#kai chisaki

[snaggz]

ten hour flight, villains edition. where we sittin?

[avedukedantalion]

You. You. You.

Yandere Overhaul x Reader

Word count: 3.9k

Summary: He will keep you weak, keep you quiet, and drug you into perfect, mindless compliance.

Warnings: Graphic violence description, unreliable narrator, food deprivation, heavy drugging, infantalization, kidnapping, mind break, stalking, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

Author's Notes: Companion fic of Sedated. Both can be read independently.

Overhaul stared down at the unrecognizable heap of viscera at his feet. The low-ranking asset currently smeared across the concrete of the narrow commercial alleyway had ceased to be a man three seconds ago. It was sickening. A physical manifestation of the quirk-infected sickness plaguing humanity.

The fool had pocketed a shipment of specialized quirk-suppressing compound intended for the Shie Hassaikai’s labs, foolishly trying to broker a side deal with a rival syndicate on this exact street. Worse than the theft, however, was the absolute lack of hygiene in his execution. The man had bled all over the brickwork before he even touched him. 

He pulled a fresh linen handkerchief from his pocket, his jaw tightening beneath the leather lining of his beak. He lowered his hand, carefully dabbing at a stray, microscopic droplet of dark crimson that had managed to land on his left cuff.

Then, the sudden, sharp scrape of a rubber sole against concrete echoed from the mouth of the alley.

It was you.

He kept his back completely rigid, his golden eyes tracking your reflection perfectly in the rain-slicked glass of a discarded bottle against the brick wall. 

He had been observing you for exactly twenty-four days.

He had monitored the predictable grid of your daily routine. You left your apartment at the same hour. You bought the same convenience store meals every Tuesday evening. And, with a dangerous lack of self-preservation, you consistently used this neglected alleyway as a shortcut to bypass the heavy foot traffic of the pedestrian district.

Today, however, you were precisely seven minutes ahead of schedule.

An irritation, really. Had he known your timing would fluctuate, he would have broken the thief closer to the dumpster, away from the path of your clean, uncorrupted orbit. 

Behind him, he heard the soft, trembling drag of your heel as you took a cautious step backward. Then another.

Overhaul could feel the violent spike of your panic. You were trying to gaslight yourself. He could practically see the frantic thoughts spinning in your head, desperately convincing yourself that he was too engrossed in his grim work to notice you.

He let you believe the lie. He kept his back turned to you, his fingers calmly pressing the linen cloth against his sleeve, waiting as your heels finally hit the bustling sidewalk of the main street. 

He looked down at the stained handkerchief in his gloved hand, his golden eyes narrowing in profound disgust. He tossed the soiled linen onto the heap of viscera at his feet, already reaching into his pocket for a fresh pair of latex gloves.

He would let you have your small, desperate illusion of safety for a few more days.

_

Three weeks ago was a perfectly unremarkable one. The sky was an aggressive, unappealing gray, and a sudden, sharp downpour had turned the concrete sidewalk into a slick mirror of urban grime. Pedestrians were scrambling under awnings, shoving past one another with a loud lack of dignity.

You were standing near the entrance of a local convenience store, a clear plastic umbrella tilted over your shoulder.

Overhaul had paused beneath the overhang of a closed storefront across the narrow street as he waited for the crowd to thin. He was already irritated; a stray drop of rain had hit his bare neck, and the humidity was making his skin itch beneath his collar. He despised the city when it rained—it felt as though the entire populace were soaking in their own collective filth.

But as he looked across the asphalt, his gaze locked onto you.

By every standard of the modern world, you were painfully boring. Your hair was slightly frizzy from the damp air, your sneakers were worn at the heels, and you were holding a plastic grocery bag with a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs. You were entirely consumed by the most pathetic, small-scale anxieties imaginable. He could see it in the way your brow furrowed as your lips moved silently—you were mentally math-ing out your budget, stressing over a fifty-yen discrepancy on your receipt. You were so deeply beneath him, that under any other circumstance, his eyes would have slid right past you without registering your existence. 

And then, a stray calico cat—drenched in the street’s disease-ridden filth—crept out from beneath a vending machine near your boots. 

Overhaul had expected you to kick it away, or at least draw back in a natural human response to a parasite-carrying vector. But you didn't. A slight frown pulled at your lips as you tilted your umbrella forward, extending its canopy to shield the shivering animal from the downpour, while letting the cold rain beat directly against your own shoulder. 

It was an incredibly stupid, economically inefficient action. You were ruining your cheap coat and soaking your hair just to give dry ground to a stray animal that would likely be dead in a week anyway. You lacked even the basic intelligence required for self-preservation.

Yet, as you adjusted the plastic handle, you happened to look up. Across the narrow street, through the heavy curtain of falling rain, your gaze collided directly with his mask.

Overhaul’s breath caught in his filter.

Your eyes were beautiful.

They were bright, vibrant, and filled with an uncorrupted sort of life—a quiet, stubborn vitality that seemed completely untouched by the decay of the surrounding world. For a fleeting instant, you look past the ominous beak of his mask to meet his gaze directly—utterly without fear—before offering a polite nod of your head and turning back to the street. 

Suddenly, the thoughts slammed into his brain, relentless and consuming, rooting a fierce, vicious possessiveness deep in his gut. He cannot scrub you out of his mind, you, a thing so pure could not be allowed to exist out here. The chaotic whims of quirk society would inevitably smear their dirt across those clear eyes, dragging you down into the mud until you were ruined by the sickness of this world.

As you finally stepped out into the rain and walked away, Overhaul remained frozen under the awning. He watched the back of your coat until you disappeared around the corner of the commercial block. 

He had memorized the exact dimensions of your life within forty-eight hours of that rainy afternoon. It was a remarkably uncomplicated file.

