waiting, under a lone streetlight on the edge of the shopping district with hands shoved in her pockets to stave off the cold. Thankfully she wasn’t waiting very long. You never seemed to make her wait very long.
She caught the outline of you approaching, bag heavy and bouncing off your thigh as you approached. Your hands were held up in front of you, despite the chill, and held in them were two steaming cups.
You came to a halt next to her and leaned against the light post, one of the cheap cardboard cups with it’s plastic lid close to melting in the steam offered out in her direction.
“You were shivering,” you said, by way of explanation.
The only explanation actually. No details as to how you’d managed to sneak the blessedly warm cups—of what Magne discovered was tea—past an unsuspecting 7-Eleven attendant. Or why exactly you’d gone to all the trouble besides—
You were shivering.
It made her smile wide in the cheeks as she burnt her tongue on the scalding drink. You were like that—always so averse to admitting any sort of care out loud. She’d discovered early on how to read the screwy little ways you’d come up with to work around that. Magne was cold and you were worried, so you stole what you could to fight off the impending winter.
You cared and that’s all there was to it.
There was a heat rising in her chest that she chose to blame on the near boiling liquid sliding down her throat, but she was well aware that it had formed somewhere deeper and was raring to be let out.
The wind was picking up and the sky—illuminated indefinitely by the silver glow of light pollution—was a heavy grey with snow clouds. She shivered still, but the tremors were easier to ignore now that it wasn’t just her and the streetlight.
Waiting.
Neither of you had spoken for a handful of minutes, but she could feel you stealing glances at her from the corner of her eye.
Always so unwilling to just say it.
Oh well, Magne was fine with taking on the odds.
“I don’t want to go back just yet,” she spoke into the biting night air and watched the words condense into steam.
When she looked down at your figure, leaned against the pole with your foot kicked back, you were looking at her with watery eyes from the force of the wind.
“Let’s take a walk.”
You pushed off in one fluid motion and without glancing behind—with that same certainty in your actions that she would follow—started off down the sidewalk towards the outskirts of the city.
And follow she did, hands warmed by the moist cardboard and the sight of you, coat blowing back in the wind, walking forward like you knew exactly where you were going. Even if there wasn’t exactly a destination.
The park was just as cold as city streets but this was the veritable shitty part of town, far from even the League’s hideout. And because it was run down, that meant the streetlights were all long broken out or fitted with dead bulbs that didn’t block the stars from view.
Not that she could see many with the impending storm, but that was alright. It was enough to catch just one or two. Magne didn’t think of herself as a person much afflicted with greed. She took what came to her, as long as it was free.
Maybe that’s why she liked you so much, so unbridled, so certain.
Liked you.
Now it was her who was a bit averse to admitting things, that being the first time she’d ever thought to herself that the growing affinity for your presence might carry a bit more implication.
So it was the shittiest part of town, but also the most beautiful.
Just prettier.
Because of the stars and the smashed light bulbs and the two of you standing, tea in hand, pretending to be staring up at the sky.
We’re all just rats.
She thought about that idea quite a lot since you’d floated it out that night so long ago.
But did heroes star gaze like it was an excuse? Did they care so much it sat like a rock in their stomach and only worked its way out through cold, heavy fingers? Did they bother to figure out the best place in the city was some rundown park on a winter night with cold tea in your hand, not letting go cause you know what it means?
Magne didn’t think so.
Was it them that was prettier or was it just their pain?
Maybe they were prettier—prettier when they were suffering. The pain they carry was just more palatable. They were noble when they fell and cried over the other rats, bleeding out in the arena.
Wasn’t it just that the sadistic masses need to see beauty in their burns so they could convince themselves they were more than just sick voyeurs.
You were braver for showing the blisters, she thought, with your face still full into the biting wind just so she was still in your peripheral as you pretended to search for sagittarius between the clouds.
If they all really were the same rats scurrying around under the same unfeeling sky, then no one was closer to divinity in pain than they were hiding in the sewers.
“Do you think we’ll win?”
Magne asked it without really meaning to. The words came with a mind of their own, knowing themselves how desperately she needed the answer. From you. From that tongue that was so sure of itself, there would be no lying.
