#sort of nonconish?

[macsimagines]

can we have Yan Mitsuya, Yan Draken and Yan Wakasa with a resistant darling NSFW headcannon?

Sorry but this kinda sounds like nonconish and i don't think im ok with that.... I know thats weird considering the blogs subject material but i srsly don't wanna write about that sort of thing

[morgana-ren]

I want shiggy to spit in my mouth uwu

Hhhhhhh same dude, fuckin’ same

Like, let’s say you’re a mouthy little shit, someone who challenges his authority and talks back to him, and we all know how big of a fan he is of that. He’s been fed up with you for weeks now, but his scolding and chastising you seems to have no effect. He’s not necessarily going to hurt you, you’re a valuable member of the team, but you need to understand how to follow the leader. 

Shigaraki has decided to take you on a quest with him.

He says it’s a solo mission, so everyone gets to laze around behind at the hideout while you two leg it out into the open. It’s dusk, and the sun is rapidly falling below the horizon, blanketing the city in a feeling of uneasy stillness. You don’t know where he’s taking you, only that he told you to stay close. He’s walking too fast for you to comfortably keep up, so you have to half jog to stay with the pace his lanky legs can easily maintain. His coat is blowing out behind him as he trudges in front of you, and something about the situation seems so sinister, but you can’t place why. Maybe it’s that you’ve never been alone around him before, or maybe it’s that it’s getting so dark, but either way, you don’t feel quite right. 

The longer he walks, the further the temperature drops, and soon you’ve got goosebumps prickling your limbs and rubbing uncomfortably against your clothing. You didn’t expect to be out this long. He told you it would be quick, but there’s no end in sight. Shigaraki just keeps walking, seemingly wandering endlessly onward deeper into the belly of the district. You’re getting awfully far from home, and never once has he looked back at you. Part of you wants to ask him if he’s forgotten you’re here, but you’re not feeling particularly playful given the circumstances.

The streets start to empty, shops closing and becoming rarer as you go along. The lonely lamps that dot the walkway buzz almost imperceptibly, flickering stark yellow hues across the cracked sidewalk that he’s leading you down, giving it somewhat of a foreboding atmosphere as you carried on. Traffic starts to die out, fellow pedestrians becoming fewer and farther between with only the occasional vehicle crossing your path. With civilization fading into the background, the sounds you’ve grown so accustomed to in the city dissipate, and soon all you can hear is your footsteps coupled with his echoing off the cement. The part of town he seems to be leading you into isn’t known for much except industrial buildings and factories, and you’re not sure why he’s taking you so far. What could possibly be out here?

Finally, he leads you down into an alleyway. There are a few stretches he pulls you through before coming to the exit on the other side. He positions you down against the wall, pointing to a building down the street that is uncharacteristically busy, the only lively spot you’ve seen in what seems like hours. You recognize it to be a particularly popular restaurant that has stayed open and even flourished despite the dismal location. What you don’t understand is what any of that has to do with you. You shoot him a confused glance out of the corner of your eye, unsure of exactly what it is you’re supposed to be seeing.

“Just watch.” 

So, you watch. You spectate the restaurant for what seems like ages, cloaked in the alleyway where the patrons can’t see you both crouched like gargoyles, leering at them as they enjoy their meal. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, there’s nothing interesting going on, and frankly this entire thing feels like a waste of time. It doesn’t seem like the type of place he would be casing, and on top of that, restaurants are highly inefficient targets for a robbery. There doesn’t appear to be any real reason he dragged you out this way except to have you watch a load of people eat their dinner. It’s giving you real creep vibes, but more than that, you begin to notice that so is he. He still hasn’t looked at you, and his usual air of arrogant aloofness has been replaced with something you can’t quite place.

“What do you notice?”

You think for a minute, scanning it over once more. “It seems like popular place. It’s packed, almost with a line out the door. The customers look satisfied.” You rattle off a quick list of shallow facts as he looks around, seeming disinterested even though he’s the one that asked the question.

“You would say that it looks successful, huh?”

You quirk your brow at him but reaffirm your statement. What the fuck is the point of this?

“Good. You understand that, at least.”

There’s venom in his voice and it agitates you, but more so, it unnerves you. It seems slightly uncalled for, and it makes you feel defensive in turn. You go to say something snarky to soothe the uncomfortable tension building, but he cuts you off, having zero interest in whatever it might be. “Do you know how a place like that gets so successful?”

You shrug, beyond caring at this point. You didn’t take Shigaraki to be the type to have a secret interest in restaurant management. “I dunno. Good employees. The food probably has something to do with it.”

He laughs something cold and derisive, as if you’ve said something genuinely stupid. It’s making you feel small and insignificant, and everything this man does is calculated to some extent, so you know it’s likely on purpose. Confusion is mixing with your defensiveness into a caustic cocktail in your stomach and it’s shooting your anxiety through the roof. A shiver racks down your spine, and you’re uncertain if it’s because of him or the wind anymore.

“I guess. But it’s more than that.”

“So, what then?”

He turns to face you for the first time since you left, and there’s a strange, ghoulish sheen to his features that shoots a chill ebbing through your extremities. You pray it’s just the ominous way the light of the moon is hitting him. “Good management. It has a good leader.”

So that’s what this is about, huh? You want to roll your eyes, but something tells you that’s a very bad idea.

His pinprick pupils are zeroed in on you, the slow, casual blink of his eyes mismatched with the surge in his voice. “When something has good leadership, it stays together. This restaurant stays busy because the manager knows what he’s doing, but more importantly, the employees know to follow his lead. Do you think this trash heap would be as renowned as it is if the manager was incompetent?”

You think it’s a rhetorical question, but you notice he’s waiting for you to answer. Irritation surges in your gut, but you shake your head. He’s treating you like an idiot child, and you know he’s doing it on purpose. But that frustration quickly turns to slight panic when you feel his cold fingers on your jaw, yanking your head back in the direction of the restaurant behind him.

“Look at the employees. How obedient they are. They all have a place, and they know that place. Do you think the restaurant would be remotely as efficient if they were mouthy, disrespectful little children who did what they wanted all the time?”