You were, by every metric of the modern world, entirely inconsequential. A baseline Quirkless civilian. Apartment 302—a cramped, third-floor unit with a sticking front lock and a window that looked out onto an unappealing brick alleyway. You lived completely alone. There was no emergency contact listed on your lease. Even your past was a clean slate, you had cut ties with your family three years ago after a bitter conflict, packing your life into cardboard boxes and moving here. Since then, you had no close friends, let alone significant others. There were no colleagues who would notice an empty desk for more than a single payroll cycle before replacing you. 

You had no one.

But watching you from afar was beginning to sour into a distinct, tightening frustration beneath his collar.

Because you had no one to protect you, the city was treating you like it treated all its garbage. He had watched a loud, unwashed group of drunkards stumble past you last Thursday, shouting obscenities that made you flinch and press your grocery bag against your chest. He had seen a rogue delivery cyclist nearly take you off your feet on a crosswalk, forcing you to scramble onto the dirty concrete. Every day you spent out here, unsupervised and painfully defenseless, was a liability.

The sky was clear today.

Fom twenty yards away, you were walking home from the store, carrying a single, mundane grocery bag. 

He stepped into the current of the crowd, his dark coat cutting through the sea of bodies. The street was a loud, chaotic mess—humanity at its most disorganized. People shoved past one another, laughing loudly, breathing the same stagnant air, tracking filth across the concrete with every step. The sheer volume of the crowd made his skin crawl. It was a breeding ground for sickness. How could you survive out here? How long before one of these mindless cattle bumped into you too hard, stained your clothes, or dragged you into their filth? 

He had anticipated you to bolt when you saw him, forcing a messy, public chase through a crowded commercial block. Instead, you kept walking directly toward him.

Your hands were trembling against the thin plastic of your grocery bag, your knees stiff with terror. It was a pathetic, transparent performance, but it fascinated him. As you came parallel to him, you forced a tight, polite smile onto your face and looked right into the eyes of a monster.

"Hey, cool mask," you said. Your voice squeaked, a fragile, desperate little sound, before you immediately tried to brush past his shoulder into the safety of the crowd.

Overhaul didn't reply, but beneath the leather lining of his mask, his teeth clicked together. A sudden, violent jolt of adrenaline spiked straight to his chest. It was a lie. A beautiful, naive, insulting little lie, a cheap performance born of the desperate urge to survive. You knew exactly what he was. You knew what he had done in that alleyway. And yet, the sheer, frantic audacity of you trying to charm your way past him sent a wave of heat rushing through his veins. It didn't disgust him; it drove his obsession into a fever pitch. 

He wants you. He needs you now, right now, to break that useless, beautiful fight out of your chest, to scrub the city's dirt off your skin himself and lock you away where nobody else can ever look at you, touch you, stain you—no, he needs you. Need you. You. You. You. God, you. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You. You.

As you passed his shoulder, his hand moved with a practiced speed. The syringe hidden within the sleeve of his coat, jabbed hard into the side of your neck.

Instantly, the frantic energy radiating off you withered. The grocery bag slipped from your limp fingers, a carton of eggs cracking against the concrete, a loaf of bread rolling into the dirt. Your knees buckled, your gravity completely failing you as you began to collapse toward the filthy sidewalk.

Overhaul stepped forward, his pristine white gloves catching you beneath the arms before your clothes could touch the contaminated ground. His entire body went instantly rigid beneath his layers of fabric. The fabric of your jacket had touched the city air, the outdoor benches, the filthy pedestrian crowds; it was a walking surface of bacteria, making his skin itch violently beneath his collar.

But as his golden eyes darted down to your face, watching your eyelids flutter as the heavy sedative slammed into your nervous system, drowning your beautiful eyes in a helpless static. Overhaul forced the panic down into submission. The sheer, overwhelming reality of finally holding you sent his thoughts spiraling into an intoxicating focus.

How remarkably sweet you looked like this.

People were staring now, a few pedestrians slowing their pace to look at the figure slumping against his parka.

"Step back," Overhaul commanded to a nearby onlooker. "They're having a medical episode. I'm a licensed practitioner taking them to a vehicle.”

The onlookers murmured, nodding in unthinking agreement. None of them questioned him, or asked for identification, or demanded to know where he was taking you. They just accepted the lie, turning their faces away to melt right back into the gray, uncaring crowd.

Looking at the sea of retreating backs, a disgust washed over Overhaul. They don't care if you disappear from the face of the earth. This wretched, apathetic street didn't deserve to look at you. The outside world was a plague, and these people were the carriers—bystanders who would let something precious be ruined without a second thought.

They didn't deserve you. But he did. 

He adjusted his grip, pulling your limp body securely into his space. It was fine. He could endure the temporary contamination. The moment they reached the secure basement levels of the compound, he would burn these filthy civilian clothes. He would meticulously scrub his arms, wash his hands under boiling water and drench his gear in isopropyl alcohol. 

As his men pulled the black sedan up to the curb, clicking the heavy doors open to receive his prize, Overhaul looked one last time at your unseeing, drifting face.

He had ordered a sterile holding room in the deep basement levels to be prepped immediately, bleached twice over with industrial isopropyl alcohol.

But he had severely underestimated your stubbornness.

The first time the dosage had dipped slightly below the threshold, you had woken. Through the security monitor down the hall, Overhaul had watched you awake in a panic, your eyes wild and bloodshot. Without a single thought for your own physical safety, you had grabbed the plastic IV line hooked to your vein and violently ripped the tube right out of your arm.

The plastic needle tore through your skin, and a dark, messy streak of crimson splattered across the crisp white sheets.

