#overhaul chisaki kai
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This thought has been in my head for too long, so... Overhaul theory ig?
We know that Chisaki was taken in by the old man, but I’ve always found that a bit strange. Why would he pick up a random kid off the streets, especially when the yakuza was already struggling financially? One can argue that he wanted an heir, that doesn’t fully make sense either—he already had a daughter, and there were other children within the organization who could have taken over.
So why go out of his way to adopt a completely unrelated child? My theory is that the old man had some kind of connection to All For One and already knew about Kai’s quirk and his background in the orphanage. That would explain why he specifically chose Chisaki instead of any other potential successor.
It's just a random thought, but it does kinda make sense. But idk I'd like to your your opinions on this. Be-bye!!
#chisaki kai#kaichisaki#kai chisaki#overhaul#chisaki kai overhaul#overhaul chisaki kai#pops mha#pops#mha#my hero academia
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The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]
Title: The Morning After [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]
Synopsis: You wake up in a room you’ve never been in to the sight of a man you’ve never met.
Word count: 3500ish
Notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, degradation, drugging

Memory and time and the world itself are fuzzy, gray things as you wake up. Before the abrupt, awful, heavy awakening, there was nothing--just a dull blackness where you did not exist.
Yet there’s a dim sense as the world returns to you, as your heavy eyes struggle to open, that you are, indeed, alive.
Alive and a person, you remember that, too. Alive and a person and... somewhere. You must exist somewhere, that is a basic tenant of existence, isn’t it? But as your eyes finally open and the world above you is stark white, too bright, you can’t quite remember where somewhere is.
Underneath your head, there is a body. That, too, feels heavy. So you flex it, or at least you try. Your fingers feel like fuzzy sticks but perhaps they are moving when you try to curl your hands. The fuzziness extends all the way through your body, like you’ve rolled around in pins and needles and have yet to shake them off.
Breathing--you’re breathing, too. That is a sign that you are alive, that you have returned to the world. Even if your mouth feels dry and sticky, and there is an awful taste in it. You open and close and it almost hurts; there’s a vaguely wet smacking sound, and the awful taste is amplified by the trace spit that registers against your tongue.
Your head hurts. Your neck, too--specifically one point. There’s an instinctive desire to reach for that point, and your arms obey, feeling like heavy lead, until your hand slaps against it. Why does it hurt like that?
It’s a small point of pain, like someone had stuck a needle into your--
And there. There. It all comes flooding back to you. Your name, your life, your world, the moments before it all went dark.
You worked the day it all went dark. It was an ordinary day of work, a bit stressful, with moments of reprieve. Your lunch had been soup and rice and a treat: blue raspberry soda from the vending machine. After work, you went grocery shopping--you needed something for dinner--and returned home to your apartment. You remember the sound of the key turning in the door, the surprise that there was a light on in your kitchen--hadn’t you turned it off that morning?--and then… and then…
The pain, in your neck. That small point. An awful prickling, like being stung by a bee. Only there was no time to swat it away, and you fell into darkness, the bags of groceries hitting the floor before you did.
That was… however long ago. How long had the world been gone? A few hours? A day? Days?
With the returned sense of self, your body seems to want to catch up with your mind, and the sense of buzzing heaviness fades away enough for you to push yourself up onto your elbows. The material underneath you is soft: a bed, a mattress, with plain white cotton sheets.
You’re in a bed. In a bed, in a room with plain white walls. There is sparse furniture: two wooden dressers, a table, two chairs. There looks to be a folding door--a closet?--and two more doors, besides.
Are you in a hospital? Did you pass out, and some kindly neighbor heard the thunk-thunk-thunk of your body and bags falling to the ground, then called for emergency services? It would explain the sparse room, although there’s no IV in your arm, no machines monitoring your heart rate.
It would explain, too, what you’re wearing.
You’re not wearing the clothes you fell down in. Instead, you’re wearing a cotton nightgown, made from a thick but relatively soft material. There is lace on the collar, which is strange (but not impossible, your mind reminds you) for a hospital. Still. It makes sense. You pry away a thin comforter with still fuzzy hands and see that your shoes are gone; your feet are clad in only soft white socks. That, too, makes sense. You wouldn’t be put in a hospital bed with work shoes. That would be silly, and silly things did not belong in hospitals--which must be where you are.
Even though there are no IVs hooked into your arm, and no machines monitoring your heart and blood pressure and many more things, besides. Even though this appears to be some private suite, and you were sure that no hospital would put someone who fainted into a fancy room like this. You weren’t wealthy or notable, just a nobody who lived in a mediocre apartment and had a mediocre job and--
The door opens, and a doctor walks in. Or he must be a doctor, because who else would walk in wearing a tailored black suit and a face mask, if you had woken up in a hospital? Which must be where you were--despite all the confusion, and the strange details, and the fact that you had neither the wealth or status to be in a private room like this.
He stops when he sees that you’re sitting up. He must be surprised to see you awake, or perhaps he’s looking you over for signs of continued injury, because the way he stares is a bit unnerving.
You want to ask where you are, and what happened, and if anyone called your emergency contact. But your head still feels heavy, a little cottony, and all that comes out is--
“Um.�� The word comes out all dry and croaked, and you’re suddenly aware of your dry, parched throat.
“I’ll get you water,” the mystery doctor says. He has dark hair and his voice is low, almost neutral. Well, it would be, wouldn’t it? Doctors probably had to practice speaking like that; like nothing was wrong, even if you’d clearly had some awful medical episode that required some sort of specialized care with a private room.
He steps away from the door he entered--locks it, too, and isn’t that strange?--and walks to the only other door in your suite. When it opens, you realize it’s a bathroom. Just as white and sterile-looking as the main area. There’s a squeak of a tap being turned on, and a rush of water, and before long he walks up to you.
Your heavy hands move forward to take the glass, but he takes one look at the trembling and tsks.
“I’ll hold it,” he says. The thought makes your stomach squirm but, he would know best, wouldn’t he?
So you don’t protest when he raises the glass lid to your lips, and tips it back so you can take a drink. He doesn’t hold it there for long. Just long enough for your throat to feel soothed and damped. Then the glass goes away, and he sets it down on the nearby table before grabbing a chair and placing it near the bed.
He sits.
You stare.
Shouldn’t he be taking your vitals, or something? The thought comes softly. He’s not like any doctor you’ve ever seen. And this is not like any hospital room you’ve ever been in; even a private suite should have… something, right? An IV bag trailing into your arm, a heart rate monitor in case something went wrong.
The sense of wrongness hangs in the air as he begins to speak.
“I’m glad you’re awake. I had to guess at your body weight, so I wasn’t sure if I had the correct dosage.”
Your brain feels heavy as you ask--
“The correct dosage…” Dosage, of what? “You mean, medicine?”
He blinks impassively at you. Then there are wrinkles around his eyes, like he might be smiling.
“The sedative.”
The sedative? The sedative--
Memories come back slow, unwillingly, like dragging your feet through heavy gray slush in the winter.
When you opened your apartment door, the kitchen light was on. The kitchen light was on and when you turned, there was something; no, not something. Someone. A man with no mouth--a mask--and cold eyes and there was a glint of silver before it plunged right into your neck.
This wasn’t a hospital.
The man in front of you wasn’t a doctor.
If you had been hooked up to a heart monitor, it would have no doubt gone haywire in the next moments, as you forced your leaden body to shove back against the wall, your trembling legs getting stuck on the cotton sheets of the bed. There was nowhere to go; the bed was pushed up against the wall and he blocked the only exit.
“You--you--” The words come out stuttered and tingling, like they aren’t even coming out of your mouth. “You kidnapped me.”
He eyes your sudden skittering with nothing more than a moment of raised eyebrows.
“I acquired you,” he corrects, as if that was a correction to be made at all. “To keep you safe. To keep you away from the filth.”
His words barely register as your breathing speeds up. You’ve been kidnapped. Kidnapped and redressed and taken to some bizarre room by someone who was clearly out of his mind. So you do the only thing you can think to do in an awful situation like this: you bargain.
“Please,” you say, and the dryness in your throat comes back and makes your words crack. “Please let me go. I won’t tell anyone. If--if it’s money you want, I don’t have much, but I can--”
He raises a gloved hand.
“Please, this has nothing to do with money. I won’t be letting you go.”
You shake your head, like that matters.
“Who are you?” You ask, not sure if you really want to know.
The lines around his eyes crinkle again.
“Chisaki Kai. That’s what you may call me, anyway.” He sighs, a soft, almost imperceptible sound. “Very few have the privilege of doing that, you know.”
