Latest Posts by bookvvitch - Page 7

㋡🥀

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

CW: dirty talk, unprotected sex, oral sex, praise kink, fem dom, teasing, heavy petting. Proof read but no beta.

This chapter is possibly the horniest thing I've ever written lmao. Enjoy 💜

Chapter 7: Good Boy

“Gah, son of a bitch!” You drop one of six bags of groceries you’re bringing in at once.

You hate when it’s your turn being the grocery shopper. It seems like you always get stuck with this shitty job, probably because you’re the least recognizable out of everyone—which you do understand. But still, everyone here eats like a horse, so you end up having an entire two carts full of goods to bring in. You’re already pent up and mad just thinking about how you have to put this all away.

Unfortunately, there’s a meeting for the Vanguard Action Squad going on, so while everyone would normally be scrambling to help you bring everything in, you’re dealing with it alone this time. 

“Piss, fuck, shit and hell,” you mutter under your breath as you drag the bag you’ve dropped into the bar with your foot.

Twenty minutes later and you’ve finally got all of the groceries put away. You nod proudly at your work, then turn to see Dabi leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets and blue eyes fixed on your form. 

You startle, “Jesus. How long have you been here?” 

“Long enough,” he rasps, whiffs of smoke on his breath. 

“And you didn’t offer to help me because...?"

Dabi grins like he knows the punchline of a joke he hasn’t even told, “Thought maybe you could use some punishment for going out like that after I told you not to once already,”

Your brows pinch in confusion before you realize he’s talking about the leggings you’re wearing. Regular, commonplace, black leggings that he apparently thinks he can reprimand you for leaving the house in, despite seeing several other women in the exact same pair at the store. 

Right. 

Because he thinks he’s the one in control right now.

That's alright, this can be a good lesson for him.

“Sit on the couch,” your voice has grown husky, low in your chest, sending a shiver of anticipation down his spine. 

He scoffs, “You think I'm just gonna—“

You narrow your eyes and dole out, “I said sit,”

Dabi isn’t sure what the hell has come over him, but he does as he’s told. He listens to your command, skulking silently to the couch, then taking a seat dead in the center as an act of rebellion so you won’t have a seat for yourself. You walk over to him calmly, like a stalking predator, a glint in your gaze that says you’re up to something. He gulps down the knot at his Adam’s apple, doing his best to stay still, concealing the shake in his hands as he peers up at you through his eyelashes. 

“Good boy,” you coo at him with a grin, and his breath hitches, eyes shot wide. 

“Don’t,” he clears his throat, “D-don’t fuckin call me that,”

“You don’t like it?” you tug at his earrings playfully.

He blushes bright pink at your question, pursing his lips, avoiding your eyes in the hopes that looking at the floor will quell the heavy stirring in his pants. He shouldn’t like this. Dabi is the one who should be in charge right now, not you. This is wrong.

So why is he this fucking hard right now?

“I didn’t say that,” his voice cracks, you taking control having made him feel bashful and small. 

“That’s good,” you sit on his lap, eliciting a grunt from him, “Because I think you’re the one that needs punished. But don’t worry,” you lick your lips, “I’ll reward good behavior,”

Your eyes flick towards him from over your shoulder, pupils blown out, the pheromones coming off of you close to knocking him back. 

Okay. Calm down. He’s been through way too much to let this get a rise out of him, and there’s no chance in hell he can give you the satisfaction of knowing that this is absolute torture. He tries to think about horrible things to keep himself from becoming too excited, but it’s too late; you have, quite literally, gotten a rise out of him. You press yourself further into his lap, sighing, planting your hands on either thigh. 

Fuck, okay, just concentrate. 

He shifts to rearrange the pressure in his pants, and a small noise gets caught up in your throat, something breathy, a wisp of a moan. Dabi pauses, aware now that his role is the prey you’ve been stalking in the night, before he gives another experimental nudge of his hips. You sound off with his movements once more, your cheeks pinched rose, lashes fluttering over top those starry eyes. They’re glassy and warm when you look at him, rocking into him with more purpose. 

“Fuuuck,” he smears his face with his hand, sweating, pulse in his fingertips, “If you don’t stop I’m gonna take you seriously,”

Two pairs of eyes meet when you tell him, “Then take me seriously,”

He doesn’t recognize the needy little whimper that rackets from him, rutting his cock against the searing heat of your sex beneath your clothes, matching your thrusts and grinds, eager hands grabbing at the inner plush of your thighs to spread them more. 

“There you go, good boy. Nnn, yeah. You like that?” You slip your clit up and down the length of him lightly as you murmur into his ear. 

He nods his head softly, apprehensive to show you just how much he’s enjoying the dominion you have over him. 

“Say it, then. Say you want my pussy,”

Dabi swallows thickly, maddened by the delicious writhing of your body, by the needful expression you wear in spite of the command in your voice. You haven't hardly touched him and he's already wrecked. And he has a feeling you won't relent until he fully admits that.

“Ahh—God, fuck, I-I want your pussy,” he stammers unsteadily from behind you. 

You trace a featherlight touch up his arm, then guide his hand to your aching cunt, his breaths becoming ragged heaves as you do. He groans when he sees your lids flutter at the way he rubs you in long, laving strokes through your pants, whining and bucking beneath you quite shamelessly now, the fingers of his other hand biting into your hip, unsure if he wants to push you off or hold you in place. You pull down your shirt and place both of his rough hands at your exposed breasts, and he groans, almost painfully, while he tweaks at your nipples. The sound sends a bolt of lightening straight through your center, and you abandon trying to pace yourself, grinding on his cock once more, the noises you’re making sinful and lewd.

“Stop, wait, I—fuck, hold on,” he gasps urgently, and you turn to smile at him with a wanton deviance, ceasing the brutal rocking of your pelvis. 

“What’s gonna happen if I keep going, hmm?” You trace a finger up the pulsing length of him through his pants. 

“Mmhh, gonna.. gonna…” his brows knit, shoulders tight and tense, and you can’t help but giggle at how spent he already looks. 

“Gonna what? What am I gonna make you do?”

He groans, hips twitching involuntarily, “You’re gonna make me cum,”

“Poor thing,” you reach back to card your fingers through his hair, “We can’t have that so soon. Or maybe even at all, since this is a punishment,”

You shift to face him, cupping his cheeks with your hands, then press your lips against his, tongue ring clicking the backs of your teeth, savoring the little grunts that flit from him in gentle puffs. He prods at your cunt sloppily, fingers petting you roughly, and you gasp at the pressure, rolling your hips in little circles to encourage the same movements of his digits. The coil within you tightens, winding deep and close to snapping, worsened by the way he’s panting. His eyes are cracked open just enough to watch your expression as he dips his hand past your waistband, the tip of his index finger working your clit, a pleased gasp escaping you when he moans into your mouth. 

Arousal has clouded his mind until he no longer cares what comes out of him, pleading with you, “Lemme eat your pussy,”

As soon as you nod, he’s got you slung over his shoulder, wordlessly carrying you into his bedroom. He closes the door behind him with his foot, then throws you onto his bed, calloused hands ripping off your leggings and then dragging up your thighs. He pulls you to the edge of the mattress, eye contact unbroken as he takes the elastic of your panties between his teeth, and you yelp when they snap back against you. With a deep inhale, he licks you through the material with one long stroke, palming at his cock as your breath hitches. 

“How do you like it?” He asks darkly, voice having taken an octave lower. 

Your body burns along with the cerulean of his irises, cunt clenching around nothing as you try to hold onto what’s left of your power grab, “Lick my clit and put your fingers inside of me,”

He pulls down the damp panties that cover you, clicking his tongue, breath shaking. 

“And I thought I was worked up,” he murmurs, “You’re fuckin soaked, doll,”

You buck into his face, and he grins wolfishly, the tables having turned now that you’ve shown your hand. He pulls you apart with his thumbs and ghosts his lips across your apex, gentle kisses tracing the little bud, and you writhe at the sensation of his panting against your sex. He chuckles mirthlessly as you let out a heady moan, slides two fingers into the velvet of your walls to feel you clamp around him. 

“You like feelin full?” He asks into your twitching cunt, and your desperate nod has him adding another digit as he growls, “There ya go, babe,”

“Oh, fuck, Dabi,” you mewl, arching your back, toes curling in your socks. 

He flicks his tongue across your clit, slow and methodical, a faint whisper of a touch that has you reeling for more. The ball of his tongue ring grazes you gently, sending your walls fluttering. You're not going to stand being the one getting teased like this. He makes a loud, strangled sound when you grab a fistful of his hair, pressing him by the back of his head into your pussy, muffling his cries as his eyes roll back. 

“Open,” you pat his cheek with your free hand, and he complies, hanging out his tongue so you can glide yourself across it. 

He works his fingers in and out of your sopping cunt, arousal dripping down to his wrist, and he curls his digits into the soft ledge within you until you cry out for him. His eyes are glazed and half-lidded, a groan rippling through his chest, cock pulsing within his pants as you graze your clit over the firm muscle of his tongue. 

“Take your cock out for me,” you yank his hair as you speak. 

“Uh-huh,” he obliges with his mouth full of your pussy, too fucked-out to disagree, his free hand releasing his dick from the confines of his zipper and relieving some of the growing pressure there. 

You yank his hand to your mouth, licking a big, wet stripe up his palm, “Play with it,”

He slams his eyes closed, brows tilted up as he pumps himself, heavy and hard in his hand. 

“Good fucking boy. Ahh—now suck,”

Dabi takes your clit in between his lips, capturing it fully, his tongue laving against the underside as he suckles your swollen bud. The moans pitch higher in your throat, sweeping through gasping exhales, nails scratching at his shoulder blades and causing him to grunt in approval.

“O-oh, just like that—just like that, Dabiii-aahhh!”

He runs his grip harshly over his shaft, thumbing his tip when his hand reaches the top, precum leaking to mix with your spit and lubricate him further. Your legs are shaking, hips stuttering as he coaxes you into an orgasm so intense that you’re seeing stars, and he hums against you when he feels the clamping of your cunt around his fingers, little moans and whimpers slipping pitifully from him as he watches you fall apart all over his face, feels you spasm around him.

You pull at his shoulders until he parts from you, panting, mouth glistening with your slick, his eyes glassy with lust. His length bobs in front of you, long and dripping, rosy and flushed at the tip, curved up slightly and so hard that it touches his stomach when it bounces.

You hum, a bit shocked at the size of him, “Pretty cock for a pretty boy,”

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his face burns pink, stating lowly, “I’m not pretty,”

“You are, though. You’ve got such pretty eyes, pretty lips, a cute little nose,” he looks awkwardly to the side, unsure of what to do with your praise, trying in vain to figure out a way to tell you just how beautiful he thinks you are. These thoughts are knocked loose when you purr, “Now c’mere,"

With shaking arms, you guide him until you’ve lined up his dick to where it rests teasingly between your folds, squeezing him at the base and dragging your still sensitive clit along his length. 

“Hah—lemme fuck you before I bust, holy shit,” He’s close to begging, the words sitting right on the tip of his tongue. 

“Well that doesn’t sound like much of a punishment,” you hiss through your teeth and circle his tip against your apex, the buildup of another orgasm tightening in your cunt, “‘Sides, this feels really good,”

“C’mon, Jesus, mmmnn.. You lemme lick your pussy. F-fuck, please,” his voice falters at the end, dangerously close to cumming his fucking brains out. 

“Did you like it?”

He nods his head, brows knitted, eyes falling closed, “You taste so good. Made all those noises for me. Wanna hear more’a that. Want you bad—want you so bad,”

Unable to withstand the temptation any longer, aching to be filled, you slip him into the damp plush of your center, unraveling as he stuffs himself in to the hilt, broken cries bleating into the air as he gasps at the feeling of being inside you.

“Goddamn, babe, you cummin again already? Fuck, yeah, you are,” he only gets a couple of thrusts in before the dam starts to break, babbling, drunk off of you, “That feels good. Oh, fuck, feels so good, tight little cunt milking my cock like this. You like that, doll? Yeah ya do, just look at you. Gonna cum in this wet pussy while you cream on my fuckin cock—I’m—I’m gonna—ahh, fuck!”

He yanks your legs apart, convulsing atop you, fingers gripping into the meat of your thighs as he whines, ruined, completely broken after experiencing the burning heat of your pleasure. You can feel him pulsing as he empties himself, throbbing, electricity racing up and down his spine. He's never felt anything so good as having you cum all over him.

“Good job,” you pat him on the cheek, “mmm, such a good boy, fucking me with that pretty cock,”

He kisses the side of your neck, chest heaving, bathing in the post-sex bliss of softening within you. 

“You’re so crazy,” he whispers. 

“For sleeping with you or thinking you’re pretty?”

He chuckles under his breath a bit, “Both,”

With a grunt, he pulls from your walls, watching as his cum leaks from your raw pussy, the spasms leftover from your orgasm causing rivets of white to gush onto your thighs. 

“So hot,” he whispers to himself. 

Dabi takes off the shirt he was wearing to dab you clean, careful not hurt you, gentle in a way you hadn’t expected of him. 

“You don’t think you’re pretty?” You ask as he crumples the shirt, throws it to the floor. 

He looks at you as if you’re stupid. 

“Are you stupid?”

Well, you guess you should’ve seen that question coming. 

“No, I just think you’re really cute,”

Dabi snarls, gestures to his entire body, points at the staples on either side of his face. 

“So?” He rolls his eyes at your remark, “No, really, I think you’re cute. Those things just give you character,”

You cuddle up to him, his body stiff as a board, pressing your head to hear the beating of his heart. He tries to shrug you off, but you remain steadfast. 

“This is what matters, even if you don’t think you’re a pretty boy like I do. You’ve got a good heart,”

“Gonna harvest my organs or something?”

Grinning, you tap him playfully on the arm, “No, jackass. I meant you’re a good guy. You’ve been nice to me since I got here. Even that thing you said about not liking the way I dress was because you didn’t want people looking at me,”

“Actually, doll, I didn’t want you figuring out how you drive me wild in those tight clothes,” the words escape his mouth before he can stop himself. 

“Well, either way. Don’t sell yourself short,” you tell him with a stretch. 

“We, uh.. we gonna do this again?” He fidgets with the button on his pants as he asks you this. 

You shrug, “If I feel like it,”

“What? C’mon, that felt good. I know it did, you came twice. I can make it feel even better if you’ll let me fuck you right next time,” he tries not to seem too eager to convince you.

“I dunno,” your voice lilts, “depends on how well you behave for me, I guess,”

“Behave for you?” Dabi repeats, watching you practically skip out of the room.

Behave.

So he has to play along with whatever game you've got in mind for him, then.

You’re going to make him absolutely crazy.

Me core

reminders for today:

if you or someone you know might need it in the next few years, purchase plan b. the shelf life of plan b is 4 years, and we might not be able to access it as easily as we can now in the days ahead.

if you are larger/plus size: go online and purchase ella instead of plan b. plan b is less effective if you aren’t under 160 pounds.

if you can, purchase books that project 2025 is looking to ban.

mass deportations are starting. if you see ice vehicles or agents, yell ice raid and la migra as loud as you can.

if someone asks who you voted for, keep your mouth shut. they’re fishing for traitors.

if anyone, anyone at all asks about your neighbors or their legal status in the us, you know nothing. don’t be the reason that their family is separated.

if anyone asks about your religion or lack thereof, keep it vague. this administration will look for any excuse to persecute you.

your friends are trans or queer? for the next four years they’re not. don’t expose anyone’s status as a trans or queer person to anyone else, even if you think you can trust them.

did someone you know get an abortion? no, they didn’t. they were never pregnant.

in short, don’t be a snitch, and keep to yourself these next four years. we’ll make it through this even if it seems hopeless at times.

we can survive this. we’ve survived before, and we’ll survive again.

Ope

Real. There are days where I can't even do the necessary things that I need to because my body just will not work. Being chronically ill/disabled is a full time job on its own. Nearly every aspect of my life has to work around it.

do able-bodied people not understand that if disabled people call out of work every time they don't feel good that we would call out of work every fucking day?

like honestly. what do you think being disabled means?

Well guys, I have once again given in to the visceral need to post yet another story that must escape the confines of my mind before it consumes me whole.

Anyway.

Here is my newest post-war Levi fic for those who are interested!

18+ only please 💜

Read this in the voice of Dr. Orpheus from Venture Bros

NO, YOU AREN'T "EEPY"

A MAN CANNOT BE "EEPY."

HE CAN BE FATIGUED.

HE CAN BE SLUMBEROUS.

HE CAN BE BATTLEWORN FROM THE DAY'S ORDEALS.

BUT NEVER, AND I MEAN NEVER, MUST YOU EVER UTTER THAT WORD.

AND THE BED AND PILLOW WHICH YOU REST YOUR BODY ON?

MUST NEVER BE SO LARGE AS TO MAKE YOUR OWN FORM SEEM DIMINUTIVE IN COMPARISON. IT MUST BE ONLY LARGE ENOUGH TO FIT YOUR OWN BODY, LIKE A COFFIN.

AND YOU ARE ALLOWED BUT 1 PLUSH UPON IT.

AND IT HAS TO BE OF YOUR GREATEST ENEMY.

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

CW: dirty talk, fingering, teasing, fem dom, explicit sexual content. Proof read but no beta.

Chapter 6: I Want You To Want Me

The days that follow are filled with random acts of villainy. You're aware that you were technically paid upfront, but man, this is really cutting into your teasing time. 

Ah. 

Teasing time. 

The random minutes of the day, or hours if you're so lucky, where you really crack down on how much you can provoke the guys before they finally do something about it. You like to be as subtle as you possibly can. Go without a bra in a white t-shirt and see who speaks up. "Forget" your clothes and walk out from your shower with just a towel on. Then there's always the classic route of making direct eye contact while you eat anything that could even resemble a phallic shape. You never do it at the same time or on the same days. It has to be spread out so that nobody can quite pin down when it's going to happen. After all, one of the best parts is the unexpected nature of teasing time.

Today specifically seems like a good day to go ahead and cultivate your newfound skill. You've been in your room most of the day so far, mostly talking to your parents on the phone, assuring them that you're doing alright. Dad's being pretty uptight. The great Knight Terror, a man who can (and does) create nightmarish hallucinations and inflict them upon others, is worried that you're not getting enough sleep. There are just too many layers of irony to peel back. 

This helps you decide to venture out into the rest of the hideout for some much needed stress relief, in search of something--or someone--to take your mind off of everything else. But no such luck. You haven't been particularly active today, so the others have all secluded themselves for a lazy day of their own. You can hear music thrumming down the hall from Toga's room, broken up by chatter and the clicking of keyboards from Tomura's, he and Shuuichi complaining loudly about their hits not landing. 

Which is fine. 

Totally fine.

You're used to being coddled by your parents, so there's a stab of unhealthy regret cutting into your chest for not rounding everyone up when you had the chance. But it'll be fine. There are other ways to relieve stress that don't require tapdancing on the last remaining nerves of the League Of Villain cuties.

So you now find yourself troubleshooting your weakest ability: baking. Having never been particularly talented in this area, you decided to use this time to figure out what the hell you're doing wrong when your pastries turn out... the way that they do. Although you're very aware that these cookies will probably end up less chocolate chip and more heinous shit, you gather the ingredients, mix them in a large glass bowl, then sit on the minimal counter space while you wait for the oven to preheat. You kick your feet as they dangle, humming a song to yourself that you've had stuck in your head.

That's around the time when Twice walks in for a glass of water. Twice, who is the only one of them who hasn't been receptive really at all to any of your teasing. If you wear a white t-shirt with no bra, he only looks at your face. If you come out with just a towel on, he's immediately tearing his eyes away and ignoring the situation. If you make eye contact while practically deep throating a whole-ass banana two inches away from his face, he just smiles and grabs his own damn banana. You think you're going to have to be more direct with him or else he's just not going to take the bait, which kind of goes against the grain of what teasing is at its core. It's frustrating, but at the end of the day, you're willing to give up the subtlety in favor of how badly you want him. 

He's wearing a blue t-shirt and baggy gray sweatpants along with his mask tonight. You have yet to see his face, still, even after a couple months now of having been part of the league. It isn't lost on you that this is for good reason, but it does often give you pause. What does he look like under there? 

You know he has a great body, you've seen it clear as day through his skintight costume. Jin is absolutely built, the way his muscles tense when he strikes a pose giving you butterflies in your belly. He's also very sweet. He was the first of the guys to come talk to you on the day you had arrived, and not a minute has gone by that he hasn't shown you kindness. There are so many attractive qualities about him that it hardly matters what his face is like behind the mask, but curiosity is a hell of a drug.

"You're baking cookies at eleven am?" He asks you in a chesty gravel, "There's never a bad time for cookies,"

His voice. Ugh. There's something about it that sets every hair on your body to stand on end. 

"Yeah, I like to practice the things I'm bad at when people are less likely to be around for it," your admittance causes a blush to dust across your cheeks.

He can feel himself getting hot and flustered. You're so fucking cute like this.

Twice chuckles under his breath, "Well don't let me bother you, I'm just here for a glass of water. So outta the way!"

You look him up and down as he runs the tap, admiring his forearms, how they tense when he fists his glass. He allows for the slightest glimpse of the lower half of his face when he pulls his mask up for a drink, small rivets of water spilling at the corners of his mouth to wet his chin. From what you can tell, he's a little scruffy, stubble lining his angular jaw. This is short-lived, though, the mask soon to be returned over his face entirely.

"Hey, Jin?" 

"Mm?"

"I was just wondering.. am I allowed to see what your face looks like?" 

The inquiry takes him by surprise. You can tell that he's struggling somewhat to determine his best course of action. Truth be told, while he would normally be apprehensive to remove the mask so he doesn't spiral, this time, it's mostly because he doesn't want you to be disappointed with what you see. He isn't what he would consider to be conventionally attractive. Definitely not as good looking as you.  

