I write bad stuff

You’re scrambling to keep up with his movements; he’s already past your skirt, fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties that he’s already managed to tug half-way. Your hands circle his wrists, jerking him back. “Right now?”

He answers your question by shaking you off, shoving you back onto the mattress with both ankles secured in both palms. “We’ve never done this,” you gasp. “Why now?”

“First time for everything.”

Despite the binding offer, it’s not supposed to be a pleasurable experience. With two arms wrapped around your thighs, you’re 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. You’re twitching from the chilling feeling of metal, yet squirming from the torrid thrash of the slender muscle. Amidst his parched slurping, he glances up. “Feel’good’or’what?”

“I-d-don’t know, s’my first time, first time.”

“You’re so innocent, it’s kinda cute.” When his tongue slips past your stretched slit, you’re fisting the blanket, scraping each individual thread for every violent thrust. “Nah, you are, you’re cute.”

You’re 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. “Fuck’me’you’re’s’wet.”

“Dabi!”

The withdrawal happens abruptly; you’re 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.

“What are you glancing at the door for?”

“I j-just want to make sure-sure they can’t hear us, s’all,” you stutter, clenching your eyes.

“Why? You never cared about that before? Is it ‘cause he’s here?”

“Who?”

Dabi chuckles, sinking himself into your pelvis. “Playing stupid, good choice.”

“Dabi…”

In one second, you’re stunned, soothing your cheek from the sharp strike, in the next, you’re muffled against his palm, his forehead slicked against yours. He’s given you a handful of surprises tonight, on top of the purposeful slap, you’re incapable of processing the slight pull of his lips. No, he’s just panting, attempting to work his hips to a rhythmic tune. But it’s quite obvious: he’s grinning, sporting a wicked smile you’ve only seen him flash towards the villains loitering outside, or the winged-hero himself.

“He knows you’re dating me, ‘knows you’re dating some cheapskate villain.” Dabi snickers, cocking his head. “He knows you sleep on this old ass mattress, ‘knows you’re getting fucked on it too. He knows you’re just like me, so don’t try and hide it, alright?”

The man perched up against the wall barely turns; his pupils dribble with the coin flicking from his thumb. There’s nothing extraordinary about his demeanor; if anything, he’s exactly how you expected him to be; plain and simple, maybe a little too tall for your liking. Before you’re able to utter your next word, he snatches the silver from the air, stuffing the coin back into his pocket. “I’m here to make a deal, not play hopscotch.” He clicks his tongue, “They said they’d send someone I’d be able to negotiate with, but what is this? Some babysitting gig?”

The hands clasped behind your back wrestle with the hem of your skirt, that you’re currently substituting for the muscular jugular you’re tempted to strangle. Worse enough, you have to look up at him; a foot on paper is a yard in person. You’d like to wipe that smirk clean off his chipped lip, but that’s if you could even reach at this angle. “I’m here to negotiate. I’m a recent graduate from Jujutsu High, I was sent on behalf.”

“Oh, yeah?” He flicks a lock of hair behind your shoulder, crouching down slightly to sneer at your artificial grin. “That’s real cute, I’m sure you’re 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.”

Despite the blatant diss, you address the foreign claim. “This is a negotiation, there was no request made.”

“Right, right.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, falling back on his heels. “Besides, that number’s too small, don’t you think?”

“I-”

“Two million.”

“What?”

“That’s my baseline.”

“That’s ridiculous,” you hiss. “No one would offer that much.”

“Three million.”

“Listen-”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m adding an extra one million every time I have to hear your stupid voice.”

His smile never falters; he’s messing with you; that’s what it is. You could offer 500 million yen and he’d brush it off with a chuckle and a nudge to your forehead, after he delivers another back handed compliment about your appearance, of course.

“Zenin.”

“What?”

It’s time for your lips to curl. You’re standing on your tiptoes with your index barely pressing into his chest. “I’m sure your family could offer you some spare change, right? Toji Zenin?”

For a second, his pupils fill with a red more sinister than the crimson staining his palms. But then he’s 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 you’re 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. “You thought that was pretty funny, huh?” You’re lifted off your feet, fingers tightening around your pulsing muscle. “Those idiots over there didn’t explain to you how shit like this works? This is no way to treat a customer, especially one you’re trying to deceive, for God’s sake.”

