Sexual Tension - Blog Posts

Toji SMAU - When love was always there

Chapter 19 - Heat of the Moment

Summary: You see him again on your first day of college. Fuck. Toji Zenin has been the bane of your existence since your first day of kindergarten. Over the 15 years you’ve had the “pleasure” of knowing him, he’s made it his personal mission to make your life a living hell. From chopping off your hair in kindergarten to pushing you into a pond on your first day of high school, Toji has done it all. You’d always thought he would choose a college far away from you, but as it has always been, fate came to kick your ass. Hard.

warnings: cursing, sexual language, mentions of bullying

an: Do you guys want full on smut or should I just keep it like this??? SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{chapter 18} ; {next}

taglist: @jinxiewritings @actuallyvalerie @clp-84 @stickystay @reneinii

࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

The party was in full swing by the time you arrived with your friends, the bass from the music vibrating through the floor as costumed students filled every corner of Gojo’s massive penthouse. Halloween decorations covered the place, from fake cobwebs to eerie glowing lights, and the air smelled of alcohol, perfume, and the faintest hint of weed. You adjusted the ears on your head, smoothing down the tight and form fitting top of your Lola Bunny costume as you scanned the crowd.

It didn’t take long to spot him.

Toji stood near the drinks table, pouring himself a whiskey into a red Solo cup, the black and white Ghostface mask lazily pushed up onto his head. His bare chest was fully on display—his excuse for a “costume” being nothing more than black sweatpants and the mask. The defined muscles of his torso flexed as he moved, tattoos standing out against his tan skin, and you could already see girls eyeing him from across the room.

A smirk pulled at your lips as an idea formed in your head.

You weaved through the crowd and crept up behind him, waiting for the perfect moment before leaning in close. “Boo.”

Toji tensed, his hand twitching around his cup as he turned sharply, his usual scowl in place—until his eyes landed on you.

His expression froze, mouth slightly parted as he took in your costume. His green eyes darkened, gaze trailing over your body, from the fluffy ears on your head to the dangerously short shorts that barely covered anything. His tongue swiped over his lips as he blatantly checked you out, and for a second, you swore he forgot how to speak.

Then, just as quickly, his expression twisted into something irritated. “The fuck are you wearin’?”

You blinked, taken aback. “A costume?”

He scoffed, his eyes flickering to the guys around you, lingering on the ones that had been stealing glances your way. His jaw tensed, and before you knew it, he was yanking his hoodie from where it was tied around his waist and tossing it at you. “Put that shit on.”

You caught it, brows furrowing. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He crossed his arms over his chest, biceps flexing. “Walkin’ around damn near naked—everyone’s starin’.”

“Oh, so what, you’re allowed to be shirtless, but I have to cover up?” You put a hand on your hip. “That’s rich.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

He scowled. “It just is.”

You grinned. “You’re jealous.”

“Jealous?” He let out a dry laugh. “Of what?”

“Of all the guys looking at me right now,” you teased, stepping closer. “Bet you wanna fight every single one of them, huh?”

Toji’s eye twitched. “I swear to god, Y/N—”

“Relax, big guy.” You threw his hoodie back at him with a wink.

Toji opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, a familiar figure brushed past the two of you.

Gojo.

You both immediately turned your attention to him, watching as he strolled by, one arm lazily slung over the shoulders of a girl. She was dressed in a police officer costume, tight-fitting but understated, a stark contrast to Gojo’s usual flashy preferences. His criminal costume complemented hers, a lazy attempt at “matching,” but what caught your attention was the way she clung to him—not in an attention-seeking way, but in a way that made it clear she was anxious and had her guard up.

Toji let out a low whistle. “So he really got a girl, huh?”

You crossed your arms. “Guess so.”

“She don’t look like his type.”

“She’s not.”

Toji glanced at you. “You met her?”

“Yeah, yesterday.” You sighed, shifting on your feet. “I might’ve been kinda mean to her.”

At that, Toji’s expression shifted. His brows furrowed slightly, lips pulling into a pout that he’d never admit was a pout. “Why?”