He rubs at the back of his neck in a bashful display that's quite unlike the Twice you've come to know, eyes fixed at the linoleum, and you think for a moment that he's about to refuse your request. Not a word is spoken when he removes his mask, a head of straw-colored hair revealed beneath it. A scar runs lengthwise down the center of his forehead, one which you assume is from his incident, a line that diverges between two hooded, gray eyes.

You giggle nervously, a bad habit that appears to have him feeling self-conscious with the way he rubs at his upper arm, "Sorry, I just--" you catch your lower lip between your teeth, "You're really cute,"

His eyes widen for a brief moment before they settle back into a flattened affect. 

"Don't make fun of me, Yumemi," he tells you with pink cheeks. 

"I'm not. I really like your hair, I didn't think you'd be blonde. And you've got bedroom eyes," 

Bedroom eyes.

Were you coming on to him?

There's no goddamn way. 

Each corner of your mouth nudges into a playful grin, the glint in your gaze prickling his skin with goosebumps, and you lean forward to close the space that rests betwixt you both.

"W-why are you laughing then?" 

"Because I'm nervous over what I'm about to do,"

Anticipation blooms within him.

"What..." he swallows thickly, the realization settling into his bones that, yes, this is actually happening, "What are you about to do?"

With your body buzzing and full of adrenaline, you spread your legs, the skirt you're wearing folding in the open space that separates your knees, and he releases an audible gasp when you do so. 

"Ask you to touch me," you tell him in a voice that's barely above a whisper. 

He stumbles towards you, attempting not to gnash his teeth over this opportunity, fighting each and every urge to nip at the exposed flesh of your thighs. His callouses drag over the contours of your body, hands slow yet hungry, relishing in the way that you shiver at his touch which ghosts along your pretty waist. 

"Like that?" His brows tilt, knitting at the center, a shake in his voice that threatens to break him apart. 

You nod your head as he allows his fingertips to sink into the swell of your hips, and you spread yourself wider, tipping your pelvis, encouraging him to travel further down. He curses quietly to himself, and then rests a palm atop each of your knees, pulse thundering, hormones flitting through his veins. He needs a second to breathe. 

But only a second. 

Jin massages your thighs, greedy hands working up until he reaches the hem of your skirt. He stops to examine your reaction. You're so beautiful that it hurts to look at you. Has his legs about to give out underneath him.

"K-keep going," you beg in a voice that's half a moan. 

You sound so needy for him. 

And the way you're looking at him right now all but confirms that thought. Your eyes are burning with a desire that rivals his own, the lust which you offer him delicious and saccharine, pouring from your lips like honey.

"That's all you wanted?" He taunts, but it's breathless and weak. 

You grab his shoulders to pull him into a kiss, jerking him closer to you, and he grunts against your lips as the tent in his pants is pressed to your leg. 

"Touch me more," your purr is muffled into his mouth. 

He pinches his eyes shut tight, seconds from tearing the clothes from your body and bending you over this counter so he can fuck you properly. However, he's a man who values respect above all else, and you'd asked him to touch you--only to touch you. A searing hand travels to the aching at your center, softly rubbing along your damp panties in languid strokes, laving across your clothed cunt. Your breath hitches at the contact, writhing as though you're trying to tie yourself into a knot. He steadies you with his other hand firm against the small of your back. 

When you part for air, your lips are kiss-stung, eyes heavily lidded, chest heaving. He presses a messy, open-mouthed kiss to your neck as he pulls your panties to the side, circling your clit with his index finger before delving it into your pussy all the way down to the knuckle. Your whine comes out as little more than a breathy squeak when he kneads inside of you, prodding to find the spot that will make you cry. 

"You're so wet," he breathes hazily, as if in disbelief.

You nod your head, "Been wanting you to touch me like this for a while,"

Fuck, that's hot.

"Shoulda said something sooner, princess. I would've satisfied you a long time ago," the confidence in his tone is a hard difference from how blissed-out he sounded not thirty seconds prior. You wonder if sex is something both parts of him can agree on.

The boastful tone soon gives way to whines and whimpers that are near pitiful. He can't remember the last time he did this, and a large part of him hopes he isn't too rusty. But there's another portion that's too caught up in the moment to care about finesse. Your hand tangles into his hair, tugging at it roughly, a not-so-gentle indicator of how good he's making you feel, just the reminder that he needed to focus on your pleasure instead of the chaos in his head. He presses his thumb to your apex, rubbing circles into the little bud that causes you to throb around his finger. 

"There?" His question vibrates against the column of your throat, "You like it right there?"

"Right there. Fuck, feels so good," you mewl, high and soft, words enmeshing with the tepid air. 

With a shaky groan, he raptly watches the wiggle of your hips as he curls his finger, then dips another inside of you, eager to see you unravel, the lewd sounds you're making over his ministrations pushing him to madness. You can feel him pulsing through his pants, even moreso when he looks down to see his digits returning slicker than before, your arousal clinging to him and making a mess on the countertop. 

"Want you to cum for me," he grits, the words skittering out of him like electricity.

The way that you're tightening around him says that you're not too far from this. Fuck, he's so hard. He doesn't think he's ever been this turned on in his entire life. You're so hot like this, your skin all flushed and dewy, eyes pleading with him to give you the ecstacy you so crave. As embarrassing as it is to admit to himself, he's getting close with the way he's grinding against your outer thigh. The friction is just enough to keep him right on that precipice, and the moans he's pulling from you have his cock throbbing mercilessly.

A desperate groan wracks out of him as you dip below his waistband to take the length of him into your hand, shameless and highly strung, eyes widening when you swipe your thumb across his slit. You collect the bead of precum that was dripping from him, then lick it from the pad of your thumb, melting over how his voice breaks as he watches. You wet your palm with your tongue and return it to his twitching cock.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he whimpers, pressing more firmly into your clit, "If you don't stop, I'm gonna cum,"

You lift your shirt to reveal the expanse of your stomach, "Good. Cum on me,"

"Oh my god, keep going. Keep--uhnn--stop! No, don't stop, don't fucking stop, don't listen to that," the words come out between his panting.

He grips the counter with his free hand, knuckles blanching, holding on for dear life as he bucks into the silk of your palm. You glide your hand up and down his shaft, the way his face twists up when you run your fingers across a sensitive spot winding the coil within you so impossibly tight that it's about to snap entirely. You've become so wet that his thumb slips over your clit, slick arousal gushing, the velvet of your walls squeezing him with every word he babbles into your ear.

You want dirty talk?

He'll fucking give it to you.

"Next time I'm licking your pussy. Bet your clit tastes like candy. Goddamn, you're driving me so crazy, I swear," Jin lifts your shirt so he can play with your nipples, tweaking them as he continues, "Been wanting to make this pussy cum since I first laid eyes on you. Shit, you're getting so tight--ah--you are so fucking close. Mmff. That feels good, doesn't it?" he rasps, and that's all it takes to send you pulsing around him, fist tightening in his hair, "Yeah. That's it, cum all over my fingers, princess,"

Your moan breaks off into a cry, sharp and keening, pleasure bursting through you in a burning and intense unfurling that shocks through your limbs. 

"Fuck, Jin! Ahh-aahh, you make me feel so good!" you cry out as he fucks you through your orgasm.

"Oh fuck, that's it, I-I can't. Gonna cum. I'm--ah--gonna cum, gonna cum, gon--ngh, c-cumming," a heady moan juts from his throat as he tumbles headlong into pleasure, his cock pulsing in your hand as you guide him to spill his hot release onto your abdomen. 

He wriggles at the sight, bucking his hips, thrusting to glide through your fingers that work him so sweetly, painting your skin pearly white. Tired and damp with sweat, he drops over you, trembling and muttering little nothings into the warmth of your neck. 

"Would you ever want to have sex with me?"

Jin snaps his head up in attention, nearly manic when he nods his head and cages you in with his strong arms. 

Hook, meet line. 

"Yes--yes, just, gimme like two minutes and I can--"

You slide off of the counter, patting the side of his face on your way down. 

"Then we totally will sometime," you clean him off of your stomach with a napkin as you speak, "But these cookies won't make themselves,"

He blinks several times in succession, then splashes his face with cold water before pulling his mask back on. 

And there it is. 

Sinker. 

He helps you portion dough out onto a baking sheet, watches you dance around the kitchen in your socks as you sing into a spoon, imagines what it feels like to breathe in the salt of your skin as he takes you, as he cradles your face in his hands. 

Yeah.

He should be easier to tease from now on.

Tryna keep myself from crawling through this screen and devouring him got damn

the first time you sit on shigaraki tomura’s lap, he freezes. muscles tensing up, hands held rigid at his sides. don’t touch don’t touch don’t touch on a chant in his head.

you crane your neck to look back at him, beaming that loose, easy smile that makes him want to burn the whole world down just to keep you safe.

"just gettin’ comfy, tomu!" before you’re leaning back against his chest, the warmth of your body sinking into his bones.

it becomes routine to have you there, a comforting weight that buzzes through his head and zaps out thought. he dares himself to touch you, to drag his thumb over the soft skin of your hip. he doesn’t realize that he might have an effect on you too until you’re spinning on his lap and hugging his thigh between your legs, breath shaky against his ear.

"tomu—" you whine into the skin of his neck. he can already feel the heat of your pussy through your cute little pajama shorts.

"needy?" he scoffs, mostly to hide the disbelief, the joy—you’re needy for him. you’re fumbling for his cock, his hands, trying to find yourself relief that only he can bring you. his dick pulses against his stomach. "if you need it that badly, you can get yourself off like this, can’t you?"

you press kisses to his throat, and he practically short-circuits.

"yeah, but it’s better if you help me move."

the fact that it’s him you’re craving—shit, he's losing his damn mind.

he’s careful with his grip but that doesn’t mean it isn’t punishing, firm. he locks you in, dragging your slippery folds back and forth, watching the way your eyes flutter when you bump up against that bundle of nerves at the top.

"you like this," he breathes against you, something like a smile on his face. "you really like this?"

cums literally seconds later when he hears you say, “I love this”

Me looking at myself in the mirror and seeing all the shit that still needs to come off of my face at the end of the night

Don't write another Levi fic, you haven't even finished the last one...

Okay, fine!

I'll write a post war Levi fic!

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

CW: dirty talk, heavy petting, fem dom. Proof read but no beta.

Ch 5: Practice Makes Perfect

Today is different than most days, in that you and one other individual have been tasked with pulling the information out of a couple of guards who may have overheard a conversation about UA high school. One person is to come with you for your own protection, the “muscle” so to speak, while the others hang back at the hideout. You get why they need only two people for this mission. Sending in the entire league would be messy, difficult to coordinate, and would more than likely blow your cover due to the lack of stealth involved. There isn’t much of a reason for them to muddle things up that way when Kurogiri can warp them to your location at the drop of a hat. That part is no mystery to you. 

What you don’t understand is why you’ve entered the den to see everyone drawing straws over who had to escort you to the location. 

“Looks like you’re comin’ with me today, doll face,” Dabi’s voice trails hotly through his teeth as he shows you the short straw he’s drawn. 

The others are all quiet, tempering their pissy attitudes, which you mistake for their relief that they don’t have to babysit the weakest link in the League Of Villains chain. It’s not lost on you that you don’t offer much in the way of capabilities compared to the others. Sure, your quirk is useful, and you have many positive attributes which you’ve cultivated throughout your entire life spent in villainy—however, you’re aware that you aren’t super agile, or strong, or even particularly able to defend yourself outside of who you’re using your quirk on. And now Dabi has, quite literally, drawn the short straw and must perform as your defense himself. How humiliating.

Dabi flips his middle finger at everyone behind his back as you two walk out the door. 

He gets to spend essentially the entire day with you now. 

Fortunately, the pair of you are stealthy enough that the guards don’t hear you coming. You aren’t what you would consider to be a graceful person, nor are you particularly light on your feet, but you know how to avoid getting caught. You’ve seen too many others get their asses handed to them making even the faintest of noises trying to get to your parents, so you’re aware of what to listen for, where to position your feet, what to avoid. This makes it so easy to sneak up on these two that it’s almost laughable. They’ve been left out here like sitting ducks. 

Your quirk only works on one person at a time, so Dabi handles the larger of the guards as you work on his counterpart. First thing he mentions is his Grandma. Yeesh. It feels kind of fucked up to do him this way, but he’s not cracking in dreamland, so you’re going to have to use dear old granny as leverage. It takes over an hour for him to finally relent, but it does eventually do the trick. You almost want to say sorry for the things you made him see. Grandma’s melting eyeballs don’t exactly just leave your thoughts once they’ve been shown to you. 

Regardless, you got the information you needed. UA is planning a training camp for the upcoming season when the new recruits are in. That’s plenty of time to get the Vanguard Action Squad together and even more time to plan. The others will be pleased with what you’re bringing back for them. 

“Think Shigaraki will be happy with what we were able to get from those guys?” Your attempt at smalltalk appears to be falling flat as Dabi rolls his eyes. 

“Dunno,” his timbre is smoky and low, “Don’t really care, either,”

He comes closer to you as your footsteps echo throughout the alley, warmth radiating from him to an alarming degree. There’s always heat coming off of him, but this time, he’s absolutely sweltering, leaving scorch marks in his wake. It’s concerning to say the least. 

“You seem warmer than usual,” you say, slowing your pace.

“I just watched you make some motherfucker see his grandma burning in hell and you’re worried about me being warm?” He replies sardonically.

Your gate pauses, brows flexed.

“I'm serious. I can feel you from all the way over here. Did you get hurt?” You ask him, searching his form for any obvious signs of damage. 

He looks to the side opposite of you, pale skin becoming flushed, “No more than usual,”

You grab his hand, leaning against an old brick building to examine the areas most affected by his flames. The touch feels something akin to sensual, your fingers tracing over the lines of his palm, eyes narrowed in concentration as your lips part to reveal the smallest click of your tongue. He taps his foot anxiously, tugging slightly to encourage you to drop his hand. This touch is too much. Too much, and not enough. 

“Quit worrying about me. It’s nothing. My hands just get kinda hot when I use my quirk for too long, and that guy was a fighter,” 

“You have blisters here. I saw you touch the pavement you’d heated up, so I figured something like this would happen,” your brows pinch, “We should really run some cool water over them. It’ll help,”

“Psh. That won’t do shit, doll. Might as well kiss it better if all you’re gonna do is ru—“

The words catch in his throat as you lift his hand to your mouth, pressing a soft peck to the center of his palm. You smile up at him as if you’ve done something simple, mundane, like you changed a coffee filter so he wouldn’t have to. 

“Better?”

He can feel the entire world coming to a screeching halt. His eyes are so wide you’re worried they may be about to pop out of their sockets entirely, his whole body bristling, voice faltering in choked stutters before any syllables can string together into a coherent thought. After several seconds of regaining his composure, he jerks his hand away from you, stuffing it into his pocket, the healthy skin of his cheeks bright pink. 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s just go,” he murmurs under his breath. 

Fuck. He’s such an idiot. Why didn’t he kiss your hand back or something? Why can’t his heart calm down enough to sweep you off of your feet? Now you’re both heading back to the bar where all of those other puds are going to fumble over your attention just like he is right now. 

One day they won’t, though. 

One day, someone is going to grow a set of balls, and ask you out. 

Dabi’s eyes linger along your body, taking in the curve of your waist, the way you look in those leggings you’ve poured yourself into. Goddamn. If a member of the league doesn’t ask you out, someone on the street sure as hell will. 

“Hey. Yumemi,” his voice cuts into the air, dense and ice-cold, a stark counter to his raging heat. 

“Hmm?” You turn to look at him. 

Your hair is all caught up in the wind, eyes hazy and aglow, like moonlight coming gauzy through the treetops. 

“Don’t dress like this again,”

His command has you taken aback, a gasp caught behind your lips, the small bubble of air clinging to the roof of your mouth. 

“And why is that?” You cross your arms as you question him. 

He watches the way your hip pops out when you become irritated, your attempts to thwart his comment only adding to how adorable you look. Your lips are pursed and nudged to one side, brows lifted in annoyance, one leg jutted out to keep him from walking any further in front of you. Dabi averts his gaze, cutting his eyes to the ground to keep from letting your irises burn holes into his own.

“C’mon. Don’t make me say it,” he swallows the lump in his throat. 

Just tell her she looks good. 

Just tell her she looks good. 

Just tell her she looks good.

“You… I don’t like when you’re dressed like that,”

Sweet Mary mother of my ass, why is that what came out?

You scoff, “You sound like my father. I’ll tell you the same thing I tell him—get over it,”

The rest of the trip home is silent, aside from the arsenal of screams running through Dabi’s head.

When you arrive back at the bar, you’re immediately slinking into your room, giving a polite wave to the rest of the group. Toga follows suit, grinning at Dabi on the way. 

“What did he do?” She asks, taking a seat next to you on the bed. 

“He told me he doesn’t like when I’m dressed like this,” you sigh deeply, “Straight up told me not to dress like this again. Can you fucking believe that, Toga?”

Her smile bears the points of her fangs when she says, “I can believe it,”

“I just… I don’t understand,” you fall back, exasperated, “I’ve actually asked them if they dislike me, and they’ve said that they don’t. Then they do things like this. They tell me they don’t like how I dress, or jump away if I show any sort of even friendly affection, and they’re constantly fighting any time I’m around. I think they’re just trying to spare my feelings or something,”

Toga smoothes the pleats of her skirt, tossing around the dichotomy she’s faced with: the internal struggle within her of whether or not to let you in on the secret game she’s been playing. Fortunately for you, she can’t keep a secret to save her life, even if said secret is partially her own. It’s a truth she knows for gospel. She’d might as well share it.

“Mimi, listen. They’re my best friends. I know them better than I know anyone else. But since you’re my best friend, too, I’m gonna be real honest with you,” she exhales sharply, eyes glinting, the steel in her gaze enough to cut you open, “They wanna bang you and don’t know what to do with themselves,”

“W-what?!” Your voice squeaks, startled to the bone, and you nearly jump from the bed in response.

“Mhm,” her voice ticks up at the end of her phrase, “Half of them have never even kissed a girl and I bet none of them have had any relationships at all. I bet Dabi hasn’t even had sex before. I know Spinner and Shigaraki haven’t. I asked once and they got all defensive. But they’ve all been after you since day one. I’ve been watching it all from the sidelines. I’m surprised that I kept it to myself for this long, I usually can’t,” She rolls around on your bed in a fit of giggles with the way that your expression gives way from confusion to shock. 

You smear your face with both hands.

“So what are you gonna do?” Her voice is laced with something heavy and eager as she leans in to inspect your face more closely.

“I.. I don’t know. I’ve never been in this situation before,”

“You could always make them make the decision for you,” 

“Meaning…?”

Toga balls her fists and places them at her chest, closing her eyes, “If it were me, and this were Izuku and Ochaco, I would jump all over them. We’d all kiss and cuddle and do other relationship things,” golden eyes flicker open, “But you have something I don’t,”

“I do?” Your face screws up with the question.

She nods her head, “Subtlety,”

“Subtlety.. Hmm… Oh,” your eyes snap wide, “subtlety,” 

Alright. Yeah. You can be subtle.

You’re nervous when entering the den, Toga grinning broadly behind you, her mouth stretched impossibly taut across her face. The butterflies are overtaking your belly when she skips over to the couch, leaving you to your own devices. You make your way to the kitchen for a much-needed glass of water, desperate to ease your nerves after the news you’ve just received. It’s a small room sequestered in the back of the bar with little in the way of appliances, snug, hardly a facility at all. The oven is half the size of what you’re used to and the refrigerator is so minuscule that it sits atop the counter, which Mr. Compress is leaning against, his mask already removed to eat an onigiri.

“My, Yumemi, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost,” he tells you between bites. 

“Sorry, I just.. uh…” you think back to what Toga told you a few minutes prior, wrangling in some confidence as you join him at the counter, “Dabi said something to me earlier,”

“Of course he did,” Atsuhiro scoffs.

He pats your hand, the scarlet of his glove the same as the heat festering within you.

You swallow hard.

“Yeah. He said he doesn’t like the way I dress,”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,”

You look at him through your lashes, “Do you like the way I dress?”

He stiffens—in more ways than one—at the husky tone your voice has taken.

Time stretches on, the tight quarters closing in, stirring you up even more.

“I.. I think you always dress quite well,” he says after several heartbeats, and you hum to yourself, pleased with the red hue of his face. 

With a quick glance over his entirety, and a note to yourself at how well his figure is cut in his attire, you open your mouth, lolling your tongue out to receive some of his food. He knows the drill by now. Knows that his compliance has always been appreciated but not required. However, tonight, it feels like much more of a demand. It feels as though he’s the subservient role this time. 

Atsuhiro pinches the pickled plum from his onigiri between his thumb and index finger, and instead of allowing him to drop it into your mouth, you lick it from his fingertips. His breath hitches at the back of his throat. What is happening? You’ve always been so ingenue, and now you’re sucking at his fingers? 

You are absolutely beyond enjoying this. You release his fingers with a pop, and he grips the counter with both hands, eyes wide and near-frantic. Toga was right. They don’t know what to do.

“Anything else you wanna feed me while we’re in here?” The look you give him borders on smug. 

You fucking love how flustered he is right now. 

God, you should’ve tried this weeks ago. 

“L-like what?” The question shakes from him like a branch in the wind. 

You lean into him, a surreptitious flicker in your gaze, “I’m sure you’ll think of something. Let me know when you do,”

Atsuhiro lets out a jumble of sounds not too dissimilar from a sentence as he crumples further against the countertop. It isn't terribly often that he's left without words. In fact, he could count on one hand how many times that's been the case. But never has it taken him quite so offgaurd. This encounter has been intense.

You saunter out of the kitchen, leaving him there, wide-eyed and sweaty. 

Holy shit. 

Holy fucking shit. 

That felt… really good. 

