Mr Compress - Blog Posts

THIS IS WHAT HE WOULD DO AJJAAUHG

Mr. Compress, in the back of a cop car: “Could you possibly turn up the AC? It’s a little stuffy in here—”

Cop: “Stop talking.”

Mr. Compress, on his phone: “Yeah, I’ll be back at the hideout shortly.”

Cop: “What— how did you get your hands free? Are you on the phone?”

Mr. Compress: “Yes, I’m on the phone— Sorry, Dabi, my chaperone is being impolite.”

Cop: “Chaperone??”

Cop, pulls over and looks in the back seat, Mr. Compress is gone.

Radio: “Do you have the suspect detained?”

Cop: “I did.”

Radio: “What do you mean you did?!”

Cop: “I don’t know, he disappeared!”

The car starts up and drives off.

Cop: “HEY!!! STOP!”

Mr. Compress, blasting the AC.

What are you lookin' at🤨❓️

A turn of events…

The lovely lady in red belongs to @veeepawoon!

Tbh I wish I was Compress there rn🫢

THIS IS LEGIT SO CUTE OH MY GOD

Hear me out...

Jokepress.

Got a cute bag that I could carry around at the con I plan on going to! I moved the other pins so Compress could be visible, I just didn’t get the pic cuz I forgor 🧍

Since my hand is out of commission for a bit, here’s some artwork/wips I’ve been holding onto. The OC in the last drawing is Kitsu, @khaotic-luca’s MHA oc 🩷

SHE’S BEAUTIFUL😫😫

Fem Compress wearing this nightgown, inspired by a post from a mutual on twitter

Mm mm mm mm🩷🩷

I love drawing this guy

THIS IS SO CUTE, THE ART IS SO CUTE🩷🩷🩷

So I draw you as a ringtail (and Dabi as a snake). Hope you like it-!

This-

This is absolutely extraordinary! The colors, the design, EVERYTHING looks so flawless!

@dabis-blueflame Look at what one of my followers designed! They’re quite the artist!

- Mr. コンプレス

Have you seen my Mr. Compress collection?

Now you have 💅🏻✨

Me and @khaotic-luca making a debut as Labi and Mrs. Yunpress!

We are actually planning on cosplaying as Compress and Dabi at AnimeNYC this August, that’s when we’ll be taking LOTS of photos 🫣 Maybe even take some photos with other League of Villain members!

That's What You Get (Yandere!Hawks x Pregnant!Reader)

SERIOUS WARNING: This is an extremely disturbing read with themes and topics that include: suicidal tendencies, cursing, verbal abuse, blood, self-harm, infantilism, forced pregnancy, purposeful miscarriage, descriptions of gore, physical abuse and mentions of rape.

Please read with caution as you have been warned of the heavy subjects present in this story.

You wondered to yourself what you did to deserve all of this.

What god had decided to push all their anger unto your poor, unfortunate soul with such mercilessness?

What events led you to meeting a red-winged devil pretending to be an angel?

A hot hand grabbed at your hand without warning, yanking it away from your mouth. A trail of bloodied saliva followed and you only then noticed the familiar taste of blood on your tongue.

"Can you fucking stop?" Dabi hissed, turquoise eyes glaring deep into your hazed ones. "Do you want Hawks to lose his shit again?"

Yes, is what you wanted to say. You wanted Hawks to watch as you bit into your fingers with little thought. You wanted him to see how numb you were from all his abuse. You wanted him to know that he did this.

He was the reason you were broken now.

You didn't answer his question or even bother to truly look at him, only bringing your other hand to your mouth and biting down.

Your nail cracked against your teeth and felt slight satisfaction when Dabi cursed again and had to grab both your hands to keep you from doing any further damage to yourself.

"God dammnit, Y/N!" He growled, grabbing the attention of nearby league members scattered about the hideout. "Can someone please take this stupid bitch? I am not babysitting that hero's fuck doll today!"

Entering the room with a long sigh, Mr. Compress switched places with the purple-skinned villain, a first aid kit in tow.

When Dabi exited from the room, a dry chuckle left you but disappeared just as quickly as it came.

That's how most feelings worked for you now. They'd come and go. You were never allowed to truly feel anything for longer than 10 seconds.

Compress eyed you disappointingly, "It's not funny, Y/N." He scolded as he began to wrap your fingers, "Hawks told you to take better care of yourself. The more you put yourself at risk, the harder this pregnancy will be in the long run.

You stilled at that, nausea rising to your throat at the painful memories of Hawks holding you down against the cold, tiled floor and his warm, smooth cum filling your bruised cunt to the brim despite your cries.

That was followed by many more nights painted the same way.

A month later, you found out you were pregnant after Hawks had tested your toilet water.

The bastard was happier than ever but that happiness went right out the window when he caught you attempting to throw yourself down a set of stairs later that day. You'd even looked him in the eyes as you'd started to fall.

It was too bad that he'd caught you. That fall definitely would've done the trick.

After numerous other attempts, the hero finally decided that while he was gone, someone had to be with you at all times for both you and the baby's parasite's protection.

"Done-" Compress finished wrapping the bandages around you fingers, "-Have you eaten lunch yet?"