When his men had flooded the room to pin you down, you hadn't stopped. Even with your limbs heavy and trembling from the residual chemicals, you had somehow managed to pocket a small, metallic clip from the side of the heart monitor. Later that night, the camera caught you dragging your leaden torso across the cold floor, using that single, flimsy piece of metal to frantically scratch and pick at the heavy brass lock of the door. Your fingers were bleeding, your breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps, your nails splitting against the reinforced steel. He had subdued you himself, his gloved hands pinning your wrists to the mattress with an iron grip while he reinserted the line, forcing the heavy, suffocating darkness back into your nervous system. He made sure the dosage was doubled.

It had irritated him. It had fascinated him. To ensure you never put up a fight like that again, Overhaul had kept you weak on purpose. He had strictly forbidden bringing solid food into the room, restricting your entire caloric intake to a specialized, nutrient-dense solution dispensed solely through the IV line. Without substance in your stomach, your muscles could never fully recover from the sedative. Your body could not build the glycogen required to form a fist, let alone strike him.

But it was during the quiet windows—those rare, fleeting moments when the drugs receded just enough to grant you a fragile shred of sanity—you had stopped screaming. Instead, you began to seek him out. When he entered the room to check your vitals or adjust the dial on the drip, your unfocused, beautiful eyes would track the movement of his mask. You were starved for a human voice, so utterly isolated in that white box that you were willing to appeal to your own captor.

You had swallowed past the dry cotton in your throat and started asking questions.

"Where am I?" "What do you want with me?"

And then, the question that had made his gloved fingers pause over the syringe. You had looked right at him, and asked him who he was. You had asked for his name.

He told you to call him Kai.

Recalling it now, as he pressed his thumb against the heavy lock of the door, Overhaul felt a satisfaction settle into his chest. In the end, you had still looked up at him and begged for his name. You were learning. Step by step, dose by dose, you were forgetting the outside world and learning how to exist only within the space he had built for you.

He realized then that he wanted to break you.

Not like the thief in the alleyway—he would not shatter your bones or spill your blood—he would continue to drug you over and over again. He would drug you into absolute, mindless compliance. He would keep you so heavily sedated that your memories would fracture, your thoughts would turn to thick mud, and your sense of time would completely dissolve until your entire universe shrank to his hands. He would strip away your agency, until you forgot your apartment number, forgot your desk, forgot your own name—until the only anchor left in your hollowed-out mind was the sound of his voice.

He would make you entirely dependent on him. He would become your caretaker, your God. What he said was clean is clean; what he said was sick is sick.

When he stepped inside, you were awake. The security monitors down the hall hadn't lied; your heart rate had spiked, and your eyelids were fluttering against the heavy pull of the sedative. He didn't need to look at your chart to know your body was adapting to the current dosage. 

"How long have you been awake?" he asked as he reached out, his gloved fingers adjusting the dial on the IV stand.

"Not long," you mumbled. Your voice was small, raspy, and ruined by the dry cotton of your throat.

"And how was your day?"

It was a textbook question. But instead of compliance, he watched a familiar, ugly spark of anger ignite in your eyes. It was the same reckless passion that bred the quirk-infected filth outside. It made his skin crawl slightly beneath his collar, but he kept his expression perfectly smooth behind the beak of his mask.

"It was... fine," you whispered, though your chest was heaving with an absurdly starved desperation. "Just a little cold in here. And my head hurts."

Overhaul turned his back to you, walking over to the metal prep table. "The headache is your own doing," he said, his voice flat. "If you stopped fighting, you wouldn’t be in pain. But don't worry. I’ll have someone bring an extra blanket.”

He tore open a fresh plastic wrapper, tapping the side of the syringe to clear the air bubbles.

From the bed, your slurred, pathetic begging began. "Don't... please... Kai, don't. No more."

He didn't even register the plea as a valid argument. Silly thing, he thought, a wave of pity washing over him as he pushed the plunger slightly, letting a single drop bead at the needle's tip. You don't even know what's good for you. 

"You have been more compliant recently," he noted, turning back to the bed, allowing a small sigh to escape his mask. "However, your body is starting to build tolerance to the current dosage, which means it's no longer effective at keeping you calm. It's a shame. To ensure you don't agitate yourself like last time, I will have to increase the amount. It's for your own good."

The sheer, irrational terror that flooded your face to that was a testament to how undisciplined your mind still was.

He stepped to your side, leaning over the mattress to lift your arm. He needed a clean angle on the vein. But before he could secure your wrist, your weak hand balled into a clumsy fist and swung toward his chest.

"You... you absolute piece of—"

The words were a slurred, disintegrating mess, but the intent was clear. You were trying to strike him. You, a thoroughly contaminated, unwashed creature of the outside world, were trying to lay hands on his person.

The fist collided with his shirt. The impact was laughably light. He didn't even bother to dodge. He simply let your hand fall, his gloved fingers wrapping around your wrist with a firm pressure to pin it back to the crisp sheets.

"Look at how worked up you're getting," he murmured, looking down at you. The pity he felt was genuine. "This anger, this violence... it’s exactly what the outside world breeds in people. It’s a sickness.”

"S-stop it. Sick. You’re the one who’s… you’re fucking sick, Kai," you choked on the syllable. "Put the… put it down."

Instead of submitting, you fought harder. It was infuriatingly stubborn. Your fingers curled around his gloved wrists, trying to drag your heavy torso up off the mattress. You were trying to fight him, touch him more.

And then, your strength entirely evaporated.

Your head dropped forward, your body collapsing heavily against his chest.

An electric shock of revulsion surged straight down his spine. His entire frame went instantly, rigidly still, every muscle locking into stone. His mind screamed at him to tear his hand away, to activate his quirk and obliterate the unwashed flesh pressing against his sternum, to strip the clothes from his body and bleach his skin until it bled.

But as he stood there, completely breathless, the ragged thud of your heart rattled against his chest. Such a fragile, broken little thing. You were so incredibly weak. So easily crushed. If he let go of your wrist right now, you would simply slide onto the floor like a ragdoll. 