You’d rather have your freedom than this thing he calls a privilege, but you don’t have the wordpower to voice that particular thought.
Your fingers cling to the only thing they can: the cotton sheets underneath you. Tighter and tighter, until they almost feel like they’ll cramp up.
“Why did you bring me here?” There are tears in your eyes now, and you can see his gaze begin to follow them as they trickle down your cheeks.
“To protect you,” is all he offers, before slapping his thighs and standing up. “Now, it’s time to get up.”
A million awful scenarios rush through your head at once, leaving you feeling sick. What is he going to do to you? Is he going to hurt you? Kill you? Are you just one in a long line of people he’s brought to this room, all drugged and hazy, before he kills them and does who knows what with the bodies?
You shake your head.
He tsks from behind the mask. There are no crinkles around his eyes, now.
“Get up,” he orders. Softly, yes, but there’s a finality and firmness to his tone that makes your wobbly legs push towards the end of the bed as if you were an automaton.
“Why?” You squeak out. If he’s going to kill you, will he tell you, first?
He turns around and repositions the chair so that it’s back at the table, and pulls out the second. His hands hover around you as he guides you on jelly-like legs to sit down.
“It’s time for breakfast.” A simple answer, like you had met him on the street and asked the time. Like he didn’t just admit to drugging you and kidnapping you.
“I’m not hungry,” comes the automatic answer. You’re not. Your stomach feels empty, but it’s wrenched; from fear and stress and gallons of adrenaline.
“You will eat breakfast,” he says, just as automatically. “You will eat everything on your plate, as well. I’ve calculated out the perfect nutrition for your needs.” There’s a bit of a smile to his voice, even though it doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.
The wooziness in your body, the fresh horror creeping from your skull down to your toes, keeps you rooted to the chair while he briefly leaves. When he returns, he’s carrying a tray--it reminds you of a hospital tray, despite everything--with a modest amount of bland, healthy looking food on it.
Your stomach turns.
--
The rest of your day comes in awful little vignettes, all blurry black around the edges, only becoming clearer when he explains the rules to you. It’s an awful form of clarity.
He doesn’t call them “the rules,” but that’s what they’re meant to be, certainly. He lays them out so simply, almost sickly sweet. Like you’ve been brought to some boarding school and are getting shown the ropes.
The thought of ropes makes you feel sick. But he hasn’t tied you up, and that’s some small relief.
Or it would be, if it weren’t for the rest of those black-rimmed vignettes that fill up your day.
When he picks out an outfit--a simple dress, a pair of clean underwear, and soft socks--and turns around, telling you to get changed. He won’t look, as long as you behave; as long as you don’t make a fuss.
When he shows you the dresser, the closet, the bathroom, the empty shelves. Tells you that if you behave, you’ll get rewarded; with books and paper and pencils. That the better you are, the happier you’ll be here, he says. Like you had any control over the situation at all.
When he makes you eat lunch and tells you to chew your food more slowly, more thoroughly. It helps with digestion, he says. You’ll get an upset stomach otherwise. As if you aren’t fighting the urge to gag with every bite you take--as if the reason you’re feeling queasy isn’t sitting in front of you with a mask on his face.
When you tell him, teary eyed, that you want to go home and burst into sobs but he merely waits until your hiccuping shoulders have ceased to move and tells you: “This is your home now. I’ll take care of you. Crying is only going to work you into hysterics.”
When you refuse to eat dinner--your first act of rebellion, such as it is--and he simply sighs, leans back, and tells you that if you refuse to eat, you will go to the clinic and be fed through an IV.
“Would you like that?” Honey drips bitterly from each word.
You would, in fact, not like that.
The spoon trembles when you lift it, but the soup goes inside your mouth, all the same.
--
“But why do you have to watch me?” The words come out dry and scratched. If you were home, you would brew yourself a cup of tea and drizzle in a modest amount of honey for good measure. You, however, are far from home.
“It’s my job to look after you.” Even if he wasn’t wearing the mask, you’d have no idea what he looks like right now, because you can only manage to stare at the tiles on the bathroom floor. Below you are your bare feet, feeling shakier than ever; above, your cheeks are burning so hot it almost hurts.
“You don’t have to… I’ve always--what I mean is--I can do this myself,” is what you manage, fists clenching at the soft fabric of your dress. It felt flimsy enough all day--how much flimsier, then, if you were to pull it over your head and let him see you bared?
“I’m sure you think that.” There’s something like a smile in his voice, and it’s a smile you hope to never see. “But the reason you’re here is that you can't take care of yourself. Now,” he says, with an air of finality. “Remove your clothing and step into the tub.”
There’s no room for argument. No room for pleading, no room to change his mind. There’s only one thing that you can do to end the situation, and that's to do exactly what he wants: take off your dress, your underwear, even your white padded socks, and sit in the clear water while he stares at your naked body.
“I’ll turn around while you get undressed.”
It’s a wonder that you don’t burst out laughing.
Instead, you fight back tears and look up, staring at the still back of the man who has turned your world into a frizzy, confusing mess in a matter of 24 hours.
Despite the warmth of the water steaming up the room, you shiver. Your heart might as well be in your ears, for how well you can hear it pounding. That haziness from the morning returns, a sort of numbness as your fingers clench the fabric of the dress and you pull up, up, up, slipping it over your head and dropping it on the floor.
The underwear takes longer to remove. So long that you worry he’ll turn around, and that’s what finally has you yanking the fabric down, has you stepping out of them and then--like an automaton cranked too tightly--rushing to step into the tub.
Water splashes around you as you settle, pulling your knees up to cover what you can.
He turns around and, of all things, kneels next to the tub. If he touches you--if he reaches for the sponge and tries to wash you--you think you’ll scream.
But his hands stay where they are, resting on his knee.
You look at his hands, and not his face. There’s nothing you want to see less than his eyes right now.
“Most people don’t know how to bathe properly,” he tells you, as if instructing you on something of high importance. And it probably is, to him. You can sense the beginning of some long speech, a list of things you must do in the bath, just as he gave you a list of things you must do when dressing, when eating, when everything.
“I know how to wash myself,” you mumble, feeling hot around the ears.
He doesn’t bother acknowledging you, and a further rush of shame flushes through your chest and threatens to jump out and migrate to the wobbling knees pressed against it.
Instead, he points--you follow his hands, still unable to look anywhere else--to a line of cloths and brushes hanging from hooks on the wall of the tub.
“They’re color-coded,” he offers, almost cheery. “Pink is for the initial scrubbing, to slough away the initial dirt and dead skin. Blue is for cleansing with antibacterial soap. Purple is for rinsing.” His fingers tap the brushes. “The same for the brushes, for your back.”
There’s a moment where you think he might actually grab the cloth and wash you, but thankfully, his hands return to their former position.
A moment more--two or three, at least--and he clears his throat.
“Start with your legs. Most people do not scrub their legs well enough, and it leads to an excess amount of dead skin.” There’s a bit of distaste in his voice at the mention of dead skin. Your thoughts go to the gloves on his hands, the mask, the insistence on making sure you get clean enough in this tub of his.
You grab the pink cloth. Dip it in the hot water, and start scrubbing at your knee.
He clears his throat again, and your stomach drops.
“Put your legs down. Scrub under the water, so the dead skin doesn’t accumulate on the cloth.”
No. No. No-no-no-no-no. It’s what you want to say, a simple word, a clear word.
But the word is stuck in your mouth, and you’re left with nothing to do but let your knee slide down, one, then the other.
He can see you. He can see you.
The thought makes the held-up tears finally come, bubbling out like soap. Something childish in you glances at him, then, hoping for pity--for disturbance, for him to wonder if perhaps he’s doing the right thing.
But the only thing you see in his eyes is a flash of impatience.
“If you take too long,” he says, over your sniffles, “the water will not be hot enough to disinfect. We’ll have to start over, at that point.” Start over and--would he want to take over, fed up with your clear incompetence?
And so you get back to work, the colored-coded cloth scraping at your skin, and you can only hope you’re doing it well enough to avoid dragging out the bath any longer than possible.
“Don’t forget behind your knees,” he murmurs. Despite not looking at him, you can feel his eyes on you. Watching. Assessing.
And that’s what he does: assess. Because the comments don’t stop, even as you move on to cleansing and rinsing and everything else he’s ordering you to do.
Wash this. Scrub that. Do it gently, do it harder. Use this soap and only one pump--don’t wash your hair like that, it causes breakage--let me test the water to make sure it’s hot enough.
--
That night, on clean sheets, in a clean nightgown, with a clean body, you cry yourself to sleep.
And in the morning, when you wake up, you’re still here.