No, you hadn't. You hadn't moved from your curled position on the couch since Hawks left way earlier that morning.

To please Compress, you ate a few bites of what he made you and sipped some of the soup Hawks had packed for you.

Soon, you were back in your corner of the couch, filling in the permanent dent that you’d made from sitting there for so long.

You shivered as you hugged yourself.

Despite wearing a sweater and leggings with thick socks, you always felt so cold. Even if you were sweating, you were still cold.

You wondered why that was.

And now that you were left alone with your thoughts, you began to wonder other things.

Was your family regretting giving you to Hawks?

How long had it been since you'd seen them?

Did they even care?

What would they think if you escaped now and showed up pregnant?

Would they even believe you if you told them what Hawks did?

They’d probably think you were a slut.

A good for nothing whore that would do anything to get money.

Your head felt like it was about to explode.

Everything felt so meaningless now.

Why did this happen to you? Why couldn't you get control of your life again?

You placed a hand on your stomach, feeling the small hump that would soon be bigger and heavier in just a few months.

And then you'd have to push it out while it tore your pussy apart. Then you'd have to heal for who knows how long, taking care of a screaming, shitting lump while Hawks goes out and lives however he pleases.

As he always has.

...

Were you really supposed to just sit here and accept that?

That's what Hawks wanted you to do.

But how the hell could you?

"Baby, I'm back!" Hawks beamed as he walked up to you, stealing a kiss to your cheek. His smiled faded slightly, however, when he saw your bandaged fingers, "Aw, (Y/N), were you biting your fingers again?"

You didn't answer. You never really did anymore, much to his annoyance.

He sighed deeply and turned to Compress, asking him about how you'd done throughout the day. His expression only soured further at the villain's words and he glanced down at you with unimpressed eyes.

"Alright, thank you guys again for watching her-" He picked you up bridal style, "We'll be back next week as discussed."

The flight home was eerily quiet. You could tell that Hawks was upset with you. But he couldn't be nearly as upset as you were. But you knew he never thought about how you felt.

Everything was always about him.

When you both got home to his condominium, he sat you on the couch, unwrapping and examining your damaged fingers.

His lips were downturned and his brows were furrowed. His golden eyes weren't as bright as they'd been previously.

He wasn't happy with you at all.

Good.

His face made you giddy for some reason and you couldn't stop the corners of your lips from twitching upwards. It was so great that you could almost laugh with genuine joy.

Hawks' snapped his eyes up to you with wide, unbelieving eyes.

Shit, you must've laughed without realizing it.

No, wait.

You were crying.

"Oh, (Y/N), it's alright.” He cooed, “I know you'll do better for me and the baby next time, right?" That was a threat and you felt your mood plunge at the mention of the baby parasite resting in you. "Right?"

"Yeah..." You mumbled robotically. You could give less shits about the baby.

Hawks wasn't happy with how you'd responded but shrugged it off with a mumble of 'pregnancy hormones' and started to make dinner.

Ever since he’d found out you were pregnant, he made you take it easy. No unnecessary movement, as he liked to phrase it.

“So…” Keigo started, washing some rice in a bowl, “you’ve got your first appointment coming up next week. How’d’ya feel?”

You touched your growing stomach underneath your loose t-shirt. Was it really time for that?

No, no this couldn’t be.

If Hawks made you wait too long, you won’t be able to get rid of it and then you’ll really be stuck.

Nausea came back full force and you retched aloud, stomach curling. You turned away from the table and threw up the little bit of lunch you’d had earlier.

Keigo was by your side in a flash, rubbing your back when you continued to retch and gag.

“The morning sickness is becoming more frequent now, huh?” He asked, “Here, rinse your mouth with some water.” His feathers brought over a small cup of water and a bowl for you to spit into.

After rinsing your mouth out, you glanced up at Keigo, something you hadn’t done in a long time and saw how he visibly brightened when you did so.

“Please, Kei… I don’t-I don’t want this.” You told him honestly, your voice heavy with misery.

He instantly frowned at that, lips turning downwards and eyes going sharp, “What did I tell you about talking like that, (Y/N)? What the hell is wrong with you?!” He snapped, feathers shaking.

You stared at him as if he weren’t there and shrugged, “I guess you won’t know until the baby’s dead.”

“You don’t mean that.” He seemed to be telling himself that because deep down… deep down he knew that you meant it. “(Y/N), you don’t mean that.”

You felt the corners of your mouth lift again, “I’m not going to my first appointment because there will be no baby. Hell, there weren’t even be a (Y/N) to take to the appointment.” Now you were really smiling, no more tears to give.

Hawks feathers shook more, a hopeless look graced his features as he brought a hand to his mouth, “(Y/N), I-“ He looked away from your wide smile and void eyes, he couldn’t stand to look at you anymore, “What is happening to you? A baby is supposed to make you happy! Why isn’t this working?”

He walked away without another word, leaving you alone in the kitchen.

A burning smell caught your attention and you stepped over your vomit puddle to turn off the chicken he was cooking on the stove.

You took the pan off the still hot burner and placed it on the back one.

If only a burn could kill you.