You’re flipped over onto your stomach while your hands desperately try and scramble for support. His hand weaves through the crown of your skull before you’re pummeled against the gritty brick, once, twice, three times. With every blow, the blood on your tongue grows sharper; you’re 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 aren’t 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. “Zenin, who?” You’re lunged against the wall before you’re peeled off the brick for another interrogation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you correctly the first time, Zenin, what?”

“S-S’Sorry,” you whimper, clenching your lids. “M’Sorry!”

“You must’ve thought you got me real good.” His cock drills through your clamping muscle, belly extended from the bruising momentum; your stomach isn’t given the opportunity to relax before another agonizing thrust assaults your womb once more.

“They should know, I don’t cave for pretty faces, especially pretty faces with smart mouths, is there anything worse?” You’re plastered against the stone, his labored breaths like speakers for your ears. Amidst grunts and groans, you’re able to catch subtle chuckles, faint comments about your useless cunt, and your feeble form.

“Friends kiss.”

Without reciprocating the embrace, your hands move to round around her rear. Lips mesh softly, but you’re 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, you’re 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 couldn’t care less.

She mewls when she grinds herself against your front, but you’re nearly scoffing against her lips, convinced her obscene sounds are nothing but a show for the blond supervisor. She’ll have to do better than a few whimpers; you’re 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. It’s hilarious; although foreign digits pad and claw at clits and slits, it’s 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 there’s a time and a place, she just doesn’t know when or where.

But you do.

He doesn’t 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. She’s giggling because she thinks she’s special, but if she looks close enough, she’ll be able to spot the hand-prints on his glass desk; if she thinks long enough, she’ll be able to conclude his smile isn’t from current events, but from his recollection of yesterday, where the other second-year intern was engulfing him whole. But Keigo doesn’t prefer one over the other; pretty girls are pretty girls; and if they’re bickering over who gets to thumb his slit next, it’s not going to be long before he’s spilling his seed.

“Friends share,” he declares between labored breaths. “Friends share their rewards, don’t they?”

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.

He knows you don’t like sharing.

You’re not stupid; you’re 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 can’t 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 it’s on video.

It’s just new, it’s nothing bad, your boyfriend reassured you. It’s an efficient way to build connections, and develop friendships, and who knows, maybe you’ll be encouraged to join a sorority of your own.

It took you three minutes to subdue that chuckle threatening to erupt.

“Are you ready to go?”

No, you weren’t ready. You weren’t ready when you had to stumble down the sidewalk; apparently, there’s a difference between the 4-inch heels you wore to your highschool graduation, and these stilts clacking against the concrete.

You weren’t ready to weave through the crowd huddled around the house.

And your lungs definitely weren’t 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, you’re able to maneuver yourself just fine with the help of the faint kitchen light and the weak grip around your wrist.

“There’s some people I want you to meet, ‘that okay?”

Despite his proposal, you’re 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.

You’re drawn to the blond almost instantly. Aside from your boyfriend’s 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 wasn’t raised, or when he wasn’t 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 must’ve 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 he’d never shut up about the pseudo-delinquent. Touya skips class; Touya stole a bag of chips from the convenience store across the street; Touya’s rich.

‘Wait, if he’s rich, why is he stealing a bunch of crap?’

‘I don’t know, he’s crazy,’ your boyfriend chuckled, shaking his head.

‘Well, maybe you shouldn’t hang around him…’

‘No, but get this, what’s crazier is the fact his brother, Natsuo, is the exact opposite. They’re like night and day, it’s wild.’

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. He’s disconnected from the discussion; although a cotton mask masks any smiles, or frowns, you’re able to see his eyes roll with every passing comment.

“Oh, right, this is my girlfriend, by the way.”

“Hello,” you whisper, tearing your gaze away from the ambiguous student. “Nice to meet you.”

Keigo turns to set down his cup, a wider grin curling onto his lips when he returns. “I was wondering when you were gonna’ introduce us, she’s just been standing there waiting. Are you a freshman?”

“No, I’m a sophomore-well, technically I’ll be a junior after the summer.”

“‘Still a baby,” Touya snickers, cocking his head. “Heard he had to drag you out here, ‘not much of a party girl?”

“Not really. I don’t go out very much in general, I’m a homebody.”

“It sucks, right? I’m not that much of a party guy myself.” Both brows raise above his half-lidded gaze. “I guess we’re both introverts then?”