Will we ever crawl our way out?
See the sun?
Just live in our pain that hurts to look at?
You didn’t meet her eye when you spoke, but she met yours. Magne watched the living ghost of certainty that some might see and name arrogance possess your eyes turned skyward. And with a confidence that stuck in her bones like radium and glowed with the same surety of your eyes on that first night, you breathed out a response.
“We already have,” you said, setting your cooling cup down on the curb and turning to face her head on. “We won the second we dared to breathe their air and force our names into their mouths. Our existence alone refutes the rules they live by.”
You were still talking but Magne couldn’t quite process all the words. Something about creation and protection and a light on the other side. The sun peaking through gaps in the manholes. A sewer ready to be washed clean by the flood.
But it wasn’t really the words that were important. It was the way you said them. Like you knew they were true, not just believed it like the boss believed his sensei or Dabi and Spinner believed Stain, but knew. And it was in your eyes as you looked at her and spoke with that assuredness, that had made her feel seen for the first time maybe in her whole life.
Like she was simply Magne in that moment. And you’d never looked at her and seen anything other than that.
Maybe that’s why she kissed you then.
Dropped her cold tea to the pavement and bent herself nearly in half to reach your lips—mid sentence. Maybe that was why she held your face and fit your mouths together and finally gave up on waiting.
Your hands hung limp at your sides for only a second before they were in her hair and if Magne thought that she had never been more herself than when you looked at her, this was whatever the opposite of transmutation was. This was actualization, your fingers scratching the stubble on her jaw and pulling her impossibly closer against the cold wind.
She licked at the scab on your split lip until it bled like it had when Dabi dragged you through the doors of the bar and plopped you like a blessing at her feet. Magne knew she was holding on so tight your feet were coming off the ground, but the only sound you made was a small gasp that she swallowed with the wind and snow threatening to fall.
It wasn’t short or long, the time that she spent running her tongue along your lips and feeling you fit against her under the burn out streetlights simply was. Separate from the movement of the city blocks and blocks away.
When Magne pulled back, she stared into those eyes—so secure, so certain.
And she wasn’t shivering anymore.
---
Magne stared across the sea of half drunk glasses at where you sat, head resting on the bar—staring back.
The rest of the League was long gone this far into their first celebratory night in weeks. Dabi and the boss were the first to go, both dragging the other up the stairs after handful of drinks Jin and Compress followed soon after, disappearing into the maze of back rooms as Spinner dozed by the shoplifted space heater and Toga ran off with one of his many switchblades.
Now it was just you, smiling with a heat in the pull of your cheeks Magne wanted desperately to feel against her palm. But neither of you had spoken much about what happened a week before. Not for lack of trying on her part, the League was expanding and with members split across the city, it was hard to do much but stumble back to base and catch what little sleep they could.
No time for discussions of what kissing your coconspirator in arms did or didn’t mean.
There was time now, she thought, glancing over to make sure Spinner was still well and truly entrenched in his dreams before she shifted from her seat.
She might have been more nervous for what came next if she hadn’t felt your eyes, sharp and clear and focused on her through all the festivities. It was charming, in an endearing sort of way, how badly you wanted this as well and how unwilling you were to do very much other than stare from afar.
For someone as sure of yourself, you clammed up the second a certain beautiful woman met your gaze. She couldn’t help but chuckle a bit to herself, watching you peer at her over your elbow while she approached, like a high schooler with a crush.
Like you hadn’t been the one sweeping her off her feet with nothing but the stars as witness. Magne felt that she was owed a bit of fun pushing your buttons.
Just prettier.
You were shivering.
“I think I’ll turn in too,” she murmured, coming up behind you and pulling the half filled bottle beside you off the bar top.
You hummed, sitting up and moving to turn on the stool and face her but Magne took another step before you could. Your back was warm against her chest as she leaned over you, trailing her free hand softly up your arm as she placed the bottle behind the counter. She felt the shiver run up your spine and the gooseflesh that erupted wherever her fingers touched.