He looked down at the back of your head, at the messy, unkempt hair spilling across his dark shirt. Slowly, through a massive effort of sheer willpower, Overhaul forced the panic down. The tension in his chest eased, a controlled breath filtering through the mesh of his plague mask.

He wouldn't destroy you. He had chosen to keep you clean. And a doctor did not abandon a patient just because they were covered in dirt.

Gently, almost experimentally, his gloved hand came up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers anchoring you against his shoulder. His other hand moved to your face, a single finger tracing the trembling line of your jaw. Your skin was warm. 

"You always did have a habit of rushing into things without thinking," he murmured into your hair, his voice vibrating softly against your cheek. "Like taking that shortcut home. Or buying those specific convenience store meals every Tuesday evening. You're far too predictable to be left unsupervised."

"…Bastard. You… damn bastard. I’m gonna..." Your voice dropped to a furious, drunken mutter.

The whispered curse was muffled against his collarbone. He didn't mind it. It was almost endearing. He tilted your face up, forcing your unfocused, drooping eyes to meet his golden gaze.

"I always thought your eyes were beautiful," he whispered, fascinated by the dull glaze overtaking your pupils. "The very first time I saw you, you looked at me with so much life. It made me want to take you away from all the filth out there. To keep you all to myself, where nothing could ever corrupt you or take you from me. Tell me... what is so wrong with wanting to protect something so precious? Why must you fight the only person who cares enough to keep you clean?”

You didn't answer. You couldn't. The dark, beautiful panic in your eyes was already drowning in the chemical fog.

Overhaul guided you backward, easily laying your limp body back down onto the stark white pillows. He picked up the syringe, found the vein, and slid the needle home. He watched the fluid disappear into your system, watched your tense, fighting muscles finally, beautifully go slack.

He stepped back from the bed, the sharp, snapping sound of latex echoing in the quiet room as he peeled the white gloves from his hands. They were contaminated now. Covered in the sweat and oils of your skin. He tossed them carelessly into the hazardous waste bin by the bed, staring down at your sleeping face one last time.

[doumadono]

Synopsis: after a mission where you’d acted on your own, ignoring the need to consult your leader, Overhaul decided it was time to teach you a lesson in patience Warnings: pussy fingering & eating, blindfold, bondage, cunnilingus Pairing: Overhaul x fem!Reader A/N: welcome to the fourth day of Villaintober! Every like & reblog is truly appreciated ♡ ⇢ MY HERO ACADEMIA - 3

The rain whispered against the tiled roof, a steady rhythm like a metronome keeping time for the heart of the organization beating beneath it. The headquarters of Shie Hassaikai was silent past midnight - the halls were immaculate, lit by cold white bulbs that hummed faintly over marble floors polished to a mirror’s edge.

You’d learned to walk softly here. Every step was an intrusion. 

Men in black suits and gloves moved like ghosts through the hallways.

No one dared make noise when Kai Chisaki was working.

You stood outside his office, the thick oak door before you bearing no nameplate, no decoration — just a gold handle that gleamed under the light. You hesitated, hand half-raised. The corridor stretched behind you, empty except for two men in suits who didn’t look at you, but whose presence was a warning in itself.

You knocked once.

“Come in.”

His voice came through the door, calm, even, and carrying that distinct weight of authority that didn’t need to rise to be obeyed. 

You pushed the door open, heart steady only because you’d trained it to be.

Kai sat behind a wide desk of black lacquer, the faint reflection of his masked face shimmering on its surface. He was still dressed in the dark green coat you’d seen him wear earlier that evening, its fur collar a whisper of luxury against the hard, clinical atmosphere of the room. A single lamp cast amber light across his desk, illuminating scattered documents and a cup of untouched tea that had long gone cold.

“You’re late.”

His tone was mild which, with him, was often worse than anger. He was a man who could command silence without raising his voice, who spoke like a surgeon wielding a scalpel. 

“Traffic,” you said, with a small shrug. “And one of your men stopped me at the gate.”

“Good,” he replied, leaning back in his leather armchair. “They were doing their job. Punctuality isn’t negotiable in this house.”

You almost smiled. “You say that like I’m one of your underlings.”

“Aren’t you?”

He tilted his head slightly, and though you couldn’t see his expression beneath the mask, you could feel the faint smirk that lived in his words. His gloves flexed once, that small, ritual motion he always made before handling anything, or anyone.

You stepped further inside. The door shut behind you with a soft click.

“Lock it,” Kai said without looking up.

You did. The metallic snick of the bolt echoed too loudly in the quiet.

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. The only sound was the faint rustle of paper as he shuffled through a file. 

You knew better than to interrupt. 

When he finally looked at you again, golden eyes glinting under the lamplight, you felt that familiar prickle down your spine - the one that came from being under his scrutiny.

“You’ve been reckless,” he said. “The shipment at the docks, you went alone.”

“It was faster that way.”

“It was stupid that way.”

The words landed cleanly, with surgical precision. He stood then, slow and controlled, like a predator that didn’t need to rush. Every motion was smooth, unhurried - terrifying in its calmness. He crossed the space between you in three quiet steps.

“Do you think this organization runs on instinct?” he asked, voice low. “Or on precision?”

You met his gaze. “Both.”

That earned you a pause, maybe surprise, maybe approval. His eyes narrowed slightly, gloved fingers brushing against the edge of the desk as though weighing his next move. “You like to test boundaries.”

“Only the ones that deserve testing.”

“And what makes you think mine are worth it?”

Your voice came quieter. “Because you never tell me to stop.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before. 

You could feel it in the air, charged and brittle, like a storm about to break. 

Overhaul stepped closer until he stood just before you, so close that the faint scent of disinfectant reached your nose.

His hand lifted. The glove hovered a breath from your cheek but didn’t touch. His restraint was always deliberate, and somehow, that made it worse.