You shrugged. “I dunno. I guess…I was just surprised. I thought he’d go for someone different.”

“You mean someone like you?”

Your eyes flickered to his, and you could see the irritation swimming beneath them. He didn’t like the idea that you might still care.

You smirked. “Maybe.”

Toji scoffed. “You’re full of shit.”

You only laughed before turning on your heel and disappearing back into the crowd.

As the night went on, you could feel Toji’s gaze on you, your eyes meeting across the room every so often, a silent tension building between you. The occasional glances, the way his lips quirked up whenever he saw you laughing, the way you’d purposely sway your hips just a little more when you knew he was watching—it was a game, a dangerous one, but neither of you wanted to stop playing.

By the time 2 AM rolled around, you were tipsy, the alcohol buzzing through your system as you stepped out onto the balcony to get some air. You leaned against the railing, enjoying the crisp night breeze, when a familiar voice rumbled behind you.

“Coulda sworn I told you to cover up.” His voice was rough, low, edged with something that sent a shiver down your spine.

You turned, crossing your arms as you met his gaze. “You’re still on that?”

He smirked, stepping closer, his presence impossibly heavy. “Nah. Just figured I should remind you.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

“Do I?”

“Mhm.”

You stared at each other, the air between you charged, thick with something unspoken. The tension had been simmering all night, bubbling under the surface of every lingering glance, every brush of your fingers when you passed each other.

And now, it was spilling over.

Your heart pounded as you tilted your head, voice softer now. “What are we doing, Toji?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he let his gaze drop, slowly trailing down the curve of your neck, past your collarbone, over the fitted top hugging your chest. His tongue flicked out to wet his lips before he met your eyes again, darker this time, the green nearly swallowed by black.

“You tell me,” he murmured.

Your breath caught.

Something shifted.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the space between you, your hands hesitating for only a second before grasping the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging him just a little closer. His chest brushed against yours, and the heat radiating from his skin was almost overwhelming.

His fingers brushed along your waist, barely there, a teasing touch that made you tremble.

You tilted your chin up, while he lowered his head to lean in closer, lips just inches from his. “I think you wanna kiss me.”

Toji huffed a quiet laugh, but it was strained. His fingers flexed against your waist, gripping you tighter, as if to steady himself.

“Yeah?” His voice was husky, a challenge laced beneath it.

You nodded, your nose brushing against his.

“You gonna do something about it?”

Toji’s patience snapped.

His mouth crashed onto yours, rough and hungry, like he’d been waiting all night for this moment. His hands found your hips, pulling you flush against him, and the heat of his bare chest burned through the thin fabric of your top. His lips were soft but demanding, his teeth nipping at your lower lip before he soothed the bite with his tongue, tasting the faint trace of alcohol on you.

You whimpered against his mouth, fisting the fabric of his sweatpants as his hands roamed your body, fingers digging into your thighs, your waist, anywhere he could touch. He kissed you like he was starving, like he needed to memorize the shape of your lips, the way your breath hitched when he tilted your head back to deepen the kiss.

His hands moved up, fingers slipping into your hair as he tilted your face, pressing deeper, devouring you. You felt the rough scrape of his stubble against your skin, the sharp contrast between his firm grip and the lazy drag of his lips against yours. He was overwhelming, intoxicating, and you couldn’t get enough.

You tugged at his waistband, making him groan against your mouth, his hands squeezing your hips in response. He pulled away just enough to mutter, “Keep doin’ shit like that, and I ain’t stoppin’.”

Your lips were swollen, breath shaky as you stared at him, both of you panting, drunk on each other.

You licked your lips. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

Toji grinned against your skin, his teeth grazing your jaw before he kissed you again, slower this time, savoring every second. His hands slid under your hoodie—his hoodie now draped over your shoulders—fingertips tracing the bare skin beneath it.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like it.”

“Damn right, I do.”

And then, with a heated pull, he had you back against him, pressing his lips to yours with a force that left you breathless.

It was the last thing you remembered clearly.