“My door is always unlocked, you know,” she continued, the stubble on her chin scratching against your cheek as she whispered in your ear, “if you get lonely down here.”
Magne didn’t wait for your answer before making her exit.
The stairs creaked under her as she made her way up towards the room at the end of the hall she claimed on her own first night.
And this time, she wasn’t kept waiting at all.
The door squealed on its hinges as your hand curled around the wood and pushed it open just enough for you to slip inside. She heard the lock click as you leaned back against the frame and looked everywhere but at Magne where she sat on the edge of her bed.
Well, bed was a strong word for what only amounted to a few mattresses stacked in the corner, but that seemed unimportant now that you were there.
There and looking incredibly uncertain.
“I’m sure the baseboards aren’t as interesting as you’re making them out to be,” she chuckled, ducking her head down to try and catch your eye.
Though her efforts were unsuccessful, you did crack a reluctant smile before taking a step closer to the center of the room and toying with the hem of that old hoodie you still wore.
“Hey,” she sighed softly, all of the excitement leaking out of her like the hideout’s roof in a rainstorm,”what’s up—
“I’m sorry.”
You said it so quickly she almost missed it, fingers tangled in the red strings fraying off the edges of your sweater but finally looking her in the eye.
“What do you mean?” she asked, a little more forcefully than was necessary.
But Magne was…concerned wasn’t really the word for it but she could feel that same kind of anxiety bubbling up in her throat. She’d never seen you like this before—so unsure it shook her to her core. If there was anything in the fucking world that could make your hands tremble the way they did now, Magne would be horrified to meet it.
“I—” you started speaking and trailed off, long enough for her to stand and make her way over to you, illuminated by the streetlight outside her window. “I don’t know, I just feel like I should apologize.”
“For what?” she asked, reaching out to take your hand and pulling the strings from your fingers, though it didn’t seem you were listening.
“I’ve been putting this off for so long and I’m not really sure why,” you rambled, brows gathering together and creasing your forehead. “But I’m sorry, really, Magne—”
She almost choked when you said her name like that, the familiar steel of assurance sliding back into your voice as you did. Like it was the one thing you were always sure of.
“For what?” she repeated again and this time your eyes flicked up and locked with hers.
“For not doing this sooner.”
It wasn’t until a split second after you’d buried a steady hand in her hair and dragged her down to you that Magne’s brain caught up to the sequence of events.
She thought she deserved a free pass for being a little slow on the uptake though, it wasn’t everyday she was kissed like it was the end of the world and she was the last thing you were doing.
Because that was exactly how it felt when you pressed your lips to hers and nipped at her bottom lip so hard she gasped. But Magne didn’t stay shell shocked for long.
The second it all registered—that you wanted her too, that you have been this whole time, that she wasn’t just reading it all in rose tint—you didn’t remain on the floor for much longer.
It was a whirl of limbs as Magne wrapped you in her arms where you felt just as good as she always knew you would and maneuvered you onto her bed, lips never leaving your mouth, your neck, your jawline.
You landed with a dull thud and she was on you in seconds, not willing to let your chest leave her’s for more than absolutely necessary. She fit a knee between your legs and nearly came in her fucking pants when you grinded against it, so warm she could feel it even through her jeans. It wasn’t until she was halfway to yanking off that hoodie and seeing all the delicious skin underneath that you caught her hands.
“Magne wait,” you said.
Your eyes weren’t shaky any more though, and you were panting while rolling your hips on her thigh even as you held her wrists in place.
“No,” she whimpered, and maybe it was pathetic the way her voice came out in a whine but she couldn’t spare the thoughts to be embarrassed with all the blood rushing from her head. “Please, I’ve done so much of that already.”
Even in the dim light, Magne swore she could see your pupils grow wide—swallowing all the color of your pretty eyes—as you swallowed thickly and nodded.
Magne groaned when she finally felt her palms on the bare skin of your stomach, the sweatshirt tossed away along with her own button-up. Her fingers dug into your hips, leaving little imprints as she dragged you forward and into her lap. Seated on the edge of the bed with you perched on her thigh she rocked you back and forth until you got the hint and built up your own rhythm.