————

You can’t sleep for the rest of the night. You’re too pent up, too high off of the experience from earlier. The way he looked at you, the wilderness in his eyes, the way the perspiration dotted his brow—it’s too much for you to handle. You can’t quiet your mind enough to rest. So here you are, watching TV in the dead of night, pleading with the universe for more. The rest of the league is, to your knowledge, asleep. But the universe has heard your plea. Spinner emerges from his room, somewhat shocked to see you still up and about. 

“O-oh, Yumemi, hey. Are you having trouble sleeping, too?” He stammers, voice strained. 

“Yeah,” you pat the spot next to you on the couch, “Care to keep me company?”

Spinner shuffles in his place, then nods gently, forgoing whatever had initially led him into the den to sit with you. He keeps himself pressed to the farthest side, sunk into the crux of the arm, hands clasped together and knee bouncing, anxiety seeping from his every pore. 

“What, uh.. What’re you watchin’?” The words don’t come naturally to him, the stress apparent in his tone. 

“Mmm, nothing too interesting. I’d rather talk to be honest,” 

“To me?”

“If that’s okay,”

“Y-yeah, of course, I just… uhm, what did ya wanna talk about?”

“Well, Toga said something really interesting to me earlier,” you scoot closer to him, and he tenses, his stomach folding in on itself. 

His throat bobs with his swallow, “She did?”

“Mhm. She said you’ve never kissed anyone before,”

“What?! Fuck, Toga—“

“Is it true?”

From Spinner’s neck to his face washes in a pretty shade of pink, “I mean..” His eyes dart around the room before he relents, “Y-yeah. I guess so,”

“You could practice on me if you wanted,”

The room falls silent aside from the thumping of his heart, pulse in his hands, his mind scrambling to regain sentience.

“This.. This is… D-did Dabi put you up to this?” He cannot fathom a world in which this is an actual offer. 

From you. 

“No,” you say softly, placing a hand on his bicep, the twitching of his muscles able to be felt through his hoodie, “I just thought that, y’know, maybe you wanted to kiss me. For practice. It doesn’t have to be anything serious,”

“I h-haven’t ever—I—well, I-I don’t—“

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want me to be your first kiss,” in spite of feeling somewhat dejected, you understand if this isn’t how he wants his first encounter with a woman to go. Maybe he wants his first kiss to be more meaningful than what you’re offering him right now.

“It’s not that!” He jolts, “I just.. I won’t be very good at it if.. i-if we do,”

So Toga hadn’t steered you wrong. 

It really is all of them that are interested.

You giggle, “That’s why it’s practice,”

Spinner attempts to muffle a yelp as you climb atop him, straddling his waist, plush thighs caging him in. 

“Ready?” You ask him, patting his cheek.

He shakes fiercely enough that he can feel his bones rattling, barely able to finish nodding before you close the space between the two of you entirely, and he lets out a little grunt in surprise with the way that your body slots against him. You ghost your lips across his, plant your hands onto his heaving chest, his heart beating so harshly you can feel it beneath your palms. Gently, you lave your tongue into his mouth, careful not to overstimulate him. A curse leaves him as you part to see the look on his face, and you’re glad you’ve done so. His eyes are heavy, glassy, almost pained that you’ve separated from him this soon. He licks his lips, tasting what’s left of you, his breaths shallow, quick and noisy as a camera’s shutter. 

He’s a fucking mess. 

For the first time, you can sense the prowess of your sexuality coursing through you, neurotoxic, electrifying. 

“Are you finished, or do you think you need more practice?” You catch your bottom lip between your teeth, run your fingertips down his neck in featherlight strokes. 

“More,” he gasps, “I n-need more practice,”

Satisfied with his answer, you press your mouths into a deeper kiss, one that’s hungry, heavy, hot. Naturally, he lets you take the lead. You devour the opportunity with great rapture. He moans into your mouth softly, tentatively, as if he’s struggling to keep these sounds from gushing out of him. It’s cute. Especially when he hovers two shaking hands above your hips. 

“Touch me. Let me hear you. It’s all part of the experience when you kiss like this,” you whisper into the corner of his mouth. 

“Okay, I’ll—ahh—“ his voice cuts into a groan when you lower yourself further onto his lap, and his hands instinctually grip your waist, claws pricking at the skin on either side. 

“See?” You grind up and down the straining length that throbs in his sweatpants, “Doesn’t that feel better, Spinner?”

He tosses his head back onto the couch, his hair mussed behind him, and ruts into you in sloppy, inexperienced movements. 

“Can.. Can you call me Shuuichi?” The words come out so faint that they’re barely audible. 

You grin, grazing the length of his cock so that it rubs your aching clit, and he chokes on a whine that tumbles from his throat. 

“Does it feel better, Shuuichi?”

He melts at the sound of his name, eyes fluttering, brow tilted up into an expression that can only be described as euphoric. All he’s able to muster up is yet another nod of his head, barely holding on to the ever growing tension that’s building within his core. You’ve become incredibly aware of how close he is to cumming in his pants, so you ease the heavy petting, focusing more on the tangle of teeth and tongue that your kiss has evolved into. You nip at his lower lip, eliciting something between a growl and a groan from him. 

Spinner is already almost there. He’s right on the edge, panting, whimpering, cock pulsing against the pressure betwixt your thighs as he trembles and grips your hips fervently. You have a few options. You could let him cum in his pants, watch him unravel here underneath you. Then there’s the next selection of you escalating things, riding him outright, maybe sucking him off. He feels big through his clothes, and though you’re sure he wouldn’t last long, you’re pretty positive he would be a good fuck. 

Or…

“Well, Shuuichi,” you part from him with a wet smack of your lips, plopping back onto the cushion opposite to him once more, “That’s what kissing is like,”

He clutches his still-heaving chest, hair thoroughly ruffled, his currant eyes half-lidded and glazed with desire. 

His mind having been properly disconnected from his body, he asks, “Could we practice more?”

With great difficulty, you stifle a snicker, catch it in your mouth before it can touch the air around you. He really wants you. It was so easy to get him there, so fucking hot to see how pent up you can make him. You want to fuck him. You really do. 

But you want to play with him a little more before you get there.

“Another time. We’ll practice more later. I think I’m gonna go to bed right now, though. Night, Shuuichi,” you say this as nonchalant as you can, traipsing to your room, listening intently at the way he exhales slowly and deeply to calm himself as you exit.

You really like the art of subtlety.

Can we please talk about why there isn't more smut of Twice? Like, he is built, for one. Total hunk. Weird as hell too which is just my type. But he's also an actual sweetheart who I can see being a very generous lover.

I bet he'd be shy at first, probably a little surprised you were pursuing him. He can be pretty dense when it comes to things like this so you had to make the first move. But when you lift his mask to pull him down into a kiss, it doesn't take him long to succumb to that primal hunger, and he's manhandling you as he pushes you up onto the counter, doesn't even care if someone walks in.

God is he so fucking eager to have you in his hands like this. You've got him about to bust in his pants with the way you're moaning into his mouth, how you're begging him to touch you. Anything you want, he's not denying you whatever you ask for, so he lets his hands map out each and every curve of your body, relishes in the way you shiver when his fingertips bite into your flesh.

"Here?" There's a shake to his voice as he asks this, rubbing the ache between your thighs, "You want it here, too?"

Obviously, this man is a switch. He aims to please so whatever you want that day he's doing it. He's just as happy to bend you over his bed and fuck your wet little cunt raw as he is to have you riding his face and calling him a good boy. All he wants is for you to fall apart, say his name, let him make you cum as many times as you'll allow him to.

You'll be riding him, using him as you please, and he's whimpering underneath you as you tighten around him like a vice.

One second he's a mess, all fucked-out and moaning, "please, fuck--mmmff--keep going, just like that," and the next thing you know, he's bucking up into you until he's on top, tossing your legs over his shoulders as he grits, "you thought I was done with you, princess? Gonna have you taking my cock 'til I'm shooting blanks,"

THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS

Me writing every single one of my own container of teeth/Prada combos because I am degenerate filth and cannot keep it to myself ✨️

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the best fic ive ever read in my life. this absolutely ruined me and ill never be the same ever again

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♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

Ch 4: So Kiss Me

It’s been a few weeks since the festival, and although you’ve all spent plenty of time lately putting the newest plans for the League Of Villains into motion, you can’t get the last interactions with Atsuhiro out of your head. Nor can you stop from thinking about how Dabi felt pressed to you, how he let you grab a fistful of his shirt, the way his calloused hands felt on your back. 

If you were being totally honest with yourself, this tension you’ve been feeling—combined with not having any sex at all lately—has you incredibly pent up and sexually frustrated. This is only exacerbated by your own behaviors. You’re not entirely positive why you keep doing this to yourself, but if you see someone eating something you want a bite of (or not), you’ll look at whoever is eating it until they give you some. When the mood so strikes you, you’ll just open your mouth, lean into them, wait for whoever it is to notice and indulge you in what you’re concerned may be some sort of fetish that was unlocked.

Nobody ever denies you. 

Still, though, you’re… well, offended isn’t the right word. You don’t take offense to people not wanting to sleep with you. It’s not like they can control who they’re attracted to. 

But you’re becoming more and more wishful that someone would throw a pity fuck your way. 

Do you really want to be pitiful enough that someone has sex with you, though?

Ugh. No. That would be a huge blow to your self-esteem. You just really want to be wanted. Especially when the guys who could potentially want you are all so cute. It’s got you to the point where you’re about to pounce on whoever so much as looks at you the next time you’re alone with someone. Or so you say to yourself. You’ve literally never made the first move with anyone, and even thinking about it makes you feel queasy, the notion that they could reject you outright nearly bringing you to tears. It’s almost funny. You’ve been punched in the jaw so hard that it clicks when you chew, but you can’t handle the prospect of being turned down. You really are pitiful.

After a good long stretch in your bed, you make your way to the bathroom, rinse your face with cool water to wash away whatever horny spirit has possessed you, then go through your usual morning routine. It was your assumption that you would be facing a packed house when you entered the den, however, you walk in to see only Shigaraki sitting on the couch, hunched over and playing League Of Legends on his phone. He crumples into himself when he hears your footsteps on the old wooden floors.

“Are we the only ones here?” You announce yourself, leaning against the back of the couch to glance at the game on his screen.

“I sent everyone else out to scout for supplies. And for members of the Vanguard Action Squad if they find anyone, too,” Shigaraki mutters as he scratches absentmindedly at his neck.

Scars litter the fragile skin there in varying degrees. Some are white and webbed, shiny in the light of the room like a spider’s silk, while others are still warm rivets of healing tissue. You wonder if the scars that trail across his eye and lips are self-inflicted as well. Wonder if he’ll ever tell you the stories behind them.

“I would’ve gone to help had you asked me to,” you say with the smallest twinge of guilt for sleeping in so late. 

He shifts in his spot, crimson eyes avoiding your own gaze, his mouth formed into a tight line. 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” 

“I just don’t want you to think that I’m not willing to pull my own weight,” 

You take a seat next to him and his breath hitches. You’ve never been this close to him before. Of course, his plan was for you both to be alone together while the others were tasked with scouring the streets, but he hadn’t expected you to be quite so receptive. Are you as touch starved as he is? No, probably not, he thinks. Everyone is always trying to touch you, feed you, talk to you. It’s as if you’ve become the household pet. The thought that he’s one of these scrubs who fawns for you this way makes him sick to his stomach. It pisses him off how goddamn pretty you are, how sweaty you make his palms, how his mind stalls when you talk to him. You're just so... frustrating.

God, why can't he ever just be normal around you?

“I said don’t worry about it. Some of us need to stay behind in case shit goes sideways,” he explains, peering at you through his mop of blue bangs. 

The glance is fleeting, unable to be held with how his stomach keeps doing flips when he looks into your eyes. 

“That makes sense, boss,” you say this in a way that’s almost teasing, your grin visible in his peripheral.

Oof.

He’s about to lose his shit.

“It’s Tomura,” 

“Mmm. Okay. Well, that makes sense, Tomura,” the way you say his name sends a fleet of shivers across his skin. 

Son of a bitch. He should’ve just let you call him boss. Why did he do this to himself? Hearing you call him by his first name is about to kill him. 

“Mind if I play some music?” You ask, already pulling up the app on your phone.

“I don’t care,” his tone falters a bit with these words. 

You don’t know what’s come over you. Really, you don’t. Maybe you’re ovulating, maybe the exasperation has gnawed at what’s left of your common sense, maybe you just really want to dip your toe in the water. You can’t be certain. All you know is that the song you pick is Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer. His facial expression doesn’t change, still flat in affect, eyes only snapping open when the lyrics begin. He nearly dusted his phone upon hearing them.

“Have you ever danced before?” The question is mostly rhetorical. 

You’re pretty aware that he more than likely has not, in fact, danced before. Most villains don’t indulge in those manner of frivolous activities, namely when they have quirks like his. But you don’t mind. You’re used to dangerous quirks, dangerous situations, and dangerous men. 

“Dancing is stupid,” He scoffs. 

It’s his heart that’s being stupid right now, though. It won’t stop beating so hard and fast. Is he coming down with something? This is just a song. A really dumb one at that. There’s no way kissing is so good that someone would sing about it. 

. . .

Probably.

“So you wouldn’t want to dance with me, then?”

He holds a gasp within his mouth.

Are you asking him to dance with you?

Tomura.exe is no longer responding. 

Anticipation blooms in your gut while you wait for him to answer, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. 

“I didn’t say that,” He sets his phone down, eyes owlish and large, anxiously tapping his index finger against his knee. 

If this were anyone else, his answer would be a firm and resounding no. But there’s something about you that makes him repulsively soft and compliant, a weakness he wasn’t aware of previously that he’s not nearly as desperate as he should be to eradicate, a feeling that’s red and raw and alive. And although he hates how easily you have him wrapped around your finger, he doesn’t necessarily want it to stop. This sensation is new, and strange, but oddly pleasant.

Without a word, you smile at him, lifting off of the couch and offering him your hand. He stands on his own instead, refusing to look up from the floor, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Hastily, he pulls a pair of gloves from his pocket, stitched with black leather, and slips them on to cover the last two digits of each hand. 

“Just.. watch where you're touching,” he mumbles, “the gloves could slip or something,”

“I’ll take my chances,” you giggle, grabbing him by the wrists. 

You pull him closer, positioning one gloved hand to your hip, another at your shoulder, and he lifts his pinkies for added security. 

You grin sweetly, eyelashes fluttering, “See? It’s easy,” 

He makes a tiny, choked sound, the noise catching in his throat as the song ends, leading to Fade Into You by Mazzy Star. His pulse is thundering through his veins, echoing in his skull like a war hammer. He’s going to melt with how febrile and balmy he’s become. This is made worse when you stumble over your own foot, lunging forward, your cheek now pressed against his. 

“Sorry,” the apology is somewhat strained, “I’m not the best dancer,”

His staggered breaths can be heard clearly in your ear, tickling your skin, warm and whispy. It makes you realize just how much you long to be held. Having heard no complaints from him, you keen in closer, both of you smoldering in the heat of one another. He swears this pit in his stomach has to be the music. It’s influencing him with all this acoustic guitar strumming.

There’s a shake to his voice when he asks, “Why are we dancing if you’re so damn bad at it?” 

“Because it’s nice to be close like this,” the timbre sits low in your chest.

You run a lock of his hair through your fingers, hands clasped at the base of his neck. He feels like he might be dying. The only other time he’s experienced an adrenaline rush like this is when he’s just gotten the holy hell beat out of him in a fight. It’s making him nervous and stiff. 

You’ve turned in so many circles that you end up with your back flat against the wall, and you chuckle at this, thoroughly amused. He hasn’t registered just yet that it’s time to stop spinning, so he continues the movements until his elbows scrape the wall, eliciting a quiet grunt from him. With a breathy laugh, you pat his arm, and he swallows thickly at the way your eyes sparkle, how they crinkle up with your smile. He feels weird. Like this isn’t really happening to him. It knocks the wind from his lungs, has him squeezing at your waist with eight trembling fingers, biting into your soft flesh, grinding you harder into the wall behind you. Tomura has you inadvertently caged in, his ragged breaths fanning the sensitive junction of your neck, the firm muscle of his thigh pressing at your center as he makes an attempt to steady himself.

And you, unintentionally, from weeks of being pent up, let out a hushed whine when his leg grazes you. Shocks of neon are sent from your core until you’re pressing your thighs together to quell the ache that’s settled there, eyes heavily lidded before they bolt wide at the realization that you’ve practically moaned at this contact. Mortified, you’re overtaken by the crimson heat of embarrassment, cheeks pinched dark and ruddy.

He simply stares in lieu of a response.

You’re sweating bullets, perspiration clinging to your shirt, the heady whimper that spilled from your throat playing on a loop in your head. You wish more than anything that a gigantic meteor would come crashing through the wall and crush you to death. Or hell, even just a pea-sized one, right through the back of your skull. Even if it didn’t kill you it could possibly lobotomize you enough to where you at least don’t care about the cosmic horrors beyond your comprehension that you’ve just brought upon yourself. Sure, Shigaraki would still remember—but you’d be too deceased or brain injured to think about it any more. 

Tomura freezes in place, a deer in the headlights. He has no idea what to do. That sound you just made.. It did something to him. More than what looking at porn does. Somehow, it’s very different having someone up against him, the noise that came from you so genuine, less campy than the ones he’s heard online. He shoves you away as if you’ve scalded him, the memory of the way your eyes bored into his only a minute prior burrowing its way under his skin. 

“What the fuck was that?” He pants, shuffling backwards, hot flushes of panic washing over him.

“I.. I didn’t mean to, i-it just came out, I…” you keep yourself flat against the wall as you attempt to stammer your way out of this.

Your saving grace is the rest of the league slamming open the door to the bar and trudging inside, your Uncle Kagero and a man quite literally bulging with muscles following in tow. 

“We’re back from doing your bidding, Shigaraki,” Dabi states, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tattered pants. 

Mr. Compress tuts at the state of you, “What have you been doing to Yumemi while we’ve been away? She looks frightened,” he coaxes you away from the wall, brushing the loose hair from your clammy face, “You’ve scared her, Shigaraki. Shame on you!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Tomura grits through his teeth, “We were listening to music, and she.. hit the wall, or something, I don’t know. Then she.. there was this noise…” his voice trails off into the ether, and you bury your face in your hands to hide your shame. 

“Oh no! Mimi, did you hit the wall too hard? Is there blood?” Toga’s attitude changes on a dime, licking her lips at the last word as Spinner sets down his much-too-massive sword to check on you. 

“Want me to take a look at it?” He offers with concern in his voice. 

“I’m the one who should be looking at it, I was here when it happened,” Shigaraki counters, his upper lip curled into a scowl. 

“Well I’m the one who actually knows how to repair skin. I should be the one checking her out,” says Dabi as he cracks his knuckles in preparation. 

“Nobody’s checking her out,” Atsuhiro adds curtly, “Unless you’d like me to, Yumemi,”

Everyone is being so kind and caring about your wellbeing. 

Little do they know you’re just fucking disgusting. 

Guilt curls in your belly, hot tears threatening to spill out onto your cheeks, stinging at the corners of your eyes.

Giran crests the entryway, lit cigarette casting a trail of smoke through the room as he tells the group, “I’ve seen Yumemi take a Glock to the head. She’s fine. Just a brat,” he tousles your hair like you’re still a snot-nosed toddler, then points to the hulking blonde beside him, “Brought you guys someone for your action squad. He’s got a hell of a quirk. Muscles that just keep regenerating, super strength, ability to manipulate said muscles. You interested?”

“They call me Muscular,” the man interjects, his voice booming over the rest. 

No shit, you think to yourself. But judging by the ratio of chest to skull you’re assuming wordplay isn’t exactly his strong suit. 

“We could use a strength quirk,” Shigaraki says, “And really anyone who’s able to follow directions,”

“You got it, boss. I’m able to knock any heads you need me to,”

The room disperses for the league to discuss the VAS plans further, your uncle pocketing his fee and slipping what he owes you into your pocket as he takes his leave. 

“You good?” He asks, voice low enough to be concealed. 

“Yeah.. I’m fine, I just… I hit the wall,” you toe the floor with the tip of your shoe as you speak.

“Well, call if you need me. I may not be your favorite uncle, but I’m here,”

“Quit fishing for compliments, old man. You know you’re my favorite uncle,” you pause to think for a few beats, “Actually, you’re my only uncle,”

His eyes widen, “Did something happen to Tom?”

“I mean, he’s alive, just dead to us. Did nobody tell you aunt Linda divorced his cheating ass?”

“He cheated on Linda?” His voice kicks up with his question, “Who the hell would cheat on Linda?"

“Yeah, well, she’s single now. Want her number?”

“Yumemi, she lives in New York. When would I even see her?” He leans against the doorframe as he speaks, puffing on his unfiltered cigarette. 

“She comes to visit a few times a year. Enough times for you to get yourself some Uncle Strange, at least,” you jest with him, and he sucks in a breath until his cherry burns to a nub. 

You laugh as he exits without so much as a goodbye, waving you off, muttering something to himself about how your parents raised such a weirdo. Now that you’re alone, Muscular glances down at you as if you’re a little mouse in his path. You know that look. You don’t much care for it, either. The guilt you felt mere moments prior has fled your gut, replaced instead by a nefarious lurching, a general sense of unease. 

“Pleased to meet you, sweetheart,” he extends his hand to you, massive and meaty, which you take to your chagrin. 

Time to bring back that polite and professional facade.

“Please, call me Nyx,” you introduce yourself.

“I heard someone call you Yumemi earlier. That your name? It’s real pretty,”

You shiver, frozen in place, your eyes mapping out every single safe person in the room. In no world are you ever sexually frustrated enough to put yourself in harm’s way with a man like this. 

“I go by Nyx professionally,” your explanation is held someplace behind your teeth as you fix your gaze to the floor. 