A glint in your peripheral vision caught your eye and you snapped your head towards the sink. Your eyes widened.

There, like the forbidden fruit, sat a large kitchen knife. You realized Keigo must’ve left it when he was arguing with you.

Now was your chance.

You gripped the knife in both your hands.

You hadn’t seen a knife in so long. Keigo had locked them up when you started ‘acting up’.

You lifted it above your head.

Deep breath in.

Hold it.

You swiftly brought the knife down into your stomach. It slid right in like butter and you surprisingly didn’t feel anything.

With a shaky breath, you looked down and stumbled awkwardly as you struggled to pull the knife back out.

Blood started to soak your t-shirt and stain it dark red. A metallic smell clung to the air and you raised the knife above your head again.

This was easier than you’d thought.

You brought the knife down at an angle and groaned, the pressure of your stab felt like a punch.

One more stab should do the trick.

“(Y/N), I got off the phone with your pediatrician,” Keigo started from the bedroom you both shared, “Turns out, you’re just going through a pregnancy depr- (Y/N)!” He screamed seeing the blood on the ground.

Feathers shot towards you and you smiled wildly as you were pinned to the ground.

Keigo turned you on your side and you let go of the knife, letting it stay in your stomach.

There was no need to do anything else. You’d gotten rid of it for good.

He sobbed loudly in your face, his eyes screaming with despair. He didn’t even recognize you anymore, just like how you hadn’t recognized him for a long time now.

His screams of why were only met with one answer.

“Because, that’s what you get.”

You'll never take us alive!

🩷=fluff ; 🧡=comfort ; ❤️‍🔥=smut ; ❤=angst ; 🖤=death ; 🤍 =dark topics tw!

Tomura Shigaraki

Coming soon...

Kurogiri

Coming soon...

Dabi

Coming soon...

Himiko Toga

Coming soon...

Twice

Coming soon...

Mr. Compress

Coming soon...

Magne

Coming soon...

Topics such as violence, abuse and transphobia will be portrayed with care and under the knowledge I have of it as a victim myself.

misunderstood villains

happy belated bday tomura

Got weirdly invested in this immediately after seeing this, I didn’t even think I cared about sharks that much. This is still based off general vibes, my limited shark knowledge, and a Quick Look over at the Shark Research Institute.

Dabi- Tiger Shark

Generally aggressive

Known number of incidents second only to the Great White

Generally solitary or in small groups

Nocturnal

Quote from Shark Research Institute that I think applies, “Do not be lulled into a sense of security by its slow swimming movement and apparent lack of aggression; this shark may nonchalantly take a bite while remaining cool and casual.”

Tomura Shigaraki- Short Fin Mako

Fastest of the sharks and considered hyperactive.

Hyperactive tendencies lead to aggression towards humans, however they are rare due to it staying well offshore

I also think the shark’s known hyperactivity fits well with Shigaraki’s general fidgety-ness and ticks

Himiko Toga- Cookie Cutter Shark

Do I need to explain this one?

Smallest member of the group

Nocturnal

Ectoparasitic shark that attaches itself to larger prey before ripping out a chunk of tissue for food

Spinner-Black Tip Shark

Shark known for hunting by jumping out of the water and spinning

Indifferent to humans outside of baiting situations

Becomes hyperactive in groups

Magne-Lemon Shark

Going mostly off vibes here

Not none for aggression but has been involved in unprovoked incidents (no casualties)

Known for being docile and curious, I apply this mostly to Magne's interactions with the League rather than her villain status

Very social and tend to swim in groups

Twice- Grey Reef Shark

Social

Inquisitive and curios

May become aggressive during feeding

Extravagant threat display and high-speed attacks

Mr. Compress- Oceanic Whitetip Shark

Distinct appearance

Fast and aggressive feeder

Involved in unprovoked attacks

Persistent, bold, and curious

Will circle back even when being fended off

A few extra characters

All for One- Greenland Shark

Mostly for just how long they can live

Also, while appearing sluggish and easy to capture, they are also known to hunt and capture large and fast prey

Kurogiri- Basking Shark

Highly migratory

None aggresive on its own

Kind of creepy looking, but generally cool

Despite basking sharks large size, they are very mobile

that's it, hope that was fun

Okay so my partner sent me a bunch if shark related tik toks (because they know how obsessed I am with sharks) and how they are misunderstood for being these scary things just waiting to eat you when in reality they're just sea puppies

So anyways, what kind of sharks would these guys be? Asking for a friend who happens to have the same name as me

Sharks love pats

"Hey, Dabi, we got our asses kicked. Come get us."