“Let me make you feel good.” she whispered, licking up the shell of your ear and biting softly at the lobe just to feel the shiver it sent down your spine—feel the throbbing against her thigh.
“Like you aren’t already,” you huffed.
She could tell you were trying to sound incredulous, but that was a hard look to pull off. Especially when she could feel the growing wet spot on her jeans and the little whimper that slipped passed your lips when she pinched lightly at your nipples.
“Let me make you feel even better then, yeah?”
Magne was grinning down at you, enjoying the way you seemed to be falling apart so easily for her. That was not entirely where she was expecting things to go, but it was more than alright. She loved the way your gaze was getting a bit glassy, the windows beginning to develop a thin layer of condensation from your rapidly heating bodies.
“I suppose,” you tried to make a straight face at her but your brows quickly furrowed, lips parted as she palmed at your chest and leaned you back far enough to suckle at one of your nipples.
“You suppose?” she mouthed around it, letting her teeth graze at the bud before dragging her tongue in slow circles and feeling your chest rising with every breath.
“Yeah—fuck,” you dropped any ploy of being unaffected when her free hand dropped to press against your clit through the damp fabric of your pants.
“Then ask for it.”
You looked up at her bewildered as she pulled away entirely, nothing holding you to her but your arms around her neck. Your pussy still leaked against her thigh, so hard under you but not offering nearly enough friction.
“What do you—” your voice cracked as you reached for her hand, drawing it back to your chest but she settled her fingers around your neck instead.
Her grip was loose but enough to draw you forward so she could lick lazily into your mouth while you helplessly rocked your hips against her.
“Ask for what you want,” Magne mumbled against your lips, trying so hard not to look you in the eyes, knowing she’d cave if you stared at her too long with that look that made her feel so transparent.
You were silent for a moment, save for the little gasps she drew from you as she ran her tongue along the backs of your teeth—tangling it with your own so that drool slipped down your chin. She pulled back only when you murmured something into her mouth
“What was that?” she teased, very much enjoying how incredibly frustrated you looked being forced to admit your every desire out loud.
“I want you to touch me,” you said finally, spitting the words like they burnt your tongue.
“Touch you where?” Magne goaded, placing her hands back on your chest to toy with you again, glowing with your attention focused solely on her, even as your look soured further.
“Use your own discretion, asshole.”
You meant it to be biting, but she didn’t mind taking a command or two. And she certainly didn’t mind getting free reign to make you fall apart under her as many times as she wanted.
Sounded heavenly, really.
Guiding your legs to wrap around her, Magne rolled to lay you out on your back and tugged at the waistband of your pants, waiting until you started to squirm in response to tug them off completely.
She shouldn’t have been surprised, but watching the silvery strings of slick that caught on the fabric as she pulled it away from your pussy was nothing short of mesmerizing. Her reaction was instinctive, fingers trailing through the mess between your thighs to bring them back to her lips and taste you.
Yeah.
Fucking heavenly.
You were watching her as she sucked you off her fingers and with your mouth hanging open, your legs falling subconsciously further apart.
Magne supposed that was as much of an indication as she was going to get out of you and settled herself down on the mattress between your thighs.
“What are you doing?” you gasped, words interrupted by little moans as Magne sucked bruises into the meat of your thighs, licking and sucking everywhere but your soaked lips, so soft and drenched for her.
She glanced up at you, lips coming to hover deviously over your clit as she spoke.
“Using my discretion.”
Pausing just long enough to see the hilarious outrage on your face, Magne licked a long strip from your hole to the swollen bundle of nerves and sucked hard against it, shuddering as you bucked into her mouth and clawed at her shoulders.
You tasted—for lack of a better word—so fucking good it hurt.
Really Magne wanted to be more eloquent, wanted to wax poetic about how soft you felt against the stubble of her cheek and how sweet you were on her tongue and how she’d live and die between your thighs if you’d let her. Croon your name until you glared at her for being too sappy.
But she settled with just groaning against your pussy for now, loving how the vibrations of it made you twitch.