And Overhaul still comes in through the door, breakfast tray in hand, a smile hidden behind his mask.
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if only | various male characters x fem!reader | mha

summary. Maybe leaving him wasn't the best decision to ever do.
genre. dark. explicit smut. nsfw. 18+
word count. 1.7k
characters. aizawa shota (eraserhead). chisaki kai (overhaul). takami keigo (hawks). todoroki touya (dabi).
warnings. dubcon/noncon. all in an established relationship. quirk au. vulgar language. cunnilingus (aizawa). rough fuck. penis in vagina sex. overstimulation. multiple orgasms. creampies. stomach bulge (dabi). manhandling. forcing. evident male dominance. yandere themes. possessive. obsession. mentions of killing (dabi). selfish behaviour. egoistic behaviour. indicated the use of quirk. breeding kink (dabi). praising (dabi).
disclaimer. Please note that this work is entirely fictional. It is not intended to condone, glorify, or encourage any form of violence, illegal activity, or harmful behaviour. All characters (credits to the manga artists), scenarios, and events are products of the author's imagination and/or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or real events is purely coincidental. The purpose of this work is to entertain and provoke thought, not to promote harmful behaviour.
notes. finally done with this! been itching to post this as quick as possible. i definitely didn't like how i wrote them but enjoy sluts, tried to make it spine-shivering as much as possible! reposting 'cause i found out that tumblr didn't kind of added it into the no. of my posts?? idk why

shota aizawa (eraserhead) — If only you weren't clumsy enough.
Oh love. That was the biggest mistake you have ever made to him. Do you think that you could easily slip away from his sight? Oh my. How dumb of you. You may have a strong quirk but it doesn't surpass his level... and he'll make sure to let it stay that way.
A trembling shaking rattled on the bedframe as you arched your back from the pleasuring sensation. Pants and moans vibrate against the wall of the room. No matter how much you want to try to push the head away from your cunt, your hands prevented you from doing so as it is tightly tied by his binding cloth, whereas with each forceful pull you create, it suddenly stiffens its fabric.
You moan loudly as you squirm under his touch. "Stop moving," he ordered in a vicious tone. Then, a warm wet long stripe was placed on your cunt, making you hold your breath. A strangled moan left your lips as you attempted to break the cloth that was chaining you.
"I-I can't—ah! No, n-ngh! Ah! no, s-stop. Aizawa!" you exclaimed, panting in the process.
"I said stop squirming." he painfully held your hips in place as he halted his motion. Your eyes slide down to him as you find him with a raging fire, "You wouldn't been in this position if only you had been obedient to me."
Then he slowly rises from his position as he continue to glower down at you, "You know you can't escape from me, love."
You heard a rapid swish of fabric as you found your legs bound up in a lewd position, wide open for him. "N-not like this! A-Aiza—" A painful feeling slapped your pussy which made your back arch. "Shut up."
A sinful smirk slowly formed on his lips. Who would have thought that his fantasies would come true? He was thankful that you attempted to escape, but it still does infuriate if you wanted to leave him. He didn't like that idea, nor would he let it happen. Maybe... it is time to mark you.
Then, he quietly placed his hands on the middle of his pants before unzipping it. A look of fear and shock was evident on your face as you knew what it meant
"Aizawa! No, no, no!" you attempt to back away from the raging man, but he grabbed your thighs and pulled you down to him to let you feel his hardened cock with your bare vagina—you moaned at the sensation. Pride was evident on his face as he spoke in a possessive tone.
"I'll always find you, love."
kai chisaki (overhaul)— If only you were fearless.
Darling, darling, darling. Why did you ever think that you would be able to escape from his grasp? He didn't do all those cheesy courtship with no purpose just for you to leave him. He did it all in his satisfaction to have you caged within him despite that you were a great benefit to the yakuza. Hence, you are his possession—and there is no way for you break free.
"Fuck—so... t-tight. Fucking tight." A deep growl emitted from his chest as he thrusts his fat cock into your gummy walls. You moan from your taped mouth and warm tears fall on your cheeks from the overstimulation.
A pleasured moan left his mouth as he stared down at you, a contemptuous smile was plastered on his face. You looked so pretty taking his godly size dick—it fits well with your pussy. Although he's been fucking you for who knows how many rounds, his rage hasn't been satiated yet.
The fact that you tried to leave him really fucking blood-boiled him. He has never felt this way after the heroes attempted to meddle in his business. Upon the thought entering his mind, his eyes darken immediately as he pushed the back of your thighs to your chest.
Your felt your eyes widen at a new sensation as your chest rose, heaving at the new position he put you into. It was the position you knew that would make you feel his size.
Feel him more.
You attempt to push his hands from your thighs with your taped wrists, but it keep slipping off from the body sweat formed. Then, he harshly flicked his hips onto you. Your body jerked as you felt the tip of his dick kissed your womb.
The smile remained on Kai's face as he leaned forward, "Feel that, darling? You're not dumb enough to know what it means." a chuckle erupted from his chest as he pulled out until his tip before slamming back deeply, making your body jerk again and a moan leaving your lips.
Then a sudden shivers crawled on your body under his, making his cock more slick from your cum. Kai lets out a short deep laugh before he slides his hand from your thighs to your clit, having one of your legs hanging on his shoulder.
You try to take in deep breaths as your eyes make contacts with his lust-filled ones. He tilts his head slightly with a naughty smirk.
"You can release one more, right darling? After all, you deserve this punishment."
takami keigo (hawks) — If only you weren't slow.
Sweetheart, you knew that you could never outrun him—so, why did you still do it? You are one dumb girl with a mediocre quirk, but he still loves you. It's just that your stupid mind persuaded you to leave him. Says who? He gave you no order about that—in fact, you have no rights to step away. Once he laid his eyes on you, he knew that he had to fly and catch you.
"Ngh-ah! Fuck! K-Keigo!"
"That's it. Moan my name, sweetheart."
He grabbed your hips before pulling it to his hips with a tight grip, hitting your g-spot perfectly. You hiss at the sensation as you gently place your forehead on the wall, trying to catch your breath. Hawks continued to thrust in your pussy, but it wasn't the usual way he does. He never would have acted so rough to you if you hadn't tried to hide and run away from him.
It aches his heart to put you in this position, but you need to learn your lesson.
Pants and groans escaped his lips as he pushed you more to the wall, drunk in bliss. He snakes his arms around your chest, grabbing one of your tits to twist your nipples and waist to hold you—he wants to feel your skin. Only moans are emitted from you as you try to pull away from him while clawing his arms.
"Ah, ah, ah. Sweetheart, you'll only make it worse. Hah... s-shit. J-Just allow me–ngh–to fuck you like this," he pauses as he pulls his hips until his tip is in you before slamming it deeply to your cunt, you arch your back greatly as you moan—uttering curses beneath your breath. "You'll eventually like this..."
Yes, you will like this. He'll do anything to keep you and a good hard fuck may help him hinder your ability to walk and run.
Maybe, that is a good idea—it'll let him keep watch of you. The thought of that made him more aroused as he slowly quickened his pace. Yet, you were too fucked up in pleasure to notice the malicious intent your boyfriend had in mind.
But it's okay, as long as he has you—he'll do anything.
"Sweetheart, you know I am the only man for you, oh—ngh? Ah—fuck... hmm, right?"
todoroki touya (dabi) — If only you were strong enough.
Dilly dally doll, such a beauty you are. Yet, you are such a fucking pain in the ass. You dare to escape from him—were you insane enough to consider that he'll never find you? Doll, you are wrong there. You have such a weak body with a weak quirk, he definitely doesn't want you to go to unknown places because he actually fucking cares about you. Maybe... there is another method to keep you by his side.
Deep grunts and vulgar words escaped the scarred lips of the villain as he gripped your plump sides, shooting thick ropes of white sticky liquid in your womb.
"Take it all like a good girl, doll. That's it." he licked his lips in satisfaction as he watched the erotic scene before him.
You look so pretty under him, just being a perfect cumdump for him. Although, he just hated your pettiness—who told you that you could leave him? Just because he accidentally put on a show of his ruthless killings of heroes in front of you, you had the nerve to escape. He is just doing his job, it's not really a big deal.
His eyes darken at the thought.
He pulled his dick out of your swollen pussy, letting the cum leak from your hole and giving a painful smack on your ass. A smirk forms on his face as he slides the leak sensually back into your hole, "That's the right place. Keep it in, doll. I really don't want you to piss me off again after that silly little stunt you've pulled."
You yelp in pain when you feel a stinging heat place on your clit as you comply with his order, carrying your body in a doggy position.