“Got pretty eyes, too. Lemme just—“ he captures your chin with his index finger and forces you to look up at him, “There we go. Yeah, you’re cute. You got a room here?”

Shit.

You don’t know his real name, you don’t have a weapon, everyone is distracted, and he is fucking huge. Even with your instincts telling you to run, you can’t make yourself flee. Too many things could go wrong. This guy is strong to the point that he could break your arm if you so much as struggled to get away from him. Your eyes dart to your cohorts. They’re huddled together, voices low, distracted. 

“N-no, thank you, I’d prefer to stay out here. They might need to speak with me about the plans,” there’s a shake in your voice that you try to conceal from him, but to no avail. You seem small and afraid.

“Doesn’t look like they need you,” Muscular coos, pulling you close to him by your waist. 

You let out a squeal, and he shushes you, pinching your cheeks until your lips form a pout. With hands that are dwarfed against his body, you smack at him, grunting, attempting in vain to escape from his clutches. 

“That’s cute,” he chuckles darkly, “C’mere, tiny thing,”

He picks you up like you’re absolutely nothing, pressing his lips to your own in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He tastes like beer, tongue snaking past your lips to swipe at your own. Tears make tracks down your cheeks as you manage to part from him just enough to cry out.

“Mmf—Stop it!” You smack him across the face, a red welt left in the wake of your hand. 

“Just take it, bitch!” He hurls insults at you, calls you ungrateful, and you shriek as he lifts at your top. 

In the blink of an eye, Tomura is prying you from Muscular’s vice-like grip. The league has sprung into action, each member an equal degree of furious. Dabi’s hands blaze blue and hot, Mr. Compress preparing a few teal beads betwixt his fingers, Toga wielding a knife and bearing her teeth. Twice creates two doubles of himself to aid Tomura in holding Muscular back, and though they’re not half of the brawny man’s size, they hold their own well as Tomura lands a four-fingered grip around Muscular’s wrist.

“Listen here, bitch,” Shigaraki passes you to Spinner, who brandishes twin swords, crossing them in front of you so that he can hold you firmly to his chest, “We paid good money for you, so you’re going to use your quirk for our cause. You’re gonna go help out the Vanguard Action Squad and fuck up all those little hero brats because that’s the transaction we agreed to. But I swear, you will meet your demise by my hand should I see you so much as breathe near her again,” he clamps his hand harder, tapping his pinky finger, carmine eyes shining, “Do you fucking understand me?”

Muscular grits his teeth so hard you can hear them grinding, nodding his head, infuriated that he’s been bested by a twerp like Shigaraki. 

“Answer me, or I’ll dust you right where you stand,” Tomura’s voice is low and gravelly, tight with contempt, raw. Oh, how he’s itching to destroy him.

Muscular sucks at his teeth before he relents, “I understand,”

“So you have a brain after all,” Tomura releases him, “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind,”

Before Muscular can process a response, Kurogiri warps him through a portal he’s opened up from the floor, and you delight in the screams that are pulled from his throat during his descent. 

“The nerve’a that fucker,” Spinner speaks into the crown of your head, “Can’t believe he would do something like that right in front of us,”

“I’m sorry I didn’t take care of myself,” you say to the room, locking eyes with Spinner, who sheaths his swords.

His heart flutters in his chest, accompanied by an ache over what’s just transpired. 

“It’s not your fault, Yumemi,” he tells you softly as he cards a hand through his magenta hair.

“He took you offgaurd in the comfort of your own dwelling. It was a dirty trick,” Mr. Compress adds on, patting your shoulder. 

Twice and his duplicates comfort you at either side, praising you for doing your best—then calling you a coward, which you elect to ignore in favor of his previous statement. 

“We should’ve been more attentive,” Shigaraki rasps, “It’s on us, not you,”

Dabi growls, prying you away for himself, “Why don’t you just stick with me from now on? I’ll make sure nothing like that ever happens again,”

Toga giggles, “Let’s go find Muscular and stab him to death in his sleep. That way, he can’t do this again ever, ‘cause he’ll be dead!” 

“That’s a better plan than having her tagging along with Dabi,” Spinner huffs.

“And what would you do to protect her, call Master Splinter? She’s safer with me than she is with any of you idiots,” Dabi bites back, heating up against your skin. 

You let out an exhausted sigh, strangely comforted by their bickering.

Mr. Compress opens a container of strawberry Pocky, removing his mask to make direct eye contact with you, the knot at your center tightening. You open your mouth, sounding off with a little “ah” to signal what you want from him. He asserts his dominance amongst the others by placing the biscuit onto your tongue. The rest grumble with discontent as you chew, blushing, eyes soft and warm. 

Yeah. 

You’re back on your bullshit already.

Kissed By The Baddest Villain Masterlist ⋆｡°✩

Synopsis: At the behest of your Uncle Kagero, you agree to be a member of the League Of Villains, loaning out your quirk to aid in their cause. Everything seems to be going as planned--until the guys all start acting weird. Why do they bicker every time you're in a room? How are you going to get used to all this attention?

And who are you going to decide to give it back to?

●Mature Themes ●Explicit Language ●Sexual Implications ●Suggestive Themes ●Smut

Hey everyone! Here is the masterlist for my current fic in progress, a LOV x fem! reader fic where you shamelessly flirt with the League Of Villains guys who are pining hard over you. It's rated Explicit as of Chapter 5, so this is a fic for those who are 18 or over! I do not go easy on the smut, my fics become filth with substance, I cannot stress this enough that it is for adult readers only!

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it ♡

Ch1 Dibs

Ch2 Getting To Know You

Ch3 Hail To The Queen

Ch4 So Kiss Me

Ch5 Practice Makes Perfect

Ch6 I Want You To Want Me

Ch7 Good Boy

Ch 8 If He's Rex Harrison, You're Audrey Hepburn

Ch 9 Ready Player Two

Ch 10 How Lucky

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

Ch 3: Hail To The Queen

Several weeks have passed now, and fall is in full swing, bringing with it a bite to the air that has you bundling in sweaters. This is your favorite time of year, when the leaves begin to change, the air shifting in such a manner that feels as if it’s taking you to the distant past; somewhere that ghouls and goblins roamed free, someplace where quirks were witchcraft and the world was made of magic. It always hits you with this sense of nostalgia for a time you never even lived in.

With Halloween now upon you, this meant that Musutafu was celebrating with a festival—something you had pre-planned to beg everyone to attend with you—but to your surprise, you didn’t really need to. Since this was a costumed event, everyone had agreed after your first “please” to go. You had assumed it was because there was such little risk of them being identified as villains when they were thoroughly disguised, and in that sense, you had assumed correctly. However, there was another underlying reason that they were all so eager to go to the festival tonight. 

They wanted to see you all dressed up. 

Dabi is already waiting on pins and needles for you to exit Toga’s room. He usually would find dressing up for Halloween to be pretty childish, and, well, lame. But with you so excited, he had to swallow his pride and throw something together. He didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard, so he grifted himself a set of vampire fangs, then added two dots on the side of his neck with a red marker. It was subtle enough to show he totally didn’t spend the last twelve hours trying to decide what to do, but still had that sexy edge to it.

Everyone had agreed to share you equally, but he knew better than anyone else that as soon as you walked out in your costume, even if it was you dressed as something stupid as hell, all of those promises would be out the window. That meant he needed to be the best of the best tonight. The coolest, the hottest, the most desirable. With his alt Lestat look, Dabi was convinced that he had this in the bag.

He was even more sure of himself when Twice entered the room dressed as a black cat with a moon on his forehead. Still donned in his typical suit, he was wearing a headband featuring two pointed ears, a tail, and even little paw gloves. 

“You look fucking ridiculous,” Dabi chides him.

“Oh yeah?” Twice has a haughty air about him that leaves Dabi worried, “Well I just so happened to have the thought to ask what her theme was. She wouldn’t say the exact person she’s going as, but she and Toga are dressing as characters from Sailor Moon. I’m Luna,”

“No, you’re a stupid asshole. She’s not gonna take you seriously dressed like that. Fuck, it’s like you’re trying to give the rest of us a leg up or something,”

“We’ll see how you feel when this gets a laugh out of her. Women love funny men,” Twice holds out his hand to check the nails of his paw, still confident in his decision, contradicting himself in the next breath, “I could take it or leave it no matter what she thinks,”

“Whatever, cat-boy,” Dabi sneers under his breath. 

The next to enter the room are Shigaraki and Spinner, both of whom also appearing to have gone with a humorous costume. Shigaraki’s costume looks to be about as low-effort as Dabi’s, having taped a blue construction paper “e” to his hoodie and circled his eyes with what was more than likely Toga’s eyeliner. 

“Are you.. what the fuck, Shigaraki? A dead E?” Dabi asks, tongue occasionally grazing his fangs. 

“Tss,” Shigaraki replies, crossing his arms and casting his eyes to the floor, “Stupid guess. And like I’m telling you. Find out when Yumemi gets here,”

Spinner is in a white button-up shirt and a pair of black sweatpants. Dabi opens his mouth to roll a snide comment off of his tongue, when Toga flounces into the room wearing full Sailor Moon attire. 

“I am the pretty guardian who fights for love and justice!” She announces, the heels of her boots clicking against the hardwood. She seems to have really gone all out, the buns on her head having each a tendril of hair let down to resemble Usagi’s classic hairstyle, the Spiral Heart Moon Rod being waved around as she speaks to Twice about what a good Luna he makes. 

“Toga, you’re Sailor Moon?” Compress questions her as he walks through the door, already deflating, “I thought Yumemi was Sailor Moon. That’s why I’m going as Tuxedo Mask,”

His shoulders slump visibly beneath his suit, the disappointment palpable as he wistfully drops the rose he's holding down at his side, red petals unceremoniously scraping his trousers.

“Wait, so you and Twice both knew she was doing a Sailor Moon thing?” Spinner looks as if he’s about to throw up. He runs his hand nervously across the back of his neck.

“Well of course. We’ve had a week to properly coordinate, thus, I acted accordingly and asked for her plans myself,” Compress regales this information with the flick of his wrist. 

Twice’s face becomes animated within his mask, “All you had to do was think about what she wanted to do,”

The feeling washes over Spinner, Dabi, and Shigaraki simultaneously. 

They had greatly underestimated the lengths the others were willing to go to for your hand.

Shit a brick through a fucking window, how did they not think to communicate with you? They’ve been outsmarted by both of these assclowns. Bested by a wannabe circus ringleader and some himbo with a traumatic brain injury. And now they’re going to look thoughtless. They didn’t even consider what you were doing. At least Toga would've had the excuse of obsessing over her crushes had she dropped the ball like this, but them? No. You’re their crush. There’s no excuse for that. They’re going to have to step up their game. 

The clicking of heels upon the floors catches the group's attention. When you walk into the room, you’re beaming, the atmosphere electric with your excitement—and burning with the heat coming off of you. You’re not one of the sailors, or a cat, or some other cutesy little character they expected. 

You’re dressed as Queen Beryl. 

Your hair is tucked back behind a bright red wig, eyes winged with black liner, lips painted a vibrant shade of ruby. Atop your head is the crown Beryl wears, and your shoulders are horned with a homemade prosthetic on each side. And that fucking dress… It’s floor length and purple, tastefully low-cut, hugging the absolute hell out of your waist and hips. With a giggle, you point your scepter at the room. 

They hadn’t even noticed it. 

“Doesn’t she look so hot as the Queen?!” Toga is the first to bring it up, sparing any decency she’s ever known, gazing up at you as if you really did have dominion over them all. She nudges you until you turn to the side and then, emphasizing your bottom, declares, “Your ass is killer in that dress, Mimi!” You blush deeply at her praise. 

The men, having what is essentially permission to look, fix their collective eyes to your ass. 

Yeah. 

It’s fucking killer.

“Oh God,” Spinner mutters to himself, and Mr. Compress elbows him, a reminder to be polite around a lady such as yourself. He picks his jaw up, “Y-you look just like her. Seriously, great job,”

“Absolutely stunning,” Compress adds.

“Atsuhiro, you’re Tuxedo Mask!” You clasp your hands together at the recognition, and he bows with a grin, “And Twice, I can’t believe you actually went as Luna! You’re hilarious, like I am weak, you even have the tail,”

Twice lifts his mask to mouth “told you” at Dabi as you buckle over with laughter. 

“Let’s see, Shigaraki…” He tenses at the sound of his name leaving your lips, “You’re not the ghost of an E are you?”

“No, but good guess,” Shigaraki mumbles, and Dabi tosses an offended look his way.

“When I said that you fuckin’ told me—!”

“I’m Internet Explorer,”

Shigaraki looks proud, smug even, when you bounce up and down I'm a fit of giggles. 

‘That’s so smart, oh man! I can’t believe you thought of that!”

Heat blooms across his face, keeping to himself about how he’d looked up clever Halloween costumes to impress you. 

“Spinner, I love mundane Halloween. Can I guess or do you wanna tell me?” You ask him with a grin. 

He watches your cleavage as you bring your hands to close, arms pressing at your chest. God, the room feels so incredibly small. And since when is he the type to get an eyeful of someone like this? It’s making him feel kind of scummy, but fuck, you’re just so perfect. 

Oh shit, you’d asked him a question. 

What was it again?

Right. 

“Go a.. g-go ahead and guess,” he stammers, forcibly removing his eyes from your body, his cheeks now covered in a smattering of pink. 

You tap your finger to your chin, “Are you… waiting for your slacks to get done drying?”

“That’s close.. But I… I’m a work from home business man,” the explanation feels hot on his tongue with the way you’ve focused your attention on him. 

You bark out a laugh, ecstatic and all too pleased with his answer. 

“You guys absolutely kill me. I like all you guys so much, seriously. Are we all ready to go?” 

The group nods emphatically, all of them following behind you like ducklings in a neat little row out the door. On any other day, it would be a fight for who got to walk beside you. Today, though, they would be fools to squander this view from behind. You look delicious. 

All of you are cloaked in the darkness of night for a majority of the walk to the festival, lead by the light of the moon, warm splashes from lanterns lighting up patches of your skin when you reach the grounds. Harvest glow seeps through the bare, knobby branches of the trees. The smell of confectionaries, caramels and sweet kettle corns alike, waft on the breeze. 

“Smells like candy apples,” you exhale these words, somewhat hazy. 

“Do you like those?” Shigaraki asks, making certain he won’t miss a single thing about you from here on out. 

“Well, yeah, doesn’t everyone?”

All ears seem to perk up, then the group disperses, the lot of them hurrying to the food stalls. 

Your eyes dart around frantically for any familiar face that still lingers, and you watch as Toga books it to the goldfish scoop, chirping about how she’s going to win so many prizes for Ochaco and Izuku. 

“Hey, wait!” You lurch forward, but are pulled back by your arm, a hot grasp keeping you in place. 

“Hold on,” Dabi croaks, and you turn to meet his gaze over your shoulder, “We can go do stuff on our own. I’ll get you a treat or something later,”

Dabi saw the opportunity and took it, swooped in like a stalking vulture. He was more than grateful that the others all bolted to those long as hell food stalls. Now he has you all to himself.

“O-okay, yeah. You wanna go play Katanuki?” Your voice comes out shy and girlish in a way you weren’t quite anticipating. 

He starts toward the Katanuki tent, and you quicken your stride to keep up with him, lights and sounds bleeding into the air around you on your way. The stands are all lined in neat rows, their coverings colorful and bright, people both in and out of costumes manning the front to accept payments. You can tell when you've reached the Katanuki tent by the smell of the sugar sheets. The two of you offer up two tickets when you reach the stall, and take a seat at a wooden bench to poke at the sugar wafer, the lines of his face harsh as he needles the shapes. He looks somewhat irritated that the sugar is melting a bit in the heat of his fingertips, hissing in vexation.

“I gotta say, I’m surprised you wanted to hang out with me,” your tone is hard and half a whisper. 

He lifts a brow, “Why?”

“You just always seem like you don’t want to be around me,” you confess, and he cracks the little heart he was needling at. 

Pain flashes briefly in his eyes before he flattens back to his baseline, lips sloping gently into a frown. 

“That’s.. that’s fucking stupid. I don’t not want to be around you, I…” the words feel impossible to pry from his mouth.

“You can tell me if I’m irritating you,” your voice plays at being content, but the way your eyes are getting all welled up and glassy says otherwise.

A lump forms in his throat. 

You care so much about his opinion of you. 

“No, I… you’re not. I wanna be around ya, doll,”

Dabi thumbs nervously at the Katanuki sheet, his stomach coiling, heart fluttering behind his ribs. You're so beautiful in this moment. Even when you've dressed yourself up as a Sailor Moon villain, you're prettier than any flower he's seen. You’re pale, shrouded in the moonglow, lantern light flickering in your eyes, which has a peculiar feeling curling within him. And like the little ghost you are, you’ve been haunting the chambers of his mind, each nook and cranny there having previously been devoid of anyone to occupy it. What does he even do with this? Why can’t he stop thinking about you? He’s horny for you, sure, but this feels like more than just wanting to sleep with you. This feels like it's coming from somewhere deeper. 

You sense how unsettled he is in such a way that’s only so intuitive due to your quirk, having honed pulling the true emotions from people more times than you can count. It’s easy to tell he’s nervous. Maybe you shouldn’t have made an assumption like that. You place your hand atop his, tracing your fingertips gently across his knuckles, your touch soothing and soft. His breathing is stutter-stopped, pulse pounding rapidly. When he locks his turquoise eyes onto yours, he feels like he’s going to be sick, something winding him up until he’s positive he’ll snap. 

“It’s okay,” the comfort you give him is simple, but warm, the smile spreading over your face so genuine and kind. 

Those dinnerplate eyes of yours tug at his heartstrings, dry up his mouth, have him impulsively curling his fingers around yours which drape so delicately into his palm. He can’t recall a time when someone touched him so sweetly, so purposefully. He couldn't wrap his mind around why your own impulse isn't to recoil. Look at him. He's covered from head to toe in burn marks, more monster than man. This combined with his checkered past had him writing off the odds of someone actually liking him. Why do you seem like you care so much, then? 

As you brush your thumb over the marred heliotrope skin that joins to his hand, he shudders as if he’s cold, the look you’re giving him settling into his bones like radium, and you glow all the same. He’s thought so many times about how he was going to kiss you the second he had the chance. But now that the opportunity has risen, he can’t will himself forward. He can’t breathe. He’s drowning, sinking, watching you through the dreamlike lens that you’re always covered in.

“Would you.. would you want to..” The words won’t come out, the plush strokes of your hand a distraction, “There’s a ferris wheel…” He gets to his feet abruptly, gathering up how to say, “Let’s get on the ferris wheel,”

You grin brightly, “I’ve never been on a ferris wheel before,”

“First time for everything,” he states plainly, already heading in that direction. 

You’re expecting it this time, so you catch up with him quickly and tell him, “Well I’m glad my first time will be with you, Dabi,”

He stops in his tracks, and you run into his back, the tiny gasp you let out only adding to the shiver that racks through him. You were being serious when you said that, he could tell. It wasn’t something you were teasing him with, but it still felt taunting somehow, the words echoing through his head: I’m glad my first time will be with you, Dabi. His toes curl at the thought, the curve of his cheek visible as he casts a moon-eyed glance over his shoulder. He studies your face, the gentle slope of your shoulders, the swell of your hips, eyes tracing the length of your legs. You’re too gorgeous. It shouldn't be allowed.

“Let’s go, then,” he turns and continues to lead the way. 

You two wait in line for a few minutes, him having to snarl at several other men who were eyeing your figure, flashing a blue-flamed fingertip at some asshole who pointed you out to his buddy. Not that he blamed them. You are hot, after all. But they needed to do a better job at sneaking looks, lest he have to lay someone out, which he was not above doing in the slightest. The man taking the tickets gulps as you two approach. And it's kind of weird, but he seems to be flat out refusing to make eye contact with you, despite your friendly demeanor.

The cab of the ferris wheel is roomy, a space on each side for people to sit, and you choose to sit right next to him. When you’re seated, the little stall shaking back and forth, you reach out for him without thinking. He goes stiff as a board, so tense he can feel every muscle in his body as you grasp his shirt in your fist. He sucks down a breath when you return your hand to your lap and separate yourself from him. He hates how much enjoyment he gets from knowing your first instinct was to cling to him for safety. Dabi wasn't someone who people tended to think of as safe. He was strong, and he was skilled, and he was sturdy--but he couldn't think of a single other time another person had reached for him like that. He touches the place on his chest where your hand had landed, whole body buzzing. 

“Sorry, I, uhm—I didn’t know it would—ah!” The stall moves again, tilting as it begins to take the passengers in a circle, and you press your weight against him. 

Dabi is sweating like a sinner in church when he tries to seem calm, “’S alright, doll, you can hold on to me,”

Now would probably be the perfect time to ask you out. You’re cuddled up to him, watching the festival lights flashing from up here in the sky. But you’re also trembling like a little leaf being blown around in the wind. You’ve got your arms wrapped tight around his waist, face nuzzled into his chest, heart beating so hard that he can feel it hammering through you. 

“S-sorry,” you apologize once more, a lilt in your voice that resembles the way you shake, “I don’t mean to ruin the fun,”

Your fingers dig into the flesh of his back, nails grazing him slightly through the fabric of his shirt, and he mirrors this for you as best he can, rubbing small circles where the dress exposes your crystalline skin. 

“You’re not ruinin’ shit,” his voice is barely audible in the crisp wind that whips past the two of you. 

“I’m glad you don’t hate me,” you chuckle nervously. 

“Yeah?” Dabi sounds a bit surprised. 

“Yeah,” you say softly, “I really like you,”

He fumbles this information around in his mind, flounders with it, completely and totally short circuits. You’d just told everyone how much you liked them not an hour ago. This could mean anything.

As a friend?

As a lover?

As something more than that?

How exactly do you like him?

