Dabi X Reader - Blog Posts

splintered machinations - pts one & two

Mer!Dabi x fem!Princess!Reader (SFW)

Hi guys! I've never done anything for MerMay before--I've never written any mer!characters/content before--but @meliapis graduated, I wanted to write something for her, and she mentioned mer!dabi...so, I just had to write a (not so) little something. This is still ongoing and will be updated periodically throughout May, but this is just a fun little idea I got from her and I wanted to share it as a graduation gift! Go check out her MerMay requests, too! <3

Synopsis: Boarding a ship per your father's orders, you begin the voyage across the deep blue sea toward Haliware Island. Despite the easy sailing the first few days, it seems the last isn't going to be the smoothest sailing.

Warnings: descriptions of spooky sea creatures in the deep ocean, descriptions of drowning, a hint of sailor!hawks, story will also contain: lots of future nsfw content, sexual tension, mer!dabi being a teasing & dirty talking kinda rogue, courting, idk what to call it but it kinda has regency era vibes but in a fantasy setting and not as stuffy, political stuff/politics between nations, a bit of reader x OC (but it's for the plot, I promise), and more (tbd as I write)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: This is my first time writing mer!stuff. I hope y'all like it! This is for you, @meliapis!!

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. No wind. No birds. Just sun. Beautiful, warm, wonderful sun. A soft creaking came as the boat beneath you gently bobbed; the nails holding it together stayed firm amongst the calm waters. One more day.

You’d be at the castle in one day. 

Your dress fluttered in an unmistakable breeze as the crew maneuvered around you. Ropes were pulled, sails were checked, a wheel was steered. Crates were secured firm to the deck, a thick cannon had its wheels stopped so it pointed out at sea regardless of the waves' strength, and songs were sung around bottles of liquor.

“Your Highness,” a smooth voice said, a head almost blocking the sun. “Care to join us?”

The blond, with cheeks that always seemed to burn and gain freckles than ever tan, peered down at you with a cheery smile. He wiggled a mug of beer that sloshed at the brim, his playfully slurred words fell across the empty span of where you sat. Two protective guards stood behind you. As if you were some treasure meant to be protected, not cargo. 

“I’d prefer to have my wits about me when at the mercy of the ocean,” you cooed, pushing up to your forearms. “You should know that, Keigo.”

“Mhm.” He raised his glass and glanced back at the group chugging down theirs below him. “But, surely, you ought to have a little fun before we arrive.”

Behind you, the guards shifted. A warning to him. His sharp golden eyes quickly stared back at them. A shhhh came as a sword was pulled partially out of a sheath, but Keigo remained. His sharp canines showed in his smile.

“Hence why I decided to look for shapes in a cloudless sky.”

You motioned up, but your point went unproven. A few puffy white clouds crept onto the scene. One looked like a barrel from a shootout, the cloud breaking the wood as bullets shot through the sky; another resembled your castle back home. Tall peaks, overlapping points with red and white flags attached, a door that often stayed closed until ceremonies. 

Keigo’s eyes narrowed at the sky.

“Well, Your Highness,” he said with a teasing bow. His slender frame curved, his oversized white shirt dropped down to expose his chest, and the tight fit of his brown pants stretched. “Enjoy the show, then.”

You threw up a sarcastic wave before sinking back down. The flash of skin was nothing new on the ship—the crew walked around only caring if their skin burned beyond repair. And as a few more clouds joined the castle in the sky, even more shirts were opened while beer was spilled, humidity rose, and laughter shot across the open air.

Keigo raised his glass when your eyes danced from the sky to the group. Some sat on barrels, others on the edge of the ship, more on the floor. The clinking glasses sounded like the chains around your wrists. The chortle was met with gruffs behind you. Under the breath comments idiots and pigs. Their royal breastplates had refused to be removed unless it was underneath the hottest suns. 

Breakfast could’ve been cooked on them—sprays of water sizzling as they were propped up on the side of the boat. 

“I rather think you two are,” you murmured, glancing back at the two soldiers. “They’re drinking while you think I’m somehow going to jump ship in the middle of the ocean.” They stared daggers at you like always. “What? Where am I going to go?”

You shoved up despite the eyes from the crew turning your way. A playful hint joined your tone as you spun, shade casting itself across the desk. The soldiers, sunburnt and peeling, glowered and tightened their grips on their swords. Just like the concept of you jumping ship, there wasn’t a chance they’d raise a blade to you. You were precious cargo. No harm could come to you before you got to the castle. They simply just had to make sure you got to the castle. 

“We’re still a day out; there’s nothing here.” 

You ignored the grumbled version of your name and their stiff movement toward you as you trotted to the edge. Carefully yet swiftly, you hopped up on the thick edge and threw your arms out, the blue ocean sloshing against the boat just behind you. A gust of wind caught your thin dress, throwing the thin skirt up. Despite the decorum—or lack thereof—on the ship, all eyes were glued to the glimpse of your legs. 

“Get down,” one of the soldiers—Hyatt—said. His hand tightened on his blade. “Now, princess.”

You bowed slightly with a smile that made a few of the crew holler and laugh. More glasses clinked together, and more chattering crawled across the dark deck. The loud thump of your feet hitting the thick wood made Hyatt and Thorne–the other soldier–both relax slightly. But, still, their hands remained on their blades. 

“Have you always been so defiant?” Thorne grumbled to himself as he shifted, peering out over the ocean. 

“Yes,” Hyatt muttered softly. 

“No,” you corrected, walking over and looking over the bow. A soft sigh snuck out at the sight. The vast ocean was a rich, dark, deep blue. Bluer than you’d seen during the past three days. “But waking up and being told I’m going on an involuntary trip tends to make the demure vanish.” A soft sigh snuck out as you closed your eyes and took in the salty air. “The sea is beautiful, though.”

Wait.

Something caught in your chest as you cracked your eyes open. The low rumble crawled up the back of your neck. It seemed to make the boat shake, yet the water remained undisturbed. The dark water turned into an unknown shadow beneath you—what creatures swam below made your hair stand on the back of your neck—but you were safe on board. 

Another low rumble.

The clinking of glasses got a little louder and laughter grew heavier.

“Hey, Princess, get away from the edge,” Hyatt said behind you, but your eyes remained down on the ocean.

You couldn’t normally see the bottom the far out, but this felt different. Maybe there was no bottom. Maybe the rich dark blue found itself attached to a creature ten times the size of the ship. In moments, it would open its eyes and blink up at you, encompassing the whole expanse of the color. One flip of its tail would split the boat into two. Or maybe thousands of splintered pieces. 

Your heart thumped faster.

“Princess,” Thorne tried.

The ocean remained undisturbed as something wet splattered against your skin. No. Not undisturbed. By living creatures, yes. There weren’t any eyes blinking back at you or massive jaws unhinging to swallow the ship whole. No dangerous tentacles to rip you to shreds or even carnivorous fish aiming to nip at your legs. 

But there were waves. White-capped waves.

You made the mistake of shooting your eyes upward. Dark clouds had gathered into a dangerous conglomeration. Where they’d come from remained unknown, and that bright sky felt permanently out of sight. The sudden movement of your head, accompanied with a strong wave below, knocked you backward. Even Thorne and Hyatt lost their sea legs, staggering away from the boat’s side and trying to regain their stances. Hyatt, still, called for you, his hand finally leaving his sword.

Air was thrown from you as your back collided with the floor. There was that low rumble again—it crawled across the sky like a serpent waiting to strike. Lightning flashed bright in the sudden darkness. Gone was the sun, and pouring, pelting, painful rain swallowed everything. The sound became too loud to bear while blinking up at the sky, and as Hyatt and Thorne loudly cursed, it went unheard.

It all went unheard, even when they stepped toward you and yelled at you. 

But you couldn’t move. The way the boat jerked, the thought of it falling apart at its seams came far too easily, and those creatures that could be lurking below would devour you the second you were overboard. Their sharp teeth would sink easily through your skin and tear you apart without hesitation.

“Princess,” a familiar voice whispered. It drew you from your sudden choke-hold in your throats while a hand went to your wrist and hoisted you up. “We need to get you inside.”

Keigo’s gold eyes blinked down at you, his smile unwavering even as yours twisted in fear. You nodded. 

“Move carefully and quickly,” he said loud enough for you to hear, both hands going to your waist. In otherwise less life-endangering scenarios, Keigo would’ve been reprimanded for even considering touching you, let alone on your waist. A sailor putting his hands on the Princess? Blasphemous. Yet you leaned into him as he balanced you and guided you down the stairs. All you had to do was get inside the Captain’s quarters, then you’d be safe. You both knew that. “Keep going, Princess. We’re almost there.” 

But almost there wasn’t a simple turn around a corner and through a sturdy door. Multiple steps descended onto the deck as water gathered upon everything. It slickened the boards that normally kept you steady; it weighed your dress down and made it cling to your legs; it pushed a ringing in your ears that sounded so high-pitched, it hurt. 

Your eyes went overboard as the ringing got worse. It was unwise to never heed a sailor’s warning. Just as it was unwise to never heed any warning from anyone so well-trained, experienced, and skilled in their field. You wouldn’t tell a world-renowned chef how to cook. You wouldn’t ignore a soldier’s careful heed before going out on the battlefield. You certainly wouldn’t ignore the stories told around the crew that the ocean was as beautiful as it was untrusting. It could be a person’s life and so obviously their death. Whether the fins and tentacles they saw after days of travel were real, it was always smarter to not take the chance.

So when Keigo braced you against his chest as the ship jolted, you leaned into him more. When he muttered to hold still for the next few seconds, you did. And when he told you to go, you trusted him. His gut. 

But he was still only a man. One without the blessing of foresight. 

The wave hit the boat harder than the others while a gust of wind knocked you back as if you were nothing more than a piece of paper. A slippery board caused your demise as Keigo’s grip struggled on your wet skin. They skated over you, his short nails barely scraping, until he threw his other hand out for you. Desperation clawed at him the way it did you, but his fingers only got a grasp on your dress. And that silky material was hell in his grip–slippery and betraying without a moment’s thought. 