The next morning, you woke up in unfamiliar sheets.

Your heart pounded as you blinked against the morning light, the events of last night hazy in your mind. Your head was killing you, and your limbs felt heavy as you slowly turned your head—only to see a very shirtless Toji sleeping beside you.

Your stomach dropped.

Oh, shit.

Panicked, you sat up, heart racing as you looked down at yourself—no clothes. No fucking clothes.

Your hands trembled as you quickly got out of bed, scrambling for your outfit. Your thoughts were jumbled, memories a blur, and you couldn’t even piece together how you’d ended up here. The only thing you knew was that you had to get out.

Toji stirred slightly, his brows furrowing in his sleep, but he didn’t wake up.

Holding your breath, you grabbed your heels and tiptoed to the door, slipping out as quietly as you could.

You didn’t stop moving until you were outside, the morning air biting against your bare skin.

And then, finally, you let out a shaky breath.

What the hell did I do?

Some quick tips for writing sexual tension in your novel:

1. Establish strong chemistry: Develop the characters' attraction to each other through meaningful interactions, shared interests, or a deep emotional connection. Their chemistry will lay the foundation for the sexual tension to build upon.

2. Use body language and non-verbal cues: Describe subtle gestures, lingering glances, or the way their bodies react in each other's presence. These non-verbal cues can heighten the tension and create a sense of anticipation.

3. Utilize dialogue: Employ flirty banter, double entendres, or suggestive remarks to create verbal sparring between characters. Clever wordplay can add layers of subtext and amplify the sexual tension.

4. Slow down the pace: Build tension by slowing down the pacing of scenes involving the characters. Emphasize their awareness of each other, the anticipation of physical contact, and the longing that grows with every passing moment.

5. Explore internal thoughts and desires: Give readers insight into the characters' internal dialogue, their secret desires, and the fantasies they have about each other. This adds depth and intensifies the sexual tension.

6. Employ the power of touch: Describe the impact of a brief brush of hands, accidental contact, or the lingering sensation left by a gentle touch. These tactile sensations can evoke a heightened sense of awareness and anticipation.

7. Create obstacles and conflicts: Introduce obstacles or conflicts that prevent the characters from acting upon their desires. These challenges can fuel the sexual tension, making the eventual release even more satisfying for both the characters and the readers.

8. Use sensory details: Engage the readers' senses by describing scents, sounds, or textures associated with the characters' proximity or potential intimacy. Sensory details can intensify the atmosphere and enhance the readers' experience of the sexual tension.

9. Play with power dynamics: Explore power dynamics between characters, such as a power imbalance or a push-pull dynamic. This can create a magnetic pull and increase the sexual tension as the characters navigate their desires and boundaries.

10. Employ the element of surprise: Introduce unexpected moments or situations that catch the characters off guard and heighten the sexual tension. These surprises can lead to spontaneous or forbidden encounters, increasing the anticipation and desire.

Remember to balance the sexual tension with the overall tone and genre of your novel, ensuring it aligns with your intended audience and fits organically within the story. With these tips, you'll be able to craft captivating scenes that sizzle with sexual tension, leaving readers eagerly turning the pages for more.

Happy writing!

♡ Kissed By The Baddest Villain ♡

Link To Masterlist

WC: ~3,000

Ch 4: So Kiss Me

It’s been a few weeks since the festival, and although you’ve all spent plenty of time lately putting the newest plans for the League Of Villains into motion, you can’t get the last interactions with Atsuhiro out of your head. Nor can you stop from thinking about how Dabi felt pressed to you, how he let you grab a fistful of his shirt, the way his calloused hands felt on your back. 

If you were being totally honest with yourself, this tension you’ve been feeling—combined with not having any sex at all lately—has you incredibly pent up and sexually frustrated. This is only exacerbated by your own behaviors. You’re not entirely positive why you keep doing this to yourself, but if you see someone eating something you want a bite of (or not), you’ll look at whoever is eating it until they give you some. When the mood so strikes you, you’ll just open your mouth, lean into them, wait for whoever it is to notice and indulge you in what you’re concerned may be some sort of fetish that was unlocked.