A boost of confidence fires in Dabi's core as he looks at your pussy clenching to hold his essence in you. But his ego wasn't the only one that fired in you, his huge cock was standing up again. He contemplates methods
Maybe, there is a way to let you stay with him.
Before you even attempted to get up from your bruising position, your face was suddenly pushed on the bed mercilessly, your ass at a higher height with an inviting pussy, and you felt a prodding tip in your entrance as it was gone in.
A loud moan from you echoed the room smelled of sex and sweat as Dabi let out a hiss to your tightness even if your mixed essence with his served as a lube.
"Touya! Wait, I-I just came!" you exclaimed, turning your head to the side.
A deep chuckle emitted from his chest as he snapped his hips against yours. You felt a protruding bulge on your belly when he snapped, jerking your body in reaction. His eyes held a purpose behind those lust and temptation as he leaned down, marking you with hickeys.
"I need to make sure that my baby mama doesn't waste a drop of my cum. I am certain you'll be a great mama, doll."
all dividers are from @/cafekitsune, thank you <33
#dashitsxx#eraserhead smut#overhaul smut#dabi smut#hawks smut#dashitsxx.devil#dashitsxx.nightmare#dashitsxx.aizawa#dashitsxx.overhaul#dashitsxx.hawks#dashitsxx.dabi#shota aizawa#aizawa shota#mha eraserhead#chisaki kai#kai chisaki#mha overhaul#takami keigo#keigo takami#mha hawks#todoroki toya#toya todoroki#mha dabi#mha smut#bnha smut#yandere mha
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❛ BUT I LOVE MESSIN’ WITH YA !
PAIRINGS; subbot!k. chisaki (overhaul) x reader
CWS; amab!reader, brat taming ig, belly bulge, afab!chisaki, choking, mentions of biting/marking, not mentioned if reader is a hero/villain etc ((up to u >_>)),, cunnlingus/face riding, creampie(s), p in v sex, ooc idfk 😒😒, cowgirl position, lowercase on purposeosos!!,, not proof read
notes: rewatchde mha and im 5 eps away from being doen with s4 and good god overhaul is so..😛😛,,this is lazily done srry but i have TOOOO much shit in my drafts so i needa work on thag.,,,;..
KAI CHISAKI who's always so rude and bossy towards others, pushing and bullying them into doing what he wants them to because he has to get his way all the time for some odd reason, not caring how many nasty comments he has to make to get what he wants. what a brat... KAI CHISAKI who thinks he's better than everyone because of his gigantic ego, like he rules the world or something. it never mattered how small or how little the person was, he always frightened or threatened them enough to do whatever he says. some definitely needs to put him in his place, but no one has the guts to do so because they're all so terrified and intimidated by him... except for you.
a low, almost inaudible whimper falls from kai's lips, a familiar sound you gotten used to as he hovers over your face, staring down at you with half-lidded lust filled eyes. And as he lowers himself down onto your face, he can't contain the moan that immediately left him when he felt your lips suckling on his clit, giving all your attention to the sensitive nub while he began rocking his hips, slowly finding a rhythm.
kai ends up grabbing a fist full of your hand when he's about to cum, grinding down onto your mouth hastily as he desperately chased his orgasm, his soaked pussy making a mess all over your face. and when he does come? he's loud as ever, so loud to the point where he has to cover his mouth with his hand, head thrown back in ecstasy as rides out wave after wave of pleasure.
KAI CHISAKI who'd always keep a stoic face and cold attitude, but when he's around you? he's a completely different person— he's always so loud and whiney whenever you go down on him, his body trembling in ways only you can cause. And he gets wet so easily too... it doesn't matter what you do to him honestly, you could literally just brush your hand against his waist or his thigh and his cunts practically drooling for you, begging for your girthy length.
KAI CHISAKI who loves when you bend his smaller body into all sorts of positions, but his personal favorite is definitely when you let him ride you. It makes him feel like he's in control... at least a little bit. he enjoys being on top because he gets to see your face while he pleases you, which pleases him— a lot.
“hmmph...” kai's breath hitches as he continues to move, his thighs aching while his body screams at him to stop, but he can't bring himself to do so. he loves looking down to see your face, being able to see how much pleasure he was bringing to you as his walls contract around your member. there are pretty marks scattered from his collarbone all the way up to his jawline along with marks on his neck that resembled handprints from you not too long ago, a sign that he belonged to you.
at some point, chisaki's head falls back when he feels your finger start to rub his clit while your other hand press against the bulge of your thick cock poking through his tummy, it was crazy how deep you were— it felt like he could feel you in his fucking throat. there's a white ring forming where the two of you are joined together, the mixture of your fluids causing kai's pussy to make an oddly satisfying squelching sound due to how sticky it was.
KAI CHISAKI who doesn't let anyone control him or forbid him from getting what he wants, but when it comes to you... he's on his knees whenever you ask, willing to give you whatever you want without and doubt or hesitation.
© duhlore,, do not repost or copy at all pls >_>
#꒰ ૮꒰ྀིᴗ͈ ˕ ᴗ͈꒱ྀིა﹕ ηαs𝚒𝕣❜ 𝔀ᵣᵢₜₑₛ 𓈒 ࿔#top male reader#bottom male character#ftm character#afab character#my hero academia#mha#boku no hero academia#bnha#my hero academia x reader#mha x reader#boku no hero acedamia x reader#bnha x reader#overhaul#overhaul x reader#kai chisaki#kai chisaki x reader#bnha smut#mha smut
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#bnha#boku no hero academia#mha#my hero academia#shigaraki tomura#overhaul#kai chisaki#my art#.2023#sketch#artists on tumblr
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#bnha#my hero academia#mha#boku no hero academia#boku no hero manga#bnha manga#horikoshi art#kai chisaki#mha chisaki#mha overhaul#bnha overhaul#overhaul#shie hassaikai arc#mha eri#eri my hero academia#eri mha#bnha eri#eri bnha#horikoshi sketches#horikoshi sketch#official art mha#mha official art#bnha official art
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Can’t believe these two are still alive but Tenko and most of the League are dead.


#bnha#mha#bnha 430#mha 430#bnha manga leaks#bnha manga spoilers#muscular#overhaul#kai chisaki#shigaraki tomura#shimura tenko#league of villains#boku no hero academia#my hero academia
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₊˚⊹ 𝗠𝘆 𝗛𝗲𝗿𝗼 𝗔𝗰𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗺𝗶𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽 𝗛𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗻𝗼𝗻𝘀 ⊹˚₊
Featuring: Dabi ✧ Shigaraki Tomura ✧ Kurogiri ✧ Overhaul (Kai Chisaki) ✧ Twice ✧ Stain ✧ Mr. Compress ✧ Spinner
──── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────
Reminder! These head-canons are all about keeping it realistic—flaws and all. So let’s Step into the unpredictable world of the LOV and find out how each one might love… or destroy.
────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────
Dabi
Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Dabi is emotionally unavailable, distant, and self-destructive—not exactly the kind of guy who showers you with love. If you expect softness, don’t. He keeps things casual at first and doesn’t do labels. You might not even know if you’re actually dating until he starts getting jealous over stupid things, like you talking to Twice for too long.
His way of showing “affection” is dark humor, teasing, and physical closeness, but he won’t open up emotionally. If you push for anything deeper, he’ll push back—hard. He’s reckless and doesn’t care if he gets hurt, so seeing someone care about him makes him uncomfortable. But deep down? It scares him even more that he wants to care about you.
Dabi’s biggest red flag? Disappearing for days without warning and expecting you to be fine with it. His biggest green flag? Once he’s actually attached, he’d burn the world for you.
Who He’s Drawn To: Someone who can keep up with his dark humor and cynicism but isn’t naive enough to think they can “fix” him. He likes people with bite, someone who calls him out on his BS but won’t get overly emotional about it. He might say he prefers someone detached, but the truth? He will fall for who make him feel something, even when he doesn’t want to.
⸻
Shigaraki Tomura
Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Shigaraki is possessive, emotionally intense, and socially awkward. He doesn’t trust easily, and even if he likes you, he’ll push you away at first—partially because he doesn’t want to be dependent on anyone, partially because he’s scared of literally decaying you.
He’s territorial as hell but not in the traditional way. He won’t be the type to glare at people for looking at you, but if someone disrespects you? They’re dead. No hesitation. He doesn’t believe in showing off love publicly, but privately? He’s clingy, needy, and desperate for validation.
His biggest struggle? Controlling his emotions. If he’s angry, he needs space—otherwise, he might say something he regrets. If he’s hurt, he’ll shut down completely. You need patience to be with him, but if you stick around? He’ll worship the ground you walk on.