Reaching a hand up to play with your chest, she felt her cock twitch—so hard for you—when your fingers laced with hers. She almost hadn’t registered her own hips canting against the mattress as she licked circles on your clit.
Her jeans were uncomfortably tight, suffocating in the heat of the room, almost sweltering despite the dead of winter raging outside.
She wondered idly if it was snowing, like that first time you kissed her.
She hoped it was.
Hoped you would think of this, think of her, every time the cold returned.
“So pretty,” she murmured, pulling back to gaze down at you panting below her. “You want my fingers?”
Your head lolled on your neck, but you broke out of the daze long enough to growl, “I want you to fucking rail me.”
“Not to brag,” Magne mused, sliding a thick finger through your slick and sinking in to the first knuckle. “But I think you’ll need a little warm up for that, lovely.”
Just judging by how tightly your walls clamped down on her finger as she went back to sucking at your clit and working you open, Magne was correct in her assumption. But you pouted regardless, somewhat annoyed huffing morphing quickly into a keen as she curled her finger and pressed deep inside.
She pulled back to her knees, watching your hole twitch as she rocked her palm against your pussy, letting your slick collect there as she fumbled with the button on her pants.
“More,” you gasped, meeting every thrust of her hand and Magne couldn’t help the chuckle.
She always liked you a little bossy.
“Of course, sweet thing,” she cooed, gently pressing a second finger in along the first and blissfully freeing her cock from the confines of her pants. “Whatever you want.”
The strangled sound that left you as she fucked her fingers into you harder, grinding her palm against your clit and lazily stroking herself to the sight of you had her even more desperate to bounce you on her dick then she was before.
Which was saying something, because there really wasn’t much else on her mind except that.
You’d look so good up there, she just knew it. So good split in half and drooling all over yourself as she fucked you so good—
“Think you’re ready, baby?” Magne was panting now too as she asked it, thumb teasing at the head of her cock as she pulled her hand back from you, palm sticky and glistening with your slick.
She expected you to snap at her at least a little bit for the pet name, but you just laid still, staring wide-eyed and following the hand stroking her length. Magne shivered under your unwavering gaze, shifting a bit on the bed and feeling the skin of her cheeks burn.
“Is it okay?”
Her voice was so quiet she thought you might not have heard the question but then she caught the little crease in your brow and your eyes traveled to her face.
“Okay is not the word I’d use, baby.”
Ah, there it was.
Though your quip did little to reassure her, the way that you propped yourself up and rolled off the bed on shaky legs did. Your hands trailed up her thighs and pulled until she sat again on the edge of the mattress and you tugged until her jeans were pooled at her ankles.
“What words would you use?” she asked, mesmerized as she took in the sight of you, standing bare between her knees. It was everything she thought it would be.
And she thought about this exact scenario a lot.
Some of your general, confident presence of mind seemed to have returned through the fog of lust as you smirked down at her.
“That’s the most gorgeous dick I’ve ever seen in my life and if it’s not in me in the next ten seconds I’m gonna scream so loud the whole team will be banging on your door and I’ll let them watch.”
Magne knew if her face wasn’t dusted pink before it certainly was now, that flush almost definitely creeping down her chest too. You sunk slowly to your knees until you were eye level with her cock and looking up at her through your lashes.
“Those are the words I’d use,” you said simply before licking a stripe up the length of her and kissing sweetly at the tip.
It was a physical struggle to not cum all over your infuriatingly pretty grin.
“Holy shit,” she cursed, cradling your head in her hand as you sucked lightly at the head of her dick, pulling back when her thighs started shaking in your grip.
“Ten, nine, eight,” you whispered that cocky little smile still pulling at your cheeks.
It took her a moment as you continued to count until the realization of your cheeky fucking game dawned on her. Magne rolled her eyes and hauled you by your arms, grabbing at the meat of your ass and pulling you back into her lap.
“Hope you’re ready then,” she murmured into your ear, one hand on your throat to ensure she could watch your face and the other, still coated with your slick, smeared the mess on her cock to ease the sting.
