I donât want to make this some lengthy post, because frankly, who gives a shit, but I thought it would be nice to at least provide some clarification before I make my exit.Â
Over these past few months Iâve been struggling a lot with my mental health, and my personal life as I stated before. (Which Iâm finally getting help with, yay!)Â
Writing has always been an outlet for me on this blog, but recently itâs become more of a burden. Itâs a combination of things; dying motivation/passion, anxiety, and the lack of control over my work (fandom spaces in general &Â attention/distribution). And thatâs the thing, I donât want to stress over a blog, just a hobby blog, and if I feel like I should pull away for my own good, then I most certainly should.Â
Iâve thought about keeping it up, just to keep it up, but then Iâd know itâs here; I know Iâd be able to access it, get back on, and then the cycle continues. As much as I love this platform, and the amazing interactions Iâve had, I cannot continue writing on here.Â
I just want to focus on me. Iâm sorry if this is so abrupt, but this is the only thing I can really do.Â
Thank you so much for support my writing, and thank you so much for letting me read your writing, and all the interactions! I appreciate everyone; old & new friends.Â
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Iâve decided to take a break from tumblr/writing, on here & on ao3 (privated). I donât know if itâs burn out, or just me being busy, but I think itâs overdue.
Hopefully, I can come back with a fresh mind set, and some more ideas.
I think itâs really hot when boys have that primal instinct to cum in you. Yeah, yeah, they agree to the whole condom mess.
But right before theyâre about to blow, theyâre panicking because, why waste some good olâ seed? They look at you, then at their cock, then back at you.
Sorry, itâs just nature.
Pulls out, slips the rubber right off, and with one good thrust, youâre fertilized!
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A thirst for you: Dabi going between praise and degradation so fast it gives you whiplash//it's the emotional manipulation for me!
â Warnings: tw. dubcon, tw. impact play
â Genre: scummy men
Flesh is separated from bone. There's purple, no, not the beautiful lilac, but the grim, roasted burgundy. Despite popular belief, the villain doesnât scowl when he catches a glimpse of his reflection through window-shops, nor does he curse, pick, or pull at the metal rings looped through his skin.
Thereâs a different type of insecurity, one that hasnât seen the surface since he slammed those double doors years ago. When youâre surrounded by villains who are mediocre at best, you tend to forget why you left, and why youâre here.
Thereâs no need to be so humble, not when you can roast every pigeon that lands on the wooden porch, not when the cobalt flames are faster than any feline beast, or any winged-predator. But there is a moment where he stares at bristles of red, and he imagines what it must be like to live without any limitations, and to soar without any restrictions.
Youâre just another feather, plastered against his back without any instruction, or direction from the hero himself. You might think heâd seethe with jealousy, just watching you two at the bar, conversing. No, of course not. This is who you are; this is how youâve always been. Your tongue isnât any tighter, or looser around the blond, so thereâs no reason to fret about details that donât stand out.
But itâs when he ambles in, two hands tucked into his pockets, his visor raked through his sun-kissed strands, that you glance up at him and smile. Itâs nothing extraordinary, but Dabiâs never seen someone smile with their eyes before.
On the other hand, he shouldnât be so quick to assume; youâre his partner, thereâs no reason why youâd accept his half-assed proposal if you werenât interested. But he knows. He knows that tonight you two would lay in bed, one arm over your shoulder with a scorched cigarette splitting the seam of his mismatched lips. It would be silent, maybe youâd mention the weather once, if not, twice. But he knows tomorrow youâd be perched on a stool, a conversation lingering in your head.
And it would be reserved for him.
âYou want to what?â
Youâre scrambling to keep up with his movements; heâs already past your skirt, fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties that heâs already managed to tug half-way. Your hands circle his wrists, jerking him back. âRight now?â
He answers your question by shaking you off, shoving you back onto the mattress with both ankles secured in both palms. âWeâve never done this,â you gasp. âWhy now?â
âFirst time for everything.â
Despite the binding offer, itâs not supposed to be a pleasurable experience. With two arms wrapped around your thighs, youâre hoisted into the air until your lower back arches off the bed. His tongue is rampant, slipping past the soiled patch of cotton to swivel past your puffy folds. Youâre twitching from the chilling feeling of metal, yet squirming from the torrid thrash of the slender muscle. Amidst his parched slurping, he glances up. âFeelâgoodâorâwhat?â
âI-d-donât know, sâmy first time, first time.â
âYouâre so innocent, itâs kinda cute.â When his tongue slips past your stretched slit, youâre fisting the blanket, scraping each individual thread for every violent thrust. âNah, you are, youâre cute.â
Youâre lifted higher, nearly perpendicular to the mattress. Your arms bend backwards in an attempt to support your own weight. But your concern with the acrobatic position diminishes with the feeling of your walls being flooded once more; the thick, slicked muscle occupies your flesh, pushing past any narrow hall to reach farther. âFuckâmeâyouâreâsâwet.â
âDabi!â
The withdrawal happens abruptly; youâre tossed back onto the bed, knees folded against his chest, hands pinned against the wall above. After a few sluggish attempts, his drooled-on cock slides in almost perfectly, earning a meek whimper from you, and a choked-grunt from him.
âWhat are you glancing at the door for?â
âI j-just want to make sure-sure they canât hear us, sâall,â you stutter, clenching your eyes.
âWhy? You never cared about that before? Is it âcause heâs here?â
âWho?â
Dabi chuckles, sinking himself into your pelvis. âPlaying stupid, good choice.â
âDabiâŠâ
In one second, youâre stunned, soothing your cheek from the sharp strike, in the next, youâre muffled against his palm, his forehead slicked against yours. Heâs given you a handful of surprises tonight, on top of the purposeful slap, youâre incapable of processing the slight pull of his lips. No, heâs just panting, attempting to work his hips to a rhythmic tune. But itâs quite obvious: heâs grinning, sporting a wicked smile youâve only seen him flash towards the villains loitering outside, or the winged-hero himself.