There was fear and panic in those golden eyes as the thick banister meant to keep you safe dug into your back. The unkempt splinters snagged on your clothing as the world went upside down, and there was no ground beneath your feet. 

Was the rain coming from the ocean or the sky? Which dark sea was which? 

It felt like falling onto the floor when Keigo became a small speck on the boat. The air was knocked from your lungs so ineloquently, and you barely managed a gasp before you knew what was coming next. 

Darkness.

Soaking wet, impenetrable darkness. 

A sharp pain caught your back, then your arms, down into your legs. Cold. It was cold. Perhaps shock? Swim. You felt yourself sink deeper as you blinked through the salty water. The ache got worse, your body threatened to stop, and farther away the boat got. Swim, (Y/N). The surface distorted the image as you tried to see if anyone would save you, but alas—you couldn’t even get yourself back up to the surface. 

A burst of bubbles caught your attention to the right, heart rate spiking. You blinked into the abyss looking for those massive eyes, the tentacles, the carnivorous predators. Something touched your foot beneath you, and you screamed, the sound lost a mere inch in front of you.

Another splash of bubbles got you as you threw your arms up, kicking your feet and praying what’d touched you had been your imagination. Please. A silent plea that burned your lungs. I don’t want to die. Although, it’d be fitting, wouldn’t it? You clawed at the water until your nails would’ve bled. You kicked until the current simply laughed in your face. A harsh swirl that tore you further down like an anchor chained to your ankle. 

Please. If your eyes weren’t burning from the salt water, you were sure you were crying. I don’t want to die. I don’t. 

A gulp of water entered your mouth when you begged for oxygen. The fear skyrocketed as a barrel fell into the sea, sinking just low enough to get caught in the edge of the current. It smacked against your arms as you tried to reach for it, but as it bounced back up, you were shoved down. Another breath of water sent death knocking on your door.

Colder. The water got colder.

Your body stopped moving as you replayed the only pivotal moment that mattered, your father’s words pressing for you to get on the boat without a fight. Do what must be done, or you are not truly my daughter. A shove from Hyatt as you boarded the ship while the crew stared, never once having royalty aboard their boat. But your father had needed the royal sailors for his voyage. It’s a three-day trip; see her there safe.

You felt a sickening smile as the world went blurry. Safe. If he only knew.

- ch two -

There was once, when you were younger, you got to see snow. A family “vacation” to visit some Duke. A business meeting your parents often tried to pretend wasn’t that. You’ll get to meet his children. They’ll show you around the estate. But the prospect of something other than the dead winter so known in your kingdom was what drove you to be one of the firsts inside the carriage that morning. 

But it’d been a long trip into the mountains; your father switched between talking with your mother about the necessary duties upon arrival and departure and discussing with the soldiers to maintain protocol. And, desperately, even as you tried to maintain some composure, the long, exhausting, impatient ride could only keep a child still for so long. The second the doors opened and you saw the snow, you were off. 

The snowy scape had been otherworldly. You’d known nothing that beautiful before and all you knew was that you had to touch it. See it. Taste it. Follow it to what other beauties it could produce.

They yelled your name, but there’d been a little white rabbit hopping through the forest outside of the mansion. It called to you as the snow did, beckoning you further as cold seeped through your fur-lined shawl. With only about ten years of knowledge then, you hadn’t known why, as you tripped and fell into the icy tundra, tumbling down a hill and out of sight, how dangerous the chill was. Only that when it turned warm and your eyes got heavy, something was wrong. 

The soldiers—a young, sixteen-year-old Hyatt with his superior—found you hours later. It’d felt like an eternity, a hurt arm that was the first to go numb in the snow and a spiraling warmth shooting over your skin. But when you felt like you were close to falling asleep beneath a warm blanket, they appeared at the top of the snowy cliff you’d fallen down. 

Hyatt carried you back to the mansion, wrapped in his coat, while his superior ran ahead. A fire was started in one of the living spaces where your mother and father stood. You barely heard the scolding from your father as you sat in front of the burning flames and given a cup of warm milk. Stay by the soldiers’ sides from now on. Do you understand me? You merely nodded so softly and politely, the tone pressing its way inside your head as you kept your eyes down. 

Demure. It felt stuffy. But still, you nodded.

That cold. That was different than the one violently permeating your bones. Were you shivering? Your vision going dark made bubbles around you move. Your arms wouldn’t reach, your legs wouldn’t kick. And that rumbling, vibrating every part of you, was it above or below? Was an eye about to open, or maybe some jaws aiming to end it quickly? The pressure pushed hard against your head, and that was all you could take as seawater went down your throat again.

The surface disappeared behind closed eyes. What would get you first–the Reaper or a hidden predator on the brink of starvation? 

Perhaps both.

Warmth.

Were you dead? Where there was warmth, as your father so woefully explained, there was death. In the cold, at least. Perhaps the Reaper had found you and tore you down to his level, your soul rising—rising? You tried to open your eyes, but all you were met with was pale contrasting the darkness. 

Had you been able to move, you would’ve done something other than peer up. There were arms wrapped around you, shoulders in front of you, the curve of a neck, hair that blended in with the sea, but those eyes. You blinked yours hard at the rushing movement. It made the pressure in your head dissipate far too quickly, and bile rose in your throat. But those eyes, outlined by sharp features, a mouth pressed into a fine line, spiky dark hair pushed back from the momentum; they were so bright they nearly glowed. Never had turquoise look so beautiful.

And when he dared to glance down, taking what felt like a dreamy moment before death and making you remember that your heart could still beat, he smiled. One of secrets. Of knowing. Of saving as you suddenly broke through the surface and the rain pelted your sore skin.

Your pulse ticked higher while those eyes stayed on you; the sudden gasp for oxygen became you barreling over, vomiting into the sea. Puke and mouth-drying seawater mixed into the darkness as your guts heaved, lungs burned, and throat tore with every hack. What the hell was going on? Who– Again, the world spun as the stranger moved, and your eyes widened as you tried not to vomit once more. 

He wasn’t from the crew, even delirious, you knew. Two days with them, you knew most of them. Not all by name, but you knew them. Their faces, their demeanor, their connection to your home. And this stranger…he moved you closer to the boat at a speed unfathomable to you, even on your best days in the water. 

You tried to speak, but as your vision grew blurry and your eyelids heavy, the pain in your throat became a blockage. 

Who are you?

“Don’t,” his cool voice murmured. It would’ve shocked you had there been any feeling left in your body. He spoke. “Save it for your real rescue party.”

For some reason, you did as he said. He held you closer, arms swallowed in areas of dark ink you couldn’t make out. Glinting jewelry that managed to shine through the storm clouds. Over his fingers which pressed firmly into you, on his nose in a little trio to create a triangle, and over his ears. And his entire upper body—bare. 

Had your guts not been twisting into a fine tornado and you stopped tasting the salty mix of your lunch on your tongue, you would’ve been scandalized. But as you were draped over that devilish barrel, the wood managing to bob in the water, you felt nothing but grateful as his hands slid down over your back, waist, hips. 

“Scream,” he whispered beneath the rain, and all you could do was glance back. Those otherworldly eyes were all that poked out of the water for a moment as he slinked back. He kept them locked on you, burning with an intensity you could barely understand. He popped up just enough to speak again. “I won’t save you again.”

His grin revealed sharp canines before he disappeared beneath the water. A beat, two, three of piercing rain dropped down around you. Then it surfaced. A sparkling tail of black scales, a mix of blues were dulled without sunlight, and a silver ring on one side of the arcing flipper. 

The silence roared in your ears as you stared at where he’d disappeared. Tail. But as you tried to call a thought, tried to piece together a puzzle so desperately right in front of you, you hacked up another breath of water. 

Tail.

A scream followed it as black started to dot your vision. The cold water froze your body stiff, and you clawed to stay on the barrel through another wave. It was broken and choppy, no way audible through the storm, but the boat was right there. You could almost touch it.

You screamed again.

Louder. 

Until you tasted something metallic in your mouth.

Hyatt, Thorne, Keigo. One of them had to be looking for you.

A splash in the water gathered your attention as you started to slip off of the barrel. Your nails ached as they pressed into the fine wood. Stay afloat. But as your body went limp, that water crept higher toward your mouth. Weakly, you screamed again.

This time, as a wave threw you off the barrel, it was met with two arms and two legs going out for you.

“Gotcha, Princess,” Keigo’s voice whispered in your ear. “You’re safe. I gotcha.”

A thick rope was tied around your waist and wrapped as skillfully as possible around your legs. A seat of sorts was created as Keigo swam you back toward the side of the boat, dragging you with your head never dipping back into the water. Those golden eyes were sharp first at the ship and then softer down at you. 

The world went dark as Keigo tugged on the slack of the rope and yelled upwards. His mouth was pulled away from your ear, yet his volume should’ve carried. How your scream was heard all the way up to them, you weren’t sure. Keigo’s was nearly drowned in the violent pitter-patter of the storm.

“Hey, hey. Stay with me, Princess.” 

His lean arms were strong as they gripped you. The rope went taut, and everything moved. But the world, as you blinked one last time, never returned to the gray-scaled color scheme the storm created. 

“Princess. Stay with me.”

There was sun. A cot. A blanket. A dress that reeked of sea, storm, and something clean. The ceiling looked familiar. The blinds on the window were cast open to shine the sun on your cheeks. Clouds shot across the sky in the opposite direction the whole room seemed to lurch toward. 

A wrap of gause went around your right forearm. 

One blink. Two. Three. Four. Pain throughout your whole body burned as you sat up, a thin blanket falling from your upper body. Dress. It was dry. The thin material bunched up and wrinkled in places that pressed the same patterns into your skin. Storm. You tried for a long breath and were met with the same burning sensation in your throat. Overboard. Sea. Drowning. 

Outside, there was commotion. Some yelling, hollering, excitement. Orders were shouted. The captain, some burly guy whose name was out of reach, yelled to slow. Again, the boat lurched. 

