Tomura And Dabi Are Both Thriving And Well In My Fics, So If You'd Like To Dissociate, Feel Free To Join

To all my writers who have a tough time with smut terms and not knowing which ones to use, I have found the holy grail for us.

This reddit user took a poll of 3,500 people and went really in depth with asking their favorite terminology, along with actual pie charts on what the readers preferred to see in their smut.

Here's the direct link to the Google doc with all the info!

reblog or reply with your love song. you know, the one that you think is what love sounds like

Kick-Ass himself? If you're fr message me with details and I'll whip something up!

Come to me (smut writer) those who are weak and weary (people who never see their favorite characters in things) and I shall give you rest (write about said character pounding you stupid)

♡ 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.

Let ye find peace

You are released, friend.

♡ 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. 

USERNAME LORE GIVE IT TO ME NOW YOU ALL

♡ 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.

So just my life as it is now then

Spin this wheel of ~300 AO3 tags three times.