âHe knows youâre dating me, âknows youâre dating some cheapskate villain.â Dabi snickers, cocking his head. âHe knows you sleep on this old ass mattress, âknows youâre getting fucked on it too. He knows youâre just like me, so donât try and hide it, alright?â
His last thrust punctures your cervix, sending your head rolling back, and your lashes flickering in panic. But your boyfriend only chuckles, plastering himself against your front, slowing his pace until his hips barely twitch against yours. âAnd now, he prolly knows youâre some fuckinâ whore.â
â Warnings: tw.noncon, tw.dubcon, tw.impact play, tw.blood play
â Genre: scummy men
Youâre told not to take things too seriously when it comes to Gojo Satoru, but you canât help but feel offended. Heâs not even smirking when he offers the advice; the taunting lilt that usually lathers his words is absent. Heâs lifted the cloth wrapped around his skull, peeking beneath the hem to further prove heâs concerned.Â
âYouâre kidding, right?â
He stifles out a chuckle, crossing his arms. âYouâre new to this, new to this kindaâ power, trust me.â
âI donât have to.â
âI had a hard time with him.â
âThen you must be pretty weak,â you snicker, cocking your head. âIsnât that right?â
A man who doesnât possess cursed energy, is a man who shouldnât be feared. Satoruâs slinging around that cursed family name like itâs supposed to do something, like itâs supposed to intimidate, and convince you to drop the mission entirely. Donât be mistaken, Mai and Maki are impressive juniors, and lovely students, but the weight of their last name is only an afterthought, nothing more.
New, or not, he knows youâre able to handle a man of this caliber; he knows youâre capable of managing much worse. And a normal reject with a gambling addiction and a broken family name isnât going to be much of an obstacle; who knows, you might have to stop by Saturoâs office for another task; youâd still have another five hours to spare until midnight.
Besides, your job isnât to scare the poor fellow; youâre supposed to twirl your hair and offer a deal, nothing more. But of course, if push comes to shove, youâd have no problem smearing your blood stained hands across your freshly washed skirt; the ball is in his court. And if heâs as difficult as Satoru insists he is, you might have to do an extra load of laundry today.
âToji Fushiguro.â
The man perched up against the wall barely turns; his pupils dribble with the coin flicking from his thumb. Thereâs nothing extraordinary about his demeanor; if anything, heâs exactly how you expected him to be; plain and simple, maybe a little too tall for your liking. Before youâre able to utter your next word, he snatches the silver from the air, stuffing the coin back into his pocket. âIâm here to make a deal, not play hopscotch.â He clicks his tongue, âThey said theyâd send someone Iâd be able to negotiate with, but what is this? Some babysitting gig?â
The hands clasped behind your back wrestle with the hem of your skirt, that youâre currently substituting for the muscular jugular youâre tempted to strangle. Worse enough, you have to look up at him; a foot on paper is a yard in person. Youâd like to wipe that smirk clean off his chipped lip, but thatâs if you could even reach at this angle. âIâm here to negotiate. Iâm a recent graduate from Jujutsu High, I was sent on behalf.â
âOh, yeah?â He flicks a lock of hair behind your shoulder, crouching down slightly to sneer at your artificial grin. âThatâs real cute, Iâm sure youâre carrying the one million yen I requested then, right? It must be in your skirt? Maybe your bra? But judging from up here, that seems pretty impossible.â
Despite the blatant diss, you address the foreign claim. âThis is a negotiation, there was no request made.â
âRight, right.â He shoves his hands in his pockets, falling back on his heels. âBesides, that numberâs too small, donât you think?â
âI-â
âTwo million.â
âWhat?â
âThatâs my baseline.â
âThatâs ridiculous,â you hiss. âNo one would offer that much.â
âThree million.â
âListen-â
âIf you havenât noticed, Iâm adding an extra one million every time I have to hear your stupid voice.â
His smile never falters; heâs messing with you; thatâs what it is. You could offer 500 million yen and heâd brush it off with a chuckle and a nudge to your forehead, after he delivers another back handed compliment about your appearance, of course.
âZenin.â
âWhat?â
Itâs time for your lips to curl. Youâre standing on your tiptoes with your index barely pressing into his chest. âIâm sure your family could offer you some spare change, right? Toji Zenin?â
For a second, his pupils fill with a red more sinister than the crimson staining his palms. But then heâs smirking again, no, laughing. His back bends while his chest swells, the abrupt eruption has you pinching your brows and crossing your arms. But before youâre able to question his erratic behavior, his right arm lurches at your standing frame, five fingers folded against your throat, jerking you back against the wall. âYou thought that was pretty funny, huh?â Youâre lifted off your feet, fingers tightening around your pulsing muscle. âThose idiots over there didnât explain to you how shit like this works? This is no way to treat a customer, especially one youâre trying to deceive, for Godâs sake.â
Youâre flipped over onto your stomach while your hands desperately try and scramble for support. His hand weaves through the crown of your skull before youâre pummeled against the gritty brick, once, twice, three times. With every blow, the blood on your tongue grows sharper; youâre sputtering out a mixture of murky red, begging for some type of mercy, for a chance.
Two fingers reach around, pushing past your lips. His index and middle graze your slicked tongue, collecting dollops of thick blood before they retreat behind the waistband of his fit, lathering his leaking cock with your syrupy red. Your panties arenât properly discarded, only webbed between your thighs, but one measly tug tears the fabric in two, subjecting your virgin slit to the moussed skin of his torrid cock.
The plunge is scorching, smoldering your walls with piercing, curt thrusts. With one hand still secured through your strands, your neck arches back. âZenin, who?â Youâre lunged against the wall before youâre peeled off the brick for another interrogation. âIâm sorry, I didnât hear you correctly the first time, Zenin, what?â
âS-SâSorry,â you whimper, clenching your lids. âMâSorry!â
âYou mustâve thought you got me real good.â His cock drills through your clamping muscle, belly extended from the bruising momentum; your stomach isnât given the opportunity to relax before another agonizing thrust assaults your womb once more.
âThey should know, I donât cave for pretty faces, especially pretty faces with smart mouths, is there anything worse?â Youâre plastered against the stone, his labored breaths like speakers for your ears. Amidst grunts and groans, youâre able to catch subtle chuckles, faint comments about your useless cunt, and your feeble form.
âBut since you know so much about me, since you know so much about my origin,â his hand wraps around your throat, drawing you back. âThen I guess itâs safe to assume all the Zenin men are the same, right?â
Hawks getting you and the other pretty intern to play with each other for him.....heâll make you snowball his cum and rub your pussies together all while providing some mean commentary
â Genre: scummy men
âYes, sir?â
âWhat did we talk about, weâre friends, none of that.â
You can only assume sheâs placid from her expression, yet her twiddling thumbs illustrate a different picture. Youâll greet her nonetheless, a small smile to accompany your polite bow.
âAnd sheâs your friend, right?â
Itâs nothing serious, arguments happen- no, it wasnât even an argument, maybe a misunderstanding at most. Sheâs an acquaintance, so you knew better than to harbor any resentment toward a meaningless mistake, but youâre refusing to address the situation because sheâs not anything more. Above all, you shouldâve known sheâd tattle. Itâd be easy to derive her narrative from his demeanor if you were dealing with anyone else; but this is Hawks weâre talking about; youâd always be confronted with a grin.