“Oh, finally, Princess.” Hyatt’s voice came through from the corner. Thorne was asleep next to him, both in a change of clothes, their weapons discarded. Worry pressed into Hyatt’s tanned and peeling skin. “Are you okay?”

Turquoise. You stared at Hyatt’s rich green eyes and turned back toward the window. Anchor was dropped as you coughed, hacking up something sweet in the back of your mouth. Your fists tried to rub sleep from your eyes, but it barely helped. Yawning only accentuated the pain in your throat. 

“The medic gave you some medicine to assist you in sleeping. I think the bastard misjudged the amount.” Hyatt nudged Thorne’s foot. “Wake up, idiot.”

You coughed again, eyes stuck on the window. The cold of the water stayed with you in a shiver, the smell clinging to your dress and seeping through your skin. Thorne said something half-asleep and under his breath. Are we there? Your gaze, stuck outside, watching the sky grow into an island. A castle that stretched larger than your father’s. A town filled with buildings of every color of the rainbow. A spread of docks with ships docked within and a harbor waiting for new arrivals to shop and sell.

A tail.

“Yeah,” you croaked, the word tearing at your throat. 

A sense of purpose and dread coursed through you as the boat came to a halt. 

“We’re here.”

thinking about Dabi getting off on the fact that you think he’s no good for you. you tell him you can’t get involved with people like him but that only makes him want you more. you’re naive, it’s cute, and it has him yearning to ruin you. you don’t even know what you want. you say he’s no good but still end up underneath him every other day begging for more…

omg wait wait, imagine- he’s got you on the edge of an orgasm, thrusting at a brutal pace and hitting your sweet spot in the best way. then he’s all like “say i’m no good,” and you whimper out a “y-you’re no good for me,” just for him to go “yeah that’s right. i’m no good. and that’s why you can’t stop cumming on my cock right?” 🙃

Without Consent

Permission to use the art granted by the artist. Please refrain from using the art without permission. Shar's too cute of a button to deal with that.

Dabi x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 2.3K

⇢ plot: you (more or less) accidentally bump into Dabi and are in for a big surprise

⇢this is kind of the SFW version. I still recommend NOT reading it with others around, especially not your boss hehe

⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, Dabi being the flirty tease we all love, (somewhat) consensual restraining of the reader, steamy makeout session (ok ok, mostly just kissing) but also some dry-humping resulting in a wet spot on Dabi's pants—oops!

⇢ personal note: I've always wanted to write something inspired by @sharlockart ´s art. I got her permission to go ahead and booooooom! Here we are!  Thanks to @blankexpressions-and-falsefires for being my beta this time. You're the best!

It was then that you felt it. The lingering feeling of someone watching you. You looked up to find two incredibly piercing azure irises pointed sharply at you.

Shit.

The bright blue of his eyes turned dark as he continued to side-eye you with an unmoving expression. Your face went ablaze and you instantly dropped your gaze, shoving your phone with trembling hands back in the pocket of your jacket. Cursing inwardly a few times for having been caught staring, you hastily turned to make your way through the crowd across the intersection. You took a peek over your shoulder, a wave of relief washing over you when you didn't see him among the people behind you. 

By "him" you meant one of the most dangerous villains in the country, Dabi.

You would have recognized him anywhere– the usual bored expression on his face, that all too familiar messy raven hair with bangs falling over his brows. The mauve scarred skin—

—and the piercing blue eyes. 

It still sent chills up your spine recalling the moment they met yours. He had stood there, one hand holding a cigarette, the other a phone to his ear while he talked to someone. The way his black pants clung to his thighs way too alluringly, his beige sweater and a black leather jacket complementing his features even more.

And even though a warm, comforting fuzziness still clouded your head after that short encounter, you started to regret having visited this part of town which was known to be the home of some sketchy outcasts and– villains. 

You'd always been fascinated by the less than savory figures— not the overhyped heroes of your hometown. It's been a hobby of yours to study them, especially the members of the League of Villains. And your particular obsession had been with Dabi.

You had been spending your afternoons after college strolling around those areas in hopes of finally meeting him, finally being able to snap a picture of him.

And this time you did—

—and weren't at all prepared for your reaction. The instant jolt of fire coursing through your veins as soon as your eyes met his. The feeling of wanting to lose yourself in their depths. Endorphins rushing through your system, triggering a blistering heat in your core and making your panties stick to you in ways they usually only did during late night hours, with your hands down your panties while thinking of him.

Again—shit.

With your emotions all stirred up and still unable to focus, you had taken a wrong turn. The next bus stop being several blocks away meant you just had to keep walking, your eyes squinting as light became increasingly sparse. It was getting darker outside, the sun slowly setting behind the concrete mass of the city, the long shadows of the tall buildings slowly caging you in. Dainty street lamps sparingly lined the streets, their thin yellow rays fighting to reach the ground, failing to penetrate the overwhelming darkness.

A musty breeze was blowing, sending leaves and pieces of garbage dancing noisily across the cracked concrete floor. The sky was painted in hues from flame to azure, yet here in the depths of the street between the buildings you didn't see much, only growing shadows creeping in on you. 

The breeze picked up and you shivered, regretting your choice to only wear a loose sweat-dress and a pair of thin, skin-colored tights. You pulled up the zipper of your cropped jacket, and sighed, hoping that you would soon get to a bus stop.

A loud ping startled you out of your train of thought, your phone vibrating urgently. Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest as you stopped in your tracks, sliding your hand in your pocket to retrieve it. 

The display shone bright in the dim light of the street alley as you unlocked the screen with a swipe. A message popped up—your friend. 

Where are you, expecting you to be home by now. 

You groaned, thinking back on how you wouldn't have had to walk home if it weren't for the distracting encounter with that devious blue-eyed villain earlier on.

"That damn bastard—" You started.

A voice suddenly spoke close by. “I hope you're not talking about me.”

A large hand appeared out of the darkness from beside you, wrapping around both of your wrists and gripping them tightly, causing your phone to slip from your grip. A weak whimper fell from your lips, while it was caught mid air by another purple scarred hand, the dim light of the far away street lamp reflecting weakly in the silver staples adorning it.

Your body froze as you were shoved against the wall, hands being jerked up and pinned over your head against the rough bricks to hold you in place. Your breath hitched as you elevated your face, your gaze instantly locking with a pair of icy blue eyes boring into you.

Dabi.

He casually glanced at the unlocked screen of your phone, scrolling through your chat. Slipping the phone into his own pocket, his gaze drifted back up, lazy blue eyes flicking up to yours. 

"So, you're taking pictures of me without my consent?" he tipped his head, an eyebrow cocked.

You let out a little breathy moan, squirming in his hold, surprised at how thrilling it felt to be manhandled like this.

"At least you think I look fine. That earns you bonus points." His lips curled up into a devilish smirk. 

"Sir, you don't want to do this!" you swallowed nervously, his intimidating aura making you squirm. "Just please, let me go."

"C'mon, doll." He chuckled darkly, "You know my name. Use it."

"D-Dabi—" it came out as a mere whimper. "Please, I need to get home."

"God, my name sounds so fucking hot on your tongue." He cooed, his voice deep and husky, enough for your heartbeat to quicken.

Up close, he was even more attractive than you came to learn from the blurred images you've seen online or in the news. His scent was overwhelming, a mixture of warm skin and smoke. It had an effect on you unlike anything you've ever experienced. Your nerves were on fire, the heat between your legs blistering as you clenched your thighs together.

Dabi seemed to notice, because his smirk grew wider as he closed the gap between you. The staples on his face scraped along your cheek as his lips brushed your earlobe and your body felt hot all of a sudden.

"But still– maybe I should do something to you without your consent?" His low, sultry voice being so close sent instant shivers up your spine. "What do you think, doll– you gonna be a good girl for me?"

It was like your body reacted on its own, as you slowly nodded, making him chuckle against your ear. It was enough to make your stomach somersault while you felt his mismatched lips brush back over your cheekbones, leaving a trail of nibbles here and there, making you gasp with the forbidden pleasure. You could feel him grinning against your skin at your reaction as he slowly made his way toward your lips. 

You had forgotten how to speak– how to move. When his lips brushed the corner of your lips, a scorching heat shot right through your body, clouding your mind with indecent thoughts. Without thinking, you parted your lips in anticipation.

A pleased sound rumbled deep in Dabi's chest. But he simply paused there, just breathing against the corner of your lips. It was torture and he was obviously greatly enjoying your reaction as you felt him smirk again.

Suddenly, he straightened up, eagerly taking you in with smoldering turquoise eyes.

"You're cute." You heard him say under his breath as he kept taking you in, tracing his long finger along the line of your cheek.

You were biting your lower lip, unsure where to look, too distracted by your body slowly burning up. With him still holding you in place by your wrists, you watched his free hand retrieve your phone from his pocket. Swiping across the dark screen it came to life, instantly unlocking.

"Pfft, how naive," he noted, laughing under his breath. "Not using a password…"

Oh shit, you berated yourself for always forgetting to set one up.

His thumb flew over the display and when he was done, he looked up at you, and with a wide grin he slipped your phone back into the pocket of your jacket. 

He adjusted his grip on your wrists, keeping you in place as he leaned in. You swallowed your breath, heart thrumming loudly against your chest. 

"Unfortunately, this is where we have to part, doll." His free hand started playing with loose strands of your hair. "But I think you still owe me an apology."

Your eyes flicked to his lips and back but it was too late. His mouth curled suspiciously at the corner, having caught your wandering gaze.

"I think you know what I mean—" He tilted his head, his eyes slowly dropping down to your mouth.

He trapped your chin between his thumb and index finger, pulling your face up and closer. As he angled his mouth above yours, you could feel the heat of his breath on your lips, and instinctively your eyelids fluttered shut.

Time seemed to stand still at his close proximity; the warmth of his body against yours and his breath on your lips became your entire existence. You couldn’t even think, let alone move. You were completely at his mercy.