Literally do not care for manga's canon, the epilogue or whatever, this is how this story actually ended

This sketch will always be one of my top favourites of them, they’re just so silly and cute - just one big happy family <33

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!

remember this?

chapte 220

remember how we we were robbed of spinner narrating the mva arc? bc i do and i'm still mad about it

for those who don't remember or haven't watch the anime: in the anime, izuku also narrate the mva even though it's spinner in the manga

i want to give the benefit of the doubt to those who worked on the anime. at first i didn't understand why spinner was the narrator either as he didn't seem like an important character

but now that mha is over, it's seems obvious that this narration was hinting at spinner's book, if not a part of the book itself

this entire arc is basically "yeah we're villains but we're also people and we care about each other, here's our story". so it doesn't make sense that izuku narrates it, but it does for spinner. his league was his reason to be, he let himself get mutilated/tortured/whatever you wanna call what afo did to him in the final arc for the league, and especially for shigaraki

so yeah, i wish we could have gotten narrator spinner

silly tweets inspired by my villain shouto au

cw: swearing, death treats and shigaraki saying ‘kys’ (both as jokes)

these take place during the chapter theee of my fic (link to the series here)

might do smau of the groupchat

hope you enjoyed! 🩷

just started decorating my apartment and i love how at first it looks kinda cute with pink dishes, candles, flower pillows

kinda giving pinterest vibes yk?

and then you turn around and you see my dabihawks figures and my league of villains poster

The League of Villains book being sold??? 🥺🩷

The Problem with the League of Villains

this is just me ranting after reading many people say that the lov deserved a better ending (i agree with them don't worry). most of that stuff has already been said but i'm bored and need something to write

so why is everyone disappointed?

by definition, an antagonist is someone that goes against the main character(s) and a villain is someone who does immoral and/or illegal things (wow, shocking)

so by definition, the league of villains is aptly named. shigaraki and dabi are mass murderers, toga is a killer too, and even if the others are 'less dangerous' they're all guilty of terorism and kidnapping a teenager.

not nice, right? then why would anyone would want them to have a good ending?

long story short: horikoshi made the league too sympathetic and relatable

when horikoshi has decided to make them funny, he's decided to make them likeable. that's not enough though. you can find a fictional villain funny and not root for them (for some reason the examples that comes to my mind are the disney villains. captain hook is hilarious but no one wants him to win)

the cause of everyone's disappointment is the relatable part. everyone in the league has gone through stuff viewers can relate. touya, shigaraki and toga have been abused; twice has mental health issues (and stuggling to get a job is relatable too lmao); spinner has been discriminated against... you get the idea

and even without knowing their backstory, most of the league's fights can be considered noble: they want to change society and make the world a better place. to take a more precise example, the league kidnapped bakugou because they thought he had gone through similar struggle as them

(this is mr compress talking in chapter 85) as far as i've seen, most of the fandom either think bakugou being chained and muzzled at the end of the sport festival was just comic relief or agree that it was fucked up

so yeah, you can't put a group of people rejected by society, who just want a better world and expect people to not like them

and that's why their ending is disappointing (the rest contains heavy spoilers of the last few chapters of mha)

they're all either in jail or six feet underground. we rationally could understand it, they're all criminals/villains so of course they wouldn't get a happy ending and face consequences for their actions. the only one who could have gotten away with it is shigaraki because of all the grooming/brainwashing he's gone through and maybe toga because she's a child

but if you relate to a character, you want them to get a happy ending. of course fans would want dabi to be at peace, but instead he's forced to spend his last moments being stared at by his abuser). of course fans would want shigaraki to be free from afo (but instead his only freedom was death). of course fans would want toga to be understood and cared for (but she never had that opportunity)

that's not very 'save to win' out of you horikoshi

maybe it's just a shortcut made by the fandom, but the league are seen more as victims of abuse than actual criminals. i mean, what's more important in dabi's story? the fact that he burned himself alive after overworking himself to get his abusive father's attention, or the fact that he's burned people alive? probably both, but there's more focus on the first element.

and obviously we would want abuse victims to get a happy ending

basically, their ending isn't coherent with what we've seen of them, and that's why people are disappointed

btw, the same logic applies to stain. some fans agree with stain's reasoning bc he's fighting against corruption. of course, his logic is stupid and he's delusional but he's introduced not long after we've discovered shouto's past. you can't say "one of the most popular heroes is abusing + all he wants is to get n°1 to satisfy his own ego" and then follow with "see that guy fighting against corruption? he's bad, don't do that"

the clever way to make sure no one would agree with stain would have been to make the heroes fight against injustice with good methods. i live for the fanfics in which izuku takes down the hpsc

okay i'm done ranting thanks for reading

mr compress can compress me into a piece of paper and then tear that paper apart and I would THANK HIM

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

CW: dirty talk, first time blow job, oral sex, praise kink, male dom, submissive reader, car sex. Proof read but no beta.

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

“A date?” You blink twice in succession, startled by the unexpected suggestion.

You were right in the middle of making yourself a cup of noodles when he had approached you, seemingly out of nowhere, after several minutes of playing Nintendo games in Spinner’s lap. It’s easy to tease Spinner. He hasn’t made a move on you outright, but you know you’ve got him close to his limit. 

Or so you thought. 

Apparently, all of the attention directed at another man pushed someone else to his limit instead.