“You think I’m cruel for not letting you act on your own. But you mistake control for cruelty.”

“You mistake fear for respect,” you replied vehemently.

He let out a sharp scoff, baring his teeth in a grimace that somehow managed to look like a grin. Chisaki exhaled through his nose, then reached for something on his desk - a black silk cloth folded neatly beside his papers. He turned it between his fingers, not looking at you.

“You trust me,” he stated again, as if testing the truth of it.

“I do.”

“Then sit.”

You hesitated only a moment before obeying. The chair was cold under your palms. You heard the faint sound of the silk sliding between his gloves.

“Close your eyes,” he ordered softly. “If you want to learn control, start with surrender. I think I need to grant you a lesson on how to be patient.” His voice came again, low, precise, and commanding as always. “Don’t worry. You can trust me.”

Your pulse flickered at your throat. You couldn’t tell whether it was fear or anticipation that made it race. 

The silk brushed your temple as he lifted it, careful and unhurried, and tied it behind your head. The knot was firm as everything he did, and the world went dark.

You could hear the faint rustle of his coat, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the soft click of something being set on the desk.

“When you can’t see,” he said, “you start to listen. To feel. To notice what your mind overlooks. You rely too much on what you think you control. That’s where mistakes begin.”

You swallowed, nodding faintly though he hadn’t asked for an answer.

“Now,” Overhaul said softly, “tell me where I am.”

You hesitated. “In front of me.”

There was a pause, and then, his voice came. “Good, you’re starting to learn.”

You ran the tip of your tongue over your dried lips.

"Now, let's see how well you trust me,” Kai chuckled.

His gloved hands moved to your wrists, gently but firmly securing them behind the chair. He swiftly bound your wrists together with another length of silk, the fabric tightening with a practiced pull that left no room for escape.

You felt a thrill of anticipation, the knowledge that you were completely at his mercy, completely under his control.

His hands explored your body, tracing the line of your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. Each touch was deliberate, each caress calculated. 

You arched into his touch, the pleasure of it making your breath hitch and your body ache for more.

"You like that," Chisaki observed, his fingers lingering on the pulse point of your neck. "You like feeling helpless, don't you?"

You nodded fervently. You hated how effortlessly he could make your knees go weak.

Kai chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Such a good girl," he murmured, his voice laced with approval. "Let's see how far you can go."

He moved behind you, his hands skimming over your shoulders, your back, your hips. 

You felt the heat of his body through his clothes.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt slowly, his fingers brushing against your skin. 

A gasp escaped your lips, the sensation making you squirm in your seat.

"Stay still," Overhaul ordered, his voice firm. "Or I'll make you regret it."

You forced yourself to stillness, your breath coming in short gasps. 

The man’s hands continued their exploration, his touch both gentle and demanding. 

You could feel the tension building within you, the need for being filled aching in your core.

"Tell me," Kai began, his voice taking on that clinical edge you'd come to associate with his interrogations. "What is it about this that excites you?"

You took a breath, the cool air in the room filling your lungs. "The loss of control," you admitted. "Knowing that I'm at your mercy, that you could do anything, and I'd trust you anyway."

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. "And what do you think I'd do?"

You leaned forward slightly, the chair creaking under your weight. "I think you'd make me feel things I never have before."

"You're right," he claimed, his voice a low growl. "And you’re mine. Every part of you. Every inch of your body belongs to me."

You whimpered, the words sending a rush of heat between your legs. You could feel the wetness there, the desire for him, for his touch, for his possession.

"Say it," he commanded. "Tell me you're mine."

You managed to mumble the words, the sound coming out as a muffled moan. 

He chuckled again, the sound sending another shiver down your spine. "Good girl," the man praised, his voice approving. "Now let's see how much more you can take."

He moved in front of you, his hands going to the buttons of your shirt. Kai undid them slowly, one by one, his fingers brushing against your skin with each movement. "Look at you," he murmured, his voice a low purr. "So eager. So ready."

He spread your shirt open, revealing your bra-clad breasts. His eyes lingered on them, his gaze heated and possessive. 

You arched into his touch. Even though you couldn't see his face, you knew instinctively Chisaki was grinning. "Please," you begged. 

"Please what?" he asked.

"Please touch me," you begged, the words coming out as a plea.

He chuckled. "Patience. You need to work on it."

His hands moved to your bra, his fingers deftly pushing the cups down, revealing your breasts. 

The cool air hit your sensitive skin, your nipples hardened, and the sensation made you squirm in your seat.

"Beautiful," his voice was a low growl. The man leaned down.

You could feel the heat of his mouth, the tease of his breath on your skin.

Then his mouth closed over your nipple, his tongue swirling around the sensitive flesh.

You gasped, the pleasure of it making your body arch into his touch. 

Chisaki suckled at your breast, his tongue and teeth teasing your nipple. 

You could feel the pleasure building within you, the need for more aching in your core.

"You taste so good," Kai uttered. "So sweet, Y/N."

He moved to your other breast, his mouth and tongue working the same magic there. 

"Please," you begged again, the word muffled by the gag. "Please, I need more."

His voice was a rasp, "I thought I made myself clear. You need to be more patient, my dear."

He slipped his knee between your legs, parting them for his liking, then one of his hands found its way between your thighs, fingers finding the damp spot on your panties. "So wet," Kai growled, "So needy."

He pushed your panties to the side and slipped a finger inside you, the sensation making your body arch more. Overhaul moved slowly, his finger sliding in and out of your tight pussy, his thumb circling your clit. 

You could feel the pleasure building within your core. “Ah!” Your head lolled back, resting against the back of the chair. Instinct urged you to tug at the restraints, desperate to free your hands but reality struck just as quickly - the silk knots around your wrists were far too tight, refusing to give no matter how you twisted or strained against them.

"Spread your legs wider," he ordered, his voice firm.