The office is supposed to be a friendly environment, he assures. Amidst the sky-high folders, and the constant calls, he relies on his employees to escape. Light and playful; thatâs how it should be. He doesnât appreciate frowns; itâs only worse on pretty faces.
âYes, thatâs true.â
He leans back in his chair, arms folded behind his head, a pen tucked between his teeth. Thereâs no instruction given, but youâre already clenching your eyes, expanding your chest. An apology is warranted; whether itâs from you, or her, is not his concern, he just needs to hear the words.
And he knows heâll be hearing it from you.
âFriends hug,â he coos. âI wonât believe it till I see it.â
Youâve already contributed your piece, itâs up to her to fill in the holes. She approaches you carefully, her arms peel from her sides to encase your still frame. His cologne is potent on her blouse, but you can only assume the intensity is nothing more than harmless proximity, hopefully.
âFriends kiss.â
Without reciprocating the embrace, your hands move to round around her rear. Lips mesh softly, but youâre nibbling on her bottom lip to draw blood, to express your discontent with the predicament she developed. Despite your obvious rebellion, her fingers brush against your jaw before they cup the mandibular corners, ushering you closer. Through flickering lashes, youâre able to spot his hooded-gaze, and that look in his eye that acknowledges your dissatisfaction with his silent demands, yet the up-turn of his lips prove he couldnât care less.
She mewls when she grinds herself against your front, but youâre nearly scoffing against her lips, convinced her obscene sounds are nothing but a show for the blond supervisor. Sheâll have to do better than a few whimpers; youâre already unclasping the front of your blouse, drowning out her meek lilt with an eager melody of your own.
Fingers find their way into panties; a wider smile finds its way onto his face. Itâs hilarious; although foreign digits pad and claw at clits and slits, itâs obvious where her heart is at, and where yours is. The sound of metal perks ears; but the first one to pull away would risk his approval; she knows thereâs a time and a place, she just doesnât know when or where.
But you do.
He doesnât welcome or refuse your position, blinking down at you with a stare just as ambiguous as the prior. Your tongue laps around his slicked tip while hers traces the seam of his hanging sack. Sheâs giggling because she thinks sheâs special, but if she looks close enough, sheâll be able to spot the hand-prints on his glass desk; if she thinks long enough, sheâll be able to conclude his smile isnât from current events, but from his recollection of yesterday, where the other second-year intern was engulfing him whole. But Keigo doesnât prefer one over the other; pretty girls are pretty girls; and if theyâre bickering over who gets to thumb his slit next, itâs not going to be long before heâs spilling his seed.
âFriends share,â he declares between labored breaths. âFriends share their rewards, donât they?â
She captures your mouth with a newfound desire, tongue swiveling past your webbed lips to taste the cream slicked around the flat of your tongue. Her fingers clutch your collar, yanking you against her heaving chest.
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COLLEGE AU SMUT, COLLEGE AU SMUT, COLLEGE AU SMUT, COLLEGE AU SMUT, COLLEGE AU SMUT, COLLEGE AU SMUT, COLLEGE AU SMUT!! (pleaseâ€ïžâ€ïž)
A/N: CHOOSE YOUR CHARACTER
Warnings: TW.Dubcon, TW.Smoking, TW.Drinking, TW.Mention of Alcohol, TW.Mention of Drugs, TW.Cuckolding, TW.Infidelity
Pairings: Touya Todoroki (Dabi) x f!Reader; Keigo Takami (Hawks) x f!Reader; Tenko Shimura (Tomura Shigaraki) x f!Reader; Kai Chisakai (Overhaul) x f!Reader; Natsuo Todoroki x f!Reader
Words: 3.1k
âItâs so late,â your fingers pinch the hem of your dress. He meets your troubled stare through the reflection, except, heâs furrowing his brows with irritation.
âWhat, you donât like it?â He shoves his cell-phone in his back-pocket, groaning. âYou look great, alright? Itâs just new for you.â
The word of the week. When your boyfriend strolled into your room last Sunday to announce his new endeavor, you couldâve sworn he was referring to the new restaurant across campus, that Soba place you two have been dying to try. But when those three letters slip from his lips, youâre slanting your brows, attempting to muster up a convincing enough smile.
Youâre not stupid; youâre not that narrow-minded, using stereotypes to support all your theories. But what are you supposed to think when three disoriented girls stagger their way down the block, their shirts disheveled and their jeans barely buttoned. You canât help but frown at the conversation unfolding in front of you during your chemistry lecture; the student on the left inquires about a supposed fling, the man on the right confirms itâs on video.
Itâs just new, itâs nothing bad, your boyfriend reassured you. Itâs an efficient way to build connections, and develop friendships, and who knows, maybe youâll be encouraged to join a sorority of your own.
It took you three minutes to subdue that chuckle threatening to erupt.
âAre you ready to go?â
No, you werenât ready. You werenât ready when you had to stumble down the sidewalk; apparently, thereâs a difference between the 4-inch heels you wore to your highschool graduation, and these stilts clacking against the concrete.
You werenât ready to weave through the crowd huddled around the house.
And your lungs definitely werenât ready for the potent stench that welcomed you the second you walked through those double doors.
You expected the blaring music and the obnoxious bustling; after managing the main-campus library during finals week, youâre able to maneuver yourself just fine with the help of the faint kitchen light and the weak grip around your wrist.
âThereâs some people I want you to meet, âthat okay?â
Despite his proposal, youâre balancing yourself on the toes of your feet while they chatter amongst themselves. Eventually, you decide to keep yourself busy by attempting to match names with faces.
Youâre drawn to the blond almost instantly. Aside from your boyfriendâs affiliation with the senior, you recognized him from your calculus class. He seemed like a nice fellow; there was never a moment when his hand wasnât raised, or when he wasnât fucking up the curve for the rest of the class. Judging from the smile stretched across his lips, and the subtle raise of his index, he mustâve recognized you as well.
You can only assume the tattooed individual beside him is Touya, Touya Todoroki. You were sure your boyfriend was infatuated with the student at one point, considering heâd never shut up about the pseudo-delinquent. Touya skips class; Touya stole a bag of chips from the convenience store across the street; Touyaâs rich.
âWait, if heâs rich, why is he stealing a bunch of crap?â
âI donât know, heâs crazy,â your boyfriend chuckled, shaking his head.
âWell, maybe you shouldnât hang around himâŠâ
âNo, but get this, whatâs crazier is the fact his brother, Natsuo, is the exact opposite. Theyâre like night and day, itâs wild.â
The brunette perched against the counter behind him is either Natsuo, or Kai Chisakai. The glass in his hand is dangled between his middle and thumb, but his attention remains with the phone tucked into his other palm. Heâs disconnected from the discussion; although a cotton mask masks any smiles, or frowns, youâre able to see his eyes roll with every passing comment.
