amajiki tamaki imagines

six

thirteen is supposed to be an unlucky number, but ah. yeah. idk.

this is literally the first smut i've ever published ANYWHERE. i write it. i just never ever post it. because i'm self conscious B) 

also sorry if this is choppy in any way because i actually wrote a longer fic with more parts to this, but i cut this FROM it to post it

warnings: sort of public? not rly tbh nsfw, dom!fem!reader, sub!tamaki (as it should be...) um. 

~

the game they'd decided to play today for a lazy friday class to hone their hero skills happened to be a game of cops and robbers, hero and villain style. heroes were rewarded for how many people they brought into the makeshift jail at the end of the game and villains were rewarded for how long they managed to evade them. 

and tamaki was good at evading. 

he sits in a tiny vent in the building's ventilation system, waiting the entire game out and keeping his mind busy with images of her. and takoyaki. and butterflies. and quirk experiments. 

and then the metal square he'd unscrewed almost gets busted down. he almost shrieks until he recognizes who exactly had crawled into the vent with him."tamaki," she whispers in surprise, putting the door back up. "didn't think you'd be here too," she says.

he blinks. "it's fine," he says, shaking his head like a wet puppy. he looks down, his face reddening as he curls his knees to his chest. "sorry i took your hiding spot," he whispers.

"excuse me? i'm the one that's crashing yours," she says, crawling over to him. "i can't help but ask why you're blushing," she asks. "i usually never do because i don't want to embarrass you, but i'm so curious." 

"i-i," he stutters, panicking as he tries to find something to say, an excuse. "i'm just not very good with talking to... people," he says. that's weak tamaki and you know it! you don't blush when mirio or nejire walk into the room! he winces.

she's sitting on her knees, tilting her head at him curiously. "is it me?" she asks. "i don't ever mean to make you uncomfortable, i'm so sorry," she says. "i'll tone down the compliments if you want, i just want to make you feel appreciated," she smiles nervously.

he drops his mouth open. why was she apologizing to him for complimenting him? why was she so nice, so attentive, so considerate. he almost withered. "no!" he splutters. he definitely didn't want those compliments to disappear. they're what leave him the tiniest bit fed so he didn't feel like he was absolutely starving for her.

"okay, are you sure?" she wrings her hands together.

"absolutely," he says, sitting up and sticking his legs out. as if waiting for it as an invitation, she crawls up even closer to his side and his brain short circuits as her hand reaches out and caresses his cheek.

"that's good," she says, her voice soft. he shivers at the tone, his heart beating a mile a second. "i would hate to think that i'm causing you discomfort," she says. his mouth is dry. "because i think you're the absolute cutest," she says. his eyes shut and he leans back against the vent, trying to collect himself and his bated breath.

at this point, he's convinced he's dozed off and awoken to a dream. it wouldn't be the first time his subconscious... or conscious mind as a matter of fact... had drifted to her touch or a situation similar to this one. alone. in an enclosed space. and a lack of boundaries. 

he tries to say something as her hand places itself onto his chest, but the stutters spill from his mouth as if they were afraid to make a sentence. the only word that came out was "please." he doesn't even know what he's pleading for. scratch that, he knows what he wants, but he's definitely not gonna say that.