Dread coils deep in your bowels and the point of his little exercise becomes painfully clear. You shake your head again, half to answer his question, the other half to hopefully loosen his grip from the hollow of your cheeks. He doesn’t relent. Instead, he moves his head closer to yours, blocking your view. His nose is brushing against yours, and you can feel the heat from his breath against your chin.

“You see my issue, then?”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond this time.

“Stand up.”

You follow his lead reluctantly as he pushes himself up from the gravel. Not as if you had a choice, as his fingers are still anchored across your face. He maneuvers you back by his grip, trapping you between his slender frame and the brickwork behind you. It’s closer to him than you’ve ever been before, and you can feel your face burning, blood blossoming hotly across your cheeks. He seems to take no notice regardless, leaning in and disregarding your personal space even further.

“I want to be a good leader, but it’s difficult when my subordinates are rude brats with no manners. You want me to be able to be a good leader, don’t you?” His thumb is digging upward into your cheekbone as if he’s trying to mockingly stroke your face, but it’s just painful. “So, from now on, you’re going to do what I say, when I say, and you’re not going to question it. Isn’t that right?”

You want to push him off, want to run, want to do something, but you’re rooted to the spot. Your self-preservation alarms are blaring in your head but despite that, you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod. If he puts one more finger down…

“No, no, no. I want you to say it. Say ‘Yes, Shigaraki, I will follow your orders without question.”

What he’s asking you to say isn’t all that out there for the type of work you’ve gotten yourself into, but something about the words he wants you to mimic feels so dirty and wrong, like you’re agreeing to something you don’t fully understand yet. You get the sense he doesn’t care whether or not you do, so you do what you can and repeat the words back to him exactly as he spat them out to you, albeit with your voice weak and trembling, words smushed between the press of your cheeks.

“Good girl. Let’s test your promise. Open your mouth.”

The request takes you by surprise. There is no logical reason at all he should be asking for that, but there’s no hint of kidding in his voice. You look at him, clearly shocked and disbelieving, but he only stares blankly at you waiting for you to obey. Your face contorts, trying to formulate something to say, some form of protest, but his hand squeezes even more against the yielding skin of your face. His nails are digging deep into the flesh and it hurts, but you still don’t follow his command.

“Come on. Do it.”

He doesn’t quite force your mouth open, but he coerces your jaw as you let your face fall slack in his grip. His smile spreads, violent red eyes focusing on your lax lips as they open. His own pucker temporarily, hollowing and pulsing as he hovers over you, and you can’t figure out what the hell he’s doing. At least until he straightens his back, putting his jaw directly over yours, separated by only a few inches.

“Wha’ the ‘faw aw yo-“

He spits directly into your open mouth.

Your eyes widen in disgust and confusion, paralyzed in utter shock for several seconds. His foreign saliva sits in a glob on your tongue, and your first instinct is to spit it back out. That is made impossible, however, by his steel grip on your chin which he refuses to relinquish even as you struggle to pull your head from his grasp. You try to fight him off, one hand clawing at his wrist, the other trying to beat him away on his chest, but it does little good. He’s stronger than you, and he knows it.

Instead, he brings his free hand around the back of your neck, squeezing on the pressure points until you’re curling in his grip, squealing your protest. He lets you wriggle and worm against him for a few moments until he thinks you get that it’s pointless. You look at him, sad, watery eyes pathetically searching his face for any form of mercy, but you find none.

“Don’t swallow. I’ll know if you do.” He hisses, pushing his fingers deeper into the crevasse of your shoulders until your neck painfully recoils into your body. You nod, bottom lip jutted in a pout as you try to fight off the instinctive urge. “Swish it around in your mouth.”

A sound of horror erupts from your throat and you try to fight him anew, but he only pushes closer to you, pinning you tighter against the grainy wall. Nothing in the way he’s holding you gives indication he’s playing around, yet you think he must be joking. A quick onceover of his expression solidifies that not only is he not, he’s growing dangerously impatient. His grip on you is tightening, alleviating any leeway he might have been giving you before, and his eyes are flashing dangerously in the low light. A grimace begins spreading over his craggy lips, a look you’ve only seen before when he’s about to do something either very impulsive or very deadly, and you want no part of either.

Doing your best to keep down the sick and the bile, you swirl the mixture in your mouth. His fluids taste so different compared to your own, and even thinking too much about it is making your gag reflex activate. You do your best to blank out your mind as you do as he asks, looking to him for some form of direction, but he says nothing for several minutes. Only stares down at you with a sick, uncanny smile as you follow his orders. He seems pleased with the fact you haven’t disobeyed him, but even more so with the fact that he can see the scrunching of your nose and watering of your eyes as you force yourself to oblige him. Your body language is screaming your revulsion, and yet there’s not a thing you can do about it.

It’s only after he’s had his fill of your humiliation that he finally speaks.

“Good girl. Now open your mouth and show me.” His clamp loosens but only slightly, just enough for you to let your lips fall open again and expose the slick, pink cavern of your mouth to him. His eyes scan along the inside, taking some sick pleasure in seeing the pooling mixture of his fluids mingling with yours as it floods along the sides of your tongue. You’re not sure if this is a power trip or something more devious, and frankly you don’t want to know. You just want to spit him out and go back home, curl up in bed, and never think about any of this ever again. This situation couldn’t possibly be any worse.

You feel that way, at least until you feel a thick, slimy force between your teeth, running across the roof of your mouth. The cracked, ragged skin of his lips grates against your own, and your mind registers that he’s quite literally sticking his tongue down your throat. The vibration of your stunned and uncomfortable whines thrums against his tongue as it probes around, meticulously violating every capacity he can find as he thrusts around inside, running a viscous trail over and around the sensitive area. In contrast to your pitiful wailing, a hum of pleasure emanates from him, and although you try to tell yourself you can’t, you could swear you feel the warmth of his pelvis rutting against yours ever so slightly. Your eyes clamp shut, but it can’t block out the bombardment of sensations being forced upon you.