She watched in awe as your expression contorted while she lined up with your entrance and pushed just the tip inside. Your jaw hung loose and your tongue lolled out of your mouth as she let gravity do the work to sink you down on her cock. Moaning right along with you as your pussy enveloped her, so fucking tight and warm and—
“So perfect, baby,” she gasped, pressing her forehead to yours and whimpering softly as your ass came to meet her thighs.
Neither of you moved for a moment, just sat pleasantly sweaty with the cold wind howling against the windows. Just listening to your breathing sync as she burned every sensation in to her memory—the hard mattress under her with the stained and fraying sheets, the glide of your hot skin against hers, the brush of yours chests, the smell of whatever fruity thing you’d been drinking that night.
Your eyes on her too, seeing her, seeing her as she’d always craved to be seen.
Magne blinked once just to make sure the image of it was imprinted on her eyelid. Just so she’d never forget a second of it.
Your hands came up slowly, pulling at the edge of her under shirt and lifting the hem. She raised her arms for you, letting the last piece of clothing fall to the floor as you leaned back to take her in.
“Magne,” you whispered and she felt her cock twitch inside you at her name on your lips. “So pretty.”
You trailed your hands up her biceps that barely fit in your palm, and ran gentle fingers through the soft hair on her chest, lightly cupping the swell of her tits and pinching at her nipples until she gasped.
“So good,” you mumbled, cupping her face and looking in her eyes. “Want you to fuck me so good.”
You didn’t really have to ask.
Magne brought her hands up to grip your hips and helped you lift up slowly until the tip caught at your slit thrusting up into you all at once.
The sound you made as her cock settled back deep inside was so mouth watering, Magne couldn’t help but plant her feet on the floor and do it over and over again.
You moaned low and long every time she rolled your hips together and nipped at your throat or your lips as she fucked you deep and slow. Your hands gripped at the muscles of her shoulders and back, trying so hard to stay upright and watch her as you lazily bounced on her lap. But she could see the way your eyes had glazed over again, so lost in the drag of her against your walls that your body went limp in her arms.
But Magne couldn't find it in herself to mourn the loss of your gaze. She let you nestle your head against her shoulder, fingernails still digging into her back as she rested against you as well and rocked her hips up lazily—knowing from how painfully tight you got that she was angled right.
You felt so good, too good, so wet and hot around her, slick leaking out and around her balls. She listened to the wet sound of your pussy sucking her in, milking her dry and knew she wouldn’t last much longer.
“I wanna make you cum, sweet thing,” she spoke into the quiet, steamy air of the room and felt you hold her tighter. “Can I make you cum?”
“Mhm,” you hummed your chest pressed to hers, not an inch of space between your bodies. “Please.”
Magne just about melted then and there with how broken your voice sounded in her ear, how sweet you felt all tucked in her lap, on her cock.
On hand left your hip to dip between your bodies until she found the swollen nub of your clit. So wet with your own arousal, her fingers gilded easily in circles against it faster and faster until you swore against her neck.
“More?” she asked, cheek pressed against yours as she kept her slow rhythm dragging you up and down the full length of her.
“I’m pretty sure I did ask you to rail me,” you choked out, a little of the familiar edge to your words working it’s way in over the haze of your bodies joining.
Magne chuckled dryly and tensed her thighs.
“Yes, yes you did.”
She pressed a chaste kiss to the side of your neck before turning and pulling you with her back on the bed. You whimpered as her aching dick slipped out of you for a moment until she could kneel, rearranging your limbs until you were laid on your back, ass hiked up on her thighs and one of her strong arms looped around your back.
Without bothering to warn you, Magne lined herself up and sunk back in to the hilt. She groaned at the way your eyes rolled up in your head and one of your hands came up so you could bite at the knuckle.
“You feel so good, you know that?” she groaned, trading her slow, deep thrusts, for a shallower, harsher pace.
Her hips slapped into your ass so hard she was sure there would be a bruise when you woke up. The fingers of her free hand found their way back to your clit and rubbed punishing circles onto the nerves until you squirmed and cried and clamped so hard on her cock.
“You really ought to be sorry actually,” she wasn’t even truly aware of the words leaving her, they simply fell unbidden from her lips, “keeping this pussy from me for so long.”