âOh, right, this is my girlfriend, by the way.â
âHello,â you whisper, tearing your gaze away from the ambiguous student. âNice to meet you.â
Keigo turns to set down his cup, a wider grin curling onto his lips when he returns. âI was wondering when you were gonnaâ introduce us, sheâs just been standing there waiting. Are you a freshman?â
âNo, Iâm a sophomore-well, technically Iâll be a junior after the summer.â
ââStill a baby,â Touya snickers, cocking his head. âHeard he had to drag you out here, ânot much of a party girl?â
âNot really. I donât go out very much in general, Iâm a homebody.â
âIt sucks, right? Iâm not that much of a party guy myself.â Both brows raise above his half-lidded gaze. âI guess weâre both introverts then?â
The last time you were face-to-face with these steps, mutilated plastic cups and ominous aluminum wrappers sat at each level. There is no crowd; youâre not wincing with the expectation of some thunderous bass. Your fingers curl around the handle, but youâre fishing into your pocket one last time.
When the voicemail tune begins, youâre cursing, shoving the device back into your fit. The door creaks open from the nudge of your elbow; two deep breaths, and youâve already conquered your first step.
The ambience leads you to believe itâs vacant, but the lingering odor assures you someone is present. One cue, you turn to find five of them scattered around the living room. Your eyes dart to two foreign faces, but the gray-haired student slouched across the floor seems somewhat familiar. Before youâre able to explain your intrusion, Keigo discards the joint pinched between his fingertips.
He approaches you quickly, threading two hands through his hair. âHey, hey, whatâs up?â
âSorry, I just walked in here,â you chuckle nervously, tugging on your bottom lip. âIâve been trying to reach him all day; I called his phone like a hundred times but he isnât picking up. I thought heâd be here, so I just came to check.â
âHeâs not here, or at least I donât think he is.â Keigo frowns, twisting back. âHey, Touya, 'you seen him?â
The raven-haired student plucks the joint from his lips before rolling his head back; thick films of smoke puff from the ruptured seam. âNah, I havenât,â he confirms. âHe left this morning, I think.â
âOh, okay.â Your hands wave rapidly as you retreat back into the hallway. âSorry again, for this. Thank you for your help, Iâm sure heâs just at the library, or something, I think he has another final tomorrow.â
The hand around your arm snatches you forward. Keigo furrows his brows. âDonât tell me youâre about to leave, so you just used us for some information? Well, now Iâm offended.â
âOh, no, thatâs not it. I just-I didnât mean,â you stutter, clenching your lids. âI didnât mean to, I just thought you guys would know, Iâm sorry if it seems that way.â
âIâll forgive you,â Touya murmurs from behind. âIf you keep me company; you see, these fucks over here donât do much but steal my kush and scratch their balls. I could use some good conversation, you up for it?â
âWell, I-â
Well, you what? You canât really refuse now, not when youâre yanked onto the couch, wedged right between Touya and the brunette from last week. Touya nudges at your shoulder; youâre asked to relax, youâre so tense; they don't bite for Godâs sake. When your back finally touches the cushion, the man beside you tucks his smoldering stick between your fingers. He only furrows his brows when you do, but Touya recognizes your hesitance; he muses, âYou donât smoke?â
âIâm sorry, I donât.â
âOh, yeah?â Keigo returns to his original spot, retrieving his forgotten joint from the ivory-haired student beside him. âThatâs funny, your other half sure does.â
âH-He does?â
âLike a fucking pothead,â Touya snorts. âBut something tells me youâre open-minded, I know youâre gonnaâ give it a tryâ.â
One puff quickly turns into high-pitched giggles; Touyaâs certain this is the tenth time youâve thrown yourself into a coughing fit; he has no problem encouraging your eleventh.
Natsuo managed to maintain his scowl for the first few minutes, but itâs almost impossible when youâre cackling at every sentence, every word. Your relaxed nature encourages his own intake; his lids hood while the smoke whirls through the small gap of his lips. Keigo nudges him once, jutting his chin to your bobbling head. The younger brother smirks at your deluded gestures; they werenât kidding when they explained youâre one of those girls. âYou know where he is, right?â Natsuo accuses, leaning into the blond.
âI donât,â Keigo assures, glancing back briefly. âWhy would I lie?â
âWhy wouldnât you?â
The hand on your thigh could be Kaiâs, or Touyaâs; the other belongs to Tenko, right? Itâs harmless, fingers are pinching the hem of your shirt, and another two curl through the belt-loops of your shorts. Eventually, youâre crawling into Touyaâs lap, scorching fingertips reaching for the joint hoisted over his head.
âTouya, cut it out,â Natsuo warns.
âI didnât even do anything, she came over here, you saw her, fuckinâ idiot.â
âHeâs gonnaâ walk in here, and itâs going to be a situation.â
Monday
You recognize the shirt draped over the desk. Before youâre able to put two and two together, the blond strolls in, a towel tied around his waist. He welcomes you with the same warm smile from yesterday, but youâre frowning as soon as he slouches next to you. âIt was a fifty percent chance, and unfortunately, you guessed wrong.â
Youâre apologizing while you attempt to gather your phone and your purse; he shouldnât blame you for your confusion; the place is a pigsty, and with the sheets and pillows scrambled all over the mattress, itâs impossible to deduce which is which. Youâre startled by the yank on your blouse; when you glance at Keigo, heâs smirking. âNah, youâre in the right place.â
Youâre on your knees because you donât know any better; you follow his instructions because youâre stupid. Heâs ruthless, all seven inches greeting your narrow, virgin throat at once. Youâre clawing at his thighs for several reasons, but the desire for air takes priority quickly. The blond blinks down at your blown-out cheeks, and your panicking lashes. Youâre offered a subtle smile, something in between playful and pitiful.
