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plush-rabbit · 1 year

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Heartbreak and Whispered Confessions

Request: Knock knock! Can i request a reader who was cheated on and Dabi, their best friend whos in love w them , makes it all better? The reader is totally heart broken and asks Dabi to 'make it all go away' and he does so by gentle fucking and confesses his feelings that way?

I feel like a deviant asking for smut lol

Word Count: 3.3K

A/N: You feel like a deviant?? Have you seen what most of my things are when it’s smut?? You have nothing to feel ashamed of here

You aren’t really sure when your friendship started with the infamous quirk user. You tried to think back on it, but all that you can come up with are memories when he’s already made himself comfortable at your place- eating and drinking your groceries, using your good towels to clean himself and leaving them covered in bits of ash and blood. All you know is that he made himself comfortable in your life and now you’re laying in bed, trying not to cry on his chest, but failing miserably.

“I thought he liked me.” Your voice trembles, and you cling tighter to his shirt. “I feel so dumb.” Your voice cracks and his arm that is wrapped around you only tightens.

“You aren’t dumb.” He says it so earnestly, so quickly that you want to believe him, but it only worsens your tears.

“But I am,” you cry, body shaking and tears staining his shirt. “I should have seen the signs.” You take in a shuddering breath that leaves your chest feeling hollow. You cling tighter to Dabi, trying to bury yourself into his chest, wishing and hoping that his ribs would pierce him and swallow you whole and the tears on your pillowcase would only serve as a reminder as to who you once were.

Silence is spoiled by your cries, and his heart beats into your ears. “Want me to go kill him?” You give a smile, but you know he isn’t giving a playful threat- you know that he’s serious. “Fuck, I’d just burn his dick off if you think killing him is too extreme.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips. Your tears start to slow, and you still cling to him.

Perhaps this is cruel of you. You have an inkling of a feeling that Dabi may possess some deeper feelings for you- something that goes past just a good friend, and more into a romantic sense. But you need this right now. You need him to just make it all go away and hold you. You know that he would be kind to you, that he wouldn’t dare do anything too rough to you unless asked.

Bile burns in your throat and you think that you’re going to go to hell for leading him on like this. He’d never forgive you, and you wouldn’t blame him.

His hand is on your waist, his index and middle finger on your skin where your shirt has risen and the other two the waistband of your shirts. With his other hand, he leads you to his lips, kissing you softly. He tastes like smoke and alcohol, a horrible, bitter combination but on his lips, he tastes like the finest wine, an ambrosia only meant to be tasted in a dimly lit room during late night.

“Dabi,” you whine, tears springing to your eyes. No. You can't do this to him. No matter how pathetic you feel, you can't do it to him. You don’t want to lead him on. Thinking of what he would look like- sad and betrayed, too much like you at the moment- you can’t do this to him. He hums in response, kissing at your cheek and pressing feather light kisses down to your jaw.

“What is it, doll?” His breath is hot on your neck and your heart is beating against your ribcage, and you think you might be sick.

You do like him. You’ve always found him attractive, and his snark and cruelty was something that you enjoyed because you would fight back and he wouldn’t get his feelings hurt. But he was a villain- a killer and one that was a mental breakdown away from incinerating himself to ash and bone. A villain that if you did ever pursue something, it could never be more than fling. You couldn’t ever marry him or show him off to your loved ones. You couldn’t go to a restaurant with him and sit down and enjoy a nice meal. You could take a walk in a park without putting a target on both your backs.

He calls your name, and his hand is still on your waist. You think you should put a stop to this right now, but you’ve never seen him above you. He looks pretty, and whether it's the muddled mind and teary eyes, he makes your heart skip a beat.

“What if you hate me after this?” You know what he’ll say- ‘He could never’ or some meaningless words that would contradict themselves when he came to.

“Sweetheart, you could use me and toss me aside, and I’d still find some way to sneak in here and you’d still give me a home cooked meal.” You try to interject but he shakes his head. “You’d let someone like me fuck you, if all you want to do is use me, then I’m okay with it.”

