⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

luv this frame ദ്ദി＞ᴗ＜)🎀✧

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THE chickfila sauce

you come to dabi with a bottle of chick-fil-a sauce and a stupid grin and he’s already unimpressed…

foodplay...?

cfa mentioneddd i luv cfa >_<

dabi x fem!reader nsfw !!

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dabi didn’t even look up when you walked into the room— he just flicked his lighter open and shut, open and shut, like he was trying to keep himself entertained whilst sprawled out on the couch.

“if you’re gonna stand there breathin’ all loud, you better have a reason,” he muttered, eyes still on the small flame.

you grinned. oh, you had a reason…

you held up the big squeeze bottle, not a tiny packet, but the family-sized sauce, the obnoxious one you had no business buying. you shook it a little so it made that thick sloshy sound.

“dabi,” you said in a sing song tone. “look what i found.”

his eyes finally flicked up, slow, bored, unimpressed… until he saw the label.

chick-fil-a. secret sauce. extra large.

his brow twitched. just barely, “…you better not be suggesting what i think you’re suggesting,” he muttered, leaning back on the couch.

you stepped closer, holding the bottle behind your back, playing dumb. you were so good at that— annoying as hell, loud, and impossible to ignore. everything he wasn’t.

“i mean…” you shrugged dramatically. “i just thought you would like this stuff!”

“i like eatin’ it,” he shot back. “not whatever dumb shit you’re cooking up in that tiny brain of yours.”

you rolled your eyes. “you always say that but you listen anyway.”

he scoffed, but didn’t tell you to leave. didn’t flame you… didn’t even push you away.

so you kept going.

you slid into his space, knee brushing his, leaning down just enough to make your intentions painfully obvious.

“you don’t wanna know my idea?” you teased. “i can go ask someone else if that’s the case…”

his jaw flexed, “try it,” he said, voice dropping lazy and low. “see what happens.”

you smirked and he hated when you did that, which just made you do it more.

then you presented the bottle, setting it right on his thigh like it belonged there. “i was thinking…” you said lightly, “maybe it’s not just for nuggets.”

dabi stared at the giant bottle with narrowed eyes and then he looked at you, then back at the sauce.

“…you’re genuinely unbelievable,” he muttered, tipping his head back with that half-laugh that doesn’t sound genuine at all.

you climbed into his lap without asking and he didn’t stop you, big hands settling on your hips with that loose, dangerous laziness of someone who pretends not to care.

“you’re really gonna make me do something with that stupid sauce,” he said, voice gravelly, “aren’t you?”

you tilted your head, “maybe.”

he sighed long and slow, eyes dragging over you, then the bottle, then you again once more.

“fine,” he murmured, fingers tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “show me your idea then, brat.”

you grinned and grabbed the bottle of sauce. you popped off the lid with a little flourish, like it was a magic trick or something.

dabi just watched you with that bored expression, but there was something else in his eyes now too. he didn't move as you tipped the bottle over his chest, letting the thick tan sauce dribble down onto his skin.

it was cold at first, startling him into a hiss, but then it warmed quickly from his body heat and started to spread out in droplets across his pecs and abs.

you set the bottle aside and licked your lips as you admired your handiwork. "there," you said smugly. "now i've marked my territory."

"very mature," dabi drawled sarcastically, but he let you do it anyway— if anything, he seemed to be enjoying it.

encouraged by this, you started to trace patterns in the sauce with your fingertips, swirling designs around his nipples before dragging them lower...and lower still, teasing along the waistband of his jeans.

dabi's breath hitched slightly at that, and you could feel him start to harden beneath. "you're playing with fire," he warned in a low rumble.