“Just like that…” you heard him whisper before he eased his lips over yours.

It struck you like lightning when you found his tongue slipping inside to explore your mouth. Your mind short-circuited as he sensually worked your mouths together giving you ample time to catch up and start to kiss back eagerly. He was the best thing you've ever tasted, and the scent of his smoky, warm skin drugged your senses. You let yourself fall into his kiss, his hand sliding behind your neck to pull you deeper into it.

His mouth was so hot on yours, leaving you lightheaded and with buckling knees. You would’ve sunk to the ground already if it wasn't for his tight grip on your wrists.

As if he knew, his thigh pried open your legs and slipped between them, pinning you in place. You gasped into his mouth, goosebumps exploding all over your body.

There was so much heat between your legs, your panties were soaked and the thin fabric of your tights didn't do anything to hide it from him.

You were starting to lose your mind as you continued to kiss, his thigh pressing right against your dripping core. You needed more, more of him down there. So without thinking, you started grinding down on his leg, the rough fabric of his jeans grazing against you, giving you ample friction to satisfy your growing need. Back and forth, you worked your hips until you were a trembling mess in his hold. You were so close to feeling the tension release, your body was ready to explode with pleasure.

Suddenly, he pulled away from you a little, groaning deeply– his eyes, dark and hooded with lust, boring into yours. 

“So innocent,” he hummed appreciatively. “But such a big tease."

He straightened back up, sliding his thigh out from between yours. A strained whimper broke free from your lips at the loss of pressure. Releasing you from his hold, your arms dropped uselessly to your side. You started soothing the fresh ache by massaging your slowly bruising skin. Your eyes, following his thigh after it left you wanting, noticed a damp spot on his pants where you had ground against it. A blazing heat bloomed in your cheeks, your gaze dropping down onto the mucky ground.

"That was fun." He said, followed by a short chuckle as he stepped back.

You looked up at him from under your lashes, still too embarrassed to look him straight in the face.

"But– gotta go." And with that he adjusted the bag around his shoulder and strutted off. "See ya, doll—"

He stopped to shoot you a glance over his shoulder. His deep turquoise eyes met yours, lingering on you for a few moments before he took another step and was swallowed up by the darkness.

The moment he was gone had you hyperventilating, toppling against the scratchy brick wall for any sense of stability. Your palm clasped your chest as you tried to regain control of your breathing. 

What the hell just happened?!?!

It was then that your phone vibrated, a text tone alerting you of a new message. With trembling fingers you pulled it from your pocket to see a message from an unknown number.

Holy shit…

To be continued...

Based on a conversation I was having with @anima197

Imagine husband Dabi, scumbag as usual adapting as a newlywed to you

It’s been around a month of you two moving in a small but nice house that his parents bought for you. He’s always been an asshole by personality, but one day he goes too far.

Maybe it’s something he said in a cruel jest to see you rise to the bait, or maybe he touched you in a way that was more than offensive or hurtful. Either way, you finally snap- except, you don’t combust and break down quietly, you turn cold as stone.

You set your jaw, keep your eyes cool and indifferent as you skirt around him when he walks by. He doesn’t know that he’s upset you because you usually brush his tactics off with an eye roll or a pout. He’s never seen you like this, completely ignoring him and barely acknowledging his existence while he tries to get you bothered.

He tries pushing you against a wall to make you flustered, but it doesn’t work. You will your body to become limp and unresponsive as he snarls into your neck and litters it with hickies, desperately trying to pull some sort of sound of either pleasure or pain from you. It doesn’t matter how his hands dance around your tits and between your legs, you just stare ahead past him, your mouth set in a straight line.

He draws back uncertainly at your lack of response, and his heart drops to his stomach when he doesn’t even see tears in your eyes from overstimulation, like you usually do when he attacks you like this.

Before he can even open his mouth you’re already gently pushing past him, and it’s the fact that you’re not even angry or shoving him that makes panic settle on his heart.

This…this indifference, this feeling as if he doesn’t mean anything to you breaks his cocky attitude .

At first he tries to refute the feeling, he merely trails behind you from room to room picking up random objects and pretending that he’s actually doing something apart from eyeing you and assessing your demeanor.

You don’t pay any attention to him. You open your laptop and absentmindedly hum as you begin working on whatever class or job you have. He stands at the entrance, fiddling with a vase and looking at you from the corner of your eye.

“Did you eat yet?” He says in his hoarse voice, almost embarrassed to talk to you after his earlier libido was met with no reaction at all.

Silence.

He sighs frustratedly and runs a hand through his ivory hair. Turning on his heel, he storms out of the room and mindlessly goes to the kitchen, making as big as a racket as possible in hopes of luring you out of your catatonic state to yell at him for being too loud.

He eats alone, in silence.

He doesn’t finish his crappy sandwich, fuming at the bland bread that substitutes for the plentiful food you always make for him.

It’s almost evening now, and you haven’t come out of your room yet to even use the restroom. He’s getting worried now, you’ve never been so quiet before. You’ve at least been fed in the face, a finger pointed at his chest as you yell at him for how he fucked up. So why can’t you do that now? At least he’ll know what to apologize for, dammit! Why does he have to wring it out of you?

He decides a different tactic now.

Hed bully your emotions out of you, one way or another.

You’re about to change your clothes when he walks in for the umpteenth time. You don’t lift your head when he slams the door open and closes it behind him, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Why are you being such a bitch today?”

After a few beats of silence, he barrels towards you while you shrug on your nightie. He grabs your face towards him and knocks on your forehead harshly.

“Hello? Anyone in there?” He shakes your head lightly.

You look at his collarbones and then gently pull your face away, heading off to the bathroom to brush your teeth.

Dabi stares at you in shock, his ha da still suspended in midair. Did he really mess up that badly?

The panic in his heart has risen to his throat, and he feels like he can’t breathe.

He’s 13 years old again

His father is ignoring him

He messed up, he didn’t train well enough today

In the process of trying to be better than everyone else he had effectively isolated himself again

He’s practically invisible because he fucked up so bad

He stumbles back out of the room and falls onto the couch, clutching his hair and panting with wide eyes into a pillow. It takes him a couple of minutes to tone down his impending panic attack

By the time he has enough nerve to get into bed with you, the lights are already off and you’re seemingly fast asleep.

Dabi quietly trudges over to the side of the bed and stands over your sleeping figure.

You look so peaceful right now without any part of him to bother you. He wonders if you’re better off without him.

He slowly crawls under the sheets with you and faces your back. He knows you need space but he can’t help it when his arms move around you to hold you tight against him.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I did to make you this upset, but I know I fucked up. Please just-“

His voice catches in his throat, and at this you crack an eye open, making sure to keep your breathing deep and level.

“Just tell me what I did. Or at least just forgive me for whatever I did…I miss you.” He whispers this last part and buried his head in your hair, taking deep breaths and inhaling your scent. It makes his aching heart beat a little slower.

You don’t say anything, but after a full minute of silence you slowly turn to face him. He unconsciously grips your body harder against him as if he were afraid you’re going to push him away again.

But instead to his amazement, you have both eyes open and trained on him. He knows to keep his mouth shut when you prop your head up on one hand and frown slightly at him.

“You’ve been on my nerves for the past week now. Every time I try to talk you either cut me off or just shut me up with sex. You never clean up after yourself and laugh it off when I actually ask you to do something.”

He swallows hard and waits with bated breath for you to finish.

“You literally hounded me down for almost years to get married, and only a month after we actually get together you start acting out.”

You stare at him and he knows he can talk now.

“I’m…sorry. I’ll try to be, uh, better.” He finished lamely, and he cringes when he realized how pathetic his apology was.

But much to his surprise, a small little smile forms at your lips. Compared to how he never even acknowledged how big of an ass he usually is, this was a huge step in your relationship with him.

“Yeah, we’ll see. You better be on your best behavior for a while now.” And with that, you turn over and flop down into the plushy comforter.

Dabi let’s put a breath he didn’t know he was holding, the weight on his chest being lifted.

“So, uh…can I still like, touch..you?” He trails off, and you’re glad he can’t see the 50k watt smile on your face when he shifts uncomfortably.

“If you make it up to me, maybe.”

Dabi grins too.

“I don’t think you’ll ever have a problem with that.”

it lives where i live

part 2 is here! this was a difficult one to write because there’s so much i want to say and i have no idea how to say any of it. but this is an important one and i hope you enjoy it :)

wc: 3.4 k. cw: angst, unintentional self-harm (touya scratches himself in his sleep), injury (scratch), blood (scratch), reader is not well mentally, gn reader, no pronouns used 

read part 1 here

There is a warmth against your cheek when you stir, creeping up to heat the skin of your forehead as you stretch and squirm—fighting the lure of just a few more moments of sleep. Blinking slowly, you study the beam of light peaking through the sheer curtains—the way the little refraction cuts through the otherwise dark of your room.

For a moment, in the light, you forget.

But when you roll to your side—away from the light, looking to the door—you feel everything with a force that leaves you breathless.

Despite the weight of it all, you push up off your bed to sit, head hung a little as you take in a few deep breaths. The house is quiet, but you didn’t expect anything else. Your eyes burn a little, and you wait for the tears to come. When they don’t, you sigh—there’s nothing good to come from crying, anyway.

You stand and move to the door, opening it quietly and distantly wondering when you started moving around like an intruder in your own home. There’s a heat that comes with the thought—it curls in your stomach, slithering around the other feelings you’ve been holding there, and you shove it down, down, down, because you don’t want to be angry at him. Because he’s been through enough.

You don’t listen to the thought that tells you: so have you.

When you walk down the hall, the bathroom door is open, and Touya’s bedroom door is not. He must have woken up before you, if he slept at all. You don’t imagine you’ll see him today—at least not during the day. You fight the urge to hover outside his door, ear crammed to the wood to try to hear him breathing.