Atsuhiro flushes. Perhaps he should have worn his mask for this discussion after all. But since watching you cuddle up into Spinner’s chest, manually wrapping his arms around you, he’s eager to speak with you as soon as humanly possible. Despite the stinging heat of his cheeks, he proceeds, “That’s right. I’d like to take you out tonight. Just the two of us,”

Normally, he would give you more time to not only consider his request, but to prepare for it should you have accepted it. This situation required a bit more haste than that, though. If he didn’t get this plan solidified and underway tonight, someone would, inevitably, try to delay it or have it cancelled entirely. Compress needs to strike while the iron is hot. It’s now or never.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt, capture your lower lip betwixt your teeth. His asking you out was sudden, but not unwanted. That isn’t what’s delaying your response. There’s just something about Compress that makes you a little nervous. Twice did as well before you two had fooled around, but that feeling has since faded, having fallen to the wayside in place of a near-constant sexual tension. When it came to Compress specifically, though, there was something about his authority and confidence that made you feel the tiniest bit weak in the knees, bones gelatinous any time he approaches you. It wasn’t like the false bravado that Dabi tended to carry or that Spinner often attempted to hide behind. Atsuhiro knew what he wanted and then some. And that was intimidating.

Yes, Atsuhiro considered himself to be a confident man. He spoke with purpose. He stood tall. He had experience. 

But dammit, you make him so tense and sweaty!

Abandoning your noodles, you tuck a lock of stray hair behind your ear with a meek, “Okay,” and a sweet smile.

He nods, reigning himself in so you don’t see how giddy this has made him. 

“Well then, Yumemi,” he straightens his back, “Get dressed and I’ll take you out for a real dinner,”

When you exit, he exhales deeply, smears his face with his hands. He pulled it off. You said yes, you’re going out with him. He has to make this night unforgettable for you.

He’s going to be the first one to take you on a date. 

You hand the steaming cup of noodles to Toga as the two of you enter into the den, a grin spreading across your face, and she takes it without question. 

“Mimi, you look so happy!” She chirps between sips of hot broth. 

“I, uh.. I have to get ready for a date toni—“ you don’t get to finish your sentence before she’s dragging you into her room. The door slams closed behind you. She looks manic.

“With who?!”

“Atsuhiro,”

“Oh my God, no way!” She downs the entire cup of noodles in one impossible gulp before she begins sifting through her clothes, “I can’t believe one of them actually nutted up and asked you out! Okay, lemme see. I have something here somewhere.. Ah-hah!” Toga retrieves a cocktail dress from her closet, the material a sleek, black taffeta.

You cock your head, “Jesus, Toga, this looks expensive,”

She shrugs, “It probably was. But I stole it in case someone grew enough hair on their chest to ask you out. Good thing, huh?”

You hold it up to yourself, admiring how the cut appears to be flattering for your figure. It shows just enough chest to be seductive, just enough leg to say you want him, while still being classy for a nice occasion. She really knows her shit for a teenager. 

“Wow, I mean.. Thank you,”

“If you wanna thank me, give me details when you get back,” she smiles until the points of her teeth show, golden eyes crinkling. 

You snicker, blushing as you nod your head. 

“And one more thing,” a drawer is opened on her nightstand, the quick grab of a bottle serving as proof that she’s had this preplanned for quite some time, “I also took some pheromone perfume!” Without so much as a warning, she dabs it onto your wrists, your neck, spreads it into the back of your hair, “Now he’ll definitely make a move,”

There isn’t much of a smell on your end, so you ask her, “You sure this stuff works?”

“If you can’t smell it, yeah, probably. This one is to attract men,”

You hum, somewhat skeptical, but step into the dress regardless. Worst case scenario is that now you smell like nothing. Not much of a loss considering that this is a stolen dress layered on top of some stolen perfume. Your phone buzzes from the bed.

Atsuhiro: I’m parked out front whenever you’re ready. I’ll be waiting for you, dearest.  

“Toga, he has his own car!” You tell her while slipping on a pair of black pumps that she’s procured from under her bed. 

“Why do we have to walk when Kurogiri’s busy, then?” She pouts. 

You stuff your phone and wallet into a little clutch that’s been handed to you, shrugging, mouth tilted as if to convey confusion. 

“Why are you so prepared for this?”

“I took it all in one haul. Now get out of here!”

The shove she gives you isn’t really needed. You’re impossibly excited to be taken on your first ever actual date. You’ve been in a couple relationships before, but nobody had ever taken you out like this, the majority of your relationships being ones of convenience more than anything else. A cold sweat sends ice to shoot down your spine when you traipse out the door, the reality hitting you in one sweeping lurch that you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You inhale sharply as Atsuhiro, clad in his ‘in case she says yes’ suit, opens the door of his ivory Rolls-Royce. His hair is slicked back with pomade and he smells of leather and bergamot, his bare hands soft and well-manicured.

Fuck. 

This guy is old money.

The scent of you envelopes him, drowns his senses, and he finds himself longing to bite into the tender flesh at the nape of your neck. However, he’s a gentleman. He controls himself as you slide onto the tan, leather seat of his passenger side, lips curled into a playful grin when you look up at him. He closes the door, sits behind the wheel. The smell is stronger when the two of you are confined, a subtle, musky vanilla undertone with something more that hits his nose as primal and vulgar. 

“Where are we going?” Your voice travels to his ear like petals on the wind, gauzy moonlight pouring in through the tinted window to emphasize the arch of your lashes.

How is he supposed to get through a meal like this?