âJust like thaaaaaat, good girl, see, youâre getting the hang of it.â
Youâre not, but youâre in a better position than you were a few seconds ago. Youâve replaced youâre inexperienced gags with muffled mewls; you canât help but sigh around his base when his fingers rake through your tousled strands, gathering all your free-falling hairs into one tight fist. âAngel,â he murmurs, bucking his hips. âKeep that up, keep that up and use your tongue, jusâ like that, yeah.â
Your throat relaxes around his slicked length, encouraging his eager plunges. Youâre only tensing when his tip nudges your tonsils; Keigo snaps his head forward to assess your abrupt submission. âOh, youâre gonnaâ be a good girl and let me? Oh, god, what did I do to deserve such obedience? My, my.â
Tuesday
Touya doesnât bother asking, youâre whisked away the moment he ambles out of the kitchen. Your protests donât work; the explanation about your two-year anniversary date convinces no one, but he marvels over the black number clinging onto your form. âThis is cute; youâre adorable, you know?â
Yeah, yeah, he heard you: youâre waiting for him to get ready, you had reservations at eight, but he just got his hands on a new strain. Your nervous rambling is interrupted by the joint shoved between your lips; youâre not given further instructions, you know what to do, youâre a smart girl. One puff turns into two, two becomes three, then youâre sprawled on his bed, snickering at his college chronicles.
âI heard you yesterday with Keigo, so you donât really need an introduction, right?â Heâs straddling your chest, fisting his cock between your dry, parted lips. One thrust covers his head, another secures his base. At least with Keigo, you were given some type of control; Touya plasters your skull against the mattress, back hunching and hips humping. âOh, tight, fuckinâ tight, babe.â
His shirt peels off his abdomen; youâre able to spot the tattoos scribbled across his skin. Your hands reach for the tinted, lifted skin, grazing the frigid ink with the torrid pads of your fingers. âStay still for me, mâclose,â Touya curses, rolling his head back. The precum leaking from his tip slips from your lips, collecting the snot dribbling down your philtrum, and the saliva slicked onto your chin. âFuck, just like that for me.â
Wednesday
Kaiâs not some genius; itâs obvious youâre uncomfortable, the twiddling thumbs and the panicked flickers. He juts his chin and arches a finger, youâre quick to flee from your boyfriendâs side to join him out on the patio. âDonât sit on the steps, theyâre dirty.â
He tugs down his mask while you explain your frustrations; itâs about your boyfriend, his troublesome obsession with the house, and- Kaiâs leg? Why is he doing that? âContinue.â
You canât; itâs impossible. Youâre gaping while your hips involuntarily move on their own, rocking back and forth across the denim. Youâre clutching him closer, fingers fisting the hem of his shirt, your teeth seizing the collar. âK-Kai, please.â
âTheyâre just hazing him, you know that right?â No, you donât, truthfully, you donât really care. All you can focus on is the friction smoldering against your cotton-covered slit. Itâs an awful burn, but the slight nudge against your clit sends all the blood rushing to your throbbing groin. âSorry for interrupting you, continue, please.â
Two hands find their way past the hem of your blouse, encasing the cups of your breasts. You canât help but lean into his touch, whimpering against his neck for more, yet mercy. Kai only smirks, clicking his tongue. âWeâre in public, try and control yourself.â
Thursday
Itâs supposed to be a sleepover, but you canât possibly rest with the blond just a few feet away. Maybe itâs the guilt, or the possibility it could happen again; youâre already downstairs, padding through the hallway. Tenko, the fraternity groupie, is hunched over the counter, thumbing his screen. âWhy are you here?â You ask, rubbing your eyes.
âWell, why are you here?â
He doesnât appreciate that tone. But his beady stare distracts you from the fact heâs snatched your phone right out of your hand, already sneering at the model. He counters your reaching hands with one quick nudge to your chest; youâre propelled back into the counter with your elbows supporting your weight.
âYouâre weak,â he snorts. âMust explain why.â
âWhy what?â
âWhy youâre getting tossed around.â
âMânot!â
âMânot, mânot,â he mocks your whine, crouching down between your legs. With one leg hiked over his shoulder, the tip of his tongue curls around the fabric; the soiled patch is shoved to the side before heâs able to taste the juices slicked between your folds. Your hands thread through your locks before they secure into his; you exchange frantic pulls and twists for harsh licks and open-mouthed kisses.
âS-Stop, e-enough, enough,â you whimper, tugging back on his strands. Despite your eager withdrawal, heâs successful keeping you in place, two arms wrapped tightly around your trembling thighs. He glances up at you, taunting you with his stare.
"You're'fuckin'loud."
Friday
Natsuo politely asks for a minute, judging from his demeanor, you can tell itâs serious enough to warrant concern. Sugarcoating works for the first few minutes, but the second you glance up at him, heâs slamming the door, whispering harshly, âI know youâre fucking with them, okay? I know that, and this isnât fair; itâs not fair to him, itâs not fair to us, itâs not f-â
âMâsorry,â you whisper. âI messed up, I know that.â Youâre hanging your head, hands clasped behind your back. Natsuo expected an apology; the problem is he wasnât prepared to handle one. Because heâs already leaning in to capture your lips before your first tear falls; heâs already grunting into your mouth, pressing you against the wall.
âN-Natsuo, mâno, râmber, râmber, you said-â
Fuck what he said, but more importantly, fuck, you taste amazing. His hands reach around to fondle your rear, groping and molding the clothed flesh between his palms. The height is frustrating, so heâs left with no other option but to tuck his arms beneath your knees, hoisting you to his level. Your legs hook around his waist, and your arms, his neck. He swallows your moans while you inhale in his labored breaths.
âShh, shh,â he mumbles against your lips. âTheyâre home; heâs home.â
âHe?â
Natsuo chuckles into your mouth, âAlready forgot, huh?â
Saturday
Keigo knows about Touya; Touya knows about Tenko; Tenko knows about Kai; Kai knows about Natsuo; and Natsuo knows about everyone.
Thereâs only one oblivious variable in this equation.
And heâs standing there, lips trembling while he watches his girlfriend bounce on Keigoâs lap. Touya and Natsuo argue about something nonsensical, but eventually, the âolder-siblingâ card triumphs over Natsuoâs defense; the raven-haired brother tilts your chin to the left, slipping his hanging cock past your lips, down your throat. Tenko is the first to notice the visitor, but he pays no mind to the man by the door, too engrossed with the dribbling mounds on your chest.
Kai, on the other hand, addresses the intrusion. His hand slows around his cock before he lifts himself off the couch. âI thought you had a final.â
âW-What are you doing...what are you doing...â
Keigo peeks from behind, almost chuckling when he spots your livid partner. âOh, donât worry about all this.â
âD-Donât worry?â
âK-Keigo,â you gargle around Touyaâs cock before youâre hauled onto the other. âK-Keigo, faster, preâplease.â
âJust initiation, what, donât tell me you didnât read the fine print?â
Touya turns back, smirking. âOh, we mustâve forgotten it this year, my bad, dude.â
okay iâm going thru ur master list and have questions on some stories: in the natsuo x dabi x cousin story is fuyumi also getting it on with the brothers or whatâs the story there? also the reader is mad at rei, but is it because rei is seen by her as an enabler to their fatherâs abuse or other reasons? also what is enjis position in all this? such a good story ty!! every time i read one of your stories i have to reread it to analyze and unpack all the little subtle clues you put in there, itâs so funđ
oh and also for the dabi x pseudo mom story where he finds work in a rich neighborhood, the child that the wife got pregnant with is dabis or her husbands? and he was jealous because the baby would take up time from the mother similar to how shoto took up time from his parents and away from dabi? or because there was something sketchy going on between shoto and his birth mother and dabi was jealous of that? also did dabi end up killing the husband in âself-defenseâ in the end so that he can be with the mother the whole time? i didnât the dynamic so interesting between the wife and touya and the parallels between her and rei so interesting!