Who He’s Drawn To: Someone patient and understanding, but not weak. He hates being pitied, so he’s drawn to people who see him for who he is and accept him without trying to change him. If you’re overly emotional or clingy, he’ll get overwhelmed, but he also can’t handle people who are too distant. He needs a middle ground—someone who gives him space but never actually leaves.
⸻
Kurogiri
Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Kurogiri is calm, composed, and weirdly protective. He acts like a caretaker, making sure you’re safe, fed, and taken care of—but in a way that feels more paternal than romantic at times. He doesn’t show love in words, but through actions. He always remembers the little things, like your favorite drink or when you need rest.
He’s insanely loyal, and once he considers you his, nothing will shake that. He’s also the least toxic of the bunch, but that doesn’t mean he’s harmless. If anyone threatens you? They disappear. No questions asked.
Who He’s Drawn To: Someone intelligent, mature, and emotionally stable. He doesn’t do chaos—he already has to deal with Shigaraki’s tantrums. He prefers someone composed but not lifeless, someone who understands when to push him and when to back off. If you’re reckless or impulsive, he’ll spend most of his time cleaning up your messes.
⸻
Overhaul (Kai Chisaki)
Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Overhaul is controlling, distant, and obsessive—but in a cold, calculating way rather than a passionate one. You don’t date Overhaul. He chooses you. And if he does? You belong to him. He doesn’t do casual relationships, and he doesn’t tolerate disobedience.
He doesn’t show affection traditionally—he shows it by protecting you, providing for you, and keeping you “safe” (aka isolating you from anything he deems a “threat”). He expects complete loyalty, and if you betray him? There’s no forgiveness.
His biggest red flag? Treating you like an extension of himself rather than an individual. His biggest green flag? He’d do anything to keep you safe—no matter what it takes.
Who He’s Drawn To: Someone obedient, disciplined, and composed. He doesn’t do messy, chaotic people—he sees them as weak. If you’re too independent or rebellious, he won’t waste time on you. But if you’re someone who follows his rules? He’ll protect and care for you with unwavering devotion.
⸻
Twice
Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Twice is chaotic, affectionate, and emotionally all over the place. He falls fast and hard, and once he loves you, you’re his world. He craves constant reassurance and hates being alone, so he’ll cling to you like a lost puppy.
He’s funny, playful, and makes you laugh constantly, but his mental instability makes things unpredictable. One second he’s showering you with affection, the next he’s spiraling into self-doubt.
His biggest struggle? His identity crisis. Sometimes he questions if he’s real—and he’ll need you to ground him when that happens.
Who He’s Drawn To: Someone patient, fun, and good at handling emotions. He needs stability in his life, but he’s drawn to kindness and warmth. If you can’t handle his highs and lows, it won’t work.
⸻
Stain
Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Stain is intense, ideological, and hard to get close to. He doesn’t do casual relationships—if he’s with you, it’s because he sees you as worthy. He respects strength and doesn’t tolerate weakness, so he’s more likely to be your mentor before your lover.
Affection? Extremely rare. But if he does love you, he shows it by guiding you, protecting you, and believing in you.
Who He’s Drawn To: Someone strong-willed, independent, and unshakable. If you’re weak, he won’t respect you. If you’re shallow, he won’t even look at you.
⸻
Mr. Compress
Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Mr. Compress is charming, theatrical, and deeply intelligent—he’s the kind of guy who always knows the right thing to say at the right time. His relationship style is playful and flirtatious, but not shallow. He enjoys keeping you on your toes, teasing you with smooth one-liners, and making you feel like you’re in a storybook romance.
Despite his playful nature, he’s calculating and highly perceptive—he knows exactly what makes you tick, and he uses that to his advantage. He’s not controlling, but he is manipulative in subtle ways. If he wants you to do something, he won’t demand it—he’ll persuade you so smoothly that you think it was your idea all along.
Affection with him is grand yet personal—he loves dramatic gestures, deep conversations, and making you feel like the protagonist in his performance. But underneath the showmanship, he’s guarded. You might feel like you know him, but in reality? He only lets you see what he wants you to see.
His biggest red flag? Keeping secrets and only revealing what benefits him. His biggest green flag? He will always keep things interesting, and he deeply values intelligence and emotional depth in a partner.
Who He’s Drawn To: Someone quick-witted, playful, and not easily fooled. He loves a good verbal sparring match, and he needs a partner who can challenge him intellectually. He’s drawn to people who have a strong sense of self, because as much as he enjoys the game of persuasion, he respects someone who can’t be easily swayed.
If you’re too naive or gullible, he’ll find it boring. But if you’re too closed off, he’ll get frustrated trying to figure you out. The perfect balance? Someone just as clever as him, but who keeps their cards close to their chest.
⸻
Spinner
Their Dynamic in a Relationship: Spinner is loyal, nerdy, and awkwardly devoted. Out of all the LOV members, he’s the most “normal” boyfriend, meaning he actually tries to have a healthy relationship—but his insecurities hold him back.
He’s used to being overlooked and underestimated, so if you show genuine interest in him? He attaches quickly. He’s not the best at flirting, and he might even doubt that you actually like him at first. He’ll need a lot of reassurance, but once he trusts you, he’s ride-or-die loyal.
He’s a dork at heart, so expect gaming dates, deep talks about hero society, and late-night rants about Stain’s ideology. He wants someone to believe in him, and if you do? He’ll worship you.
His biggest red flag? Low self-esteem, which can lead to him being overly dependent on you for validation. His biggest green flag? He genuinely wants to be better for you.
Who He’s Drawn To: Someone supportive, patient, and willing to see past his flaws. He doesn’t expect perfection, but he needs to feel respected. If you belittle him or make him feel like he’s “lesser” than other villains, he’ll shut down.
He’s most compatible with someone who makes him feel strong and valued, but also someone who won’t let him obsess over his inferiority complex. He needs a grounded, steady presence in his life.
« So, you went for the bad boys, huh? But what if you had a hero instead? If you’re curious about the softer, more righteous side of love, check out the Heroes x Reader version. »
Let me know if you have any feedback or if there’s any warnings I need to put on my post, I also take any requests from all fandoms that I know of. I hope you enjoyed reading this!
#mha x gender neutral reader#mha hcs#mha hc#mha headcanons#mha fanfiction#mha#mha x reader#mha x y/n#bnha x y/n#bnha hcs#bnha hc#bnha x reader#bnha fanfiction#bnha#bnha headcanons#mha x gn!reader#bnha x gender neutral reader#bnha x gn!reader#dabi#dabi x reader#shigaraki tomura#shigaraki x reader#kurogiri x reader#overhaul x reader#kai chisaki x reader#twice x reader#Stain x reader#mr. compress x reader#spinner x reader#inkbyme
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"Epilogue" yeah it's over... over with little to nothing happening. No reassurance.

Nagant? No where to be found. Dabi? Disintegrated. Chisaki? Living in Hawaii.
Oh, but thank GOD we got that panel of Koichi.

<after checking Twitter(X?) again>
WAIT!!
I SPOKE TOO SOON!!!


#bnha#mha#kai chisaki#overhaul#chisaki kai#lady nagant#kaina tsutsumi#dabi#touya todoroki#bnha leaks#mha leaks#bnha 424#mha 424#i was about to cry#i was about to say a lot of thing's i would've regretted
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oh noooo kinks post is gone 😭😭
buddy, you lurkin? this was up for an hour 😳 jk jk—this was filthy, made me feel like i was too disgusting on the internet or shadowbanned. anyways yk what? here you go (cause it was fun to write) <3
(18+) MHA kinks (shiggy, overhaul, dabi)
cw: coercion/gaslighting, edging (lol?), s/m, asphyxiation(implied), kai's mysophobia (the correct term is microphobia but anyways)
Shigaraki: i think he’s into gaslighting and coercion and ik the latter doesn’t classify as a kink (more like an offense) but hear me out:
he brought you to that miserable bar the LoV hangs out in and can’t stop touching you, while you’re forced to sit on his lap. you love public, right? well, no and he knows. whether the LoV watches or not doesn't matter, he wants to see your attitude change, once you can't hide the fact he's fucking you over fabric anymore. his cock twitches, when he stops and you silently beg with your eyes. he'll tell you that he thought you didn't like this while you’ll apologize for even thinking that.
when alone, he’ll have you sprawled on the bed, parting your legs and asking you which you prefer, his fingers or tongue. you’ll brokenly breathe out a “fingers, please” as he’ll sneer and..oblige. he’s clearly skilled, his fingertips tease your cunt as if he’s strumming close chords on a guitar and fuck—you look pretty as shit watching him push them inside. ‘’so you’re saying that you don't like my tongue, yeah?’’ he’ll feign sorrow, you never said that but he makes you reflect on it. ‘’you know what i think? i think you’ll like my tongue just fine’’ he’ll tell you and start sucking on the swelled nub as you tremble. ‘’actually.. you’ll like it more’’
once you shamelessly cum on his tongue exhausted, he’ll continue. ‘’ready for the main event?’’ he’ll ask as you beg him to at least wait a second, you ache down there but he obviously doesn’t care. ‘’there’s no time to wait..come on baby, you know it feels better the second time around.’’ he’ll tell you as his tip splits your folds. you ultimately consider that he might be right after all. actually, he’s never wrong.