You did as he commanded, your body obeying even as your mind struggled to process the sensation. 

He slipped another finger inside you again, his other hand gently spanking your clit. He then rubbed it slowly, his fingers teasing the sensitive flesh.

Overhaul’s fingers moving in and out of your pussy, rubbing against your G spot. 

All that spilled from your lips was his name - breathless and desperate. “Kai, Kai, please… Yes, don’t stop.”

He brought you to the edge of orgasm again and again, each time denying you the release you craved so much. "You're so responsive," he let out a laugh, "I could spend hours just listening to your pathetic whines.”

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a moan. "I'd like that," you managed to gasp out.

He knelt before you, his hands moving to your thighs, spreading them wide. 

You felt his breath on your inner thigh, warm and tantalizingly close. Then, his tongue was on you, licking a slow, lazy path up your thigh.

“Ah! Yes, fuck, please, stop teasing!”

Kai’s low chuckle rolled through the room. “Didn’t I tell you we need to work on that temper of yours?” He let out a sigh, voice rich with mock reproach. “You’re such a hothead. And every action has its consequences. Keep wriggling like that, and I might just leave you tied up right here.”

“N-no… Please, don’t!” The plea tore from your throat, small and trembling, shamelessly desperate. You knew how pathetic you sounded, and yet, you didn’t care in the slightest.

His tongue moved higher, tracing a slow, lazy path up your thigh before moving to your pussy. He licked you slowly, his tongue flat and firm, then his attention focused entirely on your clitoris. Kai sucked it into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it in lazy circles.

Oh, how you longed to bury your fingers in his hair, to feel the soft strands slide through your touch but with your wrists bound, all that longing could do was pour out of you in a breathless, helpless moan.

He continued to suck and lick, his tongue working you in slow, deliberate strokes. Chisaki added a finger soon, sliding it slowly into your tight hole. 

You gasped, your hips bucking against his hand. 

He curled his fingers, pressing against that spot inside you that sent shockwaves through your body. "There," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "That's what you want, isn't it?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes!"

He rubbed your clitoris in slow, deliberate circles with his thumb, matching the rhythm he fingered your pussy with while scissoring his fingers inside you before lowering his head yet again to suck and lick on your pussy lips.

Only then, with a loud gasp, your body tensed as the orgasm washed over your being. Your thighs trembled and so did your entire body as your velvety walls spasmed around Kai’s digits, covering them in a thin layer of pearly juices.

"Good girl," Kai praised, his voice approving. "You did so well.”

You screamed out his name as he leaned closer again and licked your slit off your juices. You were so overwhelmed that your breaths came in ragged gasps, like a fish flailing desperately out of water.

Then you heard him shift, the sound of movement breaking through the haze clouding your senses. A moment later, the silken restraints around your wrists loosened, and the blindfold slipped away from your eyes.

When your vision adjusted your eyes watery, Kai stood over you, a faint, satisfied smile playing on his lips. He wiped his mouth, still glistening with traces of your release, with the back of his hand before meeting your gaze. “You see?” He chuckled, “You can be patient when you want to. Let this be a reminder - don’t act on your own ever again without my command. Understood?”

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

Kai rolled his shoulders, stretching lazily before leaning down to brush a finger along your cheek. A rare warmth flickered in his golden eyes as he murmured, “That’s my good girl.”

@pixelcafe-network @isabeauwolf @shokoshoe @alexandhisstuff

@crystalwolfblog @arthurbristow @jesslynjmoriarty @skittlez2932

@neon-gothicc @cemetarygoth @allysainz @fayrt4tte9383

@kxsh-dea @gaggedashell @staygoldsquatchling02

@peachicake @gooniestgooner @theshxaverse

@unhinged-bratty-boy @shonen-brainrot

[shiggypinkyfinger]

Them with a very shy s/o reader

A/n: heyyyyy gangs thanks for the kindness and love and I'm happy for criticism and I'm adding Geten he's so cute and silly, should I add anyone else you guys like? Like Cider House he's also cute.

Paring:league of villans x s/o reader (seperate)

Summery:This has the league of villains and others, Tomura Shigaraki, dabi, Mr Compress, Kai Chisaki, Spinner, Geten, Kurogiri

Contains:fluff;sfw;suggestive

Kai Chisaki

Kai didn't notice you at first.

After a long day, he walked into his room, shut the door behind him, and immediately started loosening his tie.

You were buried under his blankets, awake now, but far too nervous to say anything.

Maybe if you stayed quiet enough, he'd leave before noticing.

Unfortunately, that plan lasted about ten seconds.

Kai shrugged off his jacket and turned toward the bed.

His eyes landed directly on the small bump beneath the covers.

The room fell silent.

Slowly, your head emerged.

Kai stared

"...Are you serious?"

You opened your mouth, then immediately closed it again.

His expression darkened.

"You've been sitting there this entire time?"

A tiny nod.

"And you couldn't announce your presence like a normal person?"

Heat rushed to your face.

Kai clicked his tongue sharply.

"Unbelievable."

He tossed his jacket onto a chair and folded his arms.

"You scared to speak now?"

You looked away.

The silence stretched.

"That's getting annoying."

The words stung, but before you could apologize, Kai sighed through his nose.

"If you have something to say, then say it."

His tone was still harsh, but less angry now.

"I'm not going to punish you for speaking."

You hesitated.

Kai rolled his eyes.

"You're in my room. In my bed."

Another pause.

"At some point, you should be capable of talking to me without acting like I'm about to bite your head off."

The comment was rude enough to make you pout.

Yet he didn't tell you to leave.

Instead, he set his gloves aside and sat on the edge of the mattress.

"...Idiot."

The insult lacked most of its usual bite.

"If something's bothering you, tell me next time instead of hiding under blankets like a child."

And for Kai, that was practically a heartfelt conversation.