Warnings: Talk of TW. Incest, Talk of TW. Domestic Abuse
1. Dabi x Natsuo x cousin f!Reader
I didn't really tie Fuyumi into the story. Usually when it comes to any type of incestual theme with the Todoroki family, I leave it up to the reader whether or not they wanna' include her into the mix.
As for Rei, the reader is definitely bitter toward all the girls in the family. The idea that Rei and her cousin (Touya and Natsuo's sister) pretend to live in this picture perfect family; meanwhile, Endeavor is obviously somewhat abusive and Touya and Natsuo are engaging in inappropriate acts with their sister, angers her. But the reader's also jealous of her cousin because she gets that attention from her brothers; so it's definitely a derivative of jealousy.
2. Perinatal
The baby belongs to the husband. For some clarification, that ending scene where Touya's just chilling in bed, that's after he tells the husband she slept with him. He rats her out because he knows he'll get angry enough to be somewhat physical towards her, and he knows she's pregnant, so there's a high chance she'll lose the baby either from the physical injuries, or just mental stress. Yes, he does this because he feels betrayed; it's obvious her husband is domestically abusive, and she admits it herself, so Touya's frustrated that she chose to get pregnant, or chose to keep the baby in general. But also like you said, there is a parallel between the Rei and Shoto situation. Shoto is basically the "thing" that pushed Touya to the edge, and it's similar with the reader's pregnancy; just another distraction.
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â A/N: Fatherfy the man-child. Please check out lorlocks and her amazing art right here.
â Warnings: TW.Dubcon, TW. Pregnancy, TW.Forced Breeding, TW.Mention of Alcohol.
â Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x f!Reader
â Words: 3.3k
Itâs a circus.
Except he doesnât have trapeze artists swinging from every corner, nor are there acrobats dangling from a strip of silk. Instead, thereâs Toga, draped over the bar counter, her arms and legs flailing in the air.
You wouldnât find performers juggling twenty multi-colored pins, or fire-breathers puffing out monstrous flames. Instead, Dabiâs slouched against the couch cushions, fusing the smoldering butt of his stick against the wall in an attempt to subdue the smoking cigarette.
There are no roaring lions, or sharp-toothed tigers. Instead, he has Spinner, the lizard who scampers behind him like a lost puppy, barely able to use the quirk he was given, barely able to use the sword he wielded.
And if he isnât the ring-leader, then what would he be? Heâs supposed to be the man in charge, but instead of a baton, thereâs a chipped shot-glass tucked into his fist. Tomura murmurs to himself while Kurogiri attempts to discuss Giranâs proposal for more recruits, an idea the villain had welcomed with open arms two months ago. But he realizes now, a growing collection didnât necessarily mean a growing audience; heâs lost ears, yet gained more tongues in the process. They think for themselves now, conducting their own acts without the required supervision.
So, what did that make him?
Well, heâs nothing more than the token, frowning clown.
As for you, youâd be the closest thing to a voice in this God forsaken place. In between Tomuraâs raspy demands, and Togaâs high-pitched chirps, thereâs you, masking your feminine laughter beneath your palm.
Youâre the closest thing to reasonable. In between Spinnerâs blinded delusion, and Dabiâs taunting rebellion, thereâs you, raising a hand to explain why Tomuraâs plan would never work. Heâd accuse you of ridiculing his idea, except, your tone is far from judgemental; youâre smiling when you suggest a different date, maybe even a separate location for safe measure. But worst of all, youâd tap on his shoulder after the meeting to throw your two cents in. Youâre praising his dedication, but critiquing his technique; youâre pulling your lips, but youâre furrowing your brows. âYouâre doing really great, Shigaraki.' Youâd nod, twiddling your thumbs. And he wouldnât be given the chance to respond before youâre trotting away.
Youâre the closest thing to normal. In between Togaâs inappropriate snickers, and Tomuraâs constant scowl, thereâs you, chuckling when itâs funny, and frowning when itâs sad. You greet them in the morning, and bid them farewell when the humidity subsides. Youâd stroll in with a newly purchased shirt, because the one from yesterday looped through a loose nail.
They must realize it too.
Dabi smirks at you when you twirl by, calloused hands reaching to yank you by the hem of your dress. Youâd return the gesture with a sheepish smile of your own. Your hand crawls up his chest while your other pinches the collar of his coat; itâs a routine where youâre pulling him closer, leaning in to whisper something in his ear only to have him chuckling moments later. Tomura must have misread you earlier, no one normal would voluntarily entertain the raven-haired villain, let alone smile about it.
You like to put on a show, and unlike Tomura, you actually have an audience.
Heâs only able to spot your bobbing head amidst the huddling crowd; Jin and Spinner to your right, Magne and Compress on your left. Theyâre not listening to your drunken college tails, no, theyâre mesmerized. Jin doesnât bother reverting, too engrossed in your recollection of some robbery you and your friends committed a couple years back.
He can let it go, but he chooses not to. Tomura hisses, arching a finger when Spinner finally snaps his head back. Heâd never offer because Spinner usually invites himself, eager and elated. This time, Tomura lifts the controller, expecting the lizard to do the same.
âOh, I actually canât tonight.â
âHn.â
âI have to go somewhere.â
He heard it through the grapevines, or maybe a certain twin-tailed blonde canât keep a secret. Apparently, youâve been dying to go to that bar across the street, the same pub Compress curses, the same place Spinner complains about, and the same club Jin swore off.
Everyone was invited.
Well, almost everyone.
Although he finds your interruptions malicious during his lectures, would it be hypocritical of him to enjoy your flailing hands and inappropriate interjections now? Itâs almost interesting, hearing your disgruntled puffs and clapping hands. Youâve explained the game to them a hundred times now, yet Dabi refuses to listen, or pay your effort any mind. Two gum-wrappers from Toga are collected, Compress manages to tear off a corner of his handkerchief, and Dabi fishes for a post-it note he swears he has. âWhat are all these names for?â You ask, flipping the neon sheet.