Nobody ever denies you. 

Still, though, you’re… well, offended isn’t the right word. You don’t take offense to people not wanting to sleep with you. It’s not like they can control who they’re attracted to. 

But you’re becoming more and more wishful that someone would throw a pity fuck your way. 

Do you really want to be pitiful enough that someone has sex with you, though?

Ugh. No. That would be a huge blow to your self-esteem. You just really want to be wanted. Especially when the guys who could potentially want you are all so cute. It’s got you to the point where you’re about to pounce on whoever so much as looks at you the next time you’re alone with someone. Or so you say to yourself. You’ve literally never made the first move with anyone, and even thinking about it makes you feel queasy, the notion that they could reject you outright nearly bringing you to tears. It’s almost funny. You’ve been punched in the jaw so hard that it clicks when you chew, but you can’t handle the prospect of being turned down. You really are pitiful.

After a good long stretch in your bed, you make your way to the bathroom, rinse your face with cool water to wash away whatever horny spirit has possessed you, then go through your usual morning routine. It was your assumption that you would be facing a packed house when you entered the den, however, you walk in to see only Shigaraki sitting on the couch, hunched over and playing League Of Legends on his phone. He crumples into himself when he hears your footsteps on the old wooden floors.

“Are we the only ones here?” You announce yourself, leaning against the back of the couch to glance at the game on his screen.

“I sent everyone else out to scout for supplies. And for members of the Vanguard Action Squad if they find anyone, too,” Shigaraki mutters as he scratches absentmindedly at his neck.

Scars litter the fragile skin there in varying degrees. Some are white and webbed, shiny in the light of the room like a spider’s silk, while others are still warm rivets of healing tissue. You wonder if the scars that trail across his eye and lips are self-inflicted as well. Wonder if he’ll ever tell you the stories behind them.

“I would’ve gone to help had you asked me to,” you say with the smallest twinge of guilt for sleeping in so late. 

He shifts in his spot, crimson eyes avoiding your own gaze, his mouth formed into a tight line. 

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it,” 

“I just don’t want you to think that I’m not willing to pull my own weight,” 

You take a seat next to him and his breath hitches. You’ve never been this close to him before. Of course, his plan was for you both to be alone together while the others were tasked with scouring the streets, but he hadn’t expected you to be quite so receptive. Are you as touch starved as he is? No, probably not, he thinks. Everyone is always trying to touch you, feed you, talk to you. It’s as if you’ve become the household pet. The thought that he’s one of these scrubs who fawns for you this way makes him sick to his stomach. It pisses him off how goddamn pretty you are, how sweaty you make his palms, how his mind stalls when you talk to him. You're just so... frustrating.

God, why can't he ever just be normal around you?

“I said don’t worry about it. Some of us need to stay behind in case shit goes sideways,” he explains, peering at you through his mop of blue bangs. 

The glance is fleeting, unable to be held with how his stomach keeps doing flips when he looks into your eyes. 

“That makes sense, boss,” you say this in a way that’s almost teasing, your grin visible in his peripheral.

Oof.

He’s about to lose his shit.

“It’s Tomura,” 

“Mmm. Okay. Well, that makes sense, Tomura,” the way you say his name sends a fleet of shivers across his skin. 

Son of a bitch. He should’ve just let you call him boss. Why did he do this to himself? Hearing you call him by his first name is about to kill him. 

“Mind if I play some music?” You ask, already pulling up the app on your phone.

“I don’t care,” his tone falters a bit with these words. 

You don’t know what’s come over you. Really, you don’t. Maybe you’re ovulating, maybe the exasperation has gnawed at what’s left of your common sense, maybe you just really want to dip your toe in the water. You can’t be certain. All you know is that the song you pick is Kiss Me by Sixpence None The Richer. His facial expression doesn’t change, still flat in affect, eyes only snapping open when the lyrics begin. He nearly dusted his phone upon hearing them.