“La Vie Est Belle,” he answers cooly, “If you like bread, you’ll love this restaurant. Their baguettes are made in house,”

“Mhm. I love bread,” you thumb the hem of your dress anxiously as you speak. 

Your family is fairly well off, but you aren’t what you would consider to be rich. More like comfortably middle class. Mom and Dad have always spoiled the hell out of you, but it’s not like they would take you to some fancy French restaurant on a whim. Especially not anything this fancy. As soon as Atsuhiro ushers you from his vehicle, it’s whisked away by the valet, a suave young man in a white tuxedo and matching shoes. The valet doesn’t speak a word to either of you, simply takes the keys and parts, which has you feeling somewhat strained. It seems wrong not to exchange pleasantries. 

Compress indulges in another whiff of your hair as he guides you into the restaurant, his palm cupped on the small of your back. It tingles his toes. Leaves him with a heaviness in his core.

You, on the other hand, are gobsmacked at this place. The exterior resembles that which you would expect of something like an upscale wedding reception hall, the stone steps leading to a heavy, oak door that rests in between a set of pillars on either side of it, which hold up the scaffolded and overhanging roof. Once inside, you’re greeted with vaulted ceilings, walls painted in a deep, navy blue, and crystal chandeliers hanging gracefully above each round, golden-clothed table. A bouquet of irises, blue and white, sit in the center, lit candles circling them. You look around at all of the people here in their affluent attire, the men dressed in velour and fine suits, the women in organza gowns that touch the floor, peep-toe shoes hidden behind the curtains of fabric. One lady appears to have brought with her a tiny, white dog in a bag. 

You, the proletariat which you are, do not belong here. 

Atsuhiro takes notice of how you shift uncomfortably in your seat, the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Your smile is but a farce, voice feigning placidity. So when the waiter comes, he orders for the table, something safe that most people would enjoy—though you wouldn’t know this. Apparently, Atsuhiro speaks fucking French. You are so out of your depth it’s not even funny.

You mouth the words ‘thank you’ as the waiter scurries off, the tails of his coat fluttering when he turns. Another waiter has stopped in his tracks behind you, your back turned to him as his gaze flickers over your form, much too long for your date’s liking. Compress narrows his eyes at the young man who burns bright pink when he realizes he’s been caught. You’re absolutely stunning tonight. Streamlined and gloss-black as a raven’s feather, the twinkle in your eyes rivaling each and every gem in the room. He doesn’t need the gawking eyes of some college freshman to tell him that. But something roils beneath his skin when he thinks about how many young, spry suitors are taking note of how you’re gorgeous and how you smell like this. Had he really never noticed before?

“Well, I’m sure you’ve guessed this already, but I don’t speak French,” you giggle nervously, “Did you order dessert?”

Two glasses of red wine are sat at the table by a gloved hand, which he swirls to aerate as soon as he receives it. 

“I don’t think we should get dessert,” he says dryly.

Your brows tick up, “Why?”

Atsuhiro inhales slowly, deeply, before he takes a small sip of his wine. 1955 was a good year from what he can tell. One would assume such a minuscule drink of alcohol would leave him entirely grounded, however, the way you’re intoxicating him has left him unencumbered.

“Because you smell like sex and I can’t have people thinking such things about you. In fact, I won’t. So I'd like to take you back to my place instead,” the sedulity in his tone has your heart pounding, his sharp eyes and even sharper tongue cutting into your chest which heaves sluggardly beneath your dress. 

He wears his years too differently for you to tell his age, but with the way his eyes hang low and steady, fixed onto your own, you feel so young and small. You’re all doe eyes and exposed legs across from him, his decadently oppressive aura weighing atop you, smothering you in a relentless tide. The crossing of his legs is just barely captured in your peripheral, as is the twitch of his hand, the unsteady rhythm of his breaths. It appears as though you’re both struggling to maintain your composure.

With the slightest nudge of your lips, you lean in closer to him, ignoring the clinking of plates as they’re sat on the table when you say, “Maybe I’m not hungry for dinner,”

His stomach tightens, eyes bouncing open, and he’s forced to coax them back to his typical steely affect. 

“You really should try to eat something,” his voice takes on a low gravel, “I’ve heard that truffles are an aphrodisiac,”

You’re smiling outright at this point. He wants to finish dinner? That’s fine. You’ll make sure he gets dinner and a show. 

His breath hitches when you press your breasts into cleavage, cleverly guised as a reach for your wineglass. Your lips graze the rim, a wispy hum in approval, though your pallet isn’t particularly refined enough to enjoy the red to its full potential. You flick your eyes to him, setting down the glass and then smoothing the bodice of your dress to encourage his eyes to travel there. Totally shameless, you slack your jaw, staunch in your eye contact as he feeds you a forkful from his plate. You rub your foot along his thigh, and he grips the tablecloth. Something behind his eyes shifts, a threatening darkness that leaves every hair on your body standing on end. And he would be lying if he said he wasn’t standing at attention himself. 

“My, Yumemi, it looks like you’re having a good time,” he murmurs. 