He finally withdraws with an audible gulp, drinking down any of your liquids he may have gathered. Puckering your cheeks in his fingers again, he shakes your head around a little. “Go ahead and swallow it now.” His teeth come into view as he grins, wolfish and nauseating. “Go on.”

You have no choice, don’t want to risk what he could do to you if you try to spit it out, so you do. You ball the blend of slobber in the back of your throat as best you can with your every instinct telling you to heave and force it down. You know that it’s just saliva, but knowing the situation makes you feel more embarrassed and degraded than you’ve ever felt before. It’s a struggle getting it down, and even more so keeping it down, and though some might call you dramatic, it feels as if you’ve been made to swallow acid. You can feel him watching you the entire time, his hand clenching slightly on the crook of your neck as he feels your throat flex in assurance of your compliance.

“Such a good girl when you want to be.” He finally releases your cheeks, slapping one slightly before pulling away. However, he leaves his fingers digging into your pulse points as he yanks you away from the wall and forces you to walk beside him. “See? It’s not so hard. Things will be so much easier if you just do what I say. No matter what I ask, you’ll do it, right?”

You nod weakly, unable to bring yourself to look at his face again. Tears are welling up in your eyes and it’s taking a lot of willpower to not cry in front of him, but you’re not sure how much longer that’s going to last. Your throat is starting to feel sore from the sobs you’re holding back, and every time you go to swallow them down, it’s a fresh reminder of just how much control he has over you, and just how little you have over yourself.

He seems to know this and pulls you closer to his torso as you walk the long, crooked path back home together as if it’s some sort of comforting act that he’s compassionate enough to offer. Even as he as holds you in mock affection, he never drops his anchor on your neck. “There’s no reason to be upset. I don’t ask too much, right? As long as you do whatever I ask whenever I ask it, you don’t have to worry. I’ll take care of you.”

That’s the problem.

What else was he going to ask?

[shywhumpauthor]

Whumpuary Day 9

Magic healing | Electrocution | Scars

Prev. || Masterlist

Emotional scars? Upcoming scars? Idk it’s very loosely prompted.

This is a while after the previous piece, not sure exactly how long. Couple months? I wanted a lot of space to fit some more torture whump in

Cw: set up for torture, past torture, past burning, blood, bruises, partial nonconish nudity (shirt), implied gore, mentioned vomiting, starvation, interrogation, self sacrifice for a cause, captivity setting

A sharp clap startled Noah out of his sleep, a soft blanket of unconsciousness he had burrowed himself under. He hadn’t had many restful sleeps recently, most ended with him jolting awake dripping with sweat and breathing like he’d just ran a mile, head pounding with the adrenaline of whatever nightmare that eventually startled him to wake. This time, though, he had finally managed to ease off into a dreamless void, finally allowing his worn body a chance to truly relax, and to begin recovering from the tension.

And of course, that’s the time Declan chose to come bursting into his cell, door slamming against the wall in all possible gusto, clapping his hands together like he was at a stadium cheering for his favorite team. The thundering sound ripped Noah away from any shred of comfort he had managed to settle into, causing him to jolt up with little attention to the drag it caused his body. His wounds had begun to heal over the past couple days, just barely, leaving the skin tender and taut, sensitive to just about everything, and the sudden movement might as well have ripped open each one individually.

“C’mon, up!” Declan ordered, crossing the small room in two short strides, barely giving Noah enough time to sit up before the man’s hand wrapped around his bicep, wrenching him out of bed. Noah gasped, a pain sharp and stabbing jolting from his injuries. He had been offered fresh clothes once he had woken from his first bout of unconsciousness, but his attempt to pull on the shirt had nearly left him crying, gasping as the fabric rubbed and pressed against his injuries. So he left it off, opting only to put on the shorts he had been left, the fabric long enough to brush against the healing burns decorating his thighs, but loose enough so that it didn’t press flush to his skin.

“I’ve given you long enough to rest, we have business to attend to.” Despite their urgent motions, Whumper’s voice couldn’t have sounded more calm as they began to drag Whumpee forwards, not giving them a moment to find their footing before practically dragging them out of the cell.

“Shh-it, slow down,” Whumpee’s voice came out a strangled groan, hitching with their movements as they stumbled. Whumper didn’t pay them any mind, not a second for them to stand up as they rounded the stairs. Bare feet slipped against tile, Whumpee just managed to take the few seconds in which Whumper paused to grab their badge to balance themself, exhaling a heavy breath as fire licked away at their limbs.

They knew where they were going before they fully ascended the stairs. A heavy feeling settled in their chest, like a weight compressing their lungs, their body flooding with a cold leaden fear. What would it be this time? A whip? Cane? Their mind rushed with all sorts of tortures, methods and weapons of all awful proportions. Anxiety, bubbles of fear increasing pressure in their chest until it felt like they were going to burst. Their feet moved numbly under them, gaze unfocused as they were guided up the stairs and down the short hall, through one of the first doors and into that awful room.

The air smelled like chemicals, the heavy stench of bleach sticking to the floor and surfaces. Whumpee wasn’t sure whether or not if they should be glad it was at least cleaned, or if that only added to the awful tension, knowing that Whumper cared enough to keep the space fresh. Mopped up the old blood just to spill more. Funny, almost, in a pointless manner. Why bother, if they were so clearly planning on dirtying the place up again.

It was a trivial thing for them to focus on, yet it acted as almost a tethering line for their focus as Whumper dragged them across the room to a table. They were shoved down hard into a chair, the cold metal backing like ice against their skin as Whumper’s hand slid down their arm, brushing over burns but never lingering more than a second before latching around their wrist, yanking their arm across the table and passing their hold to a waiting guard.

It was so smooth, so calculated, Whumpee wasn’t sure what was happening until it was over. Their other wrist was snatched, wrenched across the table, nearly yanking them from the seat they were just pushed in. Pressure against the back of their palms, pinning them down as another set of hands fastened a pair of leather loops around their forearms, pulling the buckles tight enough they could barely twist in the restraints.