âDonât worry about it.â
âOkay, Iâm going to explain it again, listen this time, alright?â
Tomura stifles out a chuckle; he admires your persistence, but your passion to get this game rolling almost reminds him of himself; itâs off-putting, to say the least. It wouldnât matter anyway, whether they eventually listen to your rambling, or they ignore it completely; Tomura can already feel the warmth brewing at the pit of his stomach, after his fifth shot of vodka, heâd turn in for the night. Kurogiri offered him the chance earlier, the moment the crowd gathered around the couch. Tomura appreciates the concern, but heâs insulted by the assumption.
âOkay, Dabi picked the king card, so he can call whatever number he wants.â
âThree.â
âThatâs me,â Jin squeals, standing straight. âWhat do I do?â
âWell, thatâs up to Dabi.â
Of course, itâs a perfect opportunity to ask the anonymous villain to remove his mask, but itâs no surprise that Jin refuses, accepting the penalty for three shots. Toga is next to sling an order, sheâs quick to raise Dabiâs hand, a devious grin curled onto her face. âFor five seconds,â she chirps. âMaybe ten!â
Tomuraâs sporting a subtle smile of his own; heâs tempted to jerk his head, just to catch that look of hesitancy, and the matching frown of defeat. Itâs never like you to back down from something so spontaneous, but it seems like a few cobalt sparks might end that streak fairly quickly. âItâs just a prick,â Dabi reassures you. âIt doesnât hurt that bad.â
Of course it does. He almost wants to bark at you for being so stupid; these idiots couldnât decipher pain from pleasure, theyâre just waiting for something to smile about. Your meek whimpers interrupt the silence before your screech echoes through the space. Yes, Tomura thinks youâre dim for accepting the dare, but that doesnât mean he canât laugh.
â2,000 degrees,â Tomura mumbles to who he thinks is himself.
âShigaraki,â Toga mewls, leaping out of her seat. âYou should join, itâll be fun! We have these little numbers written down here and-â
âI know how to play,â he hisses, pinching the hem of his hood, tugging it closer to his brow bone. âI donât want to play stupid games.â
âHey,â you whisper, yanking on the sleeve of her sweater. âIf he doesnât want to play games, then leave him alone.â
âI never said that.â Tomura winds around the stool. Youâre taken aback by his response, or any response, really. His eyes narrow while yours dilate. A slender index points to the occupied table before it circles the members hovered around it. âI said I didnât want to play stupid games with stupid people.â
âYou didnât say that last part,â you return his glare with one of your own, except, itâs clear youâre enjoying the tense exchange more than the villain. Itâs your turn to giggle when Tomura reaches for the coarse patch beneath his jaw.
âWell, let me correct myself; I donât want to play stupid games with a stupid person.â
âNo.â
âOkay, then youâre taking the shot,â Dabi cackles, reaching for the neck of the bottle.
âIâm not doing that.â
Itâs ironic coming from him, but whatâs with these lunatics? Compress nearly gets his mask scorched by Dabi, Spinnerâs asked to reveal his genitals, with the assumption reptiles carried two of âeverythingâ, and Tomura would decay himself before he ever let Togaâs knife prick his already streaked neck.
âYouâre boring,â Toga whines, tossing the gum-wrapper across the table. She folds her arms with her head cocked to the side. Itâs not long before another ominous grin creeps onto her lips, then sheâs snickering to herself. âFine, I have a different dare.â
âDare him to touch the lizard, all five fingers,â Dabi suggests.
âNo.â Toga stands, lacing her fingers underneath her chin. 'I dare you two to go in the closet, the creepy one in the hallway.â
âWho?â
âMe and Shigaraki?â You furrow your brows. âWhat are we supposed to do there?â
âI dunnoâ thatâs what makes it fun,â she shrugs, falling back onto the couch. âAre you gonnaâ do it?â
âWell, Iâm not very interested in whatever this concoction is,â Tomura murmurs, nudging the base of the bottle.
The mold matted onto the wood might as well be another object aside from the chipped bucket and mop. But honestly, itâs no different from the rest of the place; the creaky floorboards, and the leaking pipes. The room at the far end of the hall is his sanctuary; heâd drown out the chatter with his mechanical keyboard and ten-year old mouse.
Itâs cramped. Tomuraâs wondering if she chose the space because of the uncomfortable proximity theyâd have to endure, or for different reasons. Heâs giving her too much credit; he doesnât even know what these reasons are, really.
âMove your hand,â Tomura grunts, throwing his head back. âHow many minutes has it been? Itâs been ten for sure. She didnât even give us a time limit, what the fuck is a âfew minutesâ ?â He raises his elbow to scratch at his neck, but your whine stops him in his tracks.
âYou canât do that, thereâs not enough space.â
âYouâre the one plastered against me.â
âWell, I have nowhere else to go.â
âAnd that seems to be the problem,â he chuckles bitterly, clenching his lids. âYou have nowhere else to go, so you choose to stay here.â
âYou donât want me here?â
âStop putting words in my mouth-â
You comply, putting something else against it instead. The troublesome hand he was complaining about moments ago is curled tightly around his collar, and your other, flat against the wall beside him. His lips part slightly, encouraging another swipe of your tongue.
Youâre mewling into his mouth, smiling against his open-mouthed frown. He hates the way youâre able to use him to your advantage, yet keep that grin plastered on your face; even when heâs not offering anything in return. He canât recall the last time heâs stuttered his words, or the day his fingers twitched by his sides. He canât remember the last time heâs inhaled the feminine scent.
And didnât hate it.
He blinks once, twice, three times. Youâre pulling away after his fourth, dragging the hem of your sleeve against your slicked lips. âSorry,â you whisper, shaking your head. âIâm sorry.â
âYou should be.â
âCan I do it again?â
You take his silence as confirmation, capturing his lips delicately. This time, your hand grows bolder, reaching around his shoulder to pinch the hairs laying against the nape of his neck. If you accuse him of sighing, heâll deny; if he does it again, heâll promise you it isnât out of bliss. Because itâs not-well, he doesnât know, really. The palpitations in his chest balance out the painful clench in his stomach; itâs not amazing, or terrible. Itâs uncomfortable.
âWhat are you doing?â
âStay quiet,â you murmur into his mouth while your fingers fumble with the waistband of his fit.
He pinches his brows at the instruction; you know him too well to be slinging around demands, but he canât blame you when heâs following them. His gaze lingers around your scrambling hands. Your wrist twists and turns around his half-hardened cock; heâs incapable of looking away, unable to roll his head back and shut his eyes. Instead, his head hangs to gape at the sight between his legs.