“Have you ever danced before?” The question is mostly rhetorical. 

You’re pretty aware that he more than likely has not, in fact, danced before. Most villains don’t indulge in those manner of frivolous activities, namely when they have quirks like his. But you don’t mind. You’re used to dangerous quirks, dangerous situations, and dangerous men. 

“Dancing is stupid,” He scoffs. 

It’s his heart that’s being stupid right now, though. It won’t stop beating so hard and fast. Is he coming down with something? This is just a song. A really dumb one at that. There’s no way kissing is so good that someone would sing about it. 

. . .

Probably.

“So you wouldn’t want to dance with me, then?”

He holds a gasp within his mouth.

Are you asking him to dance with you?

Tomura.exe is no longer responding. 

Anticipation blooms in your gut while you wait for him to answer, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. 

“I didn’t say that,” He sets his phone down, eyes owlish and large, anxiously tapping his index finger against his knee. 

If this were anyone else, his answer would be a firm and resounding no. But there’s something about you that makes him repulsively soft and compliant, a weakness he wasn’t aware of previously that he’s not nearly as desperate as he should be to eradicate, a feeling that’s red and raw and alive. And although he hates how easily you have him wrapped around your finger, he doesn’t necessarily want it to stop. This sensation is new, and strange, but oddly pleasant.

Without a word, you smile at him, lifting off of the couch and offering him your hand. He stands on his own instead, refusing to look up from the floor, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Hastily, he pulls a pair of gloves from his pocket, stitched with black leather, and slips them on to cover the last two digits of each hand. 

“Just.. watch where you're touching,” he mumbles, “the gloves could slip or something,”

“I’ll take my chances,” you giggle, grabbing him by the wrists. 

You pull him closer, positioning one gloved hand to your hip, another at your shoulder, and he lifts his pinkies for added security. 

You grin sweetly, eyelashes fluttering, “See? It’s easy,” 

He makes a tiny, choked sound, the noise catching in his throat as the song ends, leading to Fade Into You by Mazzy Star. His pulse is thundering through his veins, echoing in his skull like a war hammer. He’s going to melt with how febrile and balmy he’s become. This is made worse when you stumble over your own foot, lunging forward, your cheek now pressed against his. 

“Sorry,” the apology is somewhat strained, “I’m not the best dancer,”

His staggered breaths can be heard clearly in your ear, tickling your skin, warm and whispy. It makes you realize just how much you long to be held. Having heard no complaints from him, you keen in closer, both of you smoldering in the heat of one another. He swears this pit in his stomach has to be the music. It’s influencing him with all this acoustic guitar strumming.

There’s a shake to his voice when he asks, “Why are we dancing if you’re so damn bad at it?” 

“Because it’s nice to be close like this,” the timbre sits low in your chest.

You run a lock of his hair through your fingers, hands clasped at the base of his neck. He feels like he might be dying. The only other time he’s experienced an adrenaline rush like this is when he’s just gotten the holy hell beat out of him in a fight. It’s making him nervous and stiff. 

You’ve turned in so many circles that you end up with your back flat against the wall, and you chuckle at this, thoroughly amused. He hasn’t registered just yet that it’s time to stop spinning, so he continues the movements until his elbows scrape the wall, eliciting a quiet grunt from him. With a breathy laugh, you pat his arm, and he swallows thickly at the way your eyes sparkle, how they crinkle up with your smile. He feels weird. Like this isn’t really happening to him. It knocks the wind from his lungs, has him squeezing at your waist with eight trembling fingers, biting into your soft flesh, grinding you harder into the wall behind you. Tomura has you inadvertently caged in, his ragged breaths fanning the sensitive junction of your neck, the firm muscle of his thigh pressing at your center as he makes an attempt to steady himself.

And you, unintentionally, from weeks of being pent up, let out a hushed whine when his leg grazes you. Shocks of neon are sent from your core until you’re pressing your thighs together to quell the ache that’s settled there, eyes heavily lidded before they bolt wide at the realization that you’ve practically moaned at this contact. Mortified, you’re overtaken by the crimson heat of embarrassment, cheeks pinched dark and ruddy.