“Stop squirming,” Whumper shook their head as the who had helped restrained Whumpee stepped away, clearing the other side of the table so Whumper could take the open seat across from them. Just behind the table, next to Whumper’s seat was a rolling table-stand thing, covered in a thin blue sheet, a metal tray resting on top of that.

Whumpee’s stomach churned as they saw what was on top, swallowing back a dry heave as Whumper pulled a pair of latex gloves over their hands. They were almost glad they hadn’t been given any food in the past—what had it been, a day? Two?—they were sure that if they had, they would have most definitely gotten sick.

“We don’t have to go through with this, Whumpee,” Whumper stated plainly, sounding more bored than anything as Whumpee forced their gaze away, eyes dropping to the floor. “All you need to tell me is who you work for. I don’t want anything else now besides a name.

They picked something up off the tray, metal clinking softly against metal as they did so. Forget having not eaten, Whumpee was sure they were going to be sick regardless. The seconds went by too fast, stretched across hours that passed in a blink. Was it possible for time to speed up and slow to a crawl at the same time? Whumper’s hands were moving towards theirs, their right hand, which they curled into a trembling fist, slow enough that Whumpee could feel each tick of a second rattling around their core like a bullet piercing their chest, bouncing off their ribs and stabbing into their lungs, ripping a hole clean through their heart. They willed the time to slow, to pause for just a moment so they could prepare themself, as if anything they could do would possibly achieve that futile goal. Nothing would prepare them for this. Not all the time in the world.

Whumper’s open fist slammed down against the back of their knuckles, taking their moment or reflex to grab Whumpee’s extended palm. The guard, who had moved to stand by the side of the table, took the cue to brace their own hand against the back of Whumpee’s palm, pinning it in place with their fingers spread apart.

The table wasn’t very big, longer than it was wide, perhaps three by five feet, the shorter of those dimensions providing the only barrier between Whumper and themself. It wasn’t nearly enough space, clearly, Whumper could reach their hand with ease, shifting their own seat over a few inches to gain better access as they set their eyes on Whumpee’s little finger. Whumpee made the mistake of glancing at the scalpel in their hand, and tasted bile beginning to creep up the back of their throat.

They couldn’t do this.

“Whumpee.” Whumper’s tone grew a bit more insistent, but all Whumpee could focus on was the small sting as the blade of the scalpel pressed to the back of their finger, just above their third knuckle. They pressed their tongue to the roof of their mouth, teeth grinding together, fighting back a wave of nausea.

“Is there anything you would like to tell me?”

Whumper’s voice couldn’t have been louder than a whisper, but their words filled the room like a shout, echoing off the deep corners and bouncing back through Whumpee’s ears. Yes, of course there was. The terrible knowing of what was about to happen was enough to will Whumpee to crack, to break open and spill all of their dreadfully protected secrets. How they wished they could do that, and spare themself now from the whole world of pain about to befall upon them.

But they didn’t. They kept their lips firmly pressed. A beat passed, then another. Whumper pressed the scalpel in, a bead of blood welling under the awful blade.

“Alright then, that’s your choice.”

———————————

Next

Tag list: @pickleking8 @blood-enthusiast @t0rture-me @sparrowsage @enigmawritesstuff

[burnedbyshoto]

mine

— Dabi didn’t want you in the slightest, but he’d be damned if anyone touched you without knowing that you belonged to him

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

pairing: yandere!dabi x fem!reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, gorey (blood and puss), branding, yandere!dabi, semi-public sex, consented sex that turns into nonconish, spitting, heavy degradation, hardcore, sadist!dabi, mindbreak

word count: 5,588

a/n: im so terribly sorry for being so late with kinktober. my keyboard is super fucked up and I had a crazy busy weekend. please do not read this if you are easily offended it got a bit crazy lol ;-; well at least for what i typically write sorry

kinktober day 17 main kink: branding | kinktober masterlist

⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆⋄⋆⊹⋄⋆

Dabi didn’t care about you.

As you lay on the broken, dirty mattress (was this even a mattress?) that belonged to who knows who and was in this alleyway for who knows how long, there was no telling if you wouldn’t contract some form of an STD just by laying here in your filth. You wanted to sit up. You needed to get out of this sketchy alleyway just to continue the day. But your body hurts, everything hurts.

But the tears in your eyes had long dried out. The blood, cum, spit, puss, and drool on the bed making for an unpleasant, pitiful sight beneath and on you.

But I guess there was no reason for anyone to try and take you, even like that.

There was already a warning, a brand for anyone to fucking try and take you from the person who owned you. 

His name pulsed on every throbbing, bubbling white-hot pain on your body. His hands and name forever scarred and branded on your skin.

Dabi Dabi Dabi Dabi

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

But you couldn’t even cry as a black cat with piercing blue eyes landed on the mattress centimeters from your face. It was too much.

And in the middle of the alleyway, your eyes shut, and a painful unconscious slammed through you. Consciousness no longer your friend as you ended there, ass up, gaping, cum splattering hole available for everyone to see.

It didn’t matter, you clearly belonged to Dabi, and anyone who tried to take you would be consumed with a horrid fate.

.

..

.

Dabi’s mouth was pulled back into an angry, unamused snarl.

Typically speaking, the black-haired Frankenstein of a man could look more apathetic than the gods of apathy themselves, but if you bugged him just enough, things could sink under his skin faster than you could run. But today, he seemed to have every annoying thing happen to him event after event so that he was practically simmering with putrid anger.

It had started when you had left his room in the morning louder than he liked. You both had begun a sexual relationship of sorts. As much as the League was intent and focused on driving out the hero society, libidos and sexual needs could hardly be ignored. Especially as Dabi’s own libido grew with the more success he had, the closer he was to achieve his own goal. It made sense that he and you began this relationship. He wasn’t going to touch any of the guys in the group, not to mention the fact they were about as ugly as he was, so that meant he’d have to potentially stare down at a nasty face moaning and screaming. That wasn’t going to happen. Toga was a psycho bitch that Dabi could never understand, and with her stupid stabbing addiction, he wasn’t about to trust her near his genitals. 