You slink back in your seat so to extend the length of your legs, to ruche the fabric of your dress further up your thigh as you cross one heeled foot over the other, “You could say that,”

Atsuhiro waves over the waiter, eyes shining when he hands the man a stack of bills, telling him to keep whatever was left over. He rises with a poised demeanor, warm hands guiding you up and out the door, heels clicking across the ornate tiles of the restaurant, heart thundering throughout your extremities. You find yourself unintentionally holding your breath as the two of you wait for the valet to return his car, wondering if perhaps you’d crossed a line by the way he avoids eye contact with you. He opens the door for you once more, silent as you sit, as he takes his place at the driver’s seat, your breaths the only things audible in the car.

Perhaps you made too much of a scene in there. 

He’s probably a regular at La Belle… whatever. God, even your internal dialogue sounds like you’re a mere pauper. Tonight was as though you’d been isekai’d into some My Fair Lady universe where you’re a transient nobody who’s graciously allowed into the prince’s quarters. You’re normally much more polite than this. Much more buttoned-up in public. Maybe this should’ve been treated as more of a business occasion rather than a sexually charged date. Maybe that’s just what extravagant dining was like. 

“Atsuhiro,” saying his name knocks something loose in him, and he pulls into an empty lot, parking calmly and cooly with his eyes still fixed straight ahead. 

You say his name again, and he draws in a sharp breath before lunging across the console, cupping your face in his hands as he plants a ferocious and hungry kiss to your lips. His initial plan was to bring you back home, to savor you, to sweep you off of your feet and carry you bridal style past the threshold of his room and onto his bed, to map out each and every beautiful inch of your body until he knows it by heart. He thought he could keep himself tethered to his sanity long enough to make it there. But he is able to withstand this burning, snapping, fizzing want that boils within him no longer. He melts into your touch as your fingers card through his hair, as you’re nibbling at his bottom lip, licking into his mouth, heat pooling between your thighs. He parts from you, gasping, the air electric and sparking wildly. 

“I want you,” his voice rakes over your skin, each rasping syllable zipping up your spine. 

You’re aching and hot, desire bubbling just beneath the surface, stomach bottoming out when he speaks these words to you. 

“I can’t get you out of my head,” his gaze travels your body, and he revels in the way you shiver at his touch, “Can’t stop thinking about the things you do to me,”

“What I do to you?” The phrase is more of a slurred sigh, “God, Atsuhiro, I fucking need you,”

He tosses his head back, jaw clenched, close to feral when he grits, “Be a good girl for me and I’ll give you what you need,"

He nips at your clavicle, and you moan, the sound so cloyingly heady that he finds himself dizzied at the release of your voice. He grunts at the sound, gentle squeezes into his shoulders prompting his own hands to fall at your thighs, your breath skating across his cheek. With another keening groan, he presses you up against the door, the glass cool against your back as he laves the plush of his tongue over the column of your throat, his strong hands palming the fleece of your inner thighs. The scent of you has become too much for him when he’s this close to you, the throbbing tent in his slacks grazing your thigh with each further push to the window. Your fingers grasp at his shirt, curl into the fine material, urging him closer. 

“Come on, now. Be a good girl and spread your legs for me,”

With heavy eyes, you nod, wholly subjugated when you tell him, “Yes, sir,”

All you can offer him is a weak little whine as he pulls your soaked panties to the side, his touch careful but firm, the pad of his index finger soon dragging to spread the slick up from your slit to your swollen clit. He smirks when you buck your hips, satisfied by your submission. He admires the rapid rise and fall of your chest beneath him, how your breaths hasten when he rubs the apex of your sex in a tight circle. Another whimper falls from your lips as he delves two digits into the wet heat of your cunt, eliciting a shaky exhale from him, his cock pulsing, precum dotting the front of his pants. Lazy, unhurried circles of his fingertip over your clit tests your patience. This is torture, and he knows it.

But the way that you tilt your brow and dig your nails into the flesh of his chest have him wanting to spoil you.

Your eyes flutter closed when he finally presses his thumb to your clit, cheeks flushed and lips parted to release stuttered gasps from the back of your throat. He pats the side of your leg with his free hand. 

“Watch me,” he says, “I want you to see what I’m doing to you,”

He throws your legs over his shoulders, soft, fleeting kisses ghosted over your clit to once more tease you the way you’ve been teasing him all this time. You fix your gaze to him, eye contact unbroken when he flicks his tongue across the puffy little bud, and you tremble, near to falling apart at the sight. His tongue rolls over you, the stifling heat of his mouth sucking you in shortly thereafter. 

“Fuck, Atsu—oh, God,” slithers out of you, and a moan rackets up from his chest. 

The windows are fogging, condensation beading across the glass, much in the same way which your arousal drips down his palm. You’re so slippery and ready for him, tightening around his fingers with each lap and lave of his tongue. Your toes curl in your shoes, self-restraint now relinquished when you take a handful of his hair. His eyes roll back as you pull, tension tugging at your muscles, staring hazily down at him as he releases your clit with a lewd pop. He’s pretty like this, with his lips all red and swollen, eyes half-lidded and foggy with lust, hair mussed. It doesn’t take long before he’s running the flat of his tongue over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re about to come undone, he can tell. Your breaths have become choppy, in ragged intervals, walls fluttering around his digits, until suddenly—fuck, so hot—you’re cumming all over his face. The throbbing of your clit is felt against his tongue, a gush of arousal slickening his hand. 