"maybe i like getting burned," you shot back with a wink. then you dipped your head down and licked a stripe up his chest, following the trail of sauce.

he tasted tangy and spicy on your tongue, just like the sauce itself, but so much better because it was him.

you couldn't get enough, you kept licking and sucking at his skin until most of the sauce was gone or transferred to your own lips and chin. when there was nothing left on him, you finally pulled back and grinned wickedly as dabi stared up at you with flushed cheeks.

dabi's eyes flashed with heat as he took in your messy face and that stupid grin. without warning, he grabbed you by the hair and yanked you down into a filthy kiss, licking the sauce off your lips and chin like it was his favorite thing ever.

you moaned into his mouth, arching against him as his other hand slid under your shirt to grope at your breast roughly. he pinched and rolled your nipple between his fingers until it was stiff peaks against the fabric of your bra.

when he finally broke the kiss, you were both panting harshly. dabi looked feral, pupils blown wide with lust, cheeks flushed above the smears of sauce still clinging to his skin.

"get on your knees," he growled out and you didn't hesitate, scrambling off his lap onto the floor between his spread thighs. dabi reached down to undo his jeans one-handed while keeping a fist tangled in your hair.

he shoved them down just enough to free himself...and holy shit was he hard. thick and heavy, already leaking precum from the swollen tip. you licked your lips hungrily.

"open up," dabi commanded, voice rough with need. "and don't you dare use your hands."

you parted your lips obediently and he guided himself into your mouth with a low groan. he tasted musky and salty, the perfect complement to the lingering spice of the sauce on your tongue.

dabi set a brutal pace right from the start, fucking into your throat without mercy. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as he hit the back of it again and again but you took it eagerly, moaning around him.

his grip on your hair tightened until it was almost painful as he held you in place for his thrusts. spit dribbled down your chin onto his balls, making them slick and shiny.

"fuck— yeah," dabi grunted out between clenched teeth. "take it all like a good little slut."

you whimpered at that filthy praise even as you struggled to breathe through your nose, around his thick dick stretching out your throat.

he used you hard like that for what felt like forever until your jaw ached and your knees were sore from the hard floor. just when you thought he might actually make you pass out, dabi pulled out abruptly.

you gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as saliva dripped down your face, but before you could recover… he hauled you up onto his lap again.

"we’re not done. ride me," he demanded roughly, lining himself up with your entrance.

you didn't need to be told twice. with a moan, you sank down onto his dick, taking him to the hilt in one smooth motion. dabi's head fell back against the couch cushions with a guttural groan as your tight heat enveloped him.

"oh.. fuck," he panted out, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise. "just like that...ride me just like that..”

you started moving immediately, bouncing on his lap with whimpers, chasing the pleasure that was already building fast and hot. dabi caught your rhythm easily, thrusting up into you from below.

the room filled with whiny moans and the sounds of skin slapping against skin and wet squelching noises as he plunged into your soaked cunt over and over again. it felt incredible.. almost too much sensation at once.

"harder," you begged breathlessly, nails raking down his chest. "fuck me harder!"

dabi snarled something unintelligible and flipped you onto your back on the couch without ever pulling out. he loomed over you then, he started to pound into you.

the new angle let him go even deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. your cries of pleasure echoed off the walls as he took you apart.

"cum…for me," dabi growled out, one hand snaking down to rub tight circles on your clit. "right now."

it was like his command was all it took, your orgasm crashed over you and you came with a scream, back arching off the cushions as ecstasy exploded through every nerve ending.

dabi followed right after, burying himself deep, deep inside you and shuddering violently as he spilled inside you with a guttural moan of completion.

you both collapsed together in a sweaty tangle of limbs afterwards, breathing raggedly as aftershocks rolled through you. dabi's face was buried against your neck and his arms were wrapped around you possessively.

after a long moment, he lifted his head just enough to murmur something into your ear— too low for anyone else to hear but perfectly clear to you. "i hate you," he said simply.

you grinned and pulled him closer, “i hate you too.”