Keigo doesn’t address the snort behind him. Instead, he scowls at the red cup your boyfriend slips into your fist. “You know better than that, she’s a guest here, don’t give her the crap everyone else drinks.” He whips his head back, snapping his fingers, clicking his tongue. “Hey, Tenko, do we have any Rosé?”

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; you’re not wincing with the expectation of some thunderous bass. Your fingers curl around the handle, but you’re fishing into your pocket one last time.

When the voicemail tune begins, you’re cursing, shoving the device back into your fit. The door creaks open from the nudge of your elbow; two deep breaths, and you’ve already conquered your first step.

The ambience leads you to believe it’s 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 you’re able to explain your intrusion, Keigo discards the joint pinched between his fingertips.

He approaches you quickly, threading two hands through his hair. “Hey, hey, what’s up?”

“Sorry, I just walked in here,” you chuckle nervously, tugging on your bottom lip. “I’ve been trying to reach him all day; I called his phone like a hundred times but he isn’t picking up. I thought he’d be here, so I just came to check.”

“He’s not here, or at least I don’t think he is.” Keigo frowns, twisting back. “Hey, Touya, 'you seen him?”

The raven-haired student plucks the joint from his lips before rolling his head back; thick films of smoke puff from the ruptured seam. “Nah, I haven’t,” he confirms. “He left this morning, I think.”

“Oh, okay.” Your hands wave rapidly as you retreat back into the hallway. “Sorry again, for this. Thank you for your help, I’m sure he’s just at the library, or something, I think he has another final tomorrow.”

The hand around your arm snatches you forward. Keigo furrows his brows. “Don’t tell me you’re about to leave, so you just used us for some information? Well, now I’m offended.”

“Oh, no, that’s not it. I just-I didn’t mean,” you stutter, clenching your lids. “I didn’t mean to, I just thought you guys would know, I’m sorry if it seems that way.”

“I’ll forgive you,” Touya murmurs from behind. “If you keep me company; you see, these fucks over here don’t do much but steal my kush and scratch their balls. I could use some good conversation, you up for it?”

“Well, I-”

Well, you what? You can’t really refuse now, not when you’re yanked onto the couch, wedged right between Touya and the brunette from last week. Touya nudges at your shoulder; you’re asked to relax, you’re so tense; they don't bite for God’s 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, “You don’t smoke?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t.”

“Oh, yeah?” Keigo returns to his original spot, retrieving his forgotten joint from the ivory-haired student beside him. “That’s funny, your other half sure does.”

“H-He does?”

“Like a fucking pothead,” Touya snorts. “But something tells me you’re open-minded, I know you’re gonna’ give it a try’.”

One puff quickly turns into high-pitched giggles; Touya’s certain this is the tenth time you’ve 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 it’s almost impossible when you’re 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 weren’t kidding when they explained you’re one of those girls. “You know where he is, right?” Natsuo accuses, leaning into the blond.

“I don’t,” Keigo assures, glancing back briefly. “Why would I lie?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

The hand on your thigh could be Kai’s, or Touya’s; the other belongs to Tenko, right? It’s harmless, fingers are pinching the hem of your shirt, and another two curl through the belt-loops of your shorts. Eventually, you’re crawling into Touya’s lap, scorching fingertips reaching for the joint hoisted over his head.

“Touya, cut it out,” Natsuo warns.

“I didn’t even do anything, she came over here, you saw her, fuckin’ idiot.”

“He’s gonna’ walk in here, and it’s going to be a situation.”

Monday

You recognize the shirt draped over the desk. Before you’re 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 you’re frowning as soon as he slouches next to you. “It was a fifty percent chance, and unfortunately, you guessed wrong.”

You’re apologizing while you attempt to gather your phone and your purse; he shouldn’t blame you for your confusion; the place is a pigsty, and with the sheets and pillows scrambled all over the mattress, it’s impossible to deduce which is which. You’re startled by the yank on your blouse; when you glance at Keigo, he’s smirking. “Nah, you’re in the right place.”

You’re on your knees because you don’t know any better; you follow his instructions because you’re stupid. He’s ruthless, all seven inches greeting your narrow, virgin throat at once. You’re 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. You’re offered a subtle smile, something in between playful and pitiful.

“Just like thaaaaaat, good girl, see, you’re getting the hang of it.”

You’re not, but you’re in a better position than you were a few seconds ago. You’ve replaced you’re inexperienced gags with muffled mewls; you can’t help but sigh around his base when his fingers rake through your tousled strands, gathering all your free-falling hairs into one tight fist. “Angel,” he murmurs, bucking his hips. “Keep that up, keep that up and use your tongue, jus’ like that, yeah.”