You had been a late joiner in the group, some dumb, weak, quirkless little bitch. 

Dabi had no idea why Shigaraki had ever allowed you to join in the first place.

You added absolutely nothing to the group.

Being quirkless meant that you were a liability in any type of fight they got into because you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself. You threw a mean punch, and you had been training with Toga in the weird-ass fighting style of hers, but it was stupid, utterly pointless because as long as Dabi and others possessed the ability to kill you without needing you near, you were a walking target. 

You were also a terrible medic. Whenever the group would return with serious and not so serious injuries, you would scream, panic, and apply bandages terribly. It was so bad that Dabi would rather die of infection than have your blubbering form try to get anywhere near his cuts and burns. 

You were a horrible liar too. Couldn’t send you into any of the Pro Hero bases or UA in an attempt to gather more information to help the group's efforts. Toga had merely transformed into a random citizen without you knowing, and your ability to be suave was a joke.

But one day, Dabi figured out why exactly Shigaraki decided to let you in, why you were someone worth letting live. He had gone to the bar for a simple drink. His head throbbing due to the fight he had gotten into while recruiting for the League. But what he came to see in that bar was that you were in the bar with Shigaraki and Kurogiri.

He looked at you as you were on your knees on the barstool. Your breasts swelling over that stupid tanktop of yours, your dumb ass shaking like a damn dog as you talked excitedly to Shigaraki. That, for whatever reason, bugged Dabi.  The tinge of color on his stupid leader’s ears and cheeks also went noticed by Dabi, and suddenly as you grabbed onto Shigaraki’s shoulders, it all made perfect sense.

You were here to be made as a whore.

Dabi ended up leaving the bar without getting his drink after all that day.

But he had caught you skipping to your assigned room, and he blocked your way, his hand shoved into his pockets as you looked down at your wide eyes.

“So that’s the role you’ll play in the world of no heroes,” Dabi spoke, his lips pulling into a lazy smirk, warmth flooding his cold skin when your own face seemed twisted with confusion and worry.

“I’m not playing any role?” you speak slowly, obviously confused, but Dabi doesn’t dwell on the confusion in your eyes or the way you step backward away from him. He follows you, stalking your every move until you’re backed against the door of his room, your doe eyes large and practically screaming for help, which only seemed to excite Dabi. You wouldn’t be finding a hero in this organization. No, you either learned how to swim, drown, or take everyone down with you. 

“Oh, so you’re not playing any games here?” Dabi asks, his hand slamming against the door right by your head, his head tilting as he leans in close to your face. He can basically breathe the anxiety spilling from your veins, festering, and throbbing underneath your skin as you find yourself unable to speak. “You joined our little group knowing that Shigaraki wanted to fuck you? Use you as the willing whore that you are?”

The fear drained from your eyes, and anger blazed instead, and for some reason, that only made Dabi more excited. He pressed up closer to you, the hardness of his cock, unable to be ignored as he pressed his swelling length to your hip.

“I’m not here to be Shigaraki’s whore,” you growled, your lips pulled back into a fearsome growl, but to Dabi, knowing the stupid, weak quirkless bitch that you were, made you look like some angry dumb puppy. “I’ve been just as wronged by this world as you have. Just because I didn’t burn off all my skin to prove I don’t fit in doesn’t mean I don’t have scars too.”

Dabi laughed, the smell of heat rising from his skin as he couldn’t help but display his power, couldn’t help but to warn you just who was capable of the most immense damage.

“Burn me,” you snapped, your nose nearly brushing against his. “Prove my fucking point.”

Dabi let out a throaty hum, the feeling of your stomach shifting against his tented pants, only serving to arouse him more. 

“Trust me, pup, I don’t have all my skin burned off,” Dabi couldn’t help but ignore your own issues of being upset as his mouth crashed against yours.

That night, Dabi realized that maybe you did serve this group in two ways, albeit one was much, much more important than the other. 

One, the lesser important reason: you brought in a new demographic. A new viewpoint of people who had been hurt by heroes and civilians who looked to All Might like a god. Quirkless people, and people with quirks that practically made them worthless, were seen as inferior because they weren’t unique. They could never be like All Might. And for that, they were seen as less, a group that deserved to die and were discriminated against for reasons far beyond their control.

Two, the more important reason: you were Dabi’s fuckhole.

This sexually frustrated, anger-fueled sex the two of you had was more than ideal, really. Dabi loved to fuck you whenever he needed, whenever he wanted. He took you anywhere and everywhere he wanted. Each time he grew bolder and bolder until he was fucking you during a meeting, fucking you while you were in a car with everyone, making your way to the next destination. 

He could care less about your whining pleas to only fuck in a room where no one could see, couldn’t care if you thought the alleyway was dirty, and the scent of dead burning bodies made your head spin. You were a quirkless fuckhole, and you would do as he told.

But Dabi would never admit you were his.

No, he would not.

Not now, not ever.

But there was something stupidly irritating and annoying hearing barely useful members of the now Paranormal Liberation Front. Everyone was obsessed with you, the useless quirkless girl who was weak and needed protection. Everyone loved the way your tits bounced when you hopped around excitedly, loved the way your ass shook when you were sitting at a bar because, for whatever damn reason, you could never sit on your fucking ass.

So, that’s where we find Dabi. His mouth pulled back into an unamused, angry snarl as you talked with some nameless member that Dabi thought was better off dead than as some deadweight help. 

“You can’t expect y/l/n-chan to be so kind to you when you’re quite the asshole to her, Dabi,” Compress chided Dabi as he took a smooth, slow drink from his sake. “You pester her daily, and from what the rumors tell me, harass her often enough that I’m surprised she hasn’t taken your face off.”

“She’s too fucking weak for that shit,” Dabi snapped, his eyes narrowing when your hand placed itself on the nameless shits arm. “She can’t do shit; that’s why she’s acting like a shallow whore. She’ll let anyone fuck her as long as it means she gets protected.”

Compress raised his eyebrow, his face not letting anything on as he slowly placed his glass down.