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side note: lowk satire bear wit me lol

uPdATed side note: would he even like the sauce ..?

first time doing a small freaky drabble tell me if y'all like it :3

cieo stared at the back of your head, day dreaming.

the first time cieo notices you, it’s because you yawn—just that. it was a sleepy little stretch in the middle of chemistry, the way your sweater rides up just a sliver over your hipbone, the soft sound you make when your jaw cracks. his pencil snaps in half between his fingers. he doesn’t even realize he’s done it until the lead stains his palm black like a bruise.

it’s not fair. it’s not fair how you chew on the end of your pen when you’re thinking, how your socks are always slipping down into your shoes, how you tilt your head just slightly to the left when someone’s talking to you like you’re really listening.

he wants to bite the curve of your ear. he wants to press his tongue between your molars and lick the hollow of your cheek until you gag.

cieo starts bringing extra underwear to school because he keeps ruining his. he’ll be halfway through history, staring at the nape of your neck where your hair’s a little messy from sleeping wrong, and suddenly his thighs are wet. he has to sit there, trembling, until the bell rings so he can bolt to the bathroom and stuff the soiled fabric into his backpack. he tells himself he’ll throw them away when he gets home but he never does. he folds them under his pillow instead and whines as he debates on sending them to your house as a gift <3

at home, his room smelled like sweat and slick, sheets tangled around his waist as he whined into his pillow. his fingers were always inside him, fucking in shallow thrusts, imagining it was you—your hands, your mouth, the way you’d probably furrow your brows like you were solving another impossible equation while he fell apart beneath you. “fuck,” he gasped, legs shaking, “fuck, fuck—” his hips jerked, chasing the ache, the sweet friction. he came with your name bitten into his wrist, teeth marks blooming purple.

it was pathetic. he was pathetic.

he knew it when he pressed his face into your gym shirt after stealing it from the lost and found, wet already just from the smell of you. knew it when he traced the shape of your drawn lips on his notebook, over and over, until the paper tore.

you lend him a pencil once. just once. your fingers brush against his and he has to excuse himself to the nurse’s office because he comes untouched in his pants like some kind of fucking middle schooler. he spends the rest of the day with his thighs sticky, the scent of his own spend thick in his nose, and he doesn’t even feel ashamed. he just presses the pencil between his teeth and imagines it’s your thumb.

cieo follows you home for the first time on a tuesday. he doesn’t mean to. he just—you take a different route than usual, and he’s curious, and then suddenly he’s ducking behind a tree as you unlock your front door. he watches you kick your shoes off through the window, watches you stretch your arms over your head, watches you scratch your stomach absently before wandering out of view. he comes so hard his vision whites out.

after that, it becomes a habit. he learns your schedule better than his own. you have a math test next week? he knows. you’re fighting with your mom about curfew? he knows. you found the barista at the coffee shop near campus cute? he knows, and he spends three hours crying in the shower about it before deciding it’s fine, it’s fine, he can share if he has to. (spoiler alert, he won't)

he starts stealing your things. just little stuff—a hair tie you dropped, a crumpled receipt from your pocket when you hang your jacket up in the hallway, a single sock from the laundromat. he keeps them in a shoebox under his bed and takes them out when he’s feeling particularly pathetic, rubbing his cunt raw with the heel of his hand as he presses your stolen belongings to his face.

it’s your fault. it’s your fault for existing, for breathing, for having hands and a mouth and a voice that makes his stomach twist into knots. he hates you. he loves you. he wants to crawl inside your ribcage and live there.

one day, he’s trailing after you like usual, biting his lip to keep from letting out a pathethic moan as he watches the way your ass moves in your jeans, when you suddenly stop walking. cieo freezes. you turn around.

“i know you’ve been following me,” you say, voice flat.

cieo’s heart stops. he just stares at you with wide, wet eyes, his breath coming in short little gasps.

you sigh. “come here.”

he’s on his knees before he even realizes he’s moved.

(it’s not the last time you catch him and it’s def not the last time he cries into your thighs, begging for your fingers, your tongue, anything you’ll give him. you don’t even have to ask—he’ll give you everything.)

god, he’d let you do anything to him.