He can’t figure out how to ask you that without seeming pathetic and desperate, though. So he does the next best thing and sits there with it like a fucking loser. Lets it eat away at him. 

This totally won’t keep him up every single night for the foreseeable future. 

It’s then that he resigns himself to pulling you closer to him, syncing his breaths with your own, relishing in the way you let out little gasps and squeaks when the wind rocks the ferris wheel. The time with you goes by much too quickly. You’re being lowered and let off of the ride before he knows it, the other members of the league waiting on the ground, hands full of candy apples—aside from Toga, who’s struggling to hold onto all of the toys she’s won. Dabi pulls a self-satisfied face at everyone while you step off of the ride, pierced tongue poking from his teeth, both of his middle fingers extended. 

“Jesus, that thing was scary! You guys, it just kept moving, it was like—!” You make a swaying gesture with your hands, puffing out your flushed cheeks, pinched dark with wind and exasperation. 

Dabi smirks when he realizes some of your lipstick has smeared. 

Did you guys kiss?

No.

But they were all going to think you did, and that was a close second to actually getting to kiss you. 

Toga shoves a bear in your face, explaining to you the names of all these stuffed animals, and who they’re assigned to. You smile down at her, happy to be a part of her antics. 

“This is from me,” Shigaraki boldly interrupts the conversation, handing you the treat he's acquired, “It’s got chocolate and caramel on it,”

“Well mine’s covered in marshmallow fluff!” Twice pushes the apple in your face, “Looks like it sucks,”

“Yeah, but the one I got has special almonds on it. They were grown right around the corner,” Spinner wiggles his as he speaks. 

Mr. Compress holds his apple as if it’s on display, “This one is a classic candied apple. You can’t beat the classics, I’m afraid,” 

You’re incredibly overwhelmed with all of the options, “Woah, I cannot eat all of these. We should get a plate and cut them up. That way, we can all share,”

Shigaraki rolls his eyes. He does not like sharing. Not even a little. 

But everyone else has begrudgingly complied, so he will, too. 

You all gather at a picnic table, Spinner slicing all of the apples with Toga’s pocket knife, showing off his skills in the process. You press your hands to your cheeks with excitement. 

“So many to choose from,” you whisper to yourself. 

“Allow me, Yumemi,” Atsuhiro removes his glove to take a slice with well-manicured fingers, “I wouldn’t want your hands to get sticky,” 

You tilt your head, unsure of the expectation he has of you. Upon seeing your confusion, Compress pinches your cheeks together, carefully coaxing your mouth to open. 

“That’s it, there you go,” he breathes while placing an apple slice on your tongue. 

Your whole body heats up. Something about this interaction feels sexually charged. Perhaps you just weren’t used to this much attention from men your own age. Older men tended to be very straightforward and brash, telling you upfront that they wanted to have sex with you; so surelysomeone would’ve mentioned it by now if they wanted to. You’re just overthinking things. Atsuhiro is a really old-fashioned guy. He more than likely really doesn’t want you getting your hands all gross from the candy apples. Still, you feel a tightness in your belly with the way he watches you chew, his finger and thumb still languidly idling on either side of your jaw.

Shigaraki sucks down the slice he had picked for himself, nearly choking, coughing as Dabi grits his teeth. Twice and Spinner simply blink in utter disbelief. Toga unhinges her mouth like a baby bird expecting to be fed, her canines gleaming.

Finally, things click. 

Everyone is picking up apple slices, offering you bites from their own hands, overwhelming you once more. 

“Guys,” you sigh, somewhere between exasperated and flattered, “One at a time,”

Me trying to write enemies to lovers

You ever have a moment where you spot another introvert and want to show them you empathize but can't because you're too introverted to do it? For example, I am currently taking a lunch break at Qdoba in my car because I don't want to eat my rice bowl inside. Exactly one car apart from me is another woman sitting in her car eating a rice bowl. We are each staring dead ahead, enjoying what I am assuming for her is also solitude, possibly with some music or YouTube if she, too, is feeling froggy. We will occasionally meet eyes but neither of us will wave or even nod so as to not disrupt the other's private eating time, as the Introvert Code™ has so forbade us.

How To Make Two Lovers Of Friends

Words: 11,569

Synopsis:

Aizawa is taking a much-needed break after the war with Shigaraki and All For One. He isn't looking for anything in particular; that is, until he spots you in a goth themed coffee house. A whirlwind romance ensues in this one shot, filled to the brim with sexual tension, fluff, and smut.

Alternative/goth fem! Reader

Fair warning, this one is the first fic I'd ever written, so it isn't my best work. It does hold a special place in my heart though and I hope it's enjoyable for someone!

Morning light came dappled through the windows as you took your favorite seat at the coffee house, just like you did every morning to start your day. This coffee shop went by the name Bauhaus; probably a nonsequedor to most, but a familiar homage to a band for you. It had this witchy aesthetic, filled with books and old vinyls that made you feel at peace. You never really saw places like this when you still lived in America, at least not in your neck of the woods. How absolutely lucky that you lived just a few blocks away!

You ordered yourself the special for this month: The Headless Horseman, an iced pumpkin and caramel breve to celebrate the upcoming fall season, a welcome respite from the August heat. Smoothing away the creases on your black velvet dress, you thanked the barista, who you typically made small talk with but were not quite on a first name basis with just yet, and took your seat once again to finish reading your book. The leaves rattled in the wind outside and rapped against the building like old bones in a wooden sarcophagus.

"A storm is coming soon," you say quietly to yourself.

Gentle thunder thrums in the distance like the soft beating of a lambskin drum, and a small grin makes itself at home on your lips.

Perfect reading weather.

Adjusting yourself on the bench beneath your legs, your mouth curved at the edges, eliciting a slight hum from your lips. 

Ah. 

Spooky, scary peace.

Outside the confines of the coffee house, though, the weather was much less enjoyable. The heroes Eraserhead and Present Mic both trudged through heavy raindrops, soaked like wet dogs, caught off guard by the sudden change in weather. Aizawa scowled at his mess of dark hair getting drenched.

"Damn, this weather is nasty!" Said Mic, voice unintentionally booming.

He looked around and scouted for shelter as the thunder rolled, and settled on the closest bit of light he could see, pointing his finger at Bauhaus so as to motion for Aizawa to head that way.

They stopped at the overhang to dry off a bit before entering when Aizawa got a peek inside the shop. He took note of the band posters and bookshelves littering the walls, the violet-hued plants hanging from the ceiling and shelves, the generally alternative vibe that exuded from the place.

"I don't know, Hizashi," he stated hesitantly, shifting his weight to his good leg.

"What's the big deal? It's not like you'll look out of place," Hizashi was frank, opening the door with no apprehension. He gave a quick chuckle that sounded like taps on a hot microphone.

It was true, Aizawa typically dressed in all black. Now that he was taking a break, though, he didn't always have his capture weapon on him. He was instead accompanied by a patch over his eye and a prosthetic leg. He felt like he usually stood out like a sore thumb these days, which was problematic for someone who had always tried to keep such a low profile in the past.

Aizawa fiddled with his eyepatch and thought about how nice it would be to blend in once more. He had always tried to stay out of the spotlight, but after the intense battle with Shigaraki, it was harder to avoid the media. Maybe a place like this wasn't such a bad idea. He continued to zone out as Mic spoke much too loudly for the space they were in, as usual, and talked (mostly to himself) about if he should get a coffee or a smoothie.

Aizawa grew slightly embarrassed by his friend's actions as he looked around the room to see if his boisterous voice was bothering the other patrons. It was 6am, still early, so Bauhaus was lingering with the vestiges of sleep, waking with the rest of Musutafu. There was a green haired person on their laptop in the back corner, tucked away, uninvolved in the rest of the shop and seemingly unbothered. Empty seats. A full cup on a table that meant someone would be right back.

Then there was you.

Right beneath the window seat near the front of the shop, a purple vining plant hanging above you, crushed velvet bell sleeves rested upon the table as your fingers gripped the pages of a well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Your face was aglow like the moon, scattered with a few freckles that danced across rosy cheeks, long lashes that arched over your half-lidded eyes. The bass of the music swelling over the speakers seemed to engulf Aizawa, thumping in his head, your silken locks being brushed to settle behind your ear as his mouth suddenly dried.

Then, as if on que, you looked up at him just in time for him to hear "oh Lucretia, my reflection", and everything seemed to stand still. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. You had these gorgeous doe eyes, these pouty little lips that gave a gamine smile to him while he held his gaze for much too long, he was sure of it. You were a vision. A blooming Queen Of The Night. A siren out in the storm.

"Quit staring at her and tell me what you want to drink!"

Aizawa was snapped out of his delusion. Flustered at the comment, he groaned, his eye twitching. Unwilling to break the eye contact with you just yet, your smile grew, and you exchanged glances with him again, causing pink heat to bloom over his face. You sat down your book and made your posture more swanlike as you maintained eye contact with him. His breath hitched at this.

You snuck looks at him for the rest of the time the two were in the shop. You weren't enough of a go-getter to approach him--nor were you brave enough to blatantly ask him out--but you really hoped that maybe he would come in again.

————

As mortified as he was by Mic's statement, he knew he had to try to see you again.

Not because he wanted to get to know you or anything.

No.

You just seemed... interesting. You seemed interesting and he felt very comfortable in Bauhaus. In fact, it probably had very little to do with you at all. He was more than likely just transferring these feelings of comfort onto you. After all, it's been a while since he's been able to go out and not feel like he was the one being stared at.

Yes.

This is rational.

This is why he needed to go back. You were just there by happenstance.

Every single weekday morning--and on weekends when he wasn't watching Eri--for an entire month, he was at the shop.

That's just how comfortable he was there. That's how good their plain black coffee was. That's what it meant to have a routine.

It was just a coincidence that he couldn't help but to notice you.

You were always there in that same cozy nook. Some days you were dressed in a band t-shirt and jeans. Some days you were in a plaid skirt and combat boots. Some days you were in a mossy green dress that went to the floor. Some days you wore causal yoga pants that were surely comfortable but made him sweat like a sinner in church. He never knew what exactly he would see you in next, but it was usually the same kind of style. And you always had a book to read, which Aizawa greatly admired. You were studious and attentive with your literature, but also a little bit goofy, judging by the laughter between you and the barista when you picked up your drinks.

But he had also come to find that you were very kind. Although you didn't appear to be a hero, you helped in other ways. You would pay for people's orders if they didn't have enough to cover their purchase. Twice, he watched you pay for the food of a homeless man, and then you sat with this man as an equal, outside on the curb, as the two of you ate breakfast sandwiches and talked. You were softspoken and gentle in your manner of speech, making him feel as though you were reading him to sleep as you talked between bites of food.

He noticed you had the biggest soft spot for animals, though.

You would watch out the window at around 6:15 to see if your little cat friend would show up that day. You would give them a drink of water from your own bottle and cap, offer them bits of bread and meat, and coo at them in a lovely sing-song voice as they ate. The cat didn't want to be touched, they were scarred and matted all to hell; but you were patient every single time. What a beautiful soul you seemed to have.

Aizawa was normally pessimistic, but you made him feel hopeful in humanity. He was certain that you had flaws, as people do, but your acts of kindness always made sure he had a good start to his day. He was always ready to protect you if you ever needed it. The world could use more good people, after all.

One morning in particular, as Aizawa picked up his drink, he noticed a man lazily stroll up to you at your regular nook. This happened to you every so often now that you were in Japan. You were approached by men, and very occasionally other women, maybe a handful of times in your entire life back in the United States. Your best guess is that here you were considered "exotic" since you looked different from most. You almost never saw someone with features like yours, and you were certainly taller than most of the women here, with noticeably longer limbs; all things that weren't exactly beauty standards in America but seemed to garner attention in Japan.

Unfortunately, the attention wasn't usually the kind that you enjoyed, and this guy was no different. He was dressed in an athletic shirt and basketball shorts. Not that you were one to judge, because hell, sometimes you showed up in pastels if the mood so struck you. People weren't bound to the confines of fashion. However, in your experience, men dressed in this clothing who came into Bauhaus tended to be... unsavory. Usually someone looking to fulfill their fetishes.

"Ooo, Cara Mia," he taunted as he approached you.

An Addams Family reference would have otherwise been right up your alley, but when he said the quote, it felt icky somehow. You knew he had to have kept this line in his back pocket regardless of who he came across, anyway. You were in a long sleeved sheer top with a lavender camisole and pair of black bell bottoms. More Stevie Nicks than Morticia Addams. So you did the rational thing and ignored him. You weren't there to be someone's Big Tiddy Goth Girlfriend.

He didn't like that much.

"Hey. I'm talking to you," he spat his words at you with barely concealed contempt.

"I heard you," you flicked your eyes up at him sharply.

Aizawa's body tensed in preparation to spring into action, taking a step forward in your direction. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

"I was just being nice. Not like anyone else is going to talk to your ugly old ass," his words were meant to bite at you, but you didn't budge.

"Old? Why, because I dared to live past 16? God, you are disgusting," you sat down your book and shook your head disapprovingly, "creeps like you are always projecting your own insecurities. How sad for you. Fuck off,"

He looked shocked, furious, like he was about to scream something in your face--but stopped abruptly when you started to hum. It was a haunting melody, something akin to a nocturne.

"I think you should go now," you stated plainly.

With this, the man walked out the door in what appeared to be a fugue-like state. And you calmly went back to your book.

Huh. Maybe you didn't need Aizawa's protection.

You just kept getting more and more intriguing.

On his fourth straight week of coming in, a Friday in early September, you decided to finally talk to him since it seemed like you were both regular patrons of the shop now. You made sure to finger-comb your hair before you turned to look at him. He was in his usual black on black sweatpants and sweatshirt, this time with his hair pulled back to reveal his jawline. He was very handsome, you thought.

"Hey there, you," you said after he placed his order of a single black coffee.

He turned around, a bit shocked at the sudden start of such a casual conversation.

"I see you in here a lot lately. I'm not sure if you have the time, but would you like to come sit with me?"

You smiled delicately in an attempt to seem welcoming.

"It would be nice to have some company for a change," you say.

His dark eye bore into you like a bullet coming straight for your gaze. After a moment of collecting his words, he finally settled on replying back:

"Yeah, sure. That would be fine,"

Aizawa tried his best to remain calm and cool, stoic even, refusing to let something so nonchalant shake him.

However, truth be told, you felt a bit shaken yourself. You weren't sure if he would accept your offer or reject it and then stop coming in. You could be so straightforward sometimes, and you felt like you could accidentally make things awkward. But you had a feeling he might at least be interested in getting to know you after your initial interaction with him.

You introduce yourself as you stirred your latte with a tiny silver spoon.

"Shota Aizawa," he gave in return.

"Nice to finally meet you," you say with a slight tease in your inflection and a mischievous look.

A blush crept across his face. God, of course you remembered when you two first saw one another. It felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles thinking about it.

"Do you like sitting under the stars?" You ask to cut the silence.

Aizawa looked perplexed. It seemed like an odd thing to ask him. Maybe you liked the outdoors?

"I've never actually been camping. Never really seemed that fun to me," he was eager to continue talking to you, though he wasn't sure exactly why.

You had this glint in your eye, like you knew the punchline to a joke you hadn't even told yet, along with a playful smile. Setting down your cup, you pointed up. That's when he noticed that the ceiling was matte black and painted with silver glittering stars.

"It's one of my favorite things about coming here," you disclosed this information to him, almost as if it were a secret.

It was then that he knew for sure that you weren't like most people.

You two met like this, discussing books and hobbies and music, for another month and a half. Every morning at 6am you could expect to see him waiting at Bauhaus for you, rain or shine. You would get some kind of breve or latte and he would get a strongly brewed black coffee. Sometimes you spoke for an hour before one of you had to go, sometimes you two were there until you were both hungry for lunch. Although the days all started at Bauhaus, occasionally, the day would take the two of you to a nearby ramen shop, a corner store, or a short walk down the block. Anywhere you wanted to go, he was there.

————

He now knew that you liked horror movies and would read just about anything you could get your hands on, that you loved animals, you moved here two years ago to help with the mental health crisis in Japan as a grief counselor, and you thoroughly enjoyed humor.

You came to know that he liked cats, was a teacher, liked the smell of rain, he was generally pretty introverted, read comic books as a kid, and had a liking for dark jokes. He had mentioned that he was a hero, a pro hero actually, when the shop was empty one morning. You said that was "so cool" and beamed with pride that you knew him, but you seemed unfamiliar with the Erasure Hero.

You continued to treat him exactly the same.

This was mesmerizing to Aizawa.

Today was one of the days that stretched on like a sleeping cat in a sunny patch. You'd already met once in the morning, breaked for work, and then met again in the late evening. The golden-hour sun was pouring in its warm light, backing you like some kind of seraphem, and painting him in a spreading halo of honeyed peach. The way the flecks of rainbow from the slanted glass flitted over his skin bewitched you.

And you, there at your place, drenched in marigold light that kissed down upon your flawless skin, made him shudder. Your eyes nearly glowed in the light. You appeared fragile, breakable, like spun glass; though he knew you were sturdier than your languid demeanor would let on.

He stuffed down the feelings he was starting to have for you like a snake eating a too large mouse. This was more than just lust, infatuation, or attraction. As scary as it was, he liked you. The butterflies stirred in his belly when you called his name from your window nook and the moths fluttered in yours when he said "I thought I might find you here, y/n," with the slightest upturn of his mouth. You were both nervous about this tension that was building between the two of you, but he was more reserved, whereas you tended to wear your heart on your sleeve. You knew that you would have to be the one to address it.

"Aizawa," you say to him, circling the rim of your cup with your fingertip as you place your other hand in front of his on the table, "I have some errands to run tomorrow... would you maybe want to come with me? It can be hard for me to carry heavy things all the way into my place on my own, and I really want to get some pumpkins to carve,"

This seemed utilitarian enough that he might feel more at ease accepting the invitation, but still deliciously domestic.

Aizawa felt the breath leave his lungs. Going to a pumpkin patch? Carving pumpkins? Like a cute little date?

"You don't have to, if you don't have the time," you stated reassuringly.

"Oh, no. It's nothing like that," His voice broke as he uttered out an answer, "I can go. I'll make the time if I don't have it,"

"Great! Can we meet up around 10?"

"I'll be there,"

"You always are,"

The air hung around the two of you with a lightness for a few seconds. Aizawa could see his reflection in your big glass-like eyes, causing his heart to beat wildly in his chest. You gave a small laugh, crinkling your nose, very aware of the closeness of your faces. He felt like maybe he should kiss you. But did you even like him that way? You could just be friendly and kissing you would be a huge mistake. Everything would come crashing down if he did that. Your trust would be gone. You would be gone. He couldn't take that risk.

But oh, how you wanted him to lean in and touch his lips to your own. You wondered how his stubble would feel against your skin, and if he would taste like that black coffee he was always sipping on. A knot formed in your stomach, this familiar aching, a longing, a fear of the unknown feelings he had for you, and excitement that he might feel the same way. How long had it been since you felt this way? Was it ever this intense?

You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, your heart racing. You could feel that something was bubbling up. Something was about to happen. You were going to lean in closer when the door to the coffee house flew open, and in walked Hizashi.

"I thought I'd find you here, Eraser! You sure love this place lately!" His voice nearly shook the entryway.

Tension gone.

Goodbye, mood.

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, fully aware that Mic was about to say something daft.

"Watcha got here?" Mic asked enthusiastically, gesturing toward you with a gloved hand, "Shota, do you have a girlfriend you never told me about?"

Fucking Mic.

Aizawa looked pale, sick even.

Of course he wanted you to be his girlfriend. Especially when he was about to go to sleep, or saw some stuffed animal he knew you would like, or when he was in the shower and thinking of how he'd like to see those sultry eyes looking up at him as you put your mouth on his...

"Hizashi, for someone who's entire Quirk is based on sound, you are so damn tonedeaf," Aizawa cut his thoughts loose with this retort.

"Woah, easy there," Mic continued, "I didn't mean to ruffle any feathers. If you guys aren't hooking up, how about I shoot my shot then?" He waggled his brows at you.

Aizawa gritted his teeth and his eye twitched. Like a deer in the headlights, stunned at this brazen show of complete and total assclownery, he sat still in his seat as Hizashi made fools of them both. The lanky devil just didn't know when to stop tap dancing on his last nerve.

Present Mic leaned over the table as you furrowed your brow in response.

"Wanna see why they call me Magic Mic?" He gave a wide grin with this question.

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"Why, did I pique your interest when you saw me bathing on the roof? Did my beauty and the moonlight overthrow you?"

"Bathing on the roof, you say!" Another waggle.

"Careful there, Sisyphus. That boulder's heavier than it looks," you chime back, scribbling something on a napkin.

Aizawa was amused at your quip. It was impressive how quick on your feet you were in conversation, and how well you handled yourself. He knew that Mic was blabbering on in the background, something about alternative chicks and their spicy attitudes, but he couldn't concentrate on anything other than you.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Aizawa," you stated while getting up from your seat, "here's my number. Text me and I'll send you my address so you can meet me at my place, okay?"

Aizawa swallowed the lump in his throat and then nodded in agreement. He took the napkin in his hand and noticed you put a little heart next to your number.

Fuck.

Please let this be a date.

————

The next morning, at 10am sharp, Aizawa reached the front door to your apartment. He didn't even need to look at the number when he saw the fall wreath, covered in leaves and mini pumpkins, suspended from its metal hook. He slicked back his raven hair with his palms, attempting to keep his locks captured in a ponytail, all the while his stomach churned in anticipation. He gave a knock at the door, and you were there almost immediately. Had you been waiting for him?

