Explicit Language - Blog Posts

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

CW: dirty talk, cock warming, orgasm control, edging, fem dom, loss of virginity. Proof read but no beta.

Ch 9: Ready Player Two

The night creeps by like the quiet steps of a felid, a soft presence, but one you can feel around you nonetheless. It’s near two in the morning at this point, the hideout still and devoid of any interaction. You’re somewhat used to this, the nightowl which you are—but the flashing of lights that seep from the cracks in a doorway signal that you aren’t the only one who’s awake. And naturally, it would be coming from Shigaraki’s room.

Not that you’re complaining.

It’s just been particularly difficult to feel close to him since you’d accidentally moaned at his pressing you into a wall.

You’re certain that it’s well past time to redeem yourself.

You knock lightly, a scratchy, “What?” soon to follow.

“Mind if I come in?” You ask, opening the door ever-so-slightly ajar.

Tomura’s mouth forms a tight line, his skin prickling. He thinks for a moment on whether or not he should approve your request, carmine eyes shining below a tousled mop of blue bangs. He doesn’t want to deny you. In fact, he craves this opportunity, the chance to show you that he can be desirable. You just make him feel so… weird. Like he ate something too fast, or he’s about to be stabbed. It makes his palms sweaty and causes his brow to crease at the center.

“Okay,” he relents, “But I’m not done with this level,”

You grin playfully, bouncing over to his messy bed, eyes fixed to him as he slumps over in his gaming chair. There’s something about him that’s appealing to you in a way you hadn’t quite expected. He’s adorable. Kind of a loser, but in the best possible way. So far, everyone you’ve been with has had some kind of experience, even if it had been years prior. Hell, the guy you lost your own virginity to had a kid.

But Tomura has no clue what he’s doing.

And that’s a little bit hot.

Truth be told, he really is clueless. He doesn’t know what to do with you. This doe-eyed, proper thing who smiles too much, who speaks like falling rain on a rooftop and smells like something inexplicably tantalizing, as if you’ve been kissed by the sun on a spring day. The lingering shock of you even wanting to talk to him still has him a bit shaken. What interest could you possibly have in him? He definitely doesn’t have anything for you right now. Riven’s mechanics have proven to be difficult for even him to master, and the skill cap is underwhelming him, which is a combination that is sure to have this game less than enjoyable to watch. So then what do you want?

You, on the other hand, find yourself drawn to him for several different reasons. He’s unconventionally attractive, which is hard to come by. He’s smart. He’s funny in a mean sort of way. And if you were really being honest with yourself, you’re pretty well fetishizing the virginity aspect, very high-key getting off on that power grab. You like the idea of being able to dominate someone who is so respected in the villain community. Want to see what exactly he’ll let you get away with doing to him.

“What are you playing?” His shoulders tense when you ask him this. 

There it is again.

That rollercoaster swoop in his lower belly.

“League of Legends,” he mutters, steadying his voice as much as he can manage. His tone is cool and even, but there’s this underlying shake that you barely make out, a sliver of the weakness that’s lying beneath the surface. 

Perfect.

You walk to him leisurely, place your hands on the back of the leather chair, your breaths tickling the nape of his neck, “Want to play something else?”

The screen flashes his face in stark technicolors, his breath hitching at the timbre of your tone. It sounds darker. Warmer. Sends a shiver down his spine.

“We could play RuneScape,”

With a giggle that bottoms out his stomach, you grab a lock of his hair to twist between your fingers. He smells kind of like fresh sweat from all of the panic. Has this rosy flush to his cheeks like he’s smoldering. And he trembles like a lamb, the poor thing, so unused to the physical attention. You can hear the irregular pattern to his breaths when you lean into him, his face awash in crimson, eyes owlish and large, peeking in your direction through his peripheral. What are you getting so close for? There’s no way someone like you is flirting with him right now.

“You could always play with me if you wanted,” you purr. 

Oh holy shit. 

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

He shuffles in his seat to readjust the tent in his pants. 

“Like,” he swallows thickly, “Like you.. want to be player two?”