You furrow your brows. “Someone like you?” You ask, wanting to pry deeper. He’s never been one to talk about himself, always moving the discussion into something that’s mutually liked, but never about his day, even if you pry.

“Patched up and smelling like smoke everywhere I go,” he says impassively. “I got my charm, but it isn’t enough to bag someone like you.” You give him a look. “Sweet.” His head tilts to the side as if to think of more to tell you. “Homey.”

“I like having you around,’ you blurt, trying to make him feel better. “You’re a dick, but you care.” You pause, pushing yourself up and he backs up, his weight on your lap. "You care enough to pull down the pants of someone and burn their crotch, at least. No one has offered that to me before." You stay silent and he looks at you. Slowly, your hand lifts, and he watches it, following the trail until you cradle his face. “You being patched up isn’t a negative, you know?”

“You’re the only one to think so,” he muses, tilting his head ever so slightly to your palm.

"I don't want to sleep with you just because. I- If we are going to sleep with each other, I want it to be special. Not because I'm sniveling and crying over my ex."

His chin rests on your shoulder, and he's lighter than you would have thought. His hands snake underneath your arms and rest flat against your back, and he’s pulled so close to you that you can smell him- the heat, the sweat, the little bit of soap that he used. He’s so close to you and you knock your head against his, closing your eyes. “You think you'd ever be ready, then?”

It isn’t fair to lie to him, so you don’t answer. You want to sleep with him, you’d stake your life that it won’t be something that you would regret, but you don’t want to use him.

You feel the air that blows across your neck. A chill runs down your spine. “Let me take care of you-” his hands bunch up the back of your shirt- “please. You won’t regret it.”

“I know I won’t,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around him.

Chapped lips press against your neck, leaving lingering kisses from the start of your neck, rising above to under your earlobe, and you clutch tighter onto him. You feel his hands slide down your back, arching underneath your shirt, leaving a burning sensation in its wake. You feel the coarse tips of his fingers drag against the side of your stomach, the warm metal that glides over you, the rough feel of his wrist and forearm that scratch along your body and make you stand just a bit taller. You feel it all when he touches your breasts, when he pants against your neck, and you whine when his fingers squeeze and twist at your nipples.

Cushioned by the back of his hand, he cradles your head, and lowers you until his knuckles kiss at your pillow. He’s above you, and he doesn’t waste a moment to kiss you, to slide his hands down your body and lift your shirt over your head, kissing down your lips, kissing at your cheek and jaw, to your neck where he kissed you before and down to your collarbone. He lifts up his gaze to meet yours and with your breath held, you can’t look away from him.

“If you wanna stop, all you gotta do is tell me, okay.” He seals his words with a kiss pressed just above the rising swell of your breast. You release your breath, and kisses at the peak of your breast, rolling his tongue over your pebbled bud and pulling it back in between his teeth.

“No, no,” you breathe out, “I wanna continue.”

His hand burns against your flushed skin as it slides down your body, curving over your breast, and over your stomach, curving it towards your hip, and holding you as he kisses at your bitten nipple, pursing his lips over and suckling in your bud. You suck in a sharp breath, feeling it dry the roof of your mouth as he sucks on your teat, moaning against your heated skin. The hand on your hip trails down your pubic area, moving under your shorts and underwear, sliding against your bare sex, to touch at your throbbing bud.

You arch under him, muffling a whine through closed lips. His index finger rubs around your clit, teasing the bud and sliding his finger down to your slit. Your sex sucks in his finger, and your hands twist at the sheets under your hands. Another finger only makes your hand jolt and go to cup his scalp, knitting your hands in his hair.

Panted breaths and the wet sound of your cunt and suckling from your breast mix into a lewd sound that makes the shells of your ears burn vehemently. You can feel his fingers squirm inside of you, testing and teasing just what it is that has you moaning and pushing your chest into his face. Your nails scratch his scalp as you pull him closer, your walls throbbing around his fingers that curve and push deep inside of you.