“Ah-aahhh-yes! Fuck, fuck, like that!” The phrase falls from your lips, lilting at the end in such a way that has him about to lose his mind, has him moaning into the pulsing betwixt your legs. 

He uses both hands to keep your legs spread, gripping at the meat of your thighs, drawing each and every delicious sound from you that he can manage, that sinfully skilled mouth of his leading to another string of curses to spill incoherently from your throat. When you’re a gasping mess beneath him, thoroughly finished off, he parts from you, something carnal and unbridled within him that longs to bite and cling and breed. But you’re too quick for him to get you into the back of the car, knocking him into his seat so that the breath leaves his lungs. Although somewhat unexpected after you’ve gotten off already, you appear just as feral as him. His icy demeanor falters when you sink into his lap, deft fingers undoing the button of his slacks. A rush of pink warms his cheeks when he sees you licking your lips, grinning up at him, eyes sultry and soft through your lashes.

“You don’t.. have to do that,” he whispers. 

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” you release the stiffened length from its confines, “But I really want to do it,”

His cock bobs in front of your face, long and curved and dripping little pearls from the slit. He’s already so hard that it’s painful, the tip of him rosy and flushed. 

“I-I don’t.. I’ve never…” 

Your brows lift in surprise, “Never?”

Compress shakes his head, “It’s always seemed rude to ask,”

“Good thing I’m offering, then,” you giggle, and it sends a bolt of electricity to skitter through his extremities, “Let me make you feel good,”

The relentless squeezing of your pretty hand around his shaft has him lost in the sensation already. It’s different, somehow, your hand around his cock in place of his own. Not as mind-blowing as he’d heard it is, but still really—

You lick from the base all the way to the tip of him, running your tongue along the sensitive underside of his shaft.

Oh.

Oh, shit. Okay. He gets it now. 

You open your mouth, show him your tongue in the same display he’s come to know many times before. It takes only a few seconds for him to realize what you want from him, tension twisting up in his center as he spits onto the surface of your tongue. You’ve barely touched him and you’ve already ruined him. The whimper that snakes from him is damn near shameful, bordering on pathetic, what little composure he was holding on to dead and gone as you pull him into your mouth. A shaky groan, unable to be stifled, huffs out when you hollow your cheeks to suck, his legs jerking each time you swivel your hand around his cock. He can’t help the urge to push further into the enveloping heat of your mouth, quivering underneath you, your tongue dragging across the ridge of his tip. 

“F-fuck,” he twitches in your mouth, voice climbing in a way you’ve never heard him before, “oh, fuck me, that feels so good. Nngh, you’re doing so good for me,” 

Eyes locked onto his, you hum over him, and he sucks in a sharp breath in response. A pang of brash noises from him accompany the way you reach to play with yourself with your free hand, and you swallow around the tip of his cock, prompting him to fist the leather interior with a tighter grasp. You’re still so sensitive from the previous orgasm that you can feel yourself getting close already, his needy little whines only spurring you on. Another sound chokes out of him, almost sobbing, when you moan around him, mouth nestled all the way to the hilt of him.

“Gonna cum with my cock in your mouth?” He asks with a hungry glint in his eye.

You give a delighted hum in answer, circling your clit with your index finger, taking his dick down your throat with another squeeze of your hand. Lewd, wet sounds, slick and vulgar, combine with your moans. The car smells like you have all night now. Like pheromones, and sex, and sin. It hits his nose like a punch. Your tongue grazes the span of his length, lapping him like you’re trying to devour him whole, greedy swipes of tongue and palm laving over him. Your rhythm has become hungrier, rapacious and wild, eyes slamming shut as you unravel for him once again. He curses to himself, runs a hand through the front of his hair as he watches you work him, feels you moaning against his cock.

“Show me,” he rasps, and you delve your fingers into your sopping pussy, remove them so he can see the release that glistens there. 

“Oh my fucking God,” a groan escapes him, and you mirror him with a whimper of your own, tensing your hand around him until he ruts his hips, “I'm about to cum. Such a good girl, taking my cock like this. Doing so good. Feels—nnn, feels—gonna-ah!”

His cock pulses in your mouth, a broken, wrecked cry slinking haphazardly up from his chest as he spills into you, thrusting, gasping, ruined. You swallow all of him, licking up and down his shaft. Parting, you look at him through wet lashes, glossy lips swollen and red. His chest heaves, the taut thread of tension having finally snapped. 

“Did you like it?” You ask him between precious chugs of air. 

Spent, he wipes the sweat from his brow, taking in your dewy skin and heavy eyes. The windows steam and streak, trapping in the desire which now sinks into the fine leather of his car. He hopes it never leaves. Wants the memory of this night with him as long as possible.

He pulls you into him, crushes you to his chest when he says, “It was amazing. You’re amazing, my dearest one,”

You smile to yourself, your very first date having been a success.

How many details of this does Toga really need?

♡ 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.

♡ 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 ♡

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,”