“Y/l/n-chan sleeps around?”

Dabi actually felt the heat rising from his skin. He didn’t know if you were, and the thought of knowing that someone other than him was fucking your tight little pussy after he did irritates him much more than he’d like. 

“I don’t fucking know, you’re the one telling me about fucking rumors. You tell me.”

“From what I hear, she doesn’t give in to anyone, despite the obvious flirting,” Compress shrugged when Dabi’s eyes locked on him in bewildered disbelief. “Why do you care, Dabi? You’re typically so aloof and annoyingly stoic. What about y/l/n-chan makes you so temperamental?”

Dabi felt his spine stiffen at those words, the inquisitive yet entirely sharp words that gutted him from the inside out. Dabi didn’t care for you. He knew he didn’t. If you dropped dead in the middle of the floor in three seconds, he knew he wouldn’t panic. He wouldn’t mourn you. He might mourn the warm body he fucked whenever he needed, sure, but not you, never just you. 

He blinked.

He didn’t need to like you for you to be his.

Heroes were what was wrong with society, but relationships were also what was wrong with people. The twisting desire for equality and equity between two different people when it should never be as such, to begin with. Dabi was powerful. You were quirkless and weak. Dabi held power, he was the one who should be deciding what you should be able to do, what you can’t, and something in the depths of his mind finally clicked. 

You were his.

You belonged to Dabi.

You were nothing without Dabi.

The laugh that poured from your lips and the man next to you, that Dabi swore he could hear right now, suddenly made sense as to why it bothered him. You don’t entertain or try to use things that don’t belong to you. You use only what is yours, and anyone who tries to touch what belongs to you is allowed capital punishment.

But Dabi, against better judgment, wasn’t a trigger happy idiot.

No, he was aware of the things idiots needed to see in order to back off. To understand that some things were there for free, and other things were already taken. He laughed, grabbing the rest of Compress’s sake and downing it before slamming it onto the table and standing up, ignoring the angered curses from Compress as he stalked toward you.

There weren’t many things in life that made Dabi lose control of his emotions, but knowing that you were out in the open without a clear mark that you were his was slowly making its way on that list. 

“Let’s go,” Dabi says, his voice perfectly calm despite the heat blazing off his every muscle. His hand was wrapped around your wrist, gripping your skin tightly as he tugged you from the barstool.

It didn’t take much for you to fall off the stool, your stupid way of sitting on bar stools allowed significant imbalance, and Dabi knew that a sharp tug is all it took to have you stumbling off.

“I was talking with Trumpet!” you cried, unable to keep from stumbling after Dabi, your eyes focused on Trumpet.

“I was speaking with y/n, if you would allow us to finish our—” Trumpet also piped up, his hands reaching to button up his suit as he stood.

“Shut up,” Dabi spoke coldly, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he took in his gaze. 

With that, Dabi continued to walk away, dragging your protesting form behind him with every great stride he took. Dabi didn’t know where he was walking, only knowing that he was ignoring every question and angry demand that filtered out of your mouth like white noise. He took sharp turns, disappearing into the alleys that he knew all too well until he found the spot he was looking for.

You were panting heavily when you suddenly slammed into Dabi’s back, exhaustion already setting in your bones from the awkward run you had to maintain in order to keep up with Dabi. You weren’t an idiot; you knew that Dabi wanted to fuck the moment that he appeared behind you with a wave of hot air. But you hadn’t expected it to be while you were in the middle of a conversation with Trumpet; while he was an asshole, Dabi always let you finish your conversations before taking you to fuck. But not this time.

Which worried you. 

Both of you had fucked the entire night last night. Your body had been abused in a million exciting ways as Dabi unleashed his libido onto you, and you had kept up swimmingly. Typically, a fuckfest like that was enough to satisfy him for a few days, two days at least, so to have him back on you within twelve hours was a bit of a shock. 

The sun was still in the sky, after all.

“You really know how to piss me the fuck off, y/n,” Dabi spoke, his tone and words ice-cold despite the blazing heat of his body. “Why is it that you think you have the right to flounder yourself off like some common bitch?”

You freeze. Oh? Was he jealous?

You had no time to even open your mouth to ask, most likely having taken too long to answer his question because his hand flared with heat, and you couldn’t help the scream that ripped through your throat. Tearing your hand from Dabi, you looked down at your burnt, throbbing skin. Your eyes widened, pained tears in your eyes as Dabi turned around, his eyes blank, cold, lifeless. 

“I’m not sure if I ever made this clear before,” Dabi asked, stalking toward you, and you whimper, holding your tender wrist to your chest as you feel something make contact with the back of your calves. “I don’t care about you. If you were to disappear the next day and never return, I wouldn’t care. Maybe I’d miss your pretty little pussy, but other than that… nothing. But you need to understand something for as long as we’re together and for how long we’re apart: you’re mine, y/n, just mine.”

Your eyes are wide, terrified of the monster before you. This wasn’t the Dabi that fucked you every night before this, this was someone else, and sour acid hits the back of your throat. 

His lips are on you without hesitation. The biting coldness of his staples on his cheeks and chin burn against your skin, and his hot hands are against the cold skin of your waist, and you gasp loudly. His tongue invades your mouth immediately, and you whimper, feeling how much colder his tongue was in comparison to yours. But you know what it’s like to share a bed with Dabi, you know that he knows of your bodies every twitch and innate desires, and like a trained dog, you cave to him despite the painful tears dripping down your cheeks.

His kisses are much like his fire, hot, encompassing, all-consuming until there was nothing left except the smell and taste of ashes and smoke. You fell to his needs immediately, the hot, swollen throb in your wrist going ignored as you kissed him back, wanting to taste the smoke on his tongue. So as the heat of his body evaporated the tears off your cheeks, you caved into his kisses. 

Your wrist throbbed as your hands reached up and curled into his hair. 

But the biting possessiveness of his body was all too apparent to you as his teeth buried into your tongue and sucked on it harshly. You gasped, your body arching into his touch as you opened your closed eyes to peer into his piercing lifeless eyes. 