Your throat relaxes around his slicked length, encouraging his eager plunges. You’re only tensing when his tip nudges your tonsils; Keigo snaps his head forward to assess your abrupt submission. “Oh, you’re gonna’ be a good girl and let me? Oh, god, what did I do to deserve such obedience? My, my.”

Tuesday

Touya doesn’t bother asking, you’re whisked away the moment he ambles out of the kitchen. Your protests don’t work; the explanation about your two-year anniversary date convinces no one, but he marvels over the black number clinging onto your form. “This is cute; you’re adorable, you know?”

Yeah, yeah, he heard you: you’re 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; you’re not given further instructions, you know what to do, you’re a smart girl. One puff turns into two, two becomes three, then you’re sprawled on his bed, snickering at his college chronicles.

“I heard you yesterday with Keigo, so you don’t really need an introduction, right?” He’s 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. “Oh, tight, fuckin’ tight, babe.”

His shirt peels off his abdomen; you’re 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. “Stay still for me, m’close,” 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. “Fuck, just like that for me.”

Wednesday

Kai’s not some genius; it’s obvious you’re uncomfortable, the twiddling thumbs and the panicked flickers. He juts his chin and arches a finger, you’re quick to flee from your boyfriend’s side to join him out on the patio. “Don’t sit on the steps, they’re dirty.”

He tugs down his mask while you explain your frustrations; it’s about your boyfriend, his troublesome obsession with the house, and- Kai’s leg? Why is he doing that? “Continue.”

You can’t; it’s impossible. You’re gaping while your hips involuntarily move on their own, rocking back and forth across the denim. You’re clutching him closer, fingers fisting the hem of his shirt, your teeth seizing the collar. “K-Kai, please.”

“They’re just hazing him, you know that right?” No, you don’t, truthfully, you don’t really care. All you can focus on is the friction smoldering against your cotton-covered slit. It’s an awful burn, but the slight nudge against your clit sends all the blood rushing to your throbbing groin. “Sorry for interrupting you, continue, please.”

Two hands find their way past the hem of your blouse, encasing the cups of your breasts. You can’t help but lean into his touch, whimpering against his neck for more, yet mercy. Kai only smirks, clicking his tongue. “We’re in public, try and control yourself.”

Thursday

It’s supposed to be a sleepover, but you can’t possibly rest with the blond just a few feet away. Maybe it’s the guilt, or the possibility it could happen again; you’re already downstairs, padding through the hallway. Tenko, the fraternity groupie, is hunched over the counter, thumbing his screen. “Why are you here?” You ask, rubbing your eyes.

“Well, why are you here?”

He doesn’t appreciate that tone. But his beady stare distracts you from the fact he’s 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; you’re propelled back into the counter with your elbows supporting your weight.

“You’re weak,” he snorts. “Must explain why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you’re getting tossed around.”

“M’not!”

“M’not, m’not,” 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 he’s 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.

“S-Stop, e-enough, enough,” you whimper, tugging back on his strands. Despite your eager withdrawal, he’s 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 it’s serious enough to warrant concern. Sugarcoating works for the first few minutes, but the second you glance up at him, he’s slamming the door, whispering harshly, “I know you’re fucking with them, okay? I know that, and this isn’t fair; it’s not fair to him, it’s not fair to us, it’s not f-”

“M’sorry,” you whisper. “I messed up, I know that.” You’re hanging your head, hands clasped behind your back. Natsuo expected an apology; the problem is he wasn’t prepared to handle one. Because he’s already leaning in to capture your lips before your first tear falls; he’s already grunting into your mouth, pressing you against the wall.

“N-Natsuo, m’no, r’mber, r’mber, you said-”

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 he’s 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.

“Shh, shh,” he mumbles against your lips. “They’re home; he’s home.”

“He?”

Natsuo chuckles into your mouth, “Already forgot, huh?”

Saturday

Keigo knows about Touya; Touya knows about Tenko; Tenko knows about Kai; Kai knows about Natsuo; and Natsuo knows about everyone.

There’s only one oblivious variable in this equation.

And he’s standing there, lips trembling while he watches his girlfriend bounce on Keigo’s lap. Touya and Natsuo argue about something nonsensical, but eventually, the ‘older-sibling’ card triumphs over Natsuo’s 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. “I thought you had a final.”