He simply stares in lieu of a response.

You’re sweating bullets, perspiration clinging to your shirt, the heady whimper that spilled from your throat playing on a loop in your head. You wish more than anything that a gigantic meteor would come crashing through the wall and crush you to death. Or hell, even just a pea-sized one, right through the back of your skull. Even if it didn’t kill you it could possibly lobotomize you enough to where you at least don’t care about the cosmic horrors beyond your comprehension that you’ve just brought upon yourself. Sure, Shigaraki would still remember—but you’d be too deceased or brain injured to think about it any more. 

Tomura freezes in place, a deer in the headlights. He has no idea what to do. That sound you just made.. It did something to him. More than what looking at porn does. Somehow, it’s very different having someone up against him, the noise that came from you so genuine, less campy than the ones he’s heard online. He shoves you away as if you’ve scalded him, the memory of the way your eyes bored into his only a minute prior burrowing its way under his skin. 

“What the fuck was that?” He pants, shuffling backwards, hot flushes of panic washing over him.

“I.. I didn’t mean to, i-it just came out, I…” you keep yourself flat against the wall as you attempt to stammer your way out of this.

Your saving grace is the rest of the league slamming open the door to the bar and trudging inside, your Uncle Kagero and a man quite literally bulging with muscles following in tow. 

“We’re back from doing your bidding, Shigaraki,” Dabi states, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tattered pants. 

Mr. Compress tuts at the state of you, “What have you been doing to Yumemi while we’ve been away? She looks frightened,” he coaxes you away from the wall, brushing the loose hair from your clammy face, “You’ve scared her, Shigaraki. Shame on you!”

“I didn’t do anything!” Tomura grits through his teeth, “We were listening to music, and she.. hit the wall, or something, I don’t know. Then she.. there was this noise…” his voice trails off into the ether, and you bury your face in your hands to hide your shame. 

“Oh no! Mimi, did you hit the wall too hard? Is there blood?” Toga’s attitude changes on a dime, licking her lips at the last word as Spinner sets down his much-too-massive sword to check on you. 

“Want me to take a look at it?” He offers with concern in his voice. 

“I’m the one who should be looking at it, I was here when it happened,” Shigaraki counters, his upper lip curled into a scowl. 

“Well I’m the one who actually knows how to repair skin. I should be the one checking her out,” says Dabi as he cracks his knuckles in preparation. 

“Nobody’s checking her out,” Atsuhiro adds curtly, “Unless you’d like me to, Yumemi,”

Everyone is being so kind and caring about your wellbeing. 

Little do they know you’re just fucking disgusting. 

Guilt curls in your belly, hot tears threatening to spill out onto your cheeks, stinging at the corners of your eyes.

Giran crests the entryway, lit cigarette casting a trail of smoke through the room as he tells the group, “I’ve seen Yumemi take a Glock to the head. She’s fine. Just a brat,” he tousles your hair like you’re still a snot-nosed toddler, then points to the hulking blonde beside him, “Brought you guys someone for your action squad. He’s got a hell of a quirk. Muscles that just keep regenerating, super strength, ability to manipulate said muscles. You interested?”

“They call me Muscular,” the man interjects, his voice booming over the rest. 

No shit, you think to yourself. But judging by the ratio of chest to skull you’re assuming wordplay isn’t exactly his strong suit. 

“We could use a strength quirk,” Shigaraki says, “And really anyone who’s able to follow directions,”

“You got it, boss. I’m able to knock any heads you need me to,”

The room disperses for the league to discuss the VAS plans further, your uncle pocketing his fee and slipping what he owes you into your pocket as he takes his leave. 

“You good?” He asks, voice low enough to be concealed. 

“Yeah.. I’m fine, I just… I hit the wall,” you toe the floor with the tip of your shoe as you speak.

“Well, call if you need me. I may not be your favorite uncle, but I’m here,”

“Quit fishing for compliments, old man. You know you’re my favorite uncle,” you pause to think for a few beats, “Actually, you’re my only uncle,”

His eyes widen, “Did something happen to Tom?”