Keep reading

A "Nonstop Nut November 2022" Production

Pairing: Vampire!Dabi x Reader

Warnings: Dubcon/noncon themes, “sacrificial lamb” scenario + fear play, vampire feeding + bloodplay, aphrodisiac usage, mind break, injury + pain play, (slight!) bondage, dom/sub dynamics, cucking (indirectly), (forced!) voyeurism, pet name usage, humiliation, light! description of death + murder (twice)

Summary: Years after a great war breaks out between your homeland and another nearby kingdom, your father has died in battle, and your family has been displaced from the village you used to call home. The village you find yourselves relocated to is shady, the people in it even moreso, and you struggle to maintain good faith about staying here – especially after you start to witness your younger, adopted sister making friends, and these other girls gradually start to vanish. You’re certain the townspeople are keeping something from you, but your mother refuses to acknowledge your fears, saying you’re ridiculous, paranoid, too young to understand anything – until a priest from the village comes to your home and sits your mother down to ask something of her, something that shocks you to your core. The priest wants your sister, the sweet soul who was recently promised to a boy from your homeland, only just having reached her seventeenth summer, and having just become a woman. Disgusted, afraid, and absolutely revolted when your mother agrees, however much she wavered, you insist the priest takes you instead, going so far as to promise that you will do whatever he wants of you. And when you’re dragged from your home without so much a second of hesitation from your mother, you’re delivered to a stone slab outside the village, where you’re roped up and offered to some kind of demon as a sacrifice. A vampire who goes by the name Dabi.

A little girl stares up at you with delighted, innocent eyes, and you can’t help but grin down at her pretty face, her pale flesh alight with the midday sun filtering in through the leaves above you.

She reminds you of warm summers, of the safety you always felt in your father’s arms at her age, and you can’t help the way your heart aches and yearns to feel that way again; you’ll never re-experience your youth, so you feel you can settle for watching the youngster experience hers, for holding her hand and walking with her through the woods. This much, you’re happy to do.

“Will mama like this one?” the little girl asks you as she holds up a wildflower, pink and slightly wilted, its stem crushed from the force of her little hands on its delicate green length. You don’t have the heart to tell her that mama would probably throw it out, so you nod.

“I think it’s very pretty.”And then you smile, and she giggles, as you say, “Just like you are.”

“Would you… like to have it?” she asks you, and you nod eagerly.

“Of course – but isn’t it for mama?”

She shrugs her little shoulders, and her eight-year-old form looks even smaller as she looks down at her feet, poking out beneath the layers of her skirts, and she says, “Mama doesn’t need to know I gave it to you.”

Your heart yearns for her youthful innocence, your sister’s kindness overwhelms you tremendously, and you make to kneel before her with a tender look on your face, holding your hands out to take hers as you softly say, “You’re a sweet little thing, you know that? I’m lucky you’re my little sister.”

She giggles, nods cutely, and reaches a hand up to stroke your cheek as she says, “You’re sweet, too. That’s why this flower should be for you.”

“Oh, Eri,” you say softly, and the ache in your heart swells and pounds in your chest as you let out a soft, broken chuckle, “Thank you.”

The little joyful thing she is, Eri tucks the flower behind your ear, her hands warm and her kindness lighting a fire within you. You would always look into her eyes as she smiled at you and see someone else’s child, the baby that had been left on your home’s doorstep one night and raised thereafter as your mother’s, but now you see her eyes glowing with something familiar, something you used to think was rare and not meant for you; Eri smiles at you with love.

Your arms wrap around her little shoulders to hug her lovingly without consulting you about the motion, but you’re glad they do, and you hold her there for a minute. She hugs you back with weak arms, but you’re happy to be in her embrace. You’re happy to embrace her as your family.

It’s as a warm tear slides down your cheek that you break from her embrace and clear your throat to whisper, “Let’s go back home, Eri. Mama must be worried, hmm?”

“Wait!” she presses, and you pause before straightening up, while Eri reaches for your hair – and you nearly start to cry as she slips the flower in her hand behind your ear, giggling adorably as she looks at it and says, “There – all done.”

The journey home is filled with elated giggles from Eri as you tell her stories about other little girls, fictional ones that walked this same path to grandma’s house only to grapple with wolves, to share porridge with bears, to enter homes made of delightful, rare candies and lived-in by an ugly witch. The autumn leaves fall around you, and the smells of the woodsy wonderland around you fill you with elation as you watch Eri skip around and smile, the beauty of her youthfulness filling you with elation in turn.

That elation doesn’t last past the moment you step into your home.

Your mother, usually a proud and self-assured woman who stands with her back straight and her chin held high, her entire body buzzing with confidence and positivity, is slumped over a table and weeping, a letter grasped in one hand. Eri sees this scene and nearly runs forward to hold your mother herself, but you stop her with a hand on her shoulder and whisper a soft, “No, let me.”

You approach her slowly while Eri backs her way toward the next room, and your mother’s sobbing makes your heart ache as you take a seat beside her.

“Mama,” you whisper, reaching for her hand, “What’s happened? Why are you crying?”

She doesn’t hear you, and if she does, she just refuses to acknowledge your questions. You gulp down the bubbling fear, the growing anxiety, that builds its way up your throat, hot like fire. The letter, you realize as you glance at it from your seat, is marked with the local militia’s seal. Your father, the only man who has ever meant anything to you, had left home when he was conscripted into the army.

“Mama,” you whisper, but it comes out scratchy, distressed, “Mama, where’s Papa? What’s happened to him?”

Still, not a word. Your vision becomes steadily more bleary as you stare at the flimsy piece of paper under your mother’s hand, and as you hiccup, the realization hits you hard and dread sets in. You reach for it, slowly, and as you do, you fight the desire to claw at your throat and scream at the top of your lungs. It’s a thick letter, writing scrawled on paper that is unrefined, rough. The script is nigh close to illegible, but you can make out enough of it to fuel the tears that pour from your eyes next.

Your father is dead, and your family will be forced to relocate to a village south of the kingdom border for the purpose of safety.

"Eight years," you say with a scowl on your face as you tend the kitchen, kneading the dough you'd prepared for dinner as your mother watches from the doorway. "It's been eight, almost nine, years of just you, and me, and Eri, all of us suffering – and you're still mourning, Mama, you've been mourning since the day the letter came."

She stares blankly at your hands, at the motions you make as you press into the dough, fingers between bits that poke out and protrude before you pull them back and do it all again. She just waits, wordlessly, for something. For what, you don't know. You scoff, though, as she just blinks away your concerns.

"When are you going to be a mother again?" you ask her this seriously, with eight years of resentment behind your (e/c) eyes aimed right at her, and she doesn't react at all. "I'm sick of being the only one who cares for her – she's a child, Mama, and she needs you as much as she needs me. More, in fact!"

As much as you wish she'd say something, anything, she just watches you knead the dough, and you sigh. It's disgusting, really, that she forces you to do so much and simply watches like an onlooker. You raise her child, care for yourself, tend the gardens and the livestock – and she watches, she attends the local church on weekends like she's expected to. But no more than that.

"Eri received a letter yesterday," you finally say with a soft sigh, "from that family we knew… before Papa…"

She doesn't stir, you don't know why you still expect her to.

"Kota has asked for her hand, Mama," you say. "He wants to marry her, and she… wants to marry him – so I've sent word that we'd be happy to allow him to court her."

You think, for a moment, that you hear your mother gasp. But she just lets out a sneeze, and you sigh. Of course, she didn't even care about that announcement. Why would she?

The town bell rings, then, a sound you're all too familiar with, and in robotic fashion your mother moves to grab her shawl from the dining table, and you watch her make her way out of your home without a word. She has never given up on religion – you suppose you should be grateful, but if anything the knowledge fills you with resentment.

It's when she returns, with strange men and women at her side, when she thinks you're asleep but really you're just sat at Eri's bedside watching her breathe slow and steady so that you feel alive, that the past eight years of trying to keep your family safe come crashing down in your lap and you can do absolutely nothing to pick up the pieces.

"We need Eri," a voice, hushed in the dead of night, says to your mother in the main hall, "a sacrifice must be made for the safety of our townsfolk."

It's strange, watching the eight years of your life you'd spent in the run-down village of suspicious men and quaint women trickle down the drain all at once with one painful realisation – strange, but not altogether unwelcome. You'd felt disappointment before, felt your hope and your optimism gripped within your chest and crushed all at once, and this was not the same.

No, it didn't hurt nearly as much to walk in and interrupt the awful conversation taking place in your own home as it did when your father had died in the war and left your family with no choice but to relocate here. It didn't hurt nearly as much as when your mother decided she would no longer be a mother to you, nor to your sister. Frankly speaking, it didn't hurt nearly as much as you felt it should've.

"You can't have her," you say softly, smoothly. With a shake of your head and a warning glare at your blank-faced mother, you go on, "You can't have her for your disgusting ritual – she's betrothed, she has a life ahead of her, and I won't have it. You can have me."

"You must understand, we need someone young and supple, or the One will not take her," the village priest says to you, his eyes as old and evil as he himself. "It must be a vir–"

"Me, or no one," you insist, scowling. You can feel spittle flying from the cavern of your mouth as you say, "Me, or there is no ritual – because I will burn your godforsaken church to the ground while you pray in it if you lay a single finger on my sister."

You watch the old man gulp, the bob of his Adam's apple in his throat giving away his fear of you suddenly, and in his cowardice you see the look of the stupid baker boy, the look of this priest's own pathetic son, as stupid and as easy to manipulate as he himself. And then as he nods and accepts your bargain, you feel a weight fall off your shoulders.

Your sister will be safe if you do this. You're certain of it, certain that the village will back off of her and pick off her friends instead – the way they had done before. Your mother always called you crazy, but as you lock eyes with her once more and for the first time in years she shows a sign of emotion, you see it in her old face.

You've never been crazy. Always been right. There truly was something off about this village.

The priest's hands clasp around yours before you can even think to speak to your mother, and when you avert your eyes from her to see him, he's grinning like a madman at you, teeth on display in a sickly Cheshire cat smile. You can tell, just that easily, that you're in for something awful, a kind of fate reserved for those who deserve no more than to be punished, truly.