“W-What are you doing...what are you doing...”

Keigo peeks from behind, almost chuckling when he spots your livid partner. “Oh, don’t worry about all this.”

“D-Don’t worry?”

“K-Keigo,” you gargle around Touya’s cock before you’re hauled onto the other. “K-Keigo, faster, pre’please.”

“Just initiation, what, don’t tell me you didn’t read the fine print?”

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

And if he isn’t the ring-leader, then what would he be? He’s supposed to be the man in charge, but instead of a baton, there’s a chipped shot-glass tucked into his fist. Tomura murmurs to himself while Kurogiri attempts to discuss Giran’s proposal for more recruits, an idea the villain had welcomed with open arms two months ago. But he realizes now, a growing collection didn’t necessarily mean a growing audience; he’s 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, he’s nothing more than the token, frowning clown.

As for you, you’d be the closest thing to a voice in this God forsaken place. In between Tomura’s raspy demands, and Toga’s high-pitched chirps, there’s you, masking your feminine laughter beneath your palm.

You’re the closest thing to reasonable. In between Spinner’s blinded delusion, and Dabi’s taunting rebellion, there’s you, raising a hand to explain why Tomura’s plan would never work. He’d accuse you of ridiculing his idea, except, your tone is far from judgemental; you’re smiling when you suggest a different date, maybe even a separate location for safe measure. But worst of all, you’d tap on his shoulder after the meeting to throw your two cents in. You’re praising his dedication, but critiquing his technique; you’re pulling your lips, but you’re furrowing your brows. ‘You’re doing really great, Shigaraki.' You’d nod, twiddling your thumbs. And he wouldn’t be given the chance to respond before you’re trotting away.

You’re the closest thing to normal. In between Toga’s inappropriate snickers, and Tomura’s constant scowl, there’s you, chuckling when it’s funny, and frowning when it’s sad. You greet them in the morning, and bid them farewell when the humidity subsides. You’d 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. You’d 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; it’s a routine where you’re 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.

He’s only able to spot your bobbing head amidst the huddling crowd; Jin and Spinner to your right, Magne and Compress on your left. They’re not listening to your drunken college tails, no, they’re mesmerized. Jin doesn’t 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. He’d never offer because Spinner usually invites himself, eager and elated. This time, Tomura lifts the controller, expecting the lizard to do the same.

‘Oh, I actually can’t tonight.’

‘Hn.’

‘I have to go somewhere.’

He heard it through the grapevines, or maybe a certain twin-tailed blonde can’t keep a secret. Apparently, you’ve 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? It’s almost interesting, hearing your disgruntled puffs and clapping hands. You’ve 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. ‘What are all these names for?’ You ask, flipping the neon sheet.

‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘Okay, I’m going to explain it again, listen this time, alright?’

Tomura stifles out a chuckle; he admires your persistence, but your passion to get this game rolling almost reminds him of himself; it’s off-putting, to say the least. It wouldn’t 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, he’d turn in for the night. Kurogiri offered him the chance earlier, the moment the crowd gathered around the couch. Tomura appreciates the concern, but he’s insulted by the assumption.

‘Okay, Dabi picked the king card, so he can call whatever number he wants.’

‘Three.’

‘That’s me,’ Jin squeals, standing straight. ‘What do I do?’

‘Well, that’s up to Dabi.’

Of course, it’s a perfect opportunity to ask the anonymous villain to remove his mask, but it’s no surprise that Jin refuses, accepting the penalty for three shots. Toga is next to sling an order, she’s quick to raise Dabi’s hand, a devious grin curled onto her face. ‘For five seconds,’ she chirps. ‘Maybe ten!’

Tomura’s sporting a subtle smile of his own; he’s tempted to jerk his head, just to catch that look of hesitancy, and the matching frown of defeat. It’s never like you to back down from something so spontaneous, but it seems like a few cobalt sparks might end that streak fairly quickly. ‘It’s just a prick,’ Dabi reassures you. ‘It doesn’t hurt that bad.’

Of course it does. He almost wants to bark at you for being so stupid; these idiots couldn’t decipher pain from pleasure, they’re just waiting for something to smile about. Your meek whimpers interrupt the silence before your screech echoes through the space. Yes, Tomura thinks you’re dim for accepting the dare, but that doesn’t mean he can’t laugh.

‘2,000 degrees,’ Tomura mumbles to who he thinks is himself.