You laugh under your breath, “Oh my God, you are so cute,” your hand finds its way to his chin, and you gently coax him to face you, “More like I want you to lay down on the bed and let me take care of you,”

Eyes like saucers, he nods his head, does as he’s told and lies supine atop his mattress. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he pleats them across his stomach, pinkies lifted. He feels like he’s vibrating. Every single cell in his body is on fire, his bones reduced to gelatin. You slot your mouth to his, pressing your lips together in a kiss that’s chaste at first, his stutter-stop gasps catching in the back of his throat. You only deepen the kiss when you feel him begin to relax beneath you, nibbling at his bottom lip, licking into his mouth, eliciting choked grunts from him as he tries to hold these lewd sounds back. Your hand traces the bulge in his pants, and his eyes bolt open, jaw slacked in surprise. With him rutting against the hand that paws at him, you part to take in his expression, all pink in the cheeks and puffing breaths like smoke plumes, looking so incredibly gone after such light petting.

“You’re doing so good,” his eyes gleam at your praise, willingly accepting the way in which you play him like your own little fiddle, “Now go ahead and take your pants off,”

He shamelessly gawks at you as you undress yourself, totally stripped down and bare in a way none of them have seen you before. If you’re going to be a first for him, he could at least be the first to see you completely naked. It takes him a few seconds to register that he hasn’t done the same, lurching forward to remove his sweatpants, the throbbing length of him now exposed. He’s already so hard he’s afraid he’ll cum as soon as you touch him, dripping from the tip and achingly hot. 

“Ever done this before?”

He shakes his head—not that you were expecting a different answer. 

“Don’t worry about lasting long, then, sweetness,” his cock jumps when the epithet hits his ears, “Just let me handle everything,” you climb on top of him, and he winces as your legs cage him in, at the way you look down at him as if you’re about to devour him whole, “You just relax and take it,”

He’s already panting before you’ve even taken him inside of that wetness between your thighs, his hips preemptively canting, four-fingered fists clutching the bedding beneath him. You pat his cheek, let him keen into the touch as you line him up to your entrance. Tomura gasps when the tip of him slips into the heat of your cunt, pupils blown out, back arching off of the mattress.

“Aahk! D-don’t move!” He whines as you sink down, enveloping his cock inch by inch.

His face is so needy and twitched-up, throat bobbing in an audible gulp, stomach coiling with that taut winding that threatens to pull him apart. Fuck, you feel so good. He can’t even vocalize how amazing it is, the pulsing grip of your pussy already near to pushing him over the edge. His heart is beating so fast you can feel it beneath your palms as you steady yourself against his chest.

“You like that? Gonna cum?” There’s a glint in your eye when you ask him this, something mischievous and wild as you slowly drag yourself along his length.

“Oh, f-fuck, I.. Nngh, I c-can’t, gonna—slow down,” the jumble of words he offers barely resembles a sentence. Perspiration lines his brow, tendrils of baby blue sticking to his forehead, smothered under the stifling pressure that’s boiling just below his skin.

“I think it’s time for that game I was talking about,” you simper, “It’s called, 'how many times can I cum on your cock before you bust from that alone?’”

He grins up at you, broken little whimpers giving way to a throaty laugh. Seems as though he likes the idea of you teasing him. But judging by all those scars that litter the pale expanse of his body, you should’ve guessed that he’d enjoy something kind of mean like this. 

“Do it,” he grits through his teeth, “Cum on me,”

The heaviness to his tone sends a bolt of electricity to charge through your veins. He catches his lower lip between his teeth, watching as you run your index finger along your clit in tight circles. Your expression twists, feeling his dick nudging that spot deep inside of you as your walls tighten, the sensation alone of being full of him like this pulling you closer to unraveling. You remove your digit, press it to his lips until he parts them, sucking it roughly. He flits his gaze down to your apex, relishing in the way it twitches each time he throbs within you. The knowledge that you’re getting such pleasure from feeling his cock has his head full of cotton. When you remove your finger, a string of spit breaks before you return it to your puffy clit. 

This has got to be the hardest he’s ever been.

With each swipe of your fingertip, you moan a little more, a little louder, the octaves of your voice climbing. 

“Shit, I feel you getting tighter. Hah—so wet and so fuckin’ tight,” he groans, absentmindedly clawing at your thighs.

“I’m-I'm cumming,” you spread your legs further, burying him deeper inside of you, the pulsing heat of your cunt sucking him in.

He takes in a deliciously ragged inhale, holds his breath for several seconds as you writhe, as you moan and spasm all around him. Tomura’s voice pitches higher, sighing and chest heaving, pitiful cries sounding off with each throb of your pussy.

“You sound so fucking cute,” you breathe. 