He like that that you were shy, you weren't loud like the others. Just his type

Tomura

Tomura was completely focused on Tomodachi Life, one arm loosely wrapped around your waist while you sat in his lap.

The room was quiet except for the occasional button clicks and the silly little sounds coming from the game.

You had been getting hungry for a while now.

The problem was that you didn't really want to interrupt him.

So you stayed quiet, and quiet. And then some more quiet.

Until your stomach betrayed you with a loud growl.

Tomura paused mid-button press.

Slowly, he glanced down at you.

"...You hungry?"

You immediately looked away.

"...Yeah."

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Tomura snorted.

"Good."

You blinked.

"'Cause I'm starving."

He threw his Switch on the couch beside him without another thought.

"Toga bought snacks earlier. Come on."

Instead of letting you get up yourself, he tightened his arm around your waist and pulled you a little closer first

"Tch. Next time just say something, idiot."

Despite the insult, he would kill people to get you feed

Geten

Going out for snow cones had been your idea.

Geten still wasn't entirely convinced.

"I can literally control ice," he pointed out for what was probably the third time. "You could've stayed home and gotten the same result."

"It's not the same." You say quite loudly state.

"It is exactly the same" he huffed out

Despite the complaining, he came with you anyway. He could not let you go alone in fact he knows that you wouldn't have left the house if he didn't come.

He wanted you to leave the house more either way, and it's a bonus for him because he gets to see you happy.

The line wasn't very long, but the moment the vendor turned to ask what you wanted, your mind completely blanked.

You stared.

The vendor stared.

The silence stretched.

Geten sighed beside you.

"They'll have the blue raspberry."

You looked down.

"And strawberry for myself" he continued.

The vendor nodded and started making them.

Just like that.

No awkward questions. No waiting for you to figure out what to say.

Once the snow cones were finished, Geten handed yours over without a word.

The two of you found a shady spot beneath a tree a little farther away from the crowd.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Just shoulder pressed lightly against shoulder while you ate your snow cones.

Eventually, Geten glanced over.

"You know," he said flatly, "if you're going to freeze up every time someone asks you a question, you should at least stand closer to me.

You blinked.

"Why?"

"So I can answer it for you before it becomes painful for everyone involved."

The words were rude but he wasn't wrong

A few minutes later, his shoulder bumped yours again.

This time, neither of you moved away.

"Mine's red. Yours is blue."

"...And?"

"You think if we kissed, would it make purple?"

The question was delivered with the same seriousness he'd use to discuss the weather.

You nearly dropped your snow cone.

Only then did the faintest hint of embarrassment cross his face.

Spinner

You had only meant to make a quick snack.

Unfortunately, somewhere between cutting vegetables and trying to do three things at once, you managed to nick your finger.

It wasn't a bad cut.

Just enough to sting and become incredibly annoying.

After rinsing it off, you spent the next few minutes digging through drawers one-handed in search of a bandage, trying your best not to get blood on everything.

Which was exactly when Spinner walked into the kitchen.

He immediately frowned.

"What happened?"

"Nothing."

Spinner looked at the blood on your fingers.

"...Right."

Before you could continue your search, he gently caught your wrist.

"Stop."

You froze.

"You're getting blood everywhere."

When you finally showed him the cut, he sighed and guided you toward a chair.

"It's not that bad," you mumbled.

"Maybe not. Doesn't mean you should ignore it."

A few minutes later, he had the cut cleaned and covered with a bandage.

You watched quietly while he carefully made sure it wasn't wrapped too tightly.

"There."

You smiled softly.

"Thanks."

Spinner shrugged, though he looked pleased with himself.

Then his eyes drifted toward the half-finished food on the counter.

"...I'll finish making that."

"You don't have to."

"I know."

Before you could argue, he was already turning back toward the counter.

The kitchen settled into a comfortable silence while he finished preparing everything.

After a few minutes, he glanced over his shoulder.

"You know, you can ask for help."

You looked up.

"Huh?"

"If you need something." He shrugged. "Or if you get hurt. Or if you can't find something.

His voice softened slightly.

"You don't have to do everything by yourself."

You fiddled with the edge of the bandage.

Spinner smiled.

"And especially from me."

For a second, neither of you spoke.

Then he set a plate in front of you and lightly bumped your shoulder with his.

"Besides," he added with a grin, "somebody has to stop you from turning snack time into a medical emergency."

Spinner

The drive felt endless.

The League's van rolled down the dark road while everyone else kept themselves busy.

You were trying very hard not to fall asleep.

Unfortunately, every few minutes your head would droop before you quickly jerked yourself awake again.

Across from you, Mr. Compress noticed almost immediately.

"My dear, you're barely conscious."

"I'm awake," you mumbled.

Atsuhiro clearly didn't believe you.

A few minutes later, your head dipped forward again.

With a dramatic sigh, he slid closer and gently pulled you against his side.

You immediately tensed.

"A-Atsuhiro—"

"No objections." He saud

You tried to sit back up.

He guided you right back.

"None."

Your face warmed.

"I don't want to bother you..."

For a moment, his teasing smile softened.

"My dear, if falling asleep on my shoulder is the worst thing you do tonight, I think I'll manage."

That only made you more embarrassed.

Atsuhiro chuckled quietly before reaching into seemingly nowhere and producing a flower.

You blinked in surprise as he offered it to you.

"For the loveliest passenger in this vehicle."

Carefully, you accepted it with both hands.

His eyes crinkled with amusement.

"Adorable."

You immediately looked away.

A few minutes later, when you finally started drifting off for real, Atsuhiro adjusted you more comfortably against his shoulder.

Then, after making sure no one was paying attention, he slipped off his mask.

Leaning down, he pressed a quick kiss to the tip of your nose.

"There," he whispered fondly.

By the time you fully fell asleep, the flower was still tucked safely in your hands while he sat beside you with the proud smile of a magician who'd pulled off his favorite trick.