“I mean, he’s alive, just dead to us. Did nobody tell you aunt Linda divorced his cheating ass?”

“He cheated on Linda?” His voice kicks up with his question, “Who the hell would cheat on Linda?"

“Yeah, well, she’s single now. Want her number?”

“Yumemi, she lives in New York. When would I even see her?” He leans against the doorframe as he speaks, puffing on his unfiltered cigarette. 

“She comes to visit a few times a year. Enough times for you to get yourself some Uncle Strange, at least,” you jest with him, and he sucks in a breath until his cherry burns to a nub. 

You laugh as he exits without so much as a goodbye, waving you off, muttering something to himself about how your parents raised such a weirdo. Now that you’re alone, Muscular glances down at you as if you’re a little mouse in his path. You know that look. You don’t much care for it, either. The guilt you felt mere moments prior has fled your gut, replaced instead by a nefarious lurching, a general sense of unease. 

“Pleased to meet you, sweetheart,” he extends his hand to you, massive and meaty, which you take to your chagrin. 

Time to bring back that polite and professional facade.

“Please, call me Nyx,” you introduce yourself.

“I heard someone call you Yumemi earlier. That your name? It’s real pretty,”

You shiver, frozen in place, your eyes mapping out every single safe person in the room. In no world are you ever sexually frustrated enough to put yourself in harm’s way with a man like this. 

“I go by Nyx professionally,” your explanation is held someplace behind your teeth as you fix your gaze to the floor. 

“Got pretty eyes, too. Lemme just—“ he captures your chin with his index finger and forces you to look up at him, “There we go. Yeah, you’re cute. You got a room here?”

Shit.

You don’t know his real name, you don’t have a weapon, everyone is distracted, and he is fucking huge. Even with your instincts telling you to run, you can’t make yourself flee. Too many things could go wrong. This guy is strong to the point that he could break your arm if you so much as struggled to get away from him. Your eyes dart to your cohorts. They’re huddled together, voices low, distracted. 

“N-no, thank you, I’d prefer to stay out here. They might need to speak with me about the plans,” there’s a shake in your voice that you try to conceal from him, but to no avail. You seem small and afraid.

“Doesn’t look like they need you,” Muscular coos, pulling you close to him by your waist. 

You let out a squeal, and he shushes you, pinching your cheeks until your lips form a pout. With hands that are dwarfed against his body, you smack at him, grunting, attempting in vain to escape from his clutches. 

“That’s cute,” he chuckles darkly, “C’mere, tiny thing,”

He picks you up like you’re absolutely nothing, pressing his lips to your own in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He tastes like beer, tongue snaking past your lips to swipe at your own. Tears make tracks down your cheeks as you manage to part from him just enough to cry out.

“Mmf—Stop it!” You smack him across the face, a red welt left in the wake of your hand. 

“Just take it, bitch!” He hurls insults at you, calls you ungrateful, and you shriek as he lifts at your top. 

In the blink of an eye, Tomura is prying you from Muscular’s vice-like grip. The league has sprung into action, each member an equal degree of furious. Dabi’s hands blaze blue and hot, Mr. Compress preparing a few teal beads betwixt his fingers, Toga wielding a knife and bearing her teeth. Twice creates two doubles of himself to aid Tomura in holding Muscular back, and though they’re not half of the brawny man’s size, they hold their own well as Tomura lands a four-fingered grip around Muscular’s wrist.

“Listen here, bitch,” Shigaraki passes you to Spinner, who brandishes twin swords, crossing them in front of you so that he can hold you firmly to his chest, “We paid good money for you, so you’re going to use your quirk for our cause. You’re gonna go help out the Vanguard Action Squad and fuck up all those little hero brats because that’s the transaction we agreed to. But I swear, you will meet your demise by my hand should I see you so much as breathe near her again,” he clamps his hand harder, tapping his pinky finger, carmine eyes shining, “Do you fucking understand me?”