“Dabi-” you voice croaks- “Fuck, Dabi,” you cry, a hand trailing down to his cheek, where he’s already moved onto the other breast.

Lips press against the side of your hand, and he returns to kissing at your breast. “What is it?” The tip of his tongue rolls around your hardened bud. “Come on, use your words.” He lifts his head up, his fingers pulling out of your cunt. You can feel your slick stick your panties to your cunt. “Huh, what is it?” There’s a soft look in his face that makes him look younger than he is, concern knitted in his brows, and you only squirm when he places the hand with his wet finger over your hip.

Your hands cup his face and squish at his cheeks. “I want more.” You pull him close to you, kissing his lips, softly, and then teeth clashing, and it’s needier, desperate, kissing until your chest feels tight, and you're rubbing yourself against him. Even through the clothes, he burns hot, warming your body and having you flinching when his staples sear at your skin.

The lack of fabric makes your skin chill, and the wet that leaks and stains your sex and inner of your thighs, makes you feel more exposed. He, however, does not follow your lead, and stays kneeled before you, his hands only going to fumble with the button and zipper of his jeans.

You frown. “You know, if you wanna stop-” you pause when he shakes his head.

“No, it’s not that.” He looks away from you and you can see blood rush to his face.

His arms and face are patched up, and you’ve seen his legs before, but never his chest. You’re sure that his body is also covered in staples. There’s a twinge of hurt that quickly subsides when you recall his earlier words about getting to be with someone like you.

The tip of your tongue wets your lips, teeth biting at your lower before you speak. “Dabi-” he looks at you when you say his name, and you come to the realization that you’ve been calling him a nickname the entire time- “I want to be with you. In like a sexual way, and I don’t want you to wear clothes or anything. Like I want to be with you.” You look away, leaning forward, your hands sliding down your legs to hold at your ankles. You look at him, forcing the urge to turn away and hide your face, ignoring the way that heat has settled in your chest and face. “I want you, Dabi.”

Neither of you speak for a moment. And he moves towards you, lowering his face until it’s leveled with yours. “You want me?”

You nod with a smile. “Yes-” you let go of your ankles and spread your legs, a sliver of your cunt peeking between your thighs- “I want you.”

With his lips pressed against yours, your hands and his bumps, trying to remove the clothes, breaking apart for just a moment, before connecting together once more. He holds the base of his cock, and it slides between your folds, rubbing his cockhead against your hardened clit, and down the slit, and with a final look to you for confirmation, he pushes himself inside.

With a sigh of relief, you close your eyes and let out a moan, encouraging him to move. He moves tentatively, and you call his name, rising on your forearms to watch as he moves his cock in and out of you, seeing and hearing the wet noises that play from your cunt. You can feel the slap of his sack against your skin, and your mouth waters, your face flaming and hands curving around his neck.

“Shit, Dabs,” you murmur, “next time I’m sucking your dick.” You regret not doing so beforehand, and while you’re not opposed to taste yourself, you know that he’s just into burying himself in you.

“So there is a next time?” He asks through gritted teeth and you nod. “Aw, fuck!” He moans, moving his hips at a faster rate. “You’re so wet, wet for me.”

You lie down, rolling your hips against his, and it’s you and him, your body twisting and turning, trying to meet his thrusts. You can feel your cunt throb, the walls clenching around him. He moves at a quick pace, hungry and desperate, far removed from the man who shied away from you just a bit ago. He’s pushing himself deep in you, nails scratching at your unmarred skin, mouth suckling on bits of you, hopeful and begging to leave a mark, whether it be a bruise or teeth indents.

“Fuck,” he lets the vowel slur out, stilling himself inside of you. “Fuck, you feel good.”