"Your sacrifice will not be forgotten," the old man says, and you have a feeling he isn't speaking to you at that moment – rather, his words are aimed at your mother.

"Blessed be the fruit!" one of his goons, a woman in the corner whom you recognise as the mother of a missing girl, yells excitedly.

"May the One guide us!" the rest of the group, in unison, chant thereafter.

Your skin is clammy and cold as you're finally tugged along, out of your own home and into the dead of the night. The streets are cold, and the lamps guide you down a path toward the outskirts of town. And as you step, more and more townsfolk join in the parade, parents and elders all chanting their stupid ritualistic babble into the night until you finally come upon your destination at the center of the cornfield.

"May the One guide your soul to heaven above," the priest finally says as he takes a step aside and gives you a view of what stands before you, "and may He proffer the fruits of His mercy and grace to the Earth below."

With a gulp and a frightened but brave step forward, you approach the stone slab laid out at the centre of the field, and you in your night dress finally accept your fate. This is a sacrifice – you wouldn't be going missing, disappearing, mysteriously vanishing, never to be seen again. You will be dying, all for the pathetic beliefs of this town's mad religion.

You're still processing your fate when your hands are bound before you, and you simply follow blindly as you are dragged toward the slab, laid down on your back atop its cold surface by the men who'd thought to grab you first. There's no use in fighting it – not when the alternative would be your sister in your position. No, you'd rather it be you.

You watch, with teary eyes and in absolute silence as the chanting townsfolk take to tying your bindings down to the hooks on the slab, rendering you motionless. And you feel the bile rise in your throat as the priest comes upon you, standing dead in the centre of his cult's act of repulsive, blind faith.

"The One will like this one," he states, and his Cheshire cat grin is back as he reaches down to stroke your cheek, "she has some fight in her, that youthful ignorance he so adores."

"The girl is the fruit of our labour! Give thanks to the One!" the cult chants, and your teeth clench as you stare hatefully up at the priest who simply chuckles at your aggression.

"The hour of the One is upon us," he says to you, and you swallow down your hatred as he steps back to announce to his cult, "Let us depart! And let the One have his sacrifice!"

The group silences, and they step into a line to retreat from your body as the priest gives one last yell before you're left alone, roped up in a field with no particular reasoning.

"Blessed be the fruit!"

The tears stream from your eyes, but you barely notice them. You feel numb, feel nothing – at least, that's what you're telling yourself as you shut your eyes.

The feeling of being watched comes suddenly, and it hits you hard as a brick to the face – and it doesn't go away. Really, it m akes your heart race and your eyes shoot open, your body bristling with sudden and overwhelming terror. You don't know when you might've fallen asleep, but it couldn't have been long ago. Regardless, your flesh bristles with fear as you fall into a complete panic.

"Is someone there?" you're not sure why you would bother to yell, why anyone would bother to answer, but if there's a chance you'll be safe, you'll take to desperate bargaining. "If you're out there, please…come and untie me! Please!"

Nothing. Not a sound in return. But you still feel eyes on you as you begin to sweat, the prickling panic filling your pores.

Your arms jolt of their own accord, and you gasp at the sting of rope as it catches on your flesh. You'd forgotten in the rush that you were bound – but that realisation doesn't stop your body from thrashing, because suddenly you're filled with the fear and adrenaline of prey, and you're whimpering for help from someone you're not even sure really exists, not even sure intends to help you rather than harm you.

It's dark, but you're grateful there's an assortment of candles not too burnt out that they can still light up the clearing, especially when you finally hear the snap of a twig in the maze of crops you're surrounded by.

"H-hello?" you whimper out, your voice a squeak and your heart beating in your throat as you struggle against your bindings. "Who's there?"

No response, once again. But this time you feel different – the panic sets in deeper, and fear starts to course through your veins. This doesn't feel normal, and you don't feel the slightest bit safe. Your body is trembling, and your arms struggle more than before to escape your binds – but the knots around the rope are too tight, and no matter how hard you tug, or how hard you pull, you only serve to burn your wrists with the rope.

"Please, just – help me! Help me and… and I'll repay you!" you yell helplessly, feeling your cheeks grow warm and your nose start to run as you sob. Reality sinks in fast, however, when you hear a voice, finally.

It starts with a chuckle. A dark, low chuckle that reverberates through and then fades within the wide openness of the clearing, and your sobs start to get louder in the instinctive fear that cools the blood that runs through your veins, turning icy with terror. You stop struggling against the rope, though, praying that the intruder is kinder than the laugh they'd let out was.

"P-please, help me," you finally whisper, desperate and afraid and hoping for just… an ounce of mercy, pity? You aren't exactly sure.

Instead of a chuckle that reverberates through the clearing, this time you hear a soft laugh, so soft it might be an uneven breath – and the source stands right beside you suddenly, with red eyes aglow and a smirk that tells a devilish tale of intentions no better than those of the priest who'd landed you here.

"The ropes," you whispered, panicked, pathetic, "untie the ropes, please!"

"Why would I do that?"

You aren't sure, honestly, what you had been expecting from a stranger amongst the crop fields – kindness, pity, perhaps just naiveté? – but in the glint of mischief in the darkened eyes of the white-haired man above you, you recognize none of those qualities. Instead, you see yourself in the reflective surfaces of those orb's, you see fear and you see shame.

Had you not volunteered for this fate, had you not been willing to die for your sister before?

As the ropes above your head suddenly fall free from the stone beneath you, albeit still binding your wrists, confusion adds itself to the long list of your emotions in the moment. Was he freeing you? No, not with the smile on his face – really, the wicked way his lips curl upward in the moonlight says you are caught in his web.

But his hands still reach for the ropes at your ankles, still untie the bindings as he scoffs and chuckles at your rigid posture despite the leeway.

"Did you not ask for freedom?" the stranger asks you, and he laughs, "Did you not pray for mercy, for a hand to guide you to safety?"

"Why did you free me?" you whisper, voice hoarse and throat suddenly burning, aching with the aftermath of your yelling before. Shameful.

"To give you a headstart, little rabbit," his lip quirks up evermore, a tilt upwards in a snarky, devilish way as he says, "To give you a chance to survive me."

"What?" – you're confused, rightly so, and he laughs at it before you say, voice hoarse and body trembling from the cool night air that suddenly overcomes you, "Why would I need to run from you?"

Your question doesn't really need a verbal answer, because the moonlight suddenly begins to dim as the clouds pass over above you, a storm brewing as you lay. As the darkness overcomes the clearing, the night sky paints itself with the colours of the witching hour, and the man above you changes before your eyes from man, to something far, far from it.

His hair, stark white before, blackens from the roots. The darkness spreads, shadows taking over his jaw and his under-eyes, a cyan tint in his eyes that makes him evermore menacing – and as he laughs again, his teeth grow and sharpen, catching the glint of lightning as he flashes you a smile. You don't want to chance a look down again once you've already glanced down at his blackening, clawed hands.

The churches preach of demons that stalk the unwary, that prey on the wicked and on the innocent – the sight before you is no different from the image the priests would paint in your head of one before. A particular demon, one your prior village priest had proclaimed himself a hunter of, proudly so. The thing that this village worships, the thing you're sure you were meant to be a sacrifice for.

The One, as the priest had called him.

"You're… a demon!" you sputter helplessly, whimpering in fear, "A-a vampire! Godless and merciless, a monster!"

"You can call me Dabi, if you'd like," the devilish male says to you. And he chuckles as he shrugs, which would be enticing to watch if he wasn't horrifying, "Your priest likes to call me The One – you like that one, hmm?"

He laughs as he watches you roll off of the stone slab, away from him, and listens to the hitch in your breath as you fall to your knees. He can smell the blood the second you scrape one knee against the ground beneath you, and he breathes in your scent delightedly as he ignores your retreating form. You won't get very far, after all.

"Oh, what perfect prey," he chuckles as he stands and waits, silently counting off the seconds.

You reek of dread, of adrenaline and of terror – and he turns his head to chuckle as you stumble, the scent of you wafting off your form heavy and hard.

"What's the matter, doll?" his voice booms across the clearing, and you turn your head in horror at the excited grin that crosses his face, exposing his teeth to your view. "You're fallin' all over the place, like a newborn fawn…"

You gulp, unsure of what you're thinking as you open your mouth to respond with a hushed, frantic, "Please – don't hurt me."

He crosses the distance between your bodies in an instant, and your heart sinks to your diaphragm in realisation before he even speaks another word – you can't escape him, won't escape him, because at that speed he'll have caught you in a single stride. You're hopeless as he clutches the ropes that bind your wrists and gives your limp form a tug.

"Now, now," he tuts, the devilish glint in his eyes unyielding, "I thought you had a little more fight in you, huh?"

"Please, don't –"

"Ah, tut tut tut, doll," he hushes you, a low chuckle reverberating through him as he lifts you, up and up and up until you're dangling before him by his clawed hand gripping the rope around your wrists that dig into your flesh and force cries of pain from your swollen lips, "don't beg – it's unbecoming, hmm?"

"You're hurting me," you whimper, and you'd cry if your eyes weren't already dry enough, "Let me go, it hurts!"

Your body trembles at the sound of his bellowing guffaw as he dangles you higher and higher in the air, so you can barely stand on your tip-toes – and you cry out pathetically the longer you're up there, the pain you're in amplifying by the second.

"That's it," he coos, and you gasp as his other hand goes to caress your cheeks, squeezing your face 'til your lips are mushed together, and you can't make a peep without your sounds being garbled. "That's how you get what you need, doll. Demand it."

You'd spit on his face if you weren't mortified, if you weren't weak and useless under his grasp – as you have this thought, you start to curse yourself inwardly, and he starts to lean in toward your neck. His teeth, sharp and animalistic and ready to tear your flesh, are far too near your throat and far too quickly at that. If only you were stronger, smarter, better —

"Let her go!" a voice, familiar to you but only in the back of your mind, calls out as your assailant presses his lips to your throat, and you cry out as his teeth break skin

A slick, hot liquid seeps down the flesh of your neck before a mass of warmth coated in it trails along your throat, and as the voice repeats its call, the vampire – this Dabi – chuckles, and the sound reverberates through you as the slick substance drips down, down your clavicle and into your skin. His saliva, you realise with horror as he continues to lave away at you with his thick, hot tongue, is what it is.