Dabi

You always had this stupid feeling that Dabi didn’t actually like you that much.

Sure, you were together.

But Dabi wasn’t exactly the type to say what he was feeling.

So when you accidentally got locked out of the bedroom you shared, your first instinct wasn’t to knock.

Instead, you sat down at a nearby table and decided you’d just wait.

Maybe he’d notice eventually.

A good twenty minutes passed before the bedroom door finally opened.

Dabi stepped out, looking annoyed and tired.

At first he didn’t see you.

Then he did.

He stopped.

“…The hell are you doing?”

You immediately looked away.

“Nothing.”

Dabi stared at you for a second longer, then walked over.

Before you even realized what was happening, he bent down and grabbed under your arms like you weighed nothing — picking you up effortlessly like you were some kind of annoyed cat he had to relocate.

You let out a small sound of surprise.

“Idiot,” he muttered

Your face instantly burned.

“I got locked out.”

“And?” he said gruffly

“I didn’t want to bother you…”

Dabi clicked his tongue.

“Tch. Stupid.”

Still holding you like that for a moment longer than necessary, he turned and carried you back toward the bedroom.

You squirmed slightly.

“Dabi—”

“Stop moving.

A second later, he dropped you onto the bed and climbed in after you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The room went quiet.

Then he sighed.

“I can’t sleep without you in here, you know.”

You blinked.

That was probably the closest thing to soft he was ever going to be.

Dabi rolled his eyes immediately when he saw your expression.

“Don’t get weird about it.”

Then, after a pause, he added:

“So no head..?"

Kurogiri

The bar was quiet.

Just you and Kurogiri behind the counter, the rest of the League gone for the night.

He moved with his usual calm precision, cleaning glasses like time didn’t really matter.

You sat there a little shyly, hands folded in your lap, not quite sure what to say.

Then a drink slid gently across the counter toward you.

A piña colada.

“You seemed like you could use something like this,” Kurogiri said softly.

You blinked. “I didn’t ask for this…”

“I know.”

That alone made your cheeks warm immediately, and you quickly looked down at the glass instead of him.

He rested one hand lightly on the counter, leaning just slightly closer.

“I noticed you’ve been sitting here a while,” he added. “Without moving much.”

You hesitated. “Is that… bad?”

“Not at all.”

His tone was smooth—immediately reassuring—but there was a faint teasing edge underneath it.

“It simply means you’ve been keeping yourself very still,” he continued. “Almost like you’re trying not to be noticed.”

Your fingers tightened a little around the glass.

“…I’m not doing that.”

A soft pause.

Kurogiri tilted his head, as if humoring you.

“If you say so.”

But he didn’t sound like he disagreed.

You took a small sip, trying to ignore how warm your face felt.

“…You’re doing fine,” he said after a moment, voice quieter now, almost approving.

You peeked up. “That sounds like you’re judging me.”

“Of course I am.”

That made you freeze a little.

Then he added, even softer—

“And I find no fault in it.”

You went still.

Kurogiri watched you for a second longer, then turned back to his work like nothing had changed.

“…Finish your drink,” he said gently. “You don’t have to rush.”

A pause.

Then, a little lower—almost like it wasn’t meant to be caught easily:

“I would prefer you stay a while longer.”

@warkaholic

[shoucolate]

Baby (❁´◡`❁)

[s1dney27]

MHA Men / How they act when they’re in love pt2

headcanons | fluff | sfw

h. shinso, i. midoriya, k. chisaki/overhaul, k. bakugo, k. takami/hawks

hitoshi shinso

his favorite parts of the day are simple moments with u. walking back to class together, sitting beside you in group settings, etc.

hes a bad texter (never replies) but he’ll reply immediately to yours; which surprises all his close friends & family— and him, too

looks for you everywhere. in a crowded room, during school events, at parties, etc. gets slightly depressed if you’re not there/cant find you

accidentally overshares (to him at least— he actually just shares a normal human amount instead of being mysterious lmao) and then overthinks the conversation for days afterward

sleeps like a baby on the nights where he dreams about you

izuku midoriya

keeps a literal journal (like his hero journal) filled with things about you. doesnt even realize its kinda weird until ururaka and tenya bring up the implications of that (tho he has good intentions)

thinks about you during battle (in general too) and competitions. thinks about winning for you and making you proud

looks for you in the bleachers during a battle/competition,, even if it distracts him

when something great happens, you’re the first person he tells

kai chisaki / overhaul

lets you in his spaces which is HUGE for him.

after a long time of contemplation he ultimately declares you clean and doesnt wear a mask around you

his ultimate goal is to improve you to be the best you can be. wants to fix your sleep schedule, appetite (healthy foods > junk food), posture, etc.

everyone he knows can feel a genuine physical and emotional switch once he falls in love with you and boy is it surprising and even a little scary for some people he knows

katsuki bakugo

expects you to come to everything. his parties, his competitions, events, etc. gets annoyed if you’re not there or can’t come

actually considers your opinion on things which is surprising bc he has an ‘idgaf’ mentality and doesnt usually take other ppls opinions into consideration

his goal is to eliminate anything that even slightly inconveniences you by any way possible

very defensive of you. after a particularly hard fight (that kats won btw!!), denki asked him: “why go so hard for a girl ur not dating” and he js insulted him under his breath and walked away lmao

gen tries to deny ‘in love with yn’ allegations but everyone knows lmao

keigo takami / hawks

flirts smmm he is a flirt at heart & loves to tease u

takes time out of his very busy schedule to hang out with you

flies to ur place after tough missions to decompress

very chill about being in love with you,, hes not quick to admit his feelings but he does slightly show it and wont deny if anybody asked

[myheromedia]

[hisnanami]

more villain kitties courtesy to my last post. sorry no stain no afo no lady nagant and others i lowk forgot