Overhaul: this man has an edging kink.. before you say anything, it’s not what you think.
he’ll have you on that examination table (not too heavy on his medical kink tho), mask and gloves on, of course what did you think? that he’d make an exception? the fact he’s even touching you is enough boundaries crossed for him. his gloved hand will spread your juices across your pussy, as he winces behind the bird mask. he hates dirt, bodily fluids, liquids, any bodily emission/discharge, call it whatever you want. the moment he senses your pulse and legs jerking, he’ll remove his hand in fear you might cum on his gloves. you’ll whimper upset but he doesn’t really care, you should thank him for allowing you this proximity in the first place.
same with sex. condoms with him is like the concept of gravity — self fucking explanatory. sometimes he’ll even use two. don’t get him wrong, it’s not like you are the problem, it’s more like your body, he feels like he purifies you each time he thrusts calculated in your cunt (he's delusional). he likes you being vocal as long as you don’t accidentally spit on him, which will earn you a slap.
to prove that the issue is not you, the man will not allow himself to cum inside you, even with the (2) condoms on. he just prefers transmitting the ‘filth’ directly onto you, which means he’ll have you pump his cock and receive all his load (wherever it lands, he makes sure it's angled towards you).
he's a weirdo of course, but he makes up for it in aftercare. he sterilizes you like there’s no tomorrow. if you’re lucky and you make him cum quick and clean, he might offer a cup of tea and your favorite snack.
Dabi: sadomasochism. i’ve seen both variations separately done for him before — i just think he’s both.
obviously he’s more into the first (sadism). will treat you like a potato sack, lifting you up without asking, throwing (literally throwing) you to the bed, not caring about where you’ll land and ripping/burning the fabric that clings onto you. assaults your cunt—spits on it and slaps the clit with his hands (sometimes too hard, it makes you cry).
facefucks you the minute you get a hold of his cock, he doesn’t even give you a second, he will grab your head and move it to an unforgiving pace. definitely a cheek slapper — needs to feel his dick in your gums from outside. he might pinch your nose shut and leave you with no airway to..survive. but it’s ok, you make it out alive.
has ropes and recently bought a leash and a collar. it’s red with a black handle and he uses it each time you talk too much. might get bored just holding the handle as he needs to touch (bruise) you, so he’ll hang it to the bed’s end and just pull at the steel. shoots his cum inside only when you're loud enough to make his ears ring. (rip neighbors, they're already considering moving out after they called the cops on him and he almost fried them)
until..
the thing is.. Dabi lives in the past, he doesn’t share his life with anyone so how is he supposed to not dwell on it by himself? has a lot of inflicted pain he can’t share but subconsciously craves. the first time you take liberty in causing him pain ever so little is accidental. you are on top, he’s setting the pace, sure, but your weight falls on his face as your arms enclose his neck. you’re not trying, hell, you don’t even know how to choke someone properly (why would you?) but you need to hold on to something and you think you’re imagining it when you hear a very soft moan. no, you’re definitely imagining it. it will cross your mind later on.
after that, you try to experiment in the territory, you’re in missionary and he thrusts inside you while you bring his neck close and squeeze again. this time you deliberately apply pressure as he hisses a fuck so.. you slap him. it’s a light, small smack on his cheek, again, you don’t want to piss him off but he groans, this time louder and you grin. you might end up slapping him harder the more the sex progresses, the staples hurt your knuckles but he’s making desperate (sexy) sounds.
he’s not gonna be descriptive since he is waay too embarrassed (you will never hear a ‘’shit, i love it when you cause me pain, babe’’) but you don’t care, his expressions tell you everything you need to know.
the next time you’re on top and test the waters, you grab the leash and collar from the nightstand and raise a brow. that’s how most of the communication flows, with mute understanding. he’ll huff in annoyance while his hips involuntarily buck up and he’ll mutter: ‘’shit, whatever.. get this over with.’’ (i hc he calls you bro when embarrassed lol) breath already hitched as you adjust the buckle to his neck. safe to say you’re more than proud to see him fall apart, even if tears never spill from his eyes.
#shigaraki x reader#dabi x reader#overhaul x reader#mha smut#shigaraki headcanons#dabi headcanons#mha x reader#shigaraki tomura x reader#chisaki kai x reader#tw coercion#tw bd/sm
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This is the best thing Horikoshi could've done for Overhaul's fate:
Doesn't let him off the hook for what he did to Eri especially.
Forces him to feel guilty and apologize to Eri for the rest of his life.
Makes sure that he never forgets Eri and what he did to her.
Let's his old boss (Eri's grandfather who was forced into a coma by Overhaul prior to her being abused if I remember correctly), basically haunt him for the rest of his fucking life to make sure he's pays for his sins.
Absolutely 100% fucking deserved 👏
#mha 427#bnha 427#mha spoilers#bnha spoilers#my hero academia spoilers#boku no hero academia spoilers#overhaul#kai chisaki#eri#talk to him#good fucking writing#speak your shit
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To a Mouse [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]
Title: To a Mouse [Yandere Overhaul x Reader]
Synopsis: The best laid escape plans of mice and men often go awry.
Word Count: 2200ish
notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, abusive behavior, drugging

You’ve been planning. Bad, bad thing that you are--not that Overhaul knows about the planning. Not that he knows you call him Overhaul, in your head, all the while “Kai” bubbles from your lips like sweet candy.
Not that he knows that while you obey and nod and pretend to go along with it, you’re screaming, plotting, fervently dreaming about the day that you’ll get away from him.
That day is today, in fact.
All thanks to two things: your penchant for drawing, and his penchant for closing his eyes while you change into your nightgowns.
The drawing is what earned you the box of pencils. They’re nice pencils, middle-of-the-road when it comes to quality. Better than the cheap pencils schoolchildren get, but a seasoned artist might not work with them. You, though, are no seasoned artist. You’re simply a kidnapping victim who liked to draw in their spare time before all this, and after weeks of behaving, he let you have a box of pencils and paper to keep in your room when he wasn’t there.
Because you were good. Because he trusted you.
His mistake.
That pencil is sharpened now, razor sharp or something close to it; it won’t kill him, you’re not that naive. But you’re sure that you can jab it into his flesh enough to hurt, enough to send him to his knees long enough for you to rush into his office and get one of the knives he keeps in his desk. And that’s what will kill him. That’s what will secure his death--and your freedom.
It’s his mistake, too, that he gives you a hint of privacy now and then. When you get dressed, especially. In the morning, when you change; in the evening, when you shower, then again when you change into your nightgown.
The pencil would be useless, without that hint of privacy. Because it had given you the opportunity to slip the pencil from your shirt sleeve and, quick as a bird, slide it underneath the comforter before he took you to the bathroom to shower.
And here you were, sitting in bed with a hand tucked under the comforter and holding onto that pencil; skin scrubbed raw and smelling of sterile soap. Clean. Fresh. Ready.
He’s still turned around, and you put an earnest smile into your voice.
“I’m dressed, Kai.” Dressed and ready to never call him Kai again. Dressed and trembling, fingers tight around the pencil, waiting for the perfect time to strike.
The perfect time comes when he turns around, eyes crinkled in what must be a smile behind his mask, and approaches to tuck your blanket over you. It’s a soft think--pink and sweet, like he wants you to be.
His fingers are smoothing out the blanket, his words forming some sort of soothing goodnight message, when your arm whips around and you stab the pencil straight into his neck.
The pencil makes contact, you think. But it doesn’t plunge into his flesh the way you imagined it would. It scratches--leaving a jagged quickly -reddening gash--and Overhaul falls to one knee, giving you only a second to scamper off the bed and flee through the doorway connecting your room to his office.
He’s not down for the count, you can hear his steps, hear him shouting something--your thoughts are all jumbled and when your trembling hands grip the handle of his desk and yank at the drawer, it doesn’t budge. He locked it, today. Or maybe it was always locked and you were too stupid to realize it.