Your leg is lifted into the air, and you can feel him hit you deeper than before. The top of your head is tilted back, and you feel pressure build against the lower part of your stomach, hands grip at the sheets, while his hands hold your leg in the air, and he’s looking down to you.

The eye contact is far too intimate, far too much; you know that he’s looking at your expression, reveling in them, and you can’t pull away from his gaze. The pressure is building, you feel like you’re going to burst, and the room is growing hot, hotter than before, hotter than it ever has, and there’s warmth on your thigh, and you know that some remains of his handprints will remain on your skin. You can’t think, your mind too foggy to form anything coherent other than for him to just keep going, other than for you to slur out for him to not stop.

Your leg falls back onto the mattress, and you’re spread, with your knees bent, having him rock his body into yours. While the other position had you feeling everything, you like being close to him, having his forehead resting against yours, with him just being so close to you, feeling the weight of his body heavy against your chest.

“I’m gonna-” You squeal, squeezing your legs around him. You're careful to let your hands rest over his sides, to avoid his scars, so when you dig your nails in, the remainder of you is clear and not overtaken by a deeper hue of purple. “Dabi, fuck!” You let out a moan, muffling yourself by wrapping your arms around him, and pulling him close to you, hiding your face into the crook of his neck, careful to not bite him.

“Where do you want it?” He asks, his voice whispered against your ear. “Where do you want me to cum?”

His face is warm, and slick with sweat when you pull him aside, kissing him and nicking his bottom lip with your teeth as you try to kiss him. “Inside.” Another shudder overtakes your body. “I want you inside, please, please,” you beg, holding him down your legs. “I don’t want you to leave me, Dabi. I want your cum,” you slur out, the words mumbled through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he curses continuously, kissing at every inch of your skin that he can. Your name is moaned into the room, and it sounds far better coming out his mouth than it ever will of any other. His hips stutter into yours, slamming into you deeply, and pulling out shakily. His face is buried into your shoulder, his pants wetting your shoulder. You can feel his seed slip when he thrusts into you. A kiss is placed on your shoulder, before he lifts his head, your hands going to cradle the side of his head, bringing him close to you, slipping your tongue into his mouth.

You let out a whimper when he pulls away from the kiss. “I want you,” he says, eyes shut tight. “I don’t want you to leave me,” he cries, pushing his body against yours. “I want you, I want you,” he repeats. “Only you,” he murmurs, holding you close beside him until his cock stops twitching inside of you.

He doesn’t stop repeating that it’s you that he wants, that it’s you who he wants- needs- to stay with. He gives you soft kisses against your shoulder, peppering over where he’s bit you, cooing when you run your hands through his hair and kiss at his crown. Pulling out of you, he rests beside you, panting and running a hand through his hair. The bed creaks under his weight as he turns to you, his eyes wide, and he leans over, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips. His mouth parts open, and he’s about to tell you something, only to close it and reopen it, telling you goodnight.

The man beside you is still an enigma to you, someone who you only know scraps about, and for better or for worse, you think that you prefer it that way. You turn to look at him, and his back is turned to you, and you don’t take it to heart. His back is soft under your fingertips, and you run the pad of your finger over his scar, long and winding across his body, a hue of purple and raw underneath you, and you feel every bump, every part of him, and you so selfishly never want to stop touching him. You want to feel him, to memorize his skin so even if you grow old, you’d know how he felt when he slept beside you.

You curve your hand around his body, and kiss the nape of his neck, letting your lips linger, until you begin to decorate his neck in small, swift kisses, fluttering around to every inch of skin that you can reach without straining your neck. You worry that this is the only time that Dabi will ever let himself just be beside you, to actually sleep with you, and you want to trap him with you, to keep him locked beside you, because you can never predict who he is, and what he will do. You want to protect him in such a childish way, to never let harm come to him, to take the pain and cold from him, to shield him from the outside world. You could stare at him all day and never grow bored. You want to love so selfishly. His hand covers yours, and you smile against his skin, pulling yourself closer to him.

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