You want to yell, to stop him, but your limbs become useless quickly as his saliva takes effect on you – vampire venom, after all, is a known aphrodisiac. It's been sold by witches as such for centuries.

A loud thunk resounds through the clearing then, and Dabi drops you carelessly from his grasp, like a sack of potatoes at market, so you hit the ground. Your body aches all over from the fall, but as you watch his head turn to find the source of the noise, of the pebble that you realise had knocked him in the head – and even you're a little shocked by the sight that graces you there, bravely aiming a second pebble at the vampire's head.

"L-leave her alone!" the priest's boy, someone your age and who'd offered you fresh-baked bread rolls free of charge many a hungry night before, yells at your captor – and if he didn't look ready to piss his pants, you might be honoured he'd thought to come to your rescue.

"You've a death wish, then?" Dabi asks the question with a smirk, but his voice betrays his immediate annoyance with the priest's son. He offers you a look, one with a quirked brow and a toothless grin, of amusement and says, "Is this your alternative to death, then? A man with a weak arm and an even weaker bladder?"

Against your will and against your better judgement, his voice in that tone makes your core throb, and your mouth water – you ignore your body's unwanted urges, however, and shake your head. Truth be told, you'd never have picked the baker boy simply out of disdain for his family's closeness to the church, their bloodline defiled by its very existence.

"Get away from here, you monster! Stay away from our home, from our women!" the boy yells, and you yelp as you feel Dabi claw at your bindings once more, tugging you to the epicentre of the clearing once more until you're stood up before the altar.

"You reek of the priest, boy," Dabi sighs before he stands before you, staring down at your face while he scoffs out a soft, "Go back home."

You quiver as clawed hands grip your shoulders, and your flesh burns wherever his darkened, black fingertips and claws trace over the fabric of your white nightgown – from your waist that prickles with delight and gooseflesh, to your breasts where your nipples harden pathetically. Dabi chuckles, dipping down to lave his tongue over your lips without a word of disagreement from you, and he chuckles at your compliance.

"Oh, you're behaving so well for me now," Dabi notes, and he smirks as he runs his clawed fingers down your jaw, "Tell the baker boy to go home."

"Yes…" you sigh, and then your head lolls over to face him and you spit a harsh, "Go home, boy… go home to your stupid father."

"Good girl," he whispers, and your mind is numb and your body is like clay in his hold – mouldable, pliant. "No use fighting when you're already mine."

"No use fighting…" you whisper in agreement, eyes clouding over, and your mouth stays open just enough that Dabi slips his tongue between your teeth and kisses you in a way no one ever has before – it's a slow, passionate dance between his lips against your own, and his tongue adventuring round the cavern of your mouth, all while his clawed hands grasp and mould around every part of you that he can touch.

The baker watches in horror, falling to his knees as he hears you moan and whimper in this monster's grasp – once, he had begged his father to let him marry you, he had wished he could have you in this way. It aches in every bone of his body to watch you share such a lewd moment with someone who isn't him.

"So you won't go?" Dabi asks, quirks up a brow without even glancing at the boy now, and he laughs. He says a simple, "Fine. Then stay where you are."

It's as a clawed hand tugs your night dress up to your knees that you manage a small, whimpered, "No!" – this makes the boy flinch, and he tries to turn his head in shame, to look away, but his body suddenly feels heavy. His blood weighs more than ever before, and he can't move.

"No?" the vampire chuckles, pressing on and hiking the fabric around your hips, exposing your lower half to the elements and catching the scent of your sweet centre on the wind, "But we're just getting started, doll…"

You gasp, breath catching in your throat as his lips find your neck and hover dangerously over your jugular, and his clawed index finger carefully, softly, traces a path over the mound of your core. You've barely been dosed with his venom, and yet its effects have left you pliant, soaked through – he feels this with a chuckle as he taps his digit to your slit, and immediately his finger is wet with the juices that flow from you like a fresh peach.

"Just getting started, and you're already soaked," Dabi coos against your throat, and then he groans as he sinks his teeth into you.

It should hurt, at the very least like a thousand pinpricks stabbing into the flesh of your throat at once, but each fang sinks into your flesh like a pleasant, orgasmic, featherlight kiss – and you whine like a bitch in heat at the feeling, sinking your fingers into the flesh of his upper arms that dip and flex with every motion he makes for support. You cry out his name, pathetic, and Dabi groans as his fangs part from your bleeding throat so his tongue and his lips can take their place and drink as he bleeds you dry.

It's painful for the priest's boy to watch, and every second wounds his ego more – he can't tell what makes his heart ache more, the way you mewl for the monster, or the way his body prickles to life with pleasure at the sound of it.

Dabi's index finger finds the pearly bud of your clit while his tongue laps at your blood and he chuckles into your flesh as you shiver familiarly – like your body's felt him on your skin a thousand times or more, and liked it – at the soft touch he gives it, and then as he retracts his finger so that just his claw taps against the bud you shiver once more. He finds you fascinating, arousing. He smirks.

Next, he dips that same digit a little further down your slit, to trace the shape of the hole of your cunt and just barely offer you relief from the pulsing within your core, from your growing need, and you squirm beneath him, whining. Your fingers falter for a moment in their grip on his arms, and he sighs with delight as you moan for him at the slightest intrusion of his digit within the cavern of your pussy.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" Dabi coos into your throat, "You're a filthy whore, aren't you? Oh… you desperately need me to touch you, don't you?"

The baker boy whimpers pathetically at the sound of it as you cry out a loud, "Oh, please… touch me inside! Dabi, please!"

"You must be so disappointed," Dabi coos at the baker boy, glancing devilishly over his shoulder as he presses a digit inside you, listening to your keening whine in his ear as he continues, "that this isn't you touching her body, that you can't have her like this, hmm?"

"Please… she deserves better than —"

"Shut up," Dabi commands, and the baker boy immediately complies despite the words he desperately wants to say bubbling up inside him. "She's so tight down here, God – and she's so hot inside. The perfect little toy."

You whimper as you arch your back, whine as Dabi lifts you so you're seated on the altar, and keen as he dips a second clawed digit into your cunt, stretching you out and groaning at the feel of you clamping down around him. It's heaven, and he wants to relish in it as he dips his head down to drink from your throat once again.

"Dabi!" you call out his name like you're begging for salvation, and he chuckles at it. He forces your head to loll to the side, your eyes shut but your face in full view of the stupid boy who'd come to your rescue. "Oh, Dabi, please!"

"Look at her," Dabi says with a cackle, licking a lewd stripe up the other side of your neck and sinking his fangs lightly into the supple flesh there, too, "she's begging me for more. This will never be you."

"Please!" You're calling out below him for nothing in particular, just begging at this point to be used the way he wants to use you, and Dabi obliges easily as you lay there and let him drain you of your lifeblood and your willpower, "Dabi, please – 'm yours, so use me! More, more, MORE!"

"God, you probably wish you could bury your pathetic cock deep inside her, don't you?" Dabi chuckles at the priest's boy, unashamedly stretching your cunt open and stepping back to look at his handiwork. "I'm gonna fuck her real good now – and then I'll finish her up, and y'know what I do to 'em when I'm done?"

The priest's boy, in fact, does know the answer to that one. "You'll bury her under the crops," he says, deadpan, "to fertilise them for the rest of the season."

Dabi laughs at that, nodding, "You do know something, huh?" And then he falls silent, glaring at the boy, and says, "Now, be quiet – or I'll kill you first."

You've never been touched before – let alone been fucked. So, when Dabi's thick cock prods at your entrance and then bullies its way into you, even just his tip, it doesn't matter that you're wet – your cunt aches at every inch that he sinks into you until he's sheathed himself inside. His cock is big, and he doesn't make it easy for you to take it.

"Hurts!" you yell, but you whimper out a desperate, "So good!"

Tears slide down your cheeks as the vampire wickedly chuckles down at your confusion, grinding his hips into you so his navel bumps into your clitoris with every single thrust of his cock, and absorbing your hiccups and sobs of pained pleasure with delight in his devilish eyes – and when you whimper out that he needs to be gentler, he barks a laugh into your face.

"Gentle? Don't forget why you're here," he chides you. "You're mine – so take it. Take my cock –" he fucks into you harder and faster, and the slick from your cunt messes all over your thighs as he does, "– like the sacrificial lamb you're supposed to be, without complaining!"

The baker boy sobs as he watches, despite Dabi being able to control his movement. He can't run away, can't avert his eyes – but he cries from watching you, cries from hearing you. And as Dabi turns his devilish eyes to glance at the boy, he tugs you up by your bindings and turns your body to face away from him.

Your back hits the hard, cool surface of his chest as his hand closes around your cheeks, and his cock sheaths itself inside you still. From this angle, the baker boy can see everything – from your cunt, slobbering all over Dabi's girth, to your tits, popping out from the confines of your nightdress with the effort of his harsh fucking.

And from this angle, Dabi has access to all his favourite spots to drink you dry from.

His teeth sink into your shoulder as he fucks his cock into you all over again, and you scream out at the pleasure of it as he hits all the right spots inside you while his lips suckle the red from your body like a lamb from its mother's teat – except this drink is deadly to one of you, and it's not you.

All the while, his eyes cross over your body and lock onto the sad, little baker boy's – and if he could laugh without wasting the delectable, sweet drink on his lips, he might, for the boy looks distraught and broken. Dabi would love nothing more than to make him feel worse. So he does.

He tosses you to the ground and listens to you whine in pain, and laughs as the sound is replaced by the whimpers of someone whose respite was stolen from their grasp, and he cackles as the baker's boy tries desperately to free himself from Dabi's telekinetic hold to save you.