You moaned, body trembling with the wild desire to make him feel good, to make yourself feel good. But you fell, his teeth letting go of your tongue and his calloused, burnt hands pushing you onto the object beneath you. The mildewy mold scent of the mattress beneath you burned into your nose, somehow damp even though there had been no rain for weeks.

Dabi was on you immediately, his body between your legs, lips simmering against your mouth once more, and his hand on your throat. His staples scraped against your chin, the cold metal scratching into your skin until it hurt. You can’t recall the last time he put this horrible power on his grips, you felt your head beginning to spin with the slow, dizzying throb of losing all oxygen, but Dabi took no mind to your struggles; in fact, it seemed to be enjoying it.

“Come on, doll, kiss me back like you actually fucking mean it,” Dabi snapped, his hands burning even more against your throat, and the other made contact with your pants. Your clothes were burnt to singe, the smell of burning fabric had long been a scent you had been familiar with, but you couldn’t even gather the energy to cry about the clothes he just burnt off your body. “Stop acting like a little bitch,” he growls, obviously noticing your shift in character, “be a good doll, and do as you’re told.”

Despite the burning, stabbing feeling in your skin, and the way you couldn’t keep the silent tears from stopping you from doing as you were told. You kiss him back as you once had before, your jaw dropping and your tongue reaching to meet his. 

Dabi growled, clearly liking the suddenly positive response from you, and you trembled against his hold. But, soon, a new scent filled your nose, a unique scent that aligned with the painful burning of flesh.

“You see, I don’t like it when things that belong to me don’t do what I want. I especially hate having to share things that are mine. Don’t get cocky, sweet thing, you’re my precious doll, but I don’t give a single shit about you,” Dabi spat against your lips, his mouth speaking against yours, and his eyes staring straight into your eyes. 

Or they would have been should you not have been in such trifling, nauseating pain as Dabi’s hand burned against your skin. His quirk sizzled against your skin, creating a perfect brand of his hand on your throat, but the pain was immeasurable, horrifically painful as you wailed against his mouth.

“Let me go, let me go, let me go!” you screamed, your hands fisting and pathetically slamming against Dabi’s shoulders, pleading to be shown mercy.

But Dabi merely looked down at you with sadistic disinterest, relishing in the way the smell of your burning skin wafted into his nose until he let go. 

You tried to scream, tried to cry to whatever god may be looking down at you to come and save you, but you found you couldn’t. The burnt, pussing bubbles of infected flesh bubbling on your throat were tight on your sweat-slicked skin, and every small movement made it feel worse.

“There we go!” Dabi grins again, his eyes wild and almost demented as he flips you over so that your naked ass is hanging out in the air, able to be manipulated to his will. The tears in your eyes were still streaming down your face, intermixing with the blood and popped blisters on your skin as Dabi pressed you into a position that would make things easier for him to fuck you in. “I can’t fuck you when your cunt is buried in this box.”

You make a noise, a small noise that sends a powerful wave of nausea through you as Dabi separates your legs and curls his fingers within your slick cunt. 

“Glad to see that your little pussy is still wet as fuck,” Dabi groans, his fingers scissoring deep within you, stretching out your hole until you pathetically cries into the mildew scented mattress. Your body pulsated with a different stimulus; the pain in your throat still burned and was feeling itchy. The thud in your wrist hurt to move. But the pleasure of his fingers buried deep in your cunt made your eyes cross and your mouth pant in the overcoming sensation of your pussy being tended to.

“D-Dabi,” you manage to croak out, the tears running down your cheeks, once more intermixing with the thick blood and puss on the burn. Your voice was disgustingly hoarse, sounding akin to someone with smoker's lungs. “P-Please.”

“P-Please what?” Dabi mocked, his hips grinding against your exposed, pert ass. You could feel the hard cock in his pants, the shift in the fabric as he dropped his own pants and underwear to rut his piercing covered cock through your asscheeks. “Don’t think about me fucking your ass, you dirty fucking bitch, I’m not gonna do that weird shit.”

“N-No!” you whimper, your unburnt hand reaching behind you to grab onto the fabric of his coat that he refused to remove. Somehow, the movement made the throbbing flesh on your throat hurt more, and you swallowed the rising bile in your throat, gagging. “D-Dabi, f-fuck!”

“You want something better than my fingers?” he continued to question, uncaring that he knew exactly what you meant by those words. He was too focused on the way your walls were much tighter around his fingers right now, a vice trap that made him both eager and unwilling to shove his cock deep within your womb just yet. 

You mewl in frustration, your hips shifting against his intruding fingers, desperate to get the coldness of his pierced cock within you already. The pain was still very much alive, but the pleasurable build in your core was quickly outweighing your mood. 

“Oh, I get it,” Dabi sighs, his fingers exiting your throbbing, soaked cunt, both his hands slamming onto your ass, gripping the flesh with all the strength he had. “You want another fucking brand. You want the world to know who you fucking belong to, who fucking owns you until the day you die.”

The words send a panicked throb in your stomach, but before you could protest, before you could make note that this was not something you wanted, his fingers grew hot. Hotter and hotter, they grew until the blue of his flame felt like scorching white heat under your skin. Impossibly unbearable pain and branding scarred into your skin as you’re able to ignore the resulting pain in your throat to scream so loudly, your voice bounces off the alley walls multiple times. 

You can’t see what he did, but you can tell that his handprints are scarred to your ass; you can feel the puss-filled blisters rising from the skin as Dabi continues to massage the skin as if it was a bruise and not some second-degree burn. You sobbed into the mattress, your face buried into the ugly fabric, snot, and tears pooling onto the surface until you were choking on your spit and rising bile. 

Before you could even adjust to the pain, your mind pounding and reeling with the stinging, melting sensation on your ass, something thick, cold, and pierced rams into your throbbing cunt. Your body lurches forward with the initial thrust, your body, despite the pain, jumping from the shock of Dabi’s cock entering you.