You nodded incoherently, choking on your own moans as she felt your legs clamp around her waist and she picked up the pace of her rhythm again. Blowing your goddamn back out just like you asked.
She’d give you anything if you just asked.
Even if you didn’t.
“Wanna feel you cum, please,” she begged, eyes trained on your face so she could watch you fall apart. “Cum for me, want to feel it so bad.”
And again, you didn’t keep her waiting.
Your walls spasmed around her length, and she kept thrusting--fucking you through it while you thrashed against the sheets face so slack and pretty while you came all over her cock.
Magne lost it a bit at that. There was something about seeing you so completely vacant except for the pulsing of your pussy around her that itched at something deep and feral in her brain. In a flurry of movement she had you bent in half, your legs on her shoulders and pounding into you harder than before, determined to pump you full as you clawed at her back to pull her impossibly closer.
There wasn’t a more gorgeous pain than this—pleasure so hot it burned, left scars behind in its wake. She hoped your scratches never left her skin, so she always remembered the sting of loving you.
And then she was spilling herself deep in your core and listening to you gasp as the warmth of it spread and dripped out in a thick stream.
For a few seconds you remained like that, panting into the small space between your noses and not saying a word. It was Magne that moved first, rolling slowly until you were settled on her chest and her head was resting on the flattened pillows. She didn’t bother to pull out and you seemed not to care about the veritable mess between your thighs, so you stayed joined.
Your hand came up to run through her hair and scratch at the stubble on her chin.
When she did gather the strength to open her eyes, she found you gazing down at her. You had that look again. The same one from the bar on that first night and from the park on the city limits with cold tea in your hand and the truth on your tongue.
Like you had never been more certain of anything.
And for one foolish, blessed moment, everything—all of it, life on the city limits, villainy and the cause they were fighting for—seemed a lot less complicated than it really was.
She didn’t bother to close her eyes until you leaned down to kiss her again, letting the wind drown out the rest of the world for a few minutes more.
---
But it was complicated.
Or, more accurately, it was very simple—painfully simple—and that’s what made it so, so messy.
She’s been dead from the beginning. Just like she’s been Magne from the beginning. That’s all there was to it, but you made everything so much more intricate.
You were still looking at her with that face full of rage and horror and certainty while she stared back for as long as she had left until it finally clicked.
The last time she kissed you.
The night before, when you were the only two left in the hideout and didn’t have to bother keeping quiet. She kissed you and tasted herself on your tongue, tasted all of herself spilling from your lips.
She tried to conjure up your face as it was then—soft and hazy and sure as you stared up at her, a hand on her cheek, thumb rubbing little circles over the stubble.
Yes.
If you die at any point, you’ve been dead the whole story. Magne had been dead since the beginning. But then she must have been yours since the beginning too.
Because she was yours now and the same logic must apply.
If she got to be yours for these few, blissful months, then she was yours her whole life. That’s why you always knew how to say her name just right.
Even now as you screamed and reached for her, it was just right.
Because you’d known it before it was hers.
So you’ve always said it like it was the truth.
Because it was.
Because you had always been able to see her.
Even when she was dying, you were looking, looking and seeing her as she was always meant to be. Shouting her name and knowing the truth of it.
And you looked so lovely—fingers splayed out reaching for her hand as it disintegrated, tear tracks down your pretty cheeks, eyes wild and so, so sure of everything.
Even though you didn’t have to be.
Even though your pain didn’t have to be lovely, didn’t have to be pretty.
And Magne knew then—just as she was verging on the precipice of never knowing anything again—that you were right.
She was winning simply by virtue of being alive.
If she won at any point in the story, she was winning her whole cursed fucking life. And she won when you kissed her in the cold, under the stars she was preparing to return to.
Her story was never going to be a tragedy.
Because if you gazed up at the stars, at any point in the narrative, you were always stargazing. And as the last atom that was once Magne ceased to exist, she would be stardust again.
Stardust that you gazed up at in the cold, cloudy, city-limit sky.
Even when she was gone, you would always be looking.