‘Shigaraki,’ Toga mewls, leaping out of her seat. ‘You should join, it’ll be fun! We have these little numbers written down here and-’

‘I know how to play,’ he hisses, pinching the hem of his hood, tugging it closer to his brow bone. ‘I don’t want to play stupid games.’

‘Hey,’ you whisper, yanking on the sleeve of her sweater. ‘If he doesn’t want to play games, then leave him alone.’

‘I never said that.’ Tomura winds around the stool. You’re 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. ‘I said I didn’t want to play stupid games with stupid people.’

‘You didn’t say that last part,’ you return his glare with one of your own, except, it’s clear you’re enjoying the tense exchange more than the villain. It’s your turn to giggle when Tomura reaches for the coarse patch beneath his jaw.

‘Well, let me correct myself; I don’t want to play stupid games with a stupid person.’

‘No.’

‘Okay, then you’re taking the shot,’ Dabi cackles, reaching for the neck of the bottle.

‘I’m not doing that.’

It’s ironic coming from him, but what’s with these lunatics? Compress nearly gets his mask scorched by Dabi, Spinner’s asked to reveal his genitals, with the assumption reptiles carried two of ‘everything’, and Tomura would decay himself before he ever let Toga’s knife prick his already streaked neck.

‘You’re boring,’ Toga whines, tossing the gum-wrapper across the table. She folds her arms with her head cocked to the side. It’s not long before another ominous grin creeps onto her lips, then she’s snickering to herself. ‘Fine, I have a different dare.’

‘Dare him to touch the lizard, all five fingers,’ Dabi suggests.

‘No.’ Toga stands, lacing her fingers underneath her chin. 'I dare you two to go in the closet, the creepy one in the hallway.’

‘Who?’

‘Me and Shigaraki?’ You furrow your brows. ‘What are we supposed to do there?’

‘I dunno’ that’s what makes it fun,’ she shrugs, falling back onto the couch. ‘Are you gonna’ do it?’

‘Well, I’m not very interested in whatever this concoction is,’ 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, it’s 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; he’d drown out the chatter with his mechanical keyboard and ten-year old mouse.

It’s cramped. Tomura’s wondering if she chose the space because of the uncomfortable proximity they’d have to endure, or for different reasons. He’s giving her too much credit; he doesn’t even know what these reasons are, really.

“Move your hand,” Tomura grunts, throwing his head back. “How many minutes has it been? It’s been ten for sure. She didn’t even give us a time limit, what the fuck is a ‘few minutes’ ?” He raises his elbow to scratch at his neck, but your whine stops him in his tracks.

“You can’t do that, there’s not enough space.”

“You’re the one plastered against me.”

“Well, I have nowhere else to go.”

“And that seems to be the problem,” he chuckles bitterly, clenching his lids. “You have nowhere else to go, so you choose to stay here.”

“You don’t want me here?”

“Stop putting words in my mouth-”

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.

You’re mewling into his mouth, smiling against his open-mouthed frown. He hates the way you’re able to use him to your advantage, yet keep that grin plastered on your face; even when he’s not offering anything in return. He can’t recall the last time he’s stuttered his words, or the day his fingers twitched by his sides. He can’t remember the last time he’s inhaled the feminine scent.

And didn’t hate it.

He blinks once, twice, three times. You’re pulling away after his fourth, dragging the hem of your sleeve against your slicked lips. “Sorry,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I’m sorry.”

“You should be.”

“Can I do it again?”

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, he’ll deny; if he does it again, he’ll promise you it isn’t out of bliss. Because it’s not-well, he doesn’t know, really. The palpitations in his chest balance out the painful clench in his stomach; it’s not amazing, or terrible. It’s uncomfortable.

“What are you doing?”

“Stay quiet,” 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 can’t blame you when he’s following them. His gaze lingers around your scrambling hands. Your wrist twists and turns around his half-hardened cock; he’s 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.

“Does it feel good? When I do it like that?”

“I don’t know,” he snaps. He could be bothered by your idiotic question, or the fact your pace faltered through your inquiry. Either way, it’s quite inconsiderate, don’t you think? If you’re going to help yourself to his most intimate region, shouldn’t 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 he’s well aware you’ll counter it with another unpredictable attack. On cue, you lower yourself onto his awkwardly raised lap, straddling the blend of his abdomen and crotch. “Are you a virgin, Shigaraki?”

“Tomura.”

“Oh, are we on a first name basis now?”