It’s a familiar feeling, a feeling you loved, but you can’t focus on the sense of the many balled piercing gliding against your ruffled walls. The extra stimulus pointedly ignored because the pain in your ass was currently outweighing the pleasure he was giving you. But Dabi doesn't care. Why would he care? You’re his doll, and right now, he’s in heaven. Your cunt was blistering hot against his cock and oh so fucking tight. Dabi knew why he was so obsessed with you, and it started with that tight pussy of yours that could milk him dry without even trying. 

Dabi smiled, his hands raising off the branded handprints on your ass that were caked with already horribly forming scabs, blisters, pus, and blood. He felt giddy seeing your ass, covered with trembles and sweat, covered with his handprint. There was no denying you were his, no denying that you were here to serve the League as nothing except his fuck doll. No one would want you now that you had three of his handprints branded on you, and not even he could love someone with as ugly scars on your body.

So, with the stammering, choking cries that poured from your mouth for Dabi to stop because his rutting hips slamming against your newly branded ass was too much, Dabi let his head drop back, flooded with the sense of elation and euphoria. 

You were his.

Finally his.

Only his.

“It hurts!” you screamed, your hips shifting in your feeble attempt to escape his barbaric hold. “It hurts, Dabi!”

“If it hurts so much, why the fuck is your cunt so wet?” Dabi mocked, his hips slamming into you with deeper, faster strokes. “Why the fuck are you moving your hips like a desperate whore if it hurts?”

You howl in your pain crossed pleasure, the tears soaking your face, and the mattress seemingly flowing from you without end in sight. Much like the squelching slick in your cunt that grows louder and louder and the Jacob's ladder on his cock pressed further and further into your warm velvet walls. 

“Because it hurts!” you screech, your fingers tearing into the mattress, your body spasming from the overload of sensation. Your mind slips through the cracks of consciousness, and the pain begins to override your mind.

“Oi, oi, oi!” Dabi yells, his hand coming down to slap the blistering brand on your ass, completely waking you back up. “Don’t you dare knock out on me, doll. I might call you a doll, but I don’t want you to be some fucking dumbass ragdoll when you’re on my cock!”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, your eyes crossing and your vision spinning with the onslaught of sharp, stinging pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Mm,” Dabi hums, clearly pleased with your apology. “Seems like after so long, you’ve finally accepted your useless, pathetic, quirkless ass can’t do shit.”

So, his hands shift from your ass and move onto your hips, enjoying the way your skin is so soft, so easily bruisable beneath his hold. Your body seems to block out the pain he brings to your body and only accept the lulling pleasure of it all. The noises of his drilling cock into your sobbing cunt is loud, the sopping noises loud and soft in both your ears. Dabi has half a mind to wonder if anyone would walk by the alleyway, hear your desperate, pathetic noises and call the cops. 

He smiles lazily as his cock brushes against the wall of your cervix. Would he kill you in front of them all and then them? Maybe he would make you beg for his cock more in front of the officers and kill them all should they be aroused. He laughed as his cock slammed into your cervix, the squealing pleasure ripping from your throat at the feeling, and Dabi felt light.

Oh, yes, yes, yes.

How pathetic would that be?! Heroes getting aroused as he fucked such a poor girl in front of them! Of course, they’d have to be killed because that would be immoral of them, and not to mention that once anyone got a lustful eye on, you deserved to die.

You were his.

Only his. 

“Who does this pussy belong to?!” Dabi snaps, his hand grabbing your hair by the roots. “Who?”

“Dabi!” you laugh giddily, your face still streaming with tears, your lips bloody and bitten raw. “Dabi! Dabi! Dabi!”

Dabi growls in his satisfying pleasure, his hand throwing your head back onto the mattress, and his hands press onto your shoulders as he begins to thrust faster, harder, more power into your clenching tight cunt. His fingers tear into your skin, breaking the skin and watching the ruby red liquid ooze from your skin. 

That causes you to scream, your face twisted in slight pain, but Dabi presses onward. 

He has one last thing to do.

“Such a good fuck doll, don’t you think you deserve to be rewarded for being such a good fuck? For having such a sweet, tight pussy?” Dabi asks, his teeth biting against the nape of your neck as he continued to fuck you until fluids were beginning to seep from your cunt. “I’m going to make sure that everyone in the fucking world knows you belong to me, that you are my precious fucking doll and no one else's, okay?”

You keen loudly, your body shivering underneath his, and your head nodding, your tongue unable to produce any more words.

Dabi raised his finger, the tip blazing with a small, concentrated blue flame, and he makes contact with the skin on your back.

Dabi Dabi Dabi Dabi

His name is written repetitively on your back. The layers of skin on your back wholly burned off so that the twitching pink of your skin muscles are shown. No blood comes from there.

Dabi laughs, delighted with how fucking perfect you look with his name on your back, and you seemed to have flipped out of your broken mindset and shoved back into the horrors of the pain your body was experiencing. You gagged loudly, screaming and twitching with immense pain, but Dabi continues.

“You don’t mean shit to me, though, doll; I hope you know that!” Dabi snickers, his cock throbbing when he felt the familiar milking sensation of your cunt as you finally came around him. He continued to ram his cock into you, savagely uncaring of how you begged from him to stop, pathetically asked for him to heed. “You’re nothing more than my cumslut, nothing more than some stupid sex doll for me to use. And now you’re completely ruined! No one will want you with my brand all over you! No one will, and I sure as hell don’t want you forever!”

Your body stills under him, not quite limp as though you might pass out, but cold, frozen.

Dabi doesn’t care; he never has as he countries to hammer his cock within you, his tongue sweeping over his front teeth before spitting onto his branded name on your skin. You flinch greatly at the burning sensation, your eyes trying not to close with unconsciousness as ropes of his cum and seed spill into your cunt.

You lay there, unable to move, as Dabi stands up, quickly dressing and leaving you with a mere chuckle.

You were ruined forever, you suddenly realized as we make our way back to the beginning scene.

Cold, used, quirkless.

You had no purpose in life except to be Dabi’s whore, and even he didn’t want you.

The darkness consumed you in the worst of ways right then.