Aizawa shudders as a hand runs along the outside of his thigh. It’s meant to be sensual, he’s sure, but he’s too on edge to really enjoy the implication.
“It’s fine if you’re nervous, sweetheart.”
Too sharp. This bastard clocked him right off the bat.
“I’m not nervous,” Aizawa lies, staring the other man down assertively.
“Are you sure? Maybe you’re just frigid then,” Dabi shrugs.
“I’m not that either!” the quirk-suspending hero snaps, raising his voice in a bid to distract from his developing blush at the accusation.
Dabi grins smugly, maintaining the upper-hand with far too much ease for Aizawa’s comfort.
But he’s here. And nobody forced him to come.
He’d made the decision on his own to take the villain’s invite for a night of, presumably, angry hate-fucking, and he can’t blame a single soul but his own for putting him in this position.
“W-we need some ground rules,” Aizawa decides, earning Dabi’s cool gaze as he lifts it from the vision of the man prone beneath him. He’s been admiring him just through his clothes so far; clearly aware that to have the hero on his back like this is already quite the feat and not something to rush him about.
“Agreed,” Dabi says breezily. “What are the hard limits of the hero Eraserhead~?”
Aizawa grimaces, certain this time that his apprehensions have nothing to do with the way he interprets those words.
“You first,” the distrustful hero retorts.
“Me first, alright. Then… careful of the staples. I’m not the masochist you might expect just ‘cuz I look like this, so don’t go catching these things, got it?”
Aizawa nods, relaxing a little at the realisation that that was indeed an earnest request and that perhaps Dabi isn’t quite as snakeish as he seems.
“Anything else?” Aizawa enquires, trying to keep a stern expression.
Dabi’s smirk returns and Aizawa instinctively tenses up when he gets off the bed and stands over him. His eyes examine every movement; suspicious of a potential attack. But all he’s doing is taking his shirt off, and the older man can’t help a wince when he sees that Dabi’s skin is consistent under his clothes with what’s already visible. A patchwork of mauve burns are cinched to whatever neighbouring skin there is that remains undamaged, and it’s hard for him to imagine it feeling somehow better than it looks.
YOU ARE READING
You Belong To Me---Dabizawa One-shots
Random- only if I could make a deal with God, and get him to swap our places🤍 I really want too thank everyone who's supported me & this book I love y'all!