In reality, yes, you had been. You were ready by 9:30 and then paced around your room before you sat by the door and waited for him to show up. You gave him a big grin as you greeted him, admiring his forearms with his sleeves rolled up. You looked him over, half covered in the shade of your awning, hair pulled back, his trim figure cut well in his dark jeans and gray sweater. Oh my god, he even shaved! That was so cute to you. He shaved for your pumpkin patch adventure. You swooned and felt that tension in your belly build back up. It made you feel like a teenager again, having a crush like that. You kicked at some rocks on your porch in a bashful display.

God how he wanted to put his hands on you when he saw you stepping out of your doorway. You were wearing a burnt orange sundress, a black cardigan with pumpkins lining the bodice, thigh high black pantihose, with black Mary Janes and a wide-brimmed felt hat. You always knew what flattered your figure, what colors brought out your eyes and complimented your skintone. He felt so typical, like such a stereotype, because that sundress was doing something for him.

"You okay with me driving?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

He tensed at the prospect of being touched by you, and nodded in agreement. Grabbing your keyfob, you pressed twice to start your vehicle, a completely black car with darkly tinted windows. It was very bold, very dark, and very you.

"You can mess with the volume however you'd like. I don't mind," you told him as you started flipping through your music on the car's touchscreen radio.

Aizawa took note of how eclectic your music was. You seemed to like songs with lots of bass and rumble, and you listened to plenty of Sisters of Mercy, but you also had music that took him off guard: hyper-pop, musical numbers, heavy metal--a smorgasbord of songs on a hodgepodge of a playlist. He could never quite pin you down. As soon as he thought he knew your next move, you pulled an Uno Reverse card, and it was enthralling. He liked a challenge.

He was captured by you as you settled on Love Me by The 1975 and enthusiastically sang along to every word, miming exaggerated faces when the beat picked up. You rolled the windows down and threw your hat in the back seat to feel the wind through your hair.

You glanced over at him briefly as you sang, smiling, glowing, just letting loose with him in a way that felt more intimate than he would've imagined a car ride could feel. Your hair flipped, twisting around your face in the breeze.

He noticed how careful you were with your car, how gingerly you braked at stoplights, and joked "I think my grandpa might actually drive faster than you do,"

"Hey," you replied "I pay a lot of money for this car," you felt a bit embarrassed tagging on the next part of "besides.. it's important to follow traffic laws."

He couldn't help but admire how pragmatic you were about this. You were so soft. Willing to stand up for yourself, but always making sure everyone else was safe. You had a hero heart.

You went back to singing to music, this time Can't Hold Me by Emily King. You always seemed so in your element when music was involved.

"You have a really nice voice," Aizawa stated without thinking. It rolled off of his tongue in an easy sort of way that didn't normally come naturally to him.

"Oh, thanks. It's part of my quirk I guess,"

"You have a quirk?" It was more of a statement than a question. He was pretty positive he'd already seen your quirk in action.

"Well, yeah; but I don't use it much. It's one of those quirks that when you tell people about it they think you're a villain," your voice trailed off a bit and he looked at you with one raised brow.

A sigh escaped your lips.

"If I sing a certain melody, I can make people do whatever I want. They become really pliable and easy to manipulate. But I can only use it on one person at a time, and it's only the one song, and you would know if I was using it," you tried your best to make sure he knew you weren't using it to make him talk to you, or to make him come with you today.

"Quirks are what you make of them. And I don't think that you would ever purposefully hurt someone, y/n. You're better than that,"

On impulse, upon parking the car at the pumpkin patch, you grabbed his hand with Eat Sleep Wake by Bombay Bicycle Club playing softly in the background. The first real physical contact you two had that wasn't accidental. It was warm, and sweet, and electric. Breathing felt like there was a weight on your chest when you realized what happened, and it caught in your throat when he squeezed your hand back.

Eat.

Sleep.

Wake.

Nothing but you.

God, please just kiss me, you thought. Kiss me. Better yet, take me into this pumpkin patch and peel these pantihose off with your teeth. You were getting to the point where all of this constant winding you up had you wanting him to fuck you absolutely stupid.

Aizawa felt warm, feverish. Like he was going to melt through the seat of the car and burn to cinders on the ground. He was smoldering like a pile of ash in your hand. Goddamn it was hard to concentrate now. Where was he at? Was there a world around the two of you? Did he even care? He wasn't sure if it was right to think of you like this, though, and it happened nearly every day since meeting you. That part of him had been lying dormant for what felt like years and now suddenly these feelings were coming for him with a vengeance. He wasn't sure what to do.

"We should.. we should grab some pumpkins. Do you... like the lumpy ones?"

Shit. Did he really just ask you that? God, you must have thought he was stupid.

But you didn't. You were eating this up.

"Dude. I love me a lumpy pumpkin," was your reply.

The two of you took in the crisp autumn air and October's bright blue sky as you sipped on a warm apple cider from the drink stand. Much to his initial disapproval, you finally got him to take a sip from your cup. His heart skipped a beat drinking from the same spout where your mouth had been just a few seconds prior. You took two small pumpkins from the display they had on top of some hay bales, slipped them into a big burlap tote bag, and then headed to the field to pick out bigger pumpkins for carving.

"Do you think frogs have friends?"

"I... what?"

He wasn't sure if you were being genuine with this question.

"Well, cows make friends, and.. I don't know, I was just thinking about how maybe when frogs start to get ready for the cold weather, they find another frog that they like, and then they hibernate next to them in the mud," your statement was matter-of-fact, "or I guess technically the frogs we have here go into a state of topor, not full hibernation. But still,"

Aizawa was taken aback at this topic. You were actually wondering about the loneliness of amphibians.

"Y/n, I don't think frogs get lonely. I doubt they have high enough brain functioning to care,"

"Or maybe they do, and we'll never know, because nobody stopped to find out,"

He enjoyed that you always spoke your mind. Even if someone didn't like what you had to say, you just started a conversation based on whatever thoughts you had in your head. You were smart, but whimsical. It was so easy to talk to you and have a logical dialogue without feeling like it was getting stale.

You kicked at rocks, marveled at the fall leaves, and had this general sense of wonder. Aizawa found it fascinating how dichotomous you were. You were kind of mysterious, but you still had this youthful charm about you. He found himself to be more apathetic than anything. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't see the beauty in the things around him, he just didn't tend to pay attention at all. He was always burning the candle at both ends and pushing himself to his absolute limits, so what was the point? Who cared of frogs had friends?

"I wish I shared your passion for life," he commented.

"My grandparents were like this, and they raised me, so I guess it rubbed off. Actually, they're kind of why I came here. My grandpa always spoke about how beautiful Okinawa was. After they passed, I jumped at the opportunity to come see Japan for myself,"

You hadn't talked about anything that wasn't skin deep in what seemed like an eternity, and you felt like he was really listening, processing your words.

"Oh!" You stopped in your tracks, "I can't believe I forgot to give you this,"

From the bottom of your burlap sack, you pulled out a bag of salty black licorice.

"This is for you,"

His favorite snack.

Aizawa reached out his hand and took it delicately, as if it were precious to him.

"How did you know?"

"I saw you eyeing some once at a corner store. When I saw they had some here, I had to get it for you. They make it in house, so I bet it's delicious!" You sounded so excited over a bag of licorice.

Feeling a bit silly over frogs and candy, you blushed, cheeks already slightly ruddy from all of the walking.

"But we should probably go back to picking out some pumpkins, I guess," your words came out much smaller than you intended them to.

His heart swelled. You were paying attention to him, too.

The gourds were all shapes and sizes, all the colors from striking persimmon to pale yellow, from perfectly round to as lumpy as the night was long.

Clearly, you picked the lumpiest.

Loading your goods into the car, a flash of color at another stand caught Aizawa's eye.

"You stay here. I'll be right back," he commanded.

"Okay. Just let me know if you want any help,"

The stand was full of handmade trinkets: wooden hair combs, decorative mirrors with widdled handles, and silk kimonos. One garment stood out to him--emerald green with goldenrod flowers patterned over it--that, for some reason, made him think of frogs. This would do nicely.

Upon his return, he found that he really wasn't sure how to give you a gift. This was certainly not his forte. He couldn't even remember the last time he gave someone a present. Then again, he couldn't recall that last time he had received one before this day, either. Besides, you were worth the uncomfortability.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't form. You looked slightly amused, which made him even more nervous.

"I have something for you. To repay you for the gift you gave me earlier," his voice uttered out much smaller than he remembered.

The joy that spread from cheek to cheek was practically tangible for him as he handed you the paper bag. Your eyes were alight like fireworks.

"You got me a present?"

You felt a fluttering in your chest. You didn't even care what it was, he explicitly thought of you, and that made you happy in earnest.

The container was compact enough that you figured there was some kind of candy to be retrieved from it, but you opened it to see green and yellow fabric. You were stunned when you recognized it from the stand you two had passed on your way out. It had to have been expensive.

"Aizawa.. this is too much. I-I can't accept this," you stammered.

"Yes you can. Like I said, it's for the licorice,"

"This isn't exactly in the same category as candy, though, I--"

"Just try it on," he interrupted you, his hand raised as if to stop any further protesting.

And you thought about protesting--you really did--but caved, knowing he wouldn't give up until you accepted it. Your attempts to dispute his gift would be futile. So you marveled at the silk garment, feeling its slick material between your fingers. You'd never owned something like this before. You took off your cardigan and draped the kimono over your body, savoring how soft and airy it was on your skin, feeling like a princess.

"I'm not sure if this is a color you like, so if you don't like it, we can go exchange it," his voice had a hushed tone.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"No. No, it's perfect. I absolutely love it. Thank you so much, this was so sweet of you," your words rang out like a bell.

The breeze picked up and blew the soft locks of your hair as you stood there in your gown, picturesque, cottony clouds lining the skies.

You looked like a painting.

"Alright then," you said with vigor, "takoyaki is on me!"

————

When you returned home, you carved Aizawa's pumpkin together (a very classic orange pumpkin, perfect for Jack O Lanterns), swatting your cats off of the counter as they came to sniff at the seedy innards laid out on a sheet of parchment paper. You felt at home like this. You felt safe, content, like this is how life was meant to be.

You watched him as he placed the carved Jack O Lantern out on your porch, and took notice of the strands of raven hair that were falling out of his messy bun, delicately sweeping over his strong jaw and neck. The knot in your stomach returned, and with it came a sensation like you were on the downhill slope of a rollercoaster. It was a feeling of passion welling up inside of you, ready to tear open at your seams.

And you wanted more.

You wanted him to want you.

Worried that he might go home now that the sun had set, you asked if he would want to watch a movie with you. He was elated at the idea of cuddling up with you on the couch. How could he say no to that?

"Okay. What did you have in mind?"

"Have you ever watched Hocus Pocus?"

"No, never heard of it,"

"What?! It's a Halloween classic! I'll change into some house clothes and then we'll get started. Be right back, Shota,"

A chill ran down his spine, prickling the back of his neck at the sound of you saying his name. You called him Shota. And now you were comfortable enough with him to change into pajamas. He felt almost floaty.

Aizawa was expecting you to come out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, something comfy, something plain. He enjoyed the prospect of you coming out in soft pants and fuzzy socks. There was something so heartwarming and cozy about it that he--holy fucking shit.

You came out, as casual as humanly possible, in a pair of tiny little sleeping shorts and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt with no bra. The shirt was soft, but snug, and showed off every curve of your body through the semi-sheer fabric. He had already gotten a good look (or ten) at your ass in a nice pair of pants, but this.. were you trying to kill him? You were already all legs, and now the shorts... Aizawa scanned your body to see that you were wearing stockings that hugged your legs and made divots in the plush flesh of your upper thighs. They were Ninja Turtle green and woven like a tubesock.

Of course you were wearing these fuck me socks. That way, you could definitely say that you were completely covered from head to toe, that these were normal house clothes. Nothing here but regular old pajamas. And look, see, you totally did like green!

Your couch was small, but Aizawa sat on one end, hoping that you would sit alllll the way on the other end so that he could curl up as much as possible and you wouldn't see... things. But you weren't having it. You wanted to be able to cut the tension with a knife. You wanted to make sure this sexual frustration was palpable until it drove him to action. So you snuggled up next to him and rested your head on his chest.

He took notice that the shorts nearly disappeared when you sat down, and thought about what they might look like if you were bending over. Your tits looked great through your clothes, but your ass drove him wild. He wished for the TV to mess up somehow so you would have to get down on all fours to fix it, maybe even spread your legs just enough that your sex would peek over the side of the material, sopping and messy and begging for him.

Oh lord Jesus, Vishnu, Thor, whoever the fuck was up there just give him strength. Give his waistband extra elasticity and give his poor heart a rest so that maybe you wouldn't hear it pounding through his chest. But you did hear it. You knew exactly what you were doing when you placed your hand on his thigh and traced your fingertips down to his knee while you stared ahead at the TV screen.

Under the guise of laughing at a witch riding a vacuum cleaner, you squeezed his leg, and he jumped in his seat.

Oh.

This was torture for him.

And you liked that.

A lot.

He made a pathetic attempt to stealthily lean into you, just enough so that he could get a better whiff of your hair. You smelled like vanilla and something a little floral and spicy, like a jasmine rice desert. The thought crossed his mind that you might taste just as sweet.

"Doing okay, Shota?" Your voice this time was chesty, sensual, almost like an invitation rather than a question, and you could feel him shudder in response.

There it was again. Shota. He fucking loved the way his name dripped from your lips like honey. He nodded in agreement and you patted his leg to let him know you felt the nod.

You could feel your shorts heating up and your breathing changing pace when you heard him let out little sputters of air at your touch. It was intoxicating, hearing him get excited, smelling the sweat building between the two of you in this blissful hell of your own making.

Small beads of liquid made a wet spot up near his waistband while he took in your body heat, trying his best to focus on the screen and not the friction of you against him, or the fact that he could see your nipples plainly through your shirt. Readjusting yourself, you stretched and let out a whine in the process, and your elbow brushed up against something in his lap.

With a quick grunt, he stood up suddenly, and said "I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back,"

You gave him an "okay", and paused the movie for him. Maybe it was just in your imagination, but you could swear you saw a tent in his pants when he got up.

What you wouldn't give to toy with him for just a little while longer.

He shuts the door behind him slowly, calmly, before he's pawing at the buttons of his pants. A curse leaves his lips as he wrestles his leaking member from the confines of his boxers. 

"Little fucking cocktease," he grits, burying the words into his lower lip. 

God, he just couldn't take it anymore. He thought about you moaning, whining, mewling into his ear, your bodies entangling. How would he take you? If he had the option, he thinks he'd really like to watch you ride his cock, see the look on your face when you take all of him inside of you.

"Gonna have you begging for it. Fuck, do you even know what you do to me?" His voice trails into a groan, and he folds forward, bucking into his hand and holding onto the sink to steady himself.

A few whispers of your name fall from his lips, and he swipes at the slit of his aching length, smearing his precum along his shaft for lubrication. He's close. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he's already feeling that knot within him frayed, about to snap. Just a few more strokes and he's jerking back his head, ropes of his release now dripping across his palm.

He finished in record time, expecting to have a sense of relief, but only finding that he craved more. Guilt took ahold of him when the thought crossed his mind that he shouldn't be thinking of you this way. This was so shameful, what he just did, making his hand all sticky from thinking of you. He rinsed his face with cool water to get rid of some of the sweat, and exited, stating that he needed to head home due to not feeling well.

Your heart sank, and the realization hit you that you may have made him uneasy with your forwardness. Maybe he didn't like you that way after all. You hoped that you hadn't just ruined things between the two of you.

Aizawa didn't want to hurt your feelings, and he could tell that he probably did; but he needed to get out of your apartment before he bent you over the couch.

So he left your place after an entire 12 hours together, beating himself up for not making a move, harboring resentment for his own lack of initiative. He was used to coming after villains, but this whole "love" thing really scared him. Love? He mulled the word over in his head. Worried it between his teeth. You two hadn't spent a single day without seeing each other in like two months. And he sure as hell didn't see himself picking out pumpkins with Hizashi any time soon.

He laid there in bed, trying his best to fall asleep, but the day just replayed in his head on a loop. His mattress was normally soft and welcoming, something that could easily lull him to sleep, but tonight it felt empty. Tonight, he felt alone. Until his phone buzzed from his nightstand.

You: is it too soon to text you?

Him: it's never too soon for you to talk to me.

You: good :) I was worried when you left in such a hurry.

You: and I miss you already.

Aizawa sat up in bed after reading your most recent message. You... missed him. He wasn't sure if he was reading that right. The blue light from his phone illuminated his face, now standing apart from the inky blackness of his room. He could feel you radiating from it.

Him: maybe you should stop by my place tomorrow afternoon then.

You: I'd really like that.

You: good night, Shota. <3

Him: see you soon.

————

He made sure to take care of himself in the shower before the next afternoon, not wanting a repeat of the previous night. Best case scenario, now he would last longer if you two ended up fooling around. He even double checked that Eri was in the dorms at UA again today. That was just wishful thinking, though. Sex these days would probably only come from pity for him. Poor washed-up hero, missing an eye, missing a leg. That's the last thing he needed right now.

He cleaned up around his apartment, wiping down the counters and making the area look welcoming for you. Why did he want to impress you so badly? Ugh, this was so embarrassing. He never worried about what people thought of him in any other scenario, but now, here he was, fluffing his brand new throw pillows and applying cologne to his neck and chest.

You knocked on the door, straightening the skirt of your dress, the same one you were wearing the morning you two first met. Aizawa answered the door in a gray t-shirt and black sweatpants, his hair loose and his eyes heavy-lidded when he looked down at you. That dress again. Clingy, short, nipped at the waist to show off your curves. Christ, you were beautiful. He welcomed you in, the smell of bergamot wafting from him.

His apartment was bigger than yours by quite a bit. It had a floating island in the kitchen, slate colored walls, a black sectional positioned in the living room atop a white shag rug, and circular lights that were recessed within the ceiling.

"Wow, your place is so nice. Shit. I'm sorry I made you come to my hovel last night," you partially joked, impressed with how well his home was put together.

"That's stupid. I liked being at your place,"

You saw something moving out of the corner of your eye through the doorway of the other room.

"Is that a punching bag?" You asked with a wry smile.

"Gotta keep myself in shape. Want to give it a go?" His voice was low, almost challenging you to take him up on the offer.

"Oh, I don't know. I lift weights but I don't really do a lot of cardio. I'd just end up humiliating myself, honestly," you said sheepishly.

"Come on, y/n, spar with me. I'll go easy on you,"

"Okay, okay," you gave in and walked toward the next room, which you could see upon closer inspection was full of gym equipment. You felt out of your element, but you were willing to make yourself look like a fool if it meant he was enjoying himself.

You gave the bag a light punch as Aizawa held onto it, half afraid that you would mess it up somehow, or maybe even break your damn hand. It felt like it was full of some kind of particulate. Maybe sand? Oh god, you probably looked like some kind of lazy sack, not even knowing how to punch a fucking bag.

"I know you can do better than that. You've got more power in you. Come on,"

You punched again.

"Harder. Don't hold back!" He growled.

That was really fucking sexy, actually, and now you were a little distracted. You balled your hand into a fist, made sure your thumb was facing outside, and used all of this pent up frustration to wallop the daylights out of the bag. Your knuckles made contact with a padded thud, and you let out a small grunt.

"Atta girl," he praised you, his voice like whisky.

God, hearing him say that was like a dopamine hit. You were disoriented. You were already clumsy, and now your brain felt like a can of cranberry sauce splattered out onto a plate.

Aizawa stepped away from the bag, a terse expression plastered onto his face.

"Now act like I'm coming after you and try to pin me. Remember, it doesn't matter that I'm bigger than you. Use strategy to overpower me,"

You mustered up all of your strength, all of your courage, and leapt toward his torso. He didn't try to block you, so you knew he was going easy on you... but you also knew you didn't do it right when you went off to the side and started to veer straight for the wall. He grabbed you by both wrists and wedged himself between your legs in order to cushion your fall, and you landed upright, straddling him as he lay on his back.

You were both panting, eyes dilated, a wildness boiling within you like animals. He let go of your wrists and your hands softly found their rest on his chest as it heaved.

"Y/n," he laughed, "that was awful,"

You rolled your eyes and shifted your weight into less of a stiff position.

"I told you I was bad at this. I am a lover, not a fighter," you pressed your hand to your chest as you spoke. 

Moving ever so slightly on top of him, you saw his eye widen, his lips parted to let a small gasp escape from them. Panic has set in. 

"Get up. Please," his tone is highly-strung and fearful.

He looks genuinely terrified, scrambling beneath you, the only reason you're still in his lap like this due to his apprehension to hurt you by accident.

"Shota, wha--" your question is cut off by the feeling of something poking against your clothed sex.

Oh. 

Oh.

A red hue painted his entire face at the realization of the situation he was in, his blood pulsing through his body rapidly, the sound of it rushing in his ears.

"Why," you said breathily "don't you want me?"

Overstimulated, his brain didn't process what you'd just said to him.

Your lungs feel like they're about to lunge straight out of your chest, your core aching to be filled. You'll have to make sure that he really gets the point. Now was the time to be honest with him, maybe even be a little dirty. It's now or never.

"I want to know.. I mean.." talking felt hard. Your blood supply seemed starved from your brain.

"Do you touch yourself when you think of me?"

He was trembling like a leaf beneath you, caged in by the plush of your thighs. Was this a trick question? Yes, he just fucked himself to you this morning, AND last night in YOUR bathroom. Is that what he was supposed to say? He swallowed thickly, clamoring to gather up some kind of sentient thought to say to you.

"I do," you filled the gap of silence, "I think of you that way. A lot, actually,"

You ground your pelvis up and down his length, the fabric of his pants rough against him, eliciting a grunt through his gritted teeth.

"I.. f-fuck, I-I dunno how to.. answer that," he's been reduced to this mumbling mess on the floor, that silver tongue suppressed by the sweet press of your warmth to his cock.

You took his shaking hand and placed it between your thighs, right on the dampness that was spreading at your center, sopping through what little material covered them. 