There’s no time to kill him, no time to attack--you can only run. So you do, socked feet scampering towards the door of his office, hoping it led to some sort of escape route.
The door doesn’t budge, and you stupidly shove yourself against it, feeling hot, useless tears streaming down your face. Everything happens too fast and too slow all at the same time. It didn’t work, none of it worked, and you’re left pressing your back against the door and watching as an extremely pissed off Kai Chisaki stalks towards you.
You’ve never seen him like this--hives breaking out on his skin, one hand clutching his neck, eyes practically bulging out in anger and betrayal.
A gloved hand reaches down to grip your wrist, yanking you upward with an uncharacteristic force. You were delicate, a doll; an ornament to be cared for and cleaned. Or so he said, with words and actions. Which is why the tight grip, so harsh you wonder if your bones might snap, comes at you like a bucket of ice water.
“There will be consequences.”
The words are spit out, and your mind supplements the image of wispy saliva hitting the inside of his mask, a bitter poison. No sooner than he warns you, he grabs your arm, gloves slipping on your skin as he tightens his grip and yanks you upward.
Instinct tells you what he’s going to do, and your body tries to turn to lead, but there’s no escaping his grip in the moment. He drags you over to his desk and you see the inside of the drawer he pulls open--all manner of syringes and bottles and you already imagine a needle sliding into your skin, turning you to jelly.
It’s not the needle he grabs, but the handcuffs. And that makes your stomach twist worse.
The moment when you’re dragged back into your bedroom and tossed harshly onto your bed blurs over the next few hours. You will remember the feeling of hitting the mattress, the awkward way your arm bent as he held it down and snapped the cuff over your wrist and then over the pole of the bed. You will remember your heart pounding like a rabbit.
But you’re not sure exactly what Overhaul said--or if he said anything at all--or if you did anything but cry. Did you beg him not to hurt you? Did you tell him to fuck off? Did he tell you to go to sleep, or was it an implied command?
It’s hard to say.
You’re not even sure if the later sound of hot steaming water from his office bathroom, the image of him scrubbing his skin where the pencil scraped it, is real or imagined.
Sleep does not come for hours and when it does, you have a horrid nightmare of a large, unfathomable monster sitting on your arms, keeping you immobile.
--
“You’ve lost the right to move without permission.”
There are many things you imagined Overhaul might do to you. You thought he would toss you back into that horrid room with its white walls and stripped toilet; or cut your meal to miniscule rations, to teach you to be grateful. Or make you sit in the damned clinic of his while he tested your blood to find some practical reason for your rebellion.
You didn’t imagine he would cuff your hands behind your back, and keep you on a chain that kept you leashed to the bed. It wasn’t even long enough to walk around the room, not that there was much to do anymore; when you woke up the morning after, your books, papers, pencils, had all been stripped away.
It was a wonder he didn’t take the shelf with them.
“They will come off,” he says, gesturing with his hand towards the chain and cuffs, “only if I permit it. At meal times.” He pauses. “And bath time.”
What relief might have come with the thought of being alone in the bath--those sweet moments of privacy--dissipates a few minutes afterward, when he leads you, hands uncuffed and sore, into the bathroom.
Only he doesn’t, as usual, usher you inside and give you privacy to change and wash yourself. He doesn’t even turn around. He simply stares at you, until anxiety forces you to speak, your voice a squeaky whisper.
“Aren’t you going to…” The full sentence doesn’t come. Aren’t you going to leave? Let me get undressed? Look away?
He only blinks at you.
“No.” The word is short and clipped and awful in its simplicity. “You might try something. You’ve lost the right to privacy.”
Heat rises to your cheek and awful bile claws up your throat with it. He can’t--he wouldn’t look; that is one thing he never did, despite all his hovering and controlling.
He must catch your thoughts, because from behind the mask comes an almost throaty murmur. “I’m not base. I’m only watching to make sure you don’t do something dangerous to yourself or others.” He swallows, his throat bobbing. “Don’t trouble yourself about that.”
Oh, but you do trouble yourself. Your hands shake as you pull off your nightgown, smelling of sweat from last night’s activities, and fold it carefully on the countertop. Shame crawls inside your stomach and you cover yourself as best you can, shifting positions as you step into the tub.
Your hands reach instinctively to draw the curtain behind you, only to realize that the curtain that you usually pull for your showers is gone.
“Take a bath,” he says, simply. “Until you’ve earned the curtain back.”
Something low rumbles in your stomach and you know it’s not hunger. Slowly, you lower yourself down into the tub, pulling your knees to your chest to cover as much as possible. Because he’s still just--staring at you.
He stares even as you turn on the water and begin to fill the tub and wash yourself, quickly as can be, with hot water and soap. Showering usually felt good; it was like taking away a layer of invisible grime that built up around him. But with his eyes on you the entire time, it’s like the grime sticks to your skin, no matter how much you scrub.
The lack of commentary on your nakedness is somehow just as worse than his gaze upon it.
--
Life, such as it was, quickly turns to shit.
Overhaul keeps you chained to the bed unless he’s in the room. And even then, there are times where he insists you stay cuffed or leashed to the bed like a wayward dog.
“You can’t be trusted on your own,” is all he says, if you ask him about it.
He doesn’t look away when you get dressed. When you bathe. Even when you go to the bathroom.
When you protest too much, when you squirm and kick at the chain and pull your hands harshly against the cuffs, he merely threatens to gag you; to tighten the chain; to leave you cuffed when you bathe and eat, which means he’ll be the one doing the scrubbing and the feeding.
You stop fighting, after that. The threat hits your chest hard and you’re forced to accept the new routine.
That’s what it is, after all. A routine.
You accept it for what it is--life, now. A new reality.
It’s your new reality that you sleep in soft nightgowns with a cold chain around your ankle and a cuff on your wrist. It’s your new reality that Overhaul stands and stares while you bathe, taking in your body and occasionally critiquing your washing technique.
It’s your new reality that you have no such thing as privacy, no such thing as softness or entertainment or the quiet enjoyment that comes (however unbidden) from reading your books in the afternoon or drawing on a fresh sheet of paper.
Now, you have only yourself and Overhaul and the basic functions of life.
--
“You’ve been behaving,” he remarks one day. A simple compliment for the simple act of no longer fighting against the cuffs, no longer tugging at the chain around your ankle.
It’s true, though. You haven’t fought. Or argued about the new rules. And you haven’t so much as thought about another escape attempt. The last one was so futile, and look where it got you? Chained and stared at, like an animal in a zoo; hardly worth the effort.
But–but, but, but. When you go into the bathroom that morning, the shower curtain is back.
He doesn’t turn around when you change, and it doesn’t bother you because, after all---it’s a start.
And that night--
“The handcuffs will stay off,” he tells you mildly, locking the chain around your ankle, “if you continue to behave.”
You do behave.
The next week, it is the chain that will stay off--if you continue to behave. And you strive to behave, because the thrill of being able to properly toss and turn and curl up in bed is worth it. And it’s not as if misbehaving got you anywhere before, did it?
And one blissful morning, you wake up to find your books returned. Your papers. And--not pencils, no. Large crayons, the kind you give to children. Still, still, it’s something.
You swear you can see his smile from behind the mask as you marvel at them, thinking of the ways you’ll be able to occupy yourself with the bright, waxy colors.
“These will remain,” he says, “if you continue to behave.”
And you do--
You do behave.
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Hypocrisy of mha's public lmao
#my hero academia#boku no hero academia#my hero academia deku#mha#mha deku#mha bakugou#mha hawks#mha dabi#mha shigaraki#mha chisaki#kai chisaki#mha overhaul#izuku midoriya#bakugou katsuki#yagi toshinori#mha all might#mha memes#shigaraki tomura#all for one#mha all for one#mha best jeanist#best jeanist#hawks#anime fandom#mha eri
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Inspired by my impending period (and scouring through the yan overhaul tag and finding this lovely piece by @after-witch), basically just a short, non-comprehensive yan Overhaul blurb when you’re on your period but I staunchly believe he's Weird About It in a pathetic sexually-repressed way
Tw: dub-con fingering, m masturbation, recording, kind of infantilization, minor mention of forcing you to finish your food
Thinking about Overhaul who is not the biggest fan of your menstruations. He doesn’t find you repulsive – far from it – but there’s still the fear of germs. He’s still hesitant about the dirtiness of it all, the messiness, the fact that you can’t control it. It’s a constant war in his head, each side of him wanting to simultaneously comfort you through the pain and your obvious embarrassment while the other side recoils and urges him to wrap you in disinfectant-imbued absorbent pads.