âDoes it feel good? When I do it like that?â
âI donât know,â he snaps. He could be bothered by your idiotic question, or the fact your pace faltered through your inquiry. Either way, itâs quite inconsiderate, donât you think? If youâre going to help yourself to his most intimate region, shouldnât you put in the effort?
What Tomura believes is a straight path becomes an abrupt detour. One light shove is all it takes to have the leader plummeting to the ground, arms extended and knees bent. He only snarls at the reckless gesture because heâs well aware youâll counter it with another unpredictable attack. On cue, you lower yourself onto his awkwardly raised lap, straddling the blend of his abdomen and crotch. âAre you a virgin, Shigaraki?â
âTomura.â
âOh, are we on a first name basis now?â
âI find it more insulting youâve touched my half-hard dick and youâre still acting formal with me, itâs one, or the other.â
He flickers from your lips to your eyes, but the slight furrow in your brows has him gritting his teeth in expectation. Your hand reaches around to do something, somewhere back there, and he can only sit here and soak in time.
âWhat are you waiting for? You giggle, turning your head to shoot him a brief glance. âYou look like a kid in a candy store.â
âFar from it.â
âOh?â
âIâm past the point of expecting candy, it just seems like I have no other option but to accept it, donât you think?â
A warning, nice or not, seems appropriate. Instead, youâre clenching around his girth, subjecting his virgin nerves to a foreign sleeve heâs only experienced in plastic. His chest ascends with your hips, but remains once you plunge yourself onto his length once again. He doesnât tell you to slow down, already well aware the pleasure paired with his disarray would diminish as soon as he did.
Up and down.
This is just like you; to involuntarily enter him in this unofficial staring contest. His stare is the first to waver; your hips are merciless; the skin-to-skin contact rings through his ears, and potentially in others. Youâre purposefully clamping your walls and rolling your hips, but your victory isnât from your obscene movements.
You play dirty.
His lashes twitch at the sight, and youâre smiling while the cotton sits tucked between your teeth.
Low-hanging fruit, that doesn't seem fair.
âDoes it feel nice?â
Your voice tears him away from your perked cherries. His glare bobbles with your dribbling movements, he sneers, âOh, winning wasnât enough? You need to hear the words?â
âMaybe.â The proximity allows you to witness the red drain from his eyes, yet fill with every descent. What was once a lifeless corpse, is now thunderous with rhythm, and humid behind visible breaths.
âYouâre bigger than Dabi.â
His pupils shrink; his thrumming veins are more alarming than humorous, and for a second, you forgot who youâre dealing with; jokes are jokes, your life isnât one of them. You reassure him with a giggle, and fortunately Tomuraâs able to deduce the taunting tone behind the comment. âIâd rather you confirm your suspicions with questions instead of half-assed, fake scenarios. Itâll make me hate you more.â
âMore?â
âKeep going.â
Your lips brush against each other before youâre able to taste the salt on his tongue again. Tomura doesnât initiate the gluttonous thrashing of tongues, but there seems to be some type of reception, judging from his half-lidded gaze and subtle thrusts.
âStop.â
âWhy?â
âIâm gonnaâ cum. It seems like you know a lot about grabbing people's crotches, Iâm sure youâre well aware about the explosion thatâs about to occur in twenty seconds.â His hands touch you for the first time, four fingers curled around the flesh of your bouncing thighs; his fingertips digging another millimeter for every second of silence. âI said stop.â
His grip loosens once you lose traction. The coiled rim of his head slips from your battered cunt. But before Tomuraâs able to reach for his slicked base, your rear slams into his lap for the nth time. The plummet jams his tip against your webbed cervix, and Tomura canât help but can't his hips from the abrupt clench. Youâre piped to the brim amidst his boisterous cursing and your blissful giggling.
Although obviously disturbed, the thought of encouraging his anguish is almost exhilarating. Oh, heâs probably scowling over the thought at this very moment; his virgin load penetrating whatâs left of your fertile membrane. Oh, how sad.
âI can feel it kicking.â You smirk.
Itâs a circus, except heâs the only act.
And if he isnât the ring-leader, then what would he be? Heâs supposed to be the man in charge, but instead of a baton, thereâs a chipped shot-glass tucked into his fist. Tomura murmurs to himself while Kurogiri attempts to discuss the situation; a recruit he shouldâve never accepted.
Itâs torturous enough having to sit through your blabbering tongue, but this time, it involves him. Youâre not shameful at all, no, in fact, you enjoy Dabiâs subtle teases and Spinnerâs concerned stare. Youâre flaunting your rounded stomach everywhere you go, circling your index over your distended bellybutton. They wouldnât have known so soon, but of course, Tomuraâs the idiot for having faith in your loose lips.
âA baby, a baby,â Toga hums, poking the side of your bloated flesh. âOh, Iâm so excited.â
All for One agrees to keep the child. Whether itâs for the lesson he claims, or his own personal benefit is unclear. But Tomuraâs already seething at the idea of responsibility; he didnât need an obstacle blocking his straight, yellow-brick path.
The relationship doesnât change, but you do. Youâre not tapping on his shoulder to berate his new objective. Instead, youâre tugging on the collar of his coat because your mattress isnât wide enough, and you prefer a bed-frame over the hardwood floor.
âIâm pregnant, this is your kid.â
He brushes you off with an incoherent murmur and a simple graze to his neck. If you wanted to be understood, youâd chat with Toga or Magne, not him. Your hormonal escapades mean nothing to him. He almost wants to flick your protruding belly and sneer in your face.
But youâd have no problem running to tattle on his inappropriate behavior, and Tomura couldnât have the only responsibility he desired snatched away because of some bloated ovaries.
âIâm hungry,â you mumble, twiddling your thumbs.
Tomura wouldnât address your complaints any other day, but heâs bewildered at the sight of your drenched shirt. Two patches stain the front, droplets of murky white dripping from the hem. Youâre yanked around the corner quickly, plastered against his door.
âYouâre really testing me, today. For Godâs sake, I know I said I didnât give two shits about you or that thing in your belly, but youâre walking around spraying milk like a damn cow. How-â
Tomuraâs lips clasp around your perked nipple. His attempt to jerk back is foiled by the hand woven through the crown of silver; in fact, your fingers usher him closer, smothering his nose and chin with fatty flesh. âIt wonât stop until itâs all gone,â you assure, nodding your head. âJust do this one favor for me, please?â
The hand that threatens to lock around your wrist loosens at the feeling of yours; your palm circles the growing bulge beneath his fit eagerly, while Tomura is left with no choice but to nurse on your sloshing chest in exchange for air.
âLike that,â you mewl. âJust like that, Tomura.â