"I want you, Shota. I want you bad," your words were like poetry spouting from your lips.

He rubbed you through your wet panties, soaked and clinging to you like a second skin. Were you this wet for him? He delights in the way your breath hitches, how you squirm atop him, your eyes heavy and lustful. Shota gives one last languid stroke up the lace and then pulls them to the side for easier access to your clit. He rubs light circles around it and watches you writhe, taking in the noises you were making, so painfully hard he felt as though he would cum in his pants just from watching you. He stopped his teasing and placed both hands on your hips, the pair of you frenzied for more.

You crashed your lips to his, both of you giving in to a hungry kiss, passionate and blistering with heat, tongues swirling and teeth clashing. You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him into you, starved for his taste. He keened into your touch as if it would soon disappear. Leaving the rough stubble of his cheeks only to grab a handful of his mussed hair, you tugged at it, causing him to moan into your mouth, and you swallowd down each noise greedily. He explored your body with haste, grabbing your ass, sinking the pads of his fingers into your skin. You could feel him throbbing underneath you, so you palmed him through his pants, and with a swift jerk, he threw his head back onto the floor, not even caring to register the pain of it.

"Fuck. Y/n. If you keep going..."

You tugged at the waist of his pants, then dragged featherlight touches across his exposed cock teasingly. He felt you smile against his skin as you nuzzled the crook of his neck, and he lets out a muffled groan that tapered off into a high-pitched whine, desperate and needy.

He let out an involuntary whimper, almost pitiful with how much yearning was within it.

"You gonna cum for me already? Hmm?"

That was it.

He couldn't fucking take it anymore.

Something within him snapped and a growl poured from him, rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest.

With hurried hands, he pulls your dress over top your head, revealing that you were wearing nothing but lacy black panties underneath. You were stunning. Like a Greek statue of Aphrodite herself. He was never able to fully imagine your naked form before, and this was a perfect frame of reference for later. He wanted nothing more than to get absolutely drunk off of you. And he gets you all to himself. He can't hardly believe his luck.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," his voice was raw and saturated with desire, a gravel to it, burning like whisky.

"I want you to touch me," you murmur, suddenly feeling shy in the sweltering heat of his gaze.

"Touch you?" Aizawa said with a chuckle, "I'm going to devour you,"

Before you were given the chance to react, he bucked into you, then slid you from his lap and onto the floor, gripping your underwear and throwing them off on your way down. He took off his shirt expeditiously to reveal his muscular form, and you admire the lines that bisect his abdomen, eyes nearly rolling into your skull when they land at the tent in his pants. He looks big. Like, concerningly big. You ran your fingers across the scars on his chest, which gave an almost tickling sensation, all the way down to the hair that trailed from his naval to his pants. He was beautiful. So fit that he looked like he could play himself in a movie.

Casting the clothing aside, he lays you flat onto the floor, kissing from your lips, to your neck, to your nipple where he sucked and flicked his tongue, using his free hand to caress the other, groping hungrily at your plush flesh. You moaned, breathy and meek, at his touch. Separating from you, his pupil was blown out as your pheromones hit him in the face, and he pulled your legs apart to fully expose you.

"Look at your pretty little pussy,"

He slipped a digit inside of you and did a curling motion until he found the spot that made you whimper underneath him, watched as your face went from shocked to a look of pleading for more, lashes fluttering.

He clicked his tongue.

"And look at you. So fucking needy. So ready for me to take you,"

He removed his finger and used it to play with your clit, making waves of pleasure shoot through your body, a white-hot coil tightening in your core just above where he was touching.

"Sh-Shota... please, fuck me," you begged, nearly mewling.

He hissed through his teeth, peering down at you as if you were prey. The look on his face is wolfish, starving, nearly pained to be holding himself back. There's a wilderness within him that begs to be let loose. You want nothing more than to be destroyed by it, left a carnal mess upon the floor. 

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you until you can't even sit without thinking of me," he taps your clit with his fingertips, "But first, I'm going to make you cum on my tongue," he was serious with his words, meticulous, making sure you knew exactly what he had planned for you. Sweet, slow burning anticipation sent tingles up and down your spine.

He put your legs on his shoulders and went back to the spot inside of you that made you cry, this time sucking on your clit in tandem, fully encapturing it within his lips. Your mouth was now agape in a breathy scream as you clamp down on his fingers, moving your hips in time with him, riding waves of pleasure as he brings you closer to the edge. He lets out an appreciative groan as you say his name, the noises coming out of you so lewd and sinful that you hope the neighbors don't call someone for a wellness check.

Aizawa absentmindedly pressed himself against the floor, nearly frantic for some kind of touch while he watched you squirming beneath him, but it does little to quell the ache he has in his center. You tasted like sweet tarts and made these lustful gasps, and it drove him absolutely mad to know he was doing that to you, that these reactions were from his own touch.

"Say my name," he speaks this phrase into the throbbing bud at your apex, and you shiver, close to careening off of the edge he'd just brought you to. 

"Shota.. fuck, keep going, please," you mewl, rolling your hips. 

He nips at your inner thigh, velvet flesh pillowing between his teeth, and then drags the length of his tongue up your clit in one torturously long stroke. 

"Louder. I want everyone to know who's about to make you cum," the steel in his gaze is sharp enough to slice you. 

So you oblige him, moaning his name, chanting it like a mantra as he continues to lap at you once more. You can feel the pressure building, building, building until it finally spills over like a dam. He moans at the realization, feeling your pussy spasm under his tongue.

"Oh my god.. Oh fuck, Shota!" You cry out for him as you melt into his mouth.

He's breathless as he pulls himself away from you, mouth slick, still slipping his fingers in and out of you in an allowance to ride out the rest of your orgasm. He looks feral. Like he could tear into you. Destroy you.

He drags his cheek across your thigh.

"Good girl," he grunts, "good fucking girl,"

You look up at him with your mouth partially open, your eyes heavy with want, and with one fell swoop you sit up and pull down his sweatpants to reveal his throbbing cock, wet and dripping from the tip. You take the whole thing into your mouth, sucking, swirling your tongue, cranking your hand around his shaft like you're ready to milk the soul straight out of him. He gasps, moving his hips to pump into your mouth as you open wider, holding out your tongue so you can take in as much of his length as possible. He brought you closer until you were practically flush against him, all the while you were committing the look on his face to memory.

You can tell this is about to break him, so you tighten your grip in a pulsating pattern, moaning on his length to send vibrations through him. His movements are becoming erratic, fervent, and you cannot fucking wait to see him come apart at your doing. You run the flat of your tongue across a particularly sensitive spot along his shaft, your arousal building once more when you see the way he pinches his brows together, how he ruts into your mouth like some inexperienced virgin. You just feel too fucking good.

Suddenly, he pulls himself from your mouth with a vulgar pop, and you're gasping for sweet breaths of air after some of the sloppiest head you've given in your life.

"I knew you'd be good at that," Aizawa chokes out, his dick bobbing in front of you, "but we're not done yet,"

He lightly pushed you back onto the ground and placed your ankles up onto his shoulders, putting his tip right up against your entrance. His muscles twitched in anticipation and you reveled in his godlike form.

"Is this okay?" He asked you, gently.

You laughed a bit at the question.

With all the heat and want you can channel, you look up at him from your place on the floor and rasp "ruin me, Shota,"

He gives you a wicked smile, one you've never seen him wear before, and pushes himself inside of your aching pussy, holding onto your leg for leverage. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, a bit unprepared for his full girth inside of you. It doesn't take long for you to start moving along with him though, and he begins to thrust harder, pounding into you like his life depended on it.

Biting your lower lip, you throw your head back, attempting to keep from screaming as he delves into you. He removes his hand from your leg to grab your jaw, and locking eyes says, "Eyes on me. I want to see the fucking look on your face when I make you cum,"

This coaxes a moan from you, and he gives a gutteral response to his cock being squeezed.

"Good girl. You're taking me so well. God, you're so tight, fuck," his voice is husky and deep.

Your cunt hugs him tighter with every word.

He needed more.

Aizawa takes his free hand and starts to rub your clit in circles, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and you can feel that knot in your stomach forming again. You're about to come undone already, and he can feel you clamping around him like a vice.

"Fuck that feels so good," your voice is heady and needful.

His pacing became erratic once more and his ministrations on your clit became almost desperate. He was barely holding on, whimpering, sweat dotting his brow.

"I knew you were fucking teasing me. Coming out in those tiny shorts. Know what I shoulda done? Should've fucked you right there on the couch. Should've bred your tight little cunt," he leans down to fill some of the gap between you, a few tendrils of his raven hair falling to cling to his face.

He pistons into you harder, "Swear to god, I'm gonna fuck every single thought out of that pretty little head. Wanna tease me like that? Take your fucking punishment. I.. f-fuck!" He feels you come unraveled all over his cock as you ride him from there on the floor, making sounds that hitch in your throat like ragged bleats. He made note of your blissed-out expression and then let out a sharp gasp, your walls almost too snug for him to handle.

You whined in a small voice, still finishing, your gaze not breaking when you tell him, "make a mess in me,"

That's all it took for him to lose it, giving into his pleasure and allowing himself to fill you up with what felt like gallons of cum, letting out strangled moans as his entire body throbs.

Panting, he pulls out of you, watching as his release leaks from between your legs. He wasn't usually interested in sex at all after getting off, but seeing you like this, glowing with sweat and hormones, covered in him. It made him weak. He pulls apart your cunt with his thumbs, watches your glistening sex twitch, cum dripping. He's going to remember this if he ever needs to get off in two seconds flat.

The two of you lay in the floor together, floating, riding the high in a breathless haze.

"Be my girlfriend, y/n," Aizawa was the first to speak.

You were taken aback.

"What?"

You never thought him to be the type to be alright with labels.

"I like you. Not just in the way that I want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you. And I want you to be my girlfriend. Will you be with me?"

You ran your fingers across his jawline as a warm smile spread across your face.

"I'll be your girlfriend. But there are stipulations,"

"Anything. Whatever you want, it's yours," Aizawa hopes that his longing isn't too obvious, that he isn't too eager, but another part of him doesn't even care anymore.

"You have to be my boyfriend," your words are like a breeze through a windchime.

His eye takes purchase in your face as he leans into you, the kiss he offers you this time languid, lazy, loving instead of a mess of teeth and lips.

I love you, he thought, pulling away enough that your foreheads touch. God, how I love you. Just allow me to worship at the altar of your body once more.

Before you can stop yourself, and as if you can read his mind, you speak to him in a voice that's almost a whisper, "I think I love you,"

He looks dumbfounded, awestruck.

He finds his voice enough to say, simply, "I love you," followed by a kiss pressed to your nose.

The day that follows is soft and halcyon. You bask in one another like the afterglow is your lifeline, here in your own private world, all stardust and warmth. You don't know what the future holds. You stopped living in a world of 'what ifs' a long time ago. But you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you'll be there with him.

And he'll be there with you.

Like he always is.

There are certain moments in history that are pivotal to a change in society. Moments like this, in which a woman who dared to make a statement about our current healthcare crisis to those who provide us said healthcare, is attempting to be made an example of by those who stand as our modern bourgeois. I have a sneaking suspicion that if they make her an example, something is going to happen, some kind of societal shift. I can't say what exactly. But if history tells us anything, this happenstance, combined with what's happened with Luigi Mangione, is going to set off some sort of event.

100%. I am extremely introverted and interacting this way is one of the only ways I socialize. I appreciate anyone who comments. ❤️

Just so y’all know: I can’t speak for every other fic author but I can say that I remember when people leave me kind comments. I recognize your urls and/or usernames on AO3. I remember you and sometimes in writing my fics I think to myself, “Oh, I hope this person sees this because they liked x in this other fic I did.”

Not only that—I go back and reread comments when I’m feeling low. I look at tags and reblogs and asks and wish I could hold them in my hand like a note from a friend on an old, torn piece of notebook paper.

Your comments have so much more impact than you know. So thanks to those who use the comment section to spread love and encouragement. We appreciate you.

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

Chapter 2: Getting To Know You

You all get back to the hideout in the middle of the night, having shaken down a few members of the Shie Hassaikai for information. Apparently there's a man who goes by Overhaul who's really making a name for himself. He's been working on bullets that can erase quirks, and with this rumor floating around, Shigaraki's interest has been sufficiently piqued. He had to know more, for the progression of the league--thus your involvement tonight. 

"I can't believe you made that guy think his ex came back just to have her leave again!" Toga comments as you lounge about in the den. 

Her golden eyes shine as she takes a spot next to you at the counter. There's something surreptitious about her expression, shifting behind her gaze, highly strung and neurotic. You think perhaps it's her desire for blood that wasn't quite sated by today's mission. 

"I can't believe he cried so much," Twice weighs in, gritting after, "I'll give 'em something to really cry about," 

"I can't believe something like that actually worked," Dabi scoffs, taking a swig of whisky straight from the bottle. 

You fold your arms behind your head, "Hey, I work with what I've got. He said he wanted his girlfriend back but couldn't handle it going both ways I guess. She must've fucked his shit up," 

It's still surprising for the league to hear you curse like this with as gentle as you are with them. But that's what happens when you grow up in a world of villains. The words have all but lost their meaning to you by now.

"Psh. What a pussy. I'd never let someone make me that weak and pathetic," Dabi checks his phone to seem disinterested in the conversation in the hope that this catches your attention, but no such luck. Having you around is the only time he's ever had to play mysterious and brooding and it's pissing him off. 

This elicits an eyeroll from Spinner, "It ain't weak to love someone. Maybe you're just not strong enough to handle it,"

"So you're an expert now? Got yourself a little crush and now lizard's an expert?" 

"Shut up, Dabi, seriously!" Spinner looks frantic, face beet red, fists balled at each side.

You could cut the tension with a knife. 

"Both of you need to shut up," Shigaraki interjects, "It's not like either of you NPCs have a shot at a relationship with anyone,"

Mr. Compress tsks as he folds one elegant leg across the other, sitting on the couch as if he were attending a fine theater production while Toga claps and kicks her feet. It feels like any time you get involved with the league, regardless of the shape or form, there ends up being some sort of argument. This has you wondering what exactly you're doing wrong.

"Guys, come on now. We're all a team. We should be supporting each other," Twice gives a thumbs up before turning to you, "Right, Yumemi?"

Dabi's grip on the whiskey bottle goes white-knuckled, though his face doesn't move. He isn't sure what's going on between you two, but whatever it is he thinks he's seeing, he better fucking not be. You're way out of everyone's league--his included--but Dabi knows he's the only one who can handle you. Twice and Compress need to back down. 

Or he'll make them.

"Way to suck up, Twice..." Spinner mutters under his breath with a barely audible "kissass" grumbled from Shigaraki.

Compress stands, hands animated when he says, "I, for one, will not be partaking in their squabbles. I'd like to instead thank you for getting us that information, Miss Saito. We couldn't have done this without you,"

Your face is going up in flames over all of the recognition being given to you, stating, "I'm just doing what I came here to do,"

"And so modest. We really don't deserve you," Compress continues, and you blush like mad, fiddling with a lock of your hair. 

Your bright doe eyes dart up, lashes fluttering, cheeks dark, the gentle parting of your lips just enough to show how pouty and kissable they are. The realization hits the group simultaneously in some way or another: you look so cute and flustered like this because of none other than Mr. Fucking Compress. 

"You're probably quite tired now," he says with the flick of a gloved hand, reaching to brush the hair out of your face. 

He wants to see you like this all the time. Wants you so gorgeous and emotional beneath him so that he can take you into an embrace. But so does everyone else in this room, and he knows that. He has to get you alone somehow. 

"A little, but I'm sure you guys all tire out when you use your quirks. I'll be alright,"

"What can I do to help?" Mr. Compress sets a hand upon your shoulder. The intimacy behind behind this touch combined with the secrecy of his mask is throwing you.

"I'm fine, really, I--"

"No, what can I do?" Dabi asks sardonically, "These chucklefucks will just mess it up. But you can trust me to get whatever you need," 

From your peripheral, you see Spinner pad away down the hall. At least it seems as though he's had the good sense to evacuate before things become tumultuous once more. 

"I don't even have to leave to get you something. I can have a double get it and still keep you company," says Twice, looking quite proud of himself. 

Shigaraki removes the hand which he calls Father from across his face, stuffing it into the pocket of his hoodie, "I can just have Kurogiri warp me to get whatever you need. Don't even bother with these noobs, Yumemi. I have whatever you want at my fingertips," he draws a sharp breath, "Unless I've misjudged, and you're actually stupid enough to rely on one of them to get anything done for you,"

Spinner returns with a pillow and a sleeping bag, then lays them out onto the couch, fluffing them purposefully as he says, "There. Now you don't even have to leave to get comfortable," he casts a bashful gaze over his shoulder, "We could relax and watch a movie if you're not tired enough to sleep,"

Toga nods her head in approval, taking you by the hand and leading you to the couch where she snuggles up next to you. 

"Hey--!" Spinner is all but seething. 

"Oh no, was this spot for you, Spinner?" She smiles, wide and genuine, "If anyone wanted to sit here next to Yumemi, go ahead and tell me and I'll get up so you two can cuddle. At least, that's why I would assume someone wanted a seat next to our little Mimi,"

Tomura's stomach is in knots, Spinner is more red than he's ever been before, Compress is squeezing the counter so tightly it's a miracle it hasn't splintered, Dabi's hands are actively smoking, and Twice is kicking around at the floor like he might actually cry. Damn, did everyone really want to sit next to you that badly? You know it's wrong, but it makes you feel kind of special. You never had a chance to experience the social hierarchies of public school, however, this makes you feel popular.

"A movie is a great idea, Spinner," he smirks as the other men shoot him a grimace, "Why don't we have a movie night? That's what I do at home when I want to relax," the group seems to ease when you suggest this. 

Everyone settles down to watch a movie, the first of which you've agreed upon being Scream with Halloween right around the corner. This ends up being fun at first, the room filled with phrases of "don't go in there" and "you better run". However, it's closer to morning than it is to night, and the day has been long. You and Mr. Compress end up being the last ones awake as the movie comes to and end.

"Aren't you tired, Miss Saito?" He leans over the arm of the couch with his question. 

You shift in your seat to face him, "I have trouble sleeping sometimes. What about you? Not tired after compressing Shie Hassaikai loot?"

"It's the same for me more often than not. I'm quite the night owl," he nudges some space between you and Toga as gingerly as he can manage to sit next to you. 

This is the opportunity he's been waiting for... so why is he so nervous? 

"Hey. Would you still be able to do me a favor? If your offer from earlier still stands, that is," your words send a chill down his spine. He finds himself backed against the couch's arm now, peering down at you as you bat those beautiful lashes at him.

Christ, you're pretty.

And now it's suddenly sweltering to the point that he feels like he's going to burst out of his skin. 

"Anything," he says just above a whisper. 

"Call me Yumemi, please," he watches your lips as you speak, "I'd like to hear you call me by my first name,"

Oh god oh fuck. 

You two are the only ones awake, and you're looking up at him with stars in your eyes, practically begging him to say your name. He feels every single ounce of courage and composure leave his body. He's reduced to nodding his head in agreement. 

"Thank you, Compress," you smile warmly at him, and his heart skips so many beats he's concerned for his wellbeing. You're going to give him fucking hypertension at this rate. 

"Atsuhiro," he states. 

"Hmm?"

Mr. Compress removes his mask for the first time since you've met. Granted, it's only been a few days, but he's the only one you haven't seen in civilian clothing yet, all of the others often out of their costumes shortly after they arrive at the hideout. He's very handsome when he takes off the black ski covering which lies beneath his white mask of magic. You weren't entirely positive what you had expected him to look like, but he certainly wasn't this good looking in your head. 

"My first name," he murmurs, "It's Atsuhiro. You.. you can call me that. If you want to,"

You place a hand on his arm, your scorching touch seemingly burning him through his clothes as you tell him, "I'd like that,"

He swallows so thickly he can hear his throat click. What are you doing to him? This isn't like him at all. He's a character, a performer, a modern and revolutionary trubidore--not some kid who just met the girl next door. He finds himself missing the heat when you return your hand back to your lap, nestling back down into the sleeping bag. You're so cute like this. So casual and sweet. 

"Atsuhiro," your voice calls out into the dark, like honey atop the TV glow, setting his skin to prickle in lines. 

"Yes?" He exhales sharply, previously unaware of the breath he'd been holding. 

"Wanna do something else since we're up?"

It's happening.

This entire stupid torturous week was all worth it because something is finally happening. 

He should play the lottery tomorrow because he is the luckiest man alive.

"I'd like that if you would," his tone has nearly taken an octave lower, husky and deep in his chest, his heart beating so wildly he's afraid it may leap from him entirely. 

You're leaning in now. This is it. You're about to--

Grab the remote.

Fuck. 

"What kind of movies do you like?" You ask him, exiting out of Scream. 

Compress settles himself, tries his best to calm his expression, which is no longer hidden behind the shield of his mask. He can feel how red and damp his face is getting, which is, in turn, making him even more red and damp. 

"Mostly classic film, old cinema. That sort of thing," he manages to reply.

"I love old films. I think I saw The King And I on here earlier if you like that one,"

His tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth, hands beginning to tremble. Atsuhiro isn't normally someone who lacks finesse, having always been charismatic and fearless; but you have him feeling oddly nervous, palms wet inside his gloves.

"I love that one," he resigns himself to this simple, lacking sentence.

"Perfect. That's what we're doing, then," you select the movie on the screen, "So what other things do you like?"

You seem so eager to get to know him. 

It isn't often that you have opportunities like this in your line of work. Sure, getting close to people can end up biting you in the ass if they get taken down by whoever you're up against at the time--but they call it team-building for a reason. Bonding strengthens the odds being in your favor, both for him and for you.

"Hmm. Well, I like to read," 

"What do you read?"

"Mysteries, mostly. Classics,"

"Oh, like Agatha Christie?" He appears excited by your recognition.