And he prepares very well for your periods – he’s got a few sets of antimicrobial sheets dedicated to your time of the month, the crisp white stretched taught over three layers of absorbant bed protectors. He’s got a set of extra absorbant panties with a wax coating in the material to minimize leakage, all in that same soft, off-white color Kai always prefers you in.
(Buying the panties had been a decision purely motivated by his worry for the mess you’d inevitably create, but the first time he sees you in them he has to suck in his breath, pupils dilating and his pulse quickening because fuck, how can you still look so enticing with clinical, full-coverage underwear?)
He’ll force you to wear special clothing during it, too – nightgowns that leave you skin feeling simultaneously ticklish and unbearably soft, the material of such high quality that you’re terrified you’ll somehow stain it. He’ll have you lather yourself in a special selection of ointments and exfoliants in the shower, claiming that your body needs exposure to more vitamins and quality supplements to account for everything you’re losing. He’s insisting that your portion sizes get slightly bigger even when you refuse to finish your plate.
(Something he won’t stand for: you’ll finish, or someone will pay – you’ll have a front row seat as he slips off his glove, and even afterwards you’re still expected to finish that last bite of mushy, flavorless ‘food’.)
You’re getting more protein on these days, too, his paranoia eating away at him because he needs to make sure you’re healthy and that you don’t develop any sort of deficiencies or illnesses or anything else that could snatch you away from him.
Anything that could cause you to abandon him.
But really, while his hyper-controlling behavior and the constant scrutiny and micromanaging of your every move is heightened on your period, arguably the worst time is the leadup to the first little drop of blood. Of course it’s never really a surprise when you’re due because he keeps anally strict records and documentation of your cycles – tracking each phase and making sure that everything is uniform, consistent, healthy.
(And yes, that includes tracking your ovulation phase as well – he still can’t quite muster up the courage to fuck you, his own insecurities and fears barring him each time his hand hovers over his zipper, each time the pretty pout of your lips and the lull of your voice leave him hard enough to hurt. He’s still tracking it, though, the start and end dates marked with a big red check mark on his personal colander, the sight making him adjust his tie in the mirror, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he takes in his appearance.
Maybe he should leave his tie just slightly askew – women like the casual, effortless look, right? Maybe it’d make him seem less stoic, less alien, less intimidating – maybe you’d even fix it for him, reaching out with hesitant hands, asking in that pretty voice of yours for him to let you fix it, the feeling of your fingertips through the layers of his clothing enough to get precum staining his boxers. He’ll swallow and leave the tie slightly off-center, throwing off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves for good measure. He’ll run a hand through his hair as he knocks on your door, already anticipating and hoping for even the slightest sign that you notice.
Perhaps your ovulation will leave you more recipient to the way he awkwardly settles at the edge of your bed beside you, his thigh just barely brushing against yours, your breaths close enough that he can hear. Hopefully you will be, because when he spends an hour that night with his cock in hand, embarrassment and shame creeping up his spine at how he's unable to stop thinking about how horny you must be, it would be much easier to imagine you'd at least be willing to let him help you. He wants to help you.)
He's tracking everything, and so he knows exactly when your period is due - but the human body is fickle, and so he relies on a system to ensure you've actually begun bleeding each month. It's clinical, more than anything - he'll ask you to follow him to the room with the gynecologist's chair, the kind with cold metal that bites into your skin. You'll settle in, legs spread and pretty cunt on display, Kai's gaze never wavering from the sight as he rolls on an additional layer of surgical gloves.
He'll maneuver the rolling seat up to the space between your spread legs, his voice monotonous as he asks you whether cramps have started, whether you've noticed anything unusual, whether you're yet experiencing that occasional bout of horniness that accompanies the first few days.
It's hard to answer with a straight voice as cold, latex-covered fingers prod at you, two thumbs spreading apart your labia to peer at your clenching hole, a single finger even running over your clit to test your sensitivity.
(Blink and you'll miss the way Kai tenses at the noise you make, his jaw clenching and his sharp inhale - he won't comment on it, but tonight it'll be on repeat in his head, your small oh mentally punctuating each of his strokes.)
He's silent once the touching begins, partially out of distrust for his own voice and concentration, and you won't bother to fill in the silence. You're completely dry each time, and after he spends a few moments poking and prodding to look for any signs of swelling or abnormalities, he'll pull back for a few moments.
It's short lived, and as he squeezes a bit of antimicrobial lube onto his pointer finger, you'll only shudder. He'll shudder too, for an entirely different reason, as he slowly pushes a single finger in, taking care to go slow.
(He feels a bit pathetic for being so attentive and slow with the 'exam', but he can't shake the feeling of wanting each and every sexual encounter between the two of you - he counts this as such - to be a positive experience. He wants you to associate him with treating you well, with taking the proper precautions for your comfort. Because ultimately, when he finally works up the courage to replace his fingers with his cock, he wants you to be receptive. He needs you to be receptive.)
It's still silent, and as he pushes all the way to the hilt, he'll curl his fingers slightly. He's moving them slowly and methodically, pressing his gloved fingertips against every inch of your walls, the sensation making you bite your lip.
And Kai's watching you - his gaze flicks between your face and his fingers, wanting to bask in the sight of you but also fixated on the sight of his fingers inside you. All the while he's trying to memorize the exact pressure of how you squeeze him, your natural curvature, committing everything to memory because it'll make his fantasies tonight that much better, that much more real, that much more preparative for when he finally, finally has you underneath him, staring up at him and begging for more, please Kai please...
After some thirty seconds he'll pull back, the wet noise of the lube making you cringe and him shiver, and he'll carefully examine the latex for any signs of blood.
If there's no visible blood, he's quick to discard the glove, immediately washing his hands in triplicate at the nearby sink, his voice finally cutting through the oppressive silence in the room. Everything checks out, he'll say, go shower. I'll have dinner delivered in an hour or so.
He'll pause, turning off the sink, but not turning around to face you. I'll be joining you this evening.
There's no question in his voice, no desire for your permission, only a vague sense of resoluteness that makes your heart sink.
Okay, Kai. The sound of his name rolling off your tongue makes his eyes flutter closed, and he only turns around once he's fully in control. The sight of you still spread in the chair catches his gaze, the beat of silence as he openly stares at your cunt nearly impossible to catch, but nonetheless present.
He swallows. I trust you remember where the shower is in this examination room?
He matches your nod with one of his own, before slipping past the steel door. Once it's shut behind him, he sighs, flexing his hand that had been, just moments prior, inside you. He stares at his finger for a moment, still gloved and protected, before slowly exhaling and returning back to his office, the footage from the examination bathroom already live on the screen as he waits for you to disrobe and follow his instructions.
You, meanwhile, will be left to bite your lip and try to forget the feeling of his finger inside you and the obvious bulge in his slacks.
And as the warm water runs down your back, you'll content yourself with the knowledge that at least the specula remains untouched on the bedside table.
For now.
(TLDR Kai uses checking for your period as practice for fingering you, and yes it's just as unsexy and weird as it sounds. And the longer it goes on, the more likely he is to record it - to record you, really, and the sight of his fingers sinking into you.)
#_lee rambles#_kai chisaki#_bnha#yandere bnha#yandere mha#yandere overhaul#yandere kai chisaki#yandere my hero academia#yandere boku no hero academia
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The heroes believed the League and the Shie Hassaikai wouldn't cooperate because they were under the impression that Shigaraki couldn't work with others. But this scene is a clear demonstration of how Overhaul was the one who couldn't view anyone else as an equal.
From the jump, Overhaul insisted on playing a game his supposed collaborator never played and showed no interest in playing. He then immediately insisted on being given members of the League as collateral and implied he would not return them. He had all of the raw ambition of an All for One with none of the charisma.
Shigaraki often viewed himself and his allies in terms of video game mechanics. Shigaraki was more similar to Overhaul during the Forest Training Arc where he viewed his allies as characters in a sims game in that he was the player manipulating the pieces. Overhaul also viewed himself as the player who manipulates the pieces on the shogi board during his arc.
But when All for One isn't breathing down his neck, Shigaraki is more of an RPG guy. He was willing to be more involved and get his hands dirty. He's not the mastermind sort of character. Shigaraki originally was a single player mode guy in USJ. He only had NPCs and his babysitter on his team at that time. By the Shie Hassaikai Arc, Shigaraki viewed his path forward more like an MMORPG. He now had a party who he could work with as a team on his journey.
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He finally lost it!
#bnha#bnha spoilers#meme#bnha 419#mha 419#izuku midoriya#overhaul#kai chisaki#Izuku finally lost his arms#For real when I saw this leak I thought it was fake the pages were too clean
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