“What ‘m I—a-ahh—supposed to sound like when you’re fucking.. nngh, squeezing me like this?” He tosses his head back, growling, “Fuck. Fuck, I can’t take it, l-lemme move,”

“I know you can take it,”

“I can’t—“

“You can. It's gonna feel so good after you wait for it, I promise,” you card your fingers through his dampened hair, “Now hold still so I can show you how to make me cum yourself,”

You guide his hand to your apex, encouraging him to ball his hand into a fist so you can safely maneuver his thumb to the pulsing need there. He’s quick to overtake your movements from earlier, studying the way your expressions change, how the tilt of your brow and crinkle of your nose tell him the best pattern to move in. A lighter touch has you sliding your hips forward for more, and a firmer press of his thumb in those same small circles he saw you doing before has your face screwed up in pleasure. It feels different when he knows this reaction is from what he’s doing to you. 

“Am I making you feel good? Is that why you’re shaking like this?” His question is half a moan.

“Uh-huh. Keep going. It feels so good,”

“Shit, you look so hot like this,” he murmurs, husky and raw, “Been cumming in my hand to this thought for months. Aah—you feel so much better ’n I’d imagined. Got such a tight—uhn—pretty little pussy,” his babbling causes you to flutter around him, the muscles of your center constricting, and he tosses his head back, “Mmnn, how—how are you this wet and warm inside? Fuck, fuck!”

Before he even has the chance to ask for a warning, you’re tumbling headlong into another orgasm, that torturous slamming of your cunt driving him to madness once more. He curses under his breath, stifling a yelp when he hears you moan his name as you cum, as you writhe in his lap and gush all over him. He wants to pull out of you and see for himself how wet you’ve made him. If you were anyone else, he would ignore your demands, take control until he’s gotten off. But for some reason, he wants you to keep telling him what to do. The fact that you get to decide when he’s allowed his release has a tension winding deep in his core, a thread that’s close to snapping, barely held together by your command for his compliance. His gaze travels your form while you collect yourself, pushing the hair away from your face, your skin blushed and dewy. He takes in the curve of your jaw, the slope of your shoulders, the starry twinkle in your eyes. You’re the kind of beautiful that people write songs about. He has no idea how he managed to get you into bed with him of all people.

“You can cum when I do this time,” your words are beginning to slur, worn out from the excursion. 

You spread your legs wider for him, grind against him just enough to give him some friction, let him see his cock filling you up all the way to the hilt. He’s panting, strained and hot and aching as he rubs your swollen little clit. The idea strikes him that you may enjoy something different this time. A new stimulation that could send you careening over that edge quicker than before. He pinches your clit, rolls it between his thumb and index finger, and your walls throb in response. You’re so overstimulated that all it takes is for him to angle himself the slightest bit upward, to nudge the head of his cock into that soft spot up inside of you, the twitching of him the final movement that’s needed to have you raking your fingernails down his chest and marking him up for everyone to see later. His voice yields to another rasping chuckle at the sensation, ruby eyes lifting skyward, so pussydrunk and mussed upon the pillow that you’d think he had seen heaven.

“Look at you, so worked up over my cock and I’m not even moving. God, just looking at you is enough to—oh—t-that feels good. I love it when you cum,” he sounds so fucking deliciously broken that you can’t hardly stand it, a blissed-out mewl bleeding into the air that damn near resembles an actual meow. That’s how incredibly far and away you’ve got him.

“Yes. Yes. Oh fuck yes,” slithers from your lips, thighs quaking as you milk his dick for the third consecutive time, “That’s it. I want you to cum for me, Tomura. And I want it now,”

Snap.

In an instant the winding tension of that thread is broken, and he's sent over a tidal wave of euphoria that’s been building within him, the crushing, rapturous squeezing of your pussy pulling the release from him. He whines and whimpers below you, close to crying as you ride him outright, a reward for being such a good boy and letting you warm his cock all this time. With an iron-clad grasp, eight fingers clamping down, he takes the plush of your thighs within his hands to pull you down into him, to make sure you allow for him to pound into you while he finally gets to breed your cunt.

He’s wrecked below you, a mess on the mattress, splatters of white leaking out onto his legs as his lower lip trembles.

“Yumemi,” he gravels. 

You catch your breath enough to reply, “Yeah?”

You think he’s about to ask for a glass of water or for some help sitting up with how utterly devastated he looks down there.

But to your surprise, he asks, bright eyes locked onto yours, “Can we go again?”

♡ 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,”