"Exactly like Agatha Christie!" He straightens in his spot, "Are you familiar with her works?"

You mull over his question, "I've read a couple of her books. And Then There Were None, Murder On The Orient Express. I think that's it, though,"

"Do you read often?" Compress finds himself longing to continue your conversation.

Why? This, he can't say. All he knows is that he needs you to keep talking. 

"Yeah, I've always read a lot. Always watched a lot of movies, too, since my parents made sure I was home pretty much all the time growing up,"

"You were held captive by them?"

"No," you giggle, "Well, not exactly. My family is notorious for villainy on both sides so they were seriously protective,"

"A kindred spirit, then. My own family is infamous as well," 

The sound of old, wobbly violins ends the chatter for you both. It's soft, a little eerie, and absolutely captivating. You hum along quietly to the music, causing his heart to stutter, sloppy and rough behind his ribs. He looks down to see you getting drowsy, head bobbing and eyes glassy as Getting To Know You lulls you to sleep. Your head rests on his shoulder for a moment before you jerk awake once more. 

"Sorry," you mutter, too sleepy to be embarrassed by the sudden close contact. 

"It's alright. More than alright, actually, if you'll just let me do something," Compress wriggles out of his overcoat and folds it on the couch behind him, in part so that you can rest on the softer shirt beneath it, and also so he can get some much needed relief for how hot he's become, "There. This should be more comfortable for you Miss--ah--Yumemi,"

Your eyes are so heavy that you don't even think twice before lying against him again, "That's sweet, Atsuhiro. Thank you,"

Atsuhiro watches the steady rise and fall of your chest, studies your features as they become lax and peaceful. The screen splashes colors of light across the contours of your face, the arch of your lashes casting shadows over the apples of your cheeks, new hues blooming in your hair. With the lightest touch he can offer, he tucks the few strands of hair behind your ear that have fallen into your face. His thumb lingers for a few seconds to graze your bottom lip.

He removes his gloves to trace the pad of his finger across your jawline, to quell this ever-growing need to have you close to him. It's a feeling he can't quite understand. You're more than ornamental to him now, excelling past a pretty face. And you're so soft. So warm and comforting. Having you draped over him this way is like being covered in a blanket. He finds himself drifting off, eyes so heavy it's as if they're weighed down by rocks. 

When he next awakens, he's being tapped on the forehead by Twice, who whisper-screams, "You piece of shit, you're sleeping with her?"

"What?" Atsuhiro is barely awake, the vestiges of sleep still present in his bones.

"She's all over you! You snuck onto the couch when the rest of us were sleeping so she could fall asleep on you and then you could fall asleep with her like this!" Twice points animatedly at your still sleeping form. 

At some point during the night, Mr. Compress had slid further down onto the couch, with you and Toga adjusting in kind. While Toga was pressed and almost folded into the far corner, you've dropped over his chest, arms wrapped around his neck and legs caging him in at either side of his waist. Atsuhiro gasps, cheeks slapped crimson, leading you to groggily groan and nuzzle into the crook of his neck. You're using him like a pillow. So fucking cute. 

"What's going on?" Dabi shuffles over, rousing Spinner in the process. They both stretch and yawn as they approach the new hub of the hideout: this godforsaken couch. 

"Compress slept with Yumemi!" Twice accuses, the whisper sharp in his throat.

"Excuse me?" Shigaraki hisses from his corner of the room. 

"Shh, you'll wake her," Compress holds you closer against him in a shameless display of superiority, "Twice is being literal, she fell asleep on me last night,"

Everyone else scoffs at his admittance, the room growing silent so you can continue to rest peacefully. 

"I'm still pissed," Spinner says with arms crossed.

You begin to wake soon thereafter, rustling beneath the sleeping bag, and everyone scrambles back to their original placements. When you open your eyes, lids undulating, you're face-to-face with Mr. Compress, his eyes wide and nearly panicked. 

"I'm sorry," you say, rubbing at your eyes as you press against his chest to rise, "That's so embarrassing. I can't believe I was all over you like this," you cup your blushing face in your hands. 

"No need for apologies. You kept me warm the entire night. I should really be thanking you," He remains horizontal, soft-spoken and slightly mussed, thumbs rubbing circles on your shoulders in a manner that feels intensely intimate. 

"Yumemi," the way he says your name is hushed, like a feather on the wind. 

Just as your mouth parts to speak, Dabi leans over Atsuhiro's face, locking eyes with you when he states, "I'm hungry. You want breakfast or what?"

"Breakfast? Sounds yummy," Toga says through the gravel of morning. 

"Y'know, I-I can make breakfast since I actually know how to cook," Spinner pipes up, "But I'd only be able to cook for us. I've never made for more than a person or two, so, feeding outside of me and you ain't really within my abilities,"

"Or I could take you out to eat since I'm the only one here who has any money," Shigaraki tells you frankly. 

"It's not even your money!" Dabi responds heatedly, his cerulean gaze flickering.

"Doesn't matter, I still have it,"

There's smoke billowing from the kitchen, followed by, "Nobody worry, I'm taking care of breakfast!" From Twice. 

"Oh man. Okay, I'm making breakfast, you guys just chill," you begrudgingly tell them, flipping the sleeping bag off of you. 

You don't normally like to cook, but this incident with Mr. Compress has you desperate to keep your mind off of it. You didn't dislike waking up like that, yet, that's what has you feeling some sort of way about it. 

But at least nothing like that will end up happening again. 

As a type one diabetic, fuck capitalism. I literally just want to live and have to jump through hoops to do so. Isn't it enough that my life will be harder regardless of how much insulin costs or if my insurance will cover my pump supplies? Having a chronic illness/disability isn't fun. We just want to have as close to a normal life as possible. We don't need this shit making it even more difficult.

Insulin is a perfect counter to the "without a profit motive no one will invent anything" bullshit.

The inventors of insulin wanted it to be free and avaliable to everyone who needs it. The inventors invented it without a profit motive.

Then, capitalists inserted themselves as middle men in order to extract profit from it. It's now ridiculously expensive and people need it to live.

People are dying. The tool to save them exists. Capitalists hijack the lifesaving tool and hold it for ransom. Because of that, people die.

Capitalism is pure evil. Capitalists are murderers.

"I wanna steal" Fred the horse from Over The Garden Wall, "he's got poo brain" Jake from Adventure Time, "nobody told me" The Monarch from Venture Brothers, "you had your chance at the cotillion you" Gruncle Stan from Gravity Falls

i love hearing what lines from film/tv people quote with their family all the time because they’re always niche and forgettable to everyone but that specific family

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Synopsis: At the behest of your Uncle Kagero, you agree to be a member of the League Of Villains, loaning out your quirk to aid in their cause. Everything seems to be going as planned--until the guys all start acting weird. Why do they bicker every time you're in a room? How are you going to get used to all this attention?

And who are you going to decide to give it back to?

●Mature themes ●Minors DNI ●Sexual Implications ●Suggestive Themes ●Eventual Smut

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

Chapter 1: Dibs

"C'mon, Yume! Couldn't you do your Uncle Kagero this one teensy little favor?" 

You bat your lashes at him, smiling, gentle as a dove when you ask him, "Do I get a cut of the finder's fee?"

Giran's eye twitches before he takes a long drag off of his cigarette. He hates that you're this well-versed in his career. It would be so much fucking easier if his kid sister didn't marry one of the most notorious villains the West could import, thus all but guaranteeing your involvement. In fact, both sides of your family have a long line of villainy, nearly each and every branch on the tree some kind of Yakuza or general criminal all the way down. You were hanging out in the back room of Uncle Kagero's office before you were out of diapers, absorbing this lifestyle since you were a zygote. Pushing back on giving you a cut this time would prove to be futile.

"Fuck--fine. You win, you get a quarter of their finder's fee," he relents. The cherry of his cigarette glows in the shadows of his dusty room as he rests his legs atop the corner of his desk, one ankle crossed over the other.

"Half or I'm not doing it,"

He nearly chokes, "What makes you think I'd give you half, you little shit!"

"Because you seem pretty desperate to bring this guy someone for his team. I'm guessing you need the money. And if you need the money bad enough, you'll settle for half of it," you say this all with the sweetest smile that you can muster. 

You've got him over a barrel. 

Giran taps his index finger on the chipped varnish of his desk, sucking at his teeth, bitter ash wafting through the air. The weather is mild now, but it's only fall. Winter is going to be thrust upon him before he knows it and then he's going to need heat this place. And he would rather freeze to death than ask your mom for cash to get the heat turned back on. Was he some high profile super villain? Of course not. But he made his money with his own two hands. Phoning his niece for a favor didn't count. 

Especially not if you were getting a cut.

This way, you're just another employee at a family business.

"Alright, I'll give you fucking half, Yumemi. Christ. Shoulda never taught you how to negotiate," Giran chuckles under his breath as he speaks, understanding the part he's played in your character, "Don't forget to tell your ma this time, yeah? She'll kill me if she finds out I'm why you didn't come home again,"

"Uncle, I'm an adult. Like, a real adult, I'm twenty four. Mom and dad need to learn to cut the cord already," you tell him with a roll of your eyes.

Giran pinches at the bridge of his nose, frustration becoming palpable, "Yumemi--"

"Alright, alright. I'll text her,"

"Thank you," he sighs. 

His amnesia doesn't work on your mom since she inherited the same quirk, so it's not like he can worm his way out of this situation if something goes awry. At least you're being reasonable about this aspect. Giran relaxes his shoulders and leans back in his chair. Your quirk fetches a pretty penny. On top of that, he can all but guarantee they'll agree to take you on immediately, as cute as you are. Might as well not throw away a sure thing. Half the cut isn't so bad, he thinks. 

"So who am I working for?" You pry, "Is it that guy who has beef with Gang Orca again?"

"No, not this time. Think a little younger,"

Younger? You were one of the youngest people in established villainy. Who the hell was he talking about?

He sends out a text that you sneakily read from over his shoulder to a person named Kurogiri:

I've got someone special for the league

"Pack your suitcase," he says, "I have a feeling they're not gonna turn you away,"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗————˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

You both step through a hazy black portal and into a bar, now face-to-face with the text recipient. He's more mist than man, though he would have to be solid under there somewhere with the way he wipes down shotglasses behind the counter, glass squeaking with every swipe. 

"Hello, Giran," a voice calls out from Kurogiri, in spite of his lacking a mouth, "Shigaraki Tomura and the others have yet to return, but they will be back momentarily," he turns his attention to you, yellow eyes flickering, "Are you our potential member?"

"I believe I am. My name is Saito Yumemi. It's very nice to meet you," the introduction you choose is quite the same as you always use, polite and pleasant. 

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well," Kurogiri responds in kind. 

He seems to be a mild and reasonable man. If this is who you'll be working with, you aren't worried about loaning out your quirk. 

Giran opens his mouth to speak, but as soon as he does, a portal is opened just to your left, revealing a small group of people who look to be somewhere around your age at a glance. Upon closer inspection, it appears as though you're in the median age group, though it's a bit difficult to tell with how they're dressed. Each of them gape awkwardly, caught somewhat off guard at your presence. A man with a heteromorphic quirk shuffles nervously, carding his fingers through pink hair as someone in ragged, dark clothing flecklessly stares. Another member, who looks to be dressed as a magician of sorts, dons a mask which shifts to an expression of shock. The others shift their weight from one foot to another as they wait for an explanation. A blonde girl in a school uniform is the first to approach you, fangs glinting as she flashes you a toothy grin, her demeanor much more cheerful than what you're used to. 

"I'm Toga Himiko!" She introduces herself immediately, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

"Hold on," a man with shaggy blue hair rasps from behind a hand, "We don't even know who this is yet. Giran. Who did you bring? She doesn't look like she would.. do this,"

"Shigaraki, let me introduce you to Saito Yumemi. She was born and bred into villainy, so don't worry, she's not as soft as she looks," Giran explains as he puffs a cigarette from between his teeth. 

"Hmm. What can she do?" Shigaraki continues his questioning as the others all mill around in the liminal space behind him. 

Giran grins, "Yumemi's quirk is Parasomnia. It allows her to put people into a dreamlike state, where they become, let's just say, very impaired. She can inflict nightmarish hallucinations on whoever her quirk is affecting if she so chooses. She's just gotta know their names for it to work," 

"Do aliases work?" Shigaraki pries for more information. 

"She--"

"It needs to be the full name. However, it's mostly just villains who are unregistered. If you're trying to take down heroes, this won't be a problem since they'll all have hero licenses, or will at least be on the path to obtaining one. It can only work on one person at a time, though," you interject, preferring to speak for yourself.

"Show me," he insists, "Toga Himiko is her given name. So show me what you can do,"

The girl in question simply smiles, willingly parking herself in front of you.

"Okay, then. Come at me," Toga doesn't even flinch before she lurches in your direction with a knife she's pulled out of her skirt, giggling and giddy with bloodlust.

"Toga Himiko," you call to her, voice wispy, echoing in a dreamy haze. 

She stops dead in her tracks. 

"You look so tired. Aren't you tired?" Toga's eyes become heavy-lidded and glossy as she sinks to her knees, her smile reduced to a slight nudge at each side of her mouth, arms like lead at her sides, "What do you see?"

"I see.. UA high school," she's compliant and monotone, head bobbing before she drops onto her back entirely.

"What's your favorite color, Toga Himiko?"

"Pink. Oh, there's pink clouds. Just look at them," she looks as though she's about to float away.

"They're nice, aren't they? Now, why don't you tell me that secret you wanted to share. Remember?"

"Yeah. Of course I remember," Toga is now splayed out on the floor like a starfish, "I'm in love with Izuku and Ochaco. They're the best. I really want their blood,"

"As you can see, I'm able to get information this way. If suggestion doesn't work for them, I can put them into something similar to sleep paralysis, which usually does the trick. Works better if they tell me what they're afraid of but I can make them see anything, good or bad. It doesn't do any physical harm, but psychologically, it's quite damaging. If I don't keep talking to her, she'll wake up on her own when this wears off in about two minutes. I'll also need to rest if I use it for more than a couple of hours,"

It's quiet for a few beats, the room so still you could hear the breath of a mouse. 

"And what do you go by?" The silence is interrupted by Shigaraki. Two crimson eyes peer out from splayed, rigid fingers, haunting and vibrant. A chill runs down your spine. 

"I prefer to go by Nyx when conducting business, but I don't mind being informal when it's just us. You can call me whatever you would like in private," your uncle flinches at your words, the five male members of the league training their eyes on you--most of them flustered and blushing--all the while you're none the wiser. 

Mom and dad have always been villains, which means you didn't go to public school. Your whole life has been a slew of private tutors and playdates that were arranged by your collective parents, not by yourself or the other children. After around age ten, this was exclusively female companionship, your father becoming very cautious of his only daughter. As a result, you're polite, studious, and well-spoken... but horribly under-socialized. Namely with the opposite sex.

Shigaraki's eyes won't meet yours when he says, "Welcome to the League of Villains," he makes a vague motion with his hand, "Kurogiri, give Giran his fee. I'll show her to her room,"

"Why do you get to show her?" The man with piercing blue eyes and dark hair approaches. He smells like the smoke from a bonfire. 

"Because I'm in charge, Dabi, not you," Shigaraki bites. 

"Then shouldn't one of us take her to her new quarters so you're free to pursue other duties?" The magician interjects, offering you a gloved hand as he bows to you, "Mr. Compress, at your service. I'll be happy to show you to--"

"I should probably do it. You guys are super busy, and m-my room's on the way, so, it'd make more sense for me t'do it. Hey, I'm Spinner. It's nice to meet ya," the guy with the Stain getup says, eye contact fleeting.

"Did you do the dreamy thing? Was it neat?" Toga springs up from her spot on the floor, recovering quicker than you had expected, "Why does everyone look all red and sweaty?"

Giran rolls his eyes until you're sure they're scraping the back off his skull as Kurogiri hands him off a wad of cash, "Figured you'd fit right in here. I'll give ya your portion when things settle down. See ya, Yume," and with that, he's stepping through a portal. 

He's lucky you know he's good for it.

"No, you all have to work on your skills. Gotta fine tune those super cool skills. It's best if I walk her to her room," says a guy in a full body catsuit, a terse, "Piss off, assholes!" soon to follow.

"I said I'm walking her down there, Twice. Don't bother," Shigaraki sneers in such a way that you can tell he's becoming irritated.

"Counterpoint," says Dabi, "Fuck you, I'm doing it,"

Hubbub ensues. You're not entirely certain what you've done, but something has obviously set them off, the lot of them squabbling like elementary kids who want the same toy. Is this what younger guys are like? Seems like they'll fight over anything if walking someone to their room is such a commodity to them. How strange.

Toga doesn't speak a word when she takes you by the hand and leads you down the hall. The sharp chatter of bickering can still be heard as you two crest the doorway into a small room at the back of the bar. In it, there's a twin bed, a lamp, a nightstand, and a trunk for personal items. It's more of a prison cell than a room, but you've stayed in worse for smaller cuts of finder's fees. You'll just pretend it's a dorm or something. 

"Do you have a boyfriend or girlfriend, Yumemi?" She asks you, plopping onto your bed like it's her own. 

"No, not right now. Why?"

"Oh, just wondering," Toga kicks her legs, "I think it'll come up sooner or later is all,"

She flashes you a certain look, one you're not sure the meaning of, before she traipses back to the den of the bar, stating she'll be back later for a sleepover. You're not used to the company when on missions like this, but you're not opposed to it. In fact, what you mostly are is surprised, since you've recently put her to sleep and wrang the secrets out of her. Maybe she's used to having quirks tested on her, or maybe she genuinely doesn't care. Either way, you're grateful to have someone around to show you the ropes. Every villain organization runs a little differently and it'll make the adjustment that much easier this way. 

When Toga enters the den, the guys are still bickering, poking at one another's chests and stage whispering threats. 

"You're all so adorable," Toga coos at them, pressing her hands to her flushing cheeks. 

All of them snap their eyes to her. 

"Where's Yumemi?" Dabi asks, separating himself from the group to lean against the wall.

With a snicker, Toga explains, "I took her to her room since nobody else could decide who got to do it,"

"And that's Miss Saito to you," Mr. Compress chastises him with a shift of his mask. 

"She said we could call her whatever we wanted," is Dabi's retort.

"Wrong, fucker. She said I could call her whatever I wanted, so long as we're alone," Shigaraki corrects him as he mindlessly scratches at his neck. 

Spinner crosses his arms, "Boss, c'mon, that was the royal you, not YOU you,"

"Dibs," Dabi proclaims, flames sparking in his cerulean gaze. 

"You can't call dibs on a lady!" Compress snaps his spine ruler straight.

"Yeah, Dabi, she's a person. Don't dibs her like she's a bus seat," Spinner gives a scornful, sidelong glance as he speaks.

"Doesn't matter. I called dibs, that means I get to shoot my shot first,"

"That's not how this works!" Shigaraki grits through his teeth.

"Oh? And how would you know, virgin?" Dabi spits his words like venom.

More chatter breaks out as Toga grins wildly, content to observe the show these clowns were putting on for her in the circus of their own making. Life is good. 

"Hey, hey, wait a minute!" Dabi commands the room, all eyes focusing on him when he asks, "Where the fuck is Twice?"

There's a knock at your door, followed by a, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, come on in," you're taken aback somewhat, having not expected anyone to need you again so soon. 

Twice breaches the door, waving his hand and smiling visibly even through his mask. 

"Just wanted to properly introduce myself. I'm Twice, but feel free to call me Jin. That's my real name. Use whichever you want," he stands with his hands on his hips, another voice countering the previous statement with, "Screw introductions, call me Daddy! Mmff.. Sorry. The other guy isn't always polite,"

Ah, so that's why he's called Twice. Makes sense. 

"That's okay, I've heard way worse. Trust me. I'll stick with Jin when we're here, and you're welcome to call me Yumemi. Unless Daddy is still on the table," you simper with your last sentence, and he jumps in his spot. 

"W-what? Okay, I, uh--" he stammers hard, poking his index fingers together. 

"Oh, I was only joking! I'm sorry if I upset you,"

"No, it's not that, just--"

"Who's upset in here? Better not be our little doll," a smoky voice rasps out before revealing Dabi through the entryway. 

"We were just introducing ourselves properly," you say, rising from the edge of the bed. You extend your hand to Dabi, "I don't think we've said hello just yet. I'm Yumemi,"

He accepts your hand into his own, his palm sweltering, "Dabi. Pleasure's all mine. If you ever need anything at all, even if it's in the middle of the night--"

"Then she'll come to me because I'm the head of this entire thing," Shigaraki cuts him off, still covered in several hands, which you're praying are plaster. 

"We're all loyal to the tenets of Stain, though, Shigaraki. Ain't gonna bother any of us to help her out. I mean.. me, personally, I know I'd come by during any hour of the day or night. 'Cause that's what we do as a team, even if we're not the boss," Spinner pushes his way into the room, shoulder-checking Dabi and Twice to fit into the close quarters. 

"I am personally and readily available for your entertainment, Miss Saito," Compress bows as he enters the room in a cloud of smoke. 

So is he actually a magician after all? 

"Please, call me Yumemi when we're off duty," you tell him, and he captures your hand in his own, the silk of his scarlet glove soft to the touch. 

"I'm flattered to have such a privilege," he says, voice taking on a plush tone.

"Ah-hah!" Spinner points at Shigaraki, "I told you it was the royal you! She meant all of us!"

"No, it's not a privilege, really. I'm just me. You're all welcome to call me by Yumemi any time. As my dad always says, formalities are for heroes,"

The room has become a blaring fortissimo of conversations, insults saturating the air, curses you've never even heard before hurled like hidden rocks in snowballs. 

What the hell have you gotten yourself into?

I read the published chapters of your book of Levi and loved.

I'm so happy you enjoyed it!! I've got the next chapter in draft right now! 🥰