Muscular grits his teeth so hard you can hear them grinding, nodding his head, infuriated that he’s been bested by a twerp like Shigaraki. 

“Answer me, or I’ll dust you right where you stand,” Tomura’s voice is low and gravelly, tight with contempt, raw. Oh, how he’s itching to destroy him.

Muscular sucks at his teeth before he relents, “I understand,”

“So you have a brain after all,” Tomura releases him, “Get the fuck out of here before I change my mind,”

Before Muscular can process a response, Kurogiri warps him through a portal he’s opened up from the floor, and you delight in the screams that are pulled from his throat during his descent. 

“The nerve’a that fucker,” Spinner speaks into the crown of your head, “Can’t believe he would do something like that right in front of us,”

“I’m sorry I didn’t take care of myself,” you say to the room, locking eyes with Spinner, who sheaths his swords.

His heart flutters in his chest, accompanied by an ache over what’s just transpired. 

“It’s not your fault, Yumemi,” he tells you softly as he cards a hand through his magenta hair.

“He took you offgaurd in the comfort of your own dwelling. It was a dirty trick,” Mr. Compress adds on, patting your shoulder. 

Twice and his duplicates comfort you at either side, praising you for doing your best—then calling you a coward, which you elect to ignore in favor of his previous statement. 

“We should’ve been more attentive,” Shigaraki rasps, “It’s on us, not you,”

Dabi growls, prying you away for himself, “Why don’t you just stick with me from now on? I’ll make sure nothing like that ever happens again,”

Toga giggles, “Let’s go find Muscular and stab him to death in his sleep. That way, he can’t do this again ever, ‘cause he’ll be dead!” 

“That’s a better plan than having her tagging along with Dabi,” Spinner huffs.

“And what would you do to protect her, call Master Splinter? She’s safer with me than she is with any of you idiots,” Dabi bites back, heating up against your skin. 

You let out an exhausted sigh, strangely comforted by their bickering.

Mr. Compress opens a container of strawberry Pocky, removing his mask to make direct eye contact with you, the knot at your center tightening. You open your mouth, sounding off with a little “ah” to signal what you want from him. He asserts his dominance amongst the others by placing the biscuit onto your tongue. The rest grumble with discontent as you chew, blushing, eyes soft and warm. 

Yeah. 

You’re back on your bullshit already.

Kissed By The Baddest Villain Masterlist ⋆｡°✩

Synopsis: At the behest of your Uncle Kagero, you agree to be a member of the League Of Villains, loaning out your quirk to aid in their cause. Everything seems to be going as planned--until the guys all start acting weird. Why do they bicker every time you're in a room? How are you going to get used to all this attention?

And who are you going to decide to give it back to?

●Mature Themes ●Explicit Language ●Sexual Implications ●Suggestive Themes ●Smut

Hey everyone! Here is the masterlist for my current fic in progress, a LOV x fem! reader fic where you shamelessly flirt with the League Of Villains guys who are pining hard over you. It's rated Explicit as of Chapter 5, so this is a fic for those who are 18 or over! I do not go easy on the smut, my fics become filth with substance, I cannot stress this enough that it is for adult readers only!

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it ♡

Ch1 Dibs

Ch2 Getting To Know You

Ch3 Hail To The Queen

Ch4 So Kiss Me

Ch5 Practice Makes Perfect

Ch6 I Want You To Want Me

Ch7 Good Boy

Ch 8 If He's Rex Harrison, You're Audrey Hepburn

Ch 9 Ready Player Two

Ch 10 How Lucky

Looks like I am not the only one who thinks this way 🤣

I must agree with this comment. When the romance is not the main focus but at the same time, the tension is undeniable... omg, I love it 🙂‍↕️😏❤️‍🔥

Let's be honest. They look like lovers here [ out of the context, of course ].... I mean, the hand on the table, the pose, Ju In' s face.... Everything says that our MC was just now hit by the realization that he is gay 😂

A Liar's Truth

author:

internetpistol (orphan_account)

summary: In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?