“I find it more insulting you’ve touched my half-hard dick and you’re still acting formal with me, it’s one, or the other.”

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.

“What are you waiting for? You giggle, turning your head to shoot him a brief glance. “You look like a kid in a candy store.”

“Far from it.”

“Oh?”

“I’m past the point of expecting candy, it just seems like I have no other option but to accept it, don’t you think?”

A warning, nice or not, seems appropriate. Instead, you’re clenching around his girth, subjecting his virgin nerves to a foreign sleeve he’s only experienced in plastic. His chest ascends with your hips, but remains once you plunge yourself onto his length once again. He doesn’t 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. You’re purposefully clamping your walls and rolling your hips, but your victory isn’t from your obscene movements.

You play dirty.

His lashes twitch at the sight, and you’re smiling while the cotton sits tucked between your teeth.

Low-hanging fruit, that doesn't seem fair.

“Does it feel nice?”

Your voice tears him away from your perked cherries. His glare bobbles with your dribbling movements, he sneers, “Oh, winning wasn’t enough? You need to hear the words?”

“Maybe.” 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.

“You’re bigger than Dabi.”

His pupils shrink; his thrumming veins are more alarming than humorous, and for a second, you forgot who you’re dealing with; jokes are jokes, your life isn’t one of them. You reassure him with a giggle, and fortunately Tomura’s able to deduce the taunting tone behind the comment. “I’d rather you confirm your suspicions with questions instead of half-assed, fake scenarios. It’ll make me hate you more.”

“More?”

“Keep going.”

Your lips brush against each other before you’re able to taste the salt on his tongue again. Tomura doesn’t initiate the gluttonous thrashing of tongues, but there seems to be some type of reception, judging from his half-lidded gaze and subtle thrusts.

“Stop.”

“Why?”

“I’m gonna’ cum. It seems like you know a lot about grabbing people's crotches, I’m sure you’re well aware about the explosion that’s about to occur in twenty seconds.” 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. “I said stop.”

His grip loosens once you lose traction. The coiled rim of his head slips from your battered cunt. But before Tomura’s 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 can’t help but can't his hips from the abrupt clench. You’re 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, he’s probably scowling over the thought at this very moment; his virgin load penetrating what’s left of your fertile membrane. Oh, how sad.

“I can feel it kicking.” You smirk.

It’s a circus, except he’s the only act.

And if he isn’t the ring-leader, then what would he be? He’s supposed to be the man in charge, but instead of a baton, there’s a chipped shot-glass tucked into his fist. Tomura murmurs to himself while Kurogiri attempts to discuss the situation; a recruit he should’ve never accepted.

It’s torturous enough having to sit through your blabbering tongue, but this time, it involves him. You’re not shameful at all, no, in fact, you enjoy Dabi’s subtle teases and Spinner’s concerned stare. You’re flaunting your rounded stomach everywhere you go, circling your index over your distended bellybutton. They wouldn’t have known so soon, but of course, Tomura’s the idiot for having faith in your loose lips.

‘A baby, a baby,’ Toga hums, poking the side of your bloated flesh. ‘Oh, I’m so excited.’

All for One agrees to keep the child. Whether it’s for the lesson he claims, or his own personal benefit is unclear. But Tomura’s already seething at the idea of responsibility; he didn’t need an obstacle blocking his straight, yellow-brick path.

The relationship doesn’t change, but you do. You’re not tapping on his shoulder to berate his new objective. Instead, you’re tugging on the collar of his coat because your mattress isn’t wide enough, and you prefer a bed-frame over the hardwood floor.

‘I’m pregnant, this is your kid.’

He brushes you off with an incoherent murmur and a simple graze to his neck. If you wanted to be understood, you’d 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 you’d have no problem running to tattle on his inappropriate behavior, and Tomura couldn’t have the only responsibility he desired snatched away because of some bloated ovaries.

“I’m hungry,” you mumble, twiddling your thumbs.

Tomura wouldn’t address your complaints any other day, but he’s bewildered at the sight of your drenched shirt. Two patches stain the front, droplets of murky white dripping from the hem. You’re yanked around the corner quickly, plastered against his door.

“You’re really testing me, today. For God’s sake, I know I said I didn’t give two shits about you or that thing in your belly, but you’re walking around spraying milk like a damn cow. How-”

Tomura’s 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. “It won’t stop until it’s all gone,” you assure, nodding your head. “Just do this one favor for me, please?”

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.