"It's no use, stupid boy," Dabi explains with a smirk as he kneels behind your form, drags your body upward so he can free your flesh from the confines of your tattered, bloodstained nightdress, and he laughs as your naked flesh trembles in the cold of night, and the loss of so much blood that makes you so much paler than you should be. "She'll beg for more, until she dies from the blood loss – and you're stuck where you are, until I loose my grasp on your body. My magic is stronger than your pathetic love for her."

"She's not your toy!"

"And she's not your property, hmm?" Dabi coos, and you mewl as his huge hands cup your breasts and he tugs your body toward him so you lean your back on him, and he angles you so he can lick a stripe up your ribcage before grazing his teeth along the side of your breast, "Unless you paid for her?"

"I… didn't."

Dabi laughs, and you squeak out pathetically as his sharp teeth sink into your breast mercilessly, and the baker boy's eyes water as he watches in fear the way you lose yourself in the vampire's grasp. He knows you won't survive, knows you won't make it til dawn, but a part of him is thick with hope that he, himself, might. Maybe he can outlive your captor, stake his heart and –

Dabi practically moans, and the baker's eyes go wide at the sight of your hand wrapping around the vampire's girth, stroking his cock in his lap and whimpering as you beg him for more of it, for more of him – "Please, just a little more, I'm so close, just give me some more —"

"Greedy," Dabi coos into your flesh, and the baker gulps as he realises just how much blood you must've already lost. "Let's show the priest's boy just how good I can make you feel, then, hmm?"

You're on all fours in a moment, mere inches from the baker boy's face, and he looks on in horror as Dabi's cock slots itself right back between your folds and he fucks into you until you quiver and shake, screaming like a pig at just how good you feel with his venom running through your veins and his length inside you – but his eyes drift between your flesh, draining of colour, and Dabi's, slowly turning more and more… humane, persé.

"So good!" you cry out, "Please, Dabi! Use me more! All of me is yours!"

Your cunt quivers around his thick girth, and Dabi groans out as he fucks you stupid, listening to your noises and your squeals, but watching the stupid boy intently all the while, waiting for the fire in his heart to die. Surely, the boy's courage will waver when he watches you cum? Surely, the boy will realise there is no saving you, and accept that your fate is either death or eternal damnation?

"Stop it," the boy whispers, and his eyes are red as the tears streak down his face, but he has not lost his will to save you – typical, Dabi thinks, as all men of the age seem to believe damsels in distress should be rescued.

"Harder! Dabi… oh, faster!" you cry out, but your voice has weakened and your volume wavers as you yell, and as Dabi leans in close to the skin of your back for another bite, another drink as his cock sinks deeper and deeper into you with every thrust, he catches a whiff of a scent he knows all too well, sitting right beneath your flesh. The scent of disappointment.

"Cum for me," he orders you, as he rests a hand hard on the flesh of your shoulder, and his eyes turn harsher in the sight of the boy before the two of you.

"I-I c-can't…"

The boy can see the reason why, too.

"You're dying," he whispers to you, hoarse and pathetic, "please – make him stop!"

"It's time to cum," Dabi presses, his other hand drifting down to draw soft, slow circles around your clit as your weak arms drop and your form falls to the sandy ground, shivering in the wake of his touch, "don't waste my time."

But you give out one last loud cry, before your breath turns ragged and your chest begins to heave – you have nothing left to give, and Dabi can sense it. He growls out, annoyed, and reaches for your neck the second he unsheathes his cock from you, and speaks in a low, demonic growl.

"Pathetic, weak mortal woman," he chides you, and his eyes return from cyan to red as he speaks, "I was wrong to suspect you'd be able to change anything, to give me any more than the rest – you are as useless as every other sacrificial lamb before you."

"Please," you whisper, voice broken and hoarse, but you've no clue what you're begging for – and he rolls his eyes this time, before he stands up, bringing your pathetic, limp form with him. He carries you like you weigh naught but an ounce.

"You disappointed me," he says to your body, floppy and weak as your eyes flutter shut and your breath grows gradually weaker, as he walks you back to the altar, and the baker's eyes go wide at the threat of what he may watch the vampire do to you. "I had higher hopes for you than for the last few."

"Stop it!" he yells.

"But that's hardly anything new – they always disappoint me," Dabi continues, and your eyes slide shut, fluttering for a moment.

"Don't do it! Not to her!"

Dabi chuckles, and he glances over his shoulder as his hand begins to tighten around your neck, ready to pop your head clean off your shoulders as he says, "What will you do to me if I ignore you, boy? Bake me some bread?"

"I-I'll…" he starts, in retaliation, but nothing comes from his lips but a string of sobs as a crack! fills the clearing. He stares in horror at your corpse, and how the vampire callously disposes of you in two parts, filling a hole with your remains.

"Now," Dabi sighs, dusting off his hands on his shirt as if he's done measly yardwork, as his eyes cross the clearing to offer a glance at the whimpering baker boy, "It's your turn, yes?"

It's been a good four hundred years now, since Dabi felt the draw of a soul that might be able to handle his curse and share it with him, and not once since has he felt the same way. It's been enough time of roaming the world and learning new skills that Dabi has become wary of things he didn't know he would need to, things he never thought about in the old times. He knows about climate change, about Einstein, about the rise and fall of Twitter, and about the declining popularity of Dracula in fiction. But that isn't what intrigues him anymore.

Now, he's in New York, and he's thinking about his next move. A vampire in the city that never sleeps – ironic, isn't it? Dabi, for one, believes it simply must be as he pulls up a seat at the bar and orders himself a bourbon on the rocks.

He knows the city is looking for him, knows that he's been branded a sicko and a serial killer, but he wonders if your ilk have ever considered that he isn't simply a monster; he has to eat, he has to sate himself somehow – and so what if he kills a few of your kind in the process? He's just doing what you humans do with your livestock.

He sips the bourbon, it stings, makes him nauseous. It must be watered down; high quality bourbon never burns, but he could care less as he glances down at his bruised knuckles and the bloodstains on his dress shirt. Any sane person would've turned him away at the bar the moment he sat down – he looks a mess, like he's already been to three pubs and started five bar fights in one night – but this place is run down. It's cheap. They need the customers, and can't afford to turn even the questionable ones down.

"Another," he calls toward the bartender as he tugs the glass to his lips and chugs the liquid down like a chaser, and the barman nods quickly as Dabi watches him, reaches behind him for the bourbon in question, and stands before his questionable patron with the bottle again.

"More ice?" he asks Dabi as he pours the drink, the man who's covered in scars and the marks of the aftermath of his escape from another of his gruesome kills without so much as an ounce of concern at his appearance, and Dabi shakes his head.

"No – I need the bourbon, not the ice," he clarifies, and his cyan eyes burn into the barman's as he says it, offering a sly smirk as he drops enough cash on the counter to pay for another few drinks after this one. He'll be drinking for a while.

"Yessir," his bartender affirms, and without so much as another word, continues to serve him without fail.

Dabi feels curious, watching the youngster work his way around the counter. He's diligent, careful, knows when to stop his customers before they've hit their limits, and the vampire is incredibly fascinated by it. He's never seen a man like this one. And he's seen a lot of men.

The barman has a few distinct features about him – blond hair, fair skin, amber eyes – but perhaps the most notable of these features, to Dabi, is his scent. His smell is inviting, with the same effect on the vampire that a steamy cup of hot chocolate might have on a human, calling him in with sweet notes and a musky undercurrent.

Dabi starts to wonder if this is the one he'll devour next – until the door dings, a new entrant in the pub giggling as she presses her cellphone to her ear and chats away with someone. Her scent wafts through the room, and Dabi can taste it as it curls around him, wraps tendrils around his throat and creeps into his nostrils slowly, teasingly, making him drool and his fangs drip with venom.

It's her that he wants now, and he decides quickly as he chugs down the rest of his bourbon so that the sting accompanies the burning sensation of his unholy gaze on your flesh, and he watches her every move. He watches the way she slings her pretty coat over the back of a barstool, the way she gracefully sits down. He admires every inch of her confidence, because he can tell she works hard to be able to show it off.

She's sweet, too, he can tell from the way she smiles as she speaks to the person she's calling, a real, true people-pleaser. That will come in handy later, if he chooses her. He likes her smile. He likes the way she giggles. God, he loves the way she flexes her fingers across the specials menu and makes an order for something cheap, something to take the edge off the day she's had.

He could take the edge off her just as easily.

He waves the barman over before he has the chance to offer her a card machine to make her payment, and with a charismatic chuckle, he tells the man that her drinks are on him. And then, dramatically, he drops a few more crisp bills on the bar. He's lucky the barman doesn't question the blood spattered on one note, not his intentions with the woman.

He walks over to her with a smirk, devious as he takes the seat beside her this time, and she giggles as she ends her phone call to lock eyes with him. And his eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets as soon as she speaks, when nearly four hundred years worth of memories wash over him like some insane realisation.

"Hello there," she says, enunciating every syllable carefully and grinning like a Cheshire cat, "Dabi."

"So you survived after all," the demon chuckles, reaches for what he now notes is your neck, and caresses the flesh tenderly, warmly, like an age-old lover might. "I never knew – but perhaps I should've, hmm?"

Flashes of memory flicker in his cold eyes, of a midnight he'd arrived in that village to collect his due, another virgin in the dark of night – but instead he'd been greeted by ash and fog, the village burned to a crisp with not one survivor. The bones of the villagers who'd worshipped him so, painstakingly arranged in an eternal freeze-frame of what must've been the most torturous massacre by arson in the time period.

"You really showed them not to play god, didn't you?" he coos, and as his thumb toys with your chin, you grimace.

"They deserved worse than they got from me," you huff, tearing yourself from his grasp, "As did you."

And he chuckles, watches how your (e/c) eyes sparkle with vengeance and your body brims with the blood from a fresh kill pumping through your veins, giving your undead corpse life so that you may present yourself to him that way. It's then that a cocky grin graces his lips and he shows you his fangs.

"I never did get your name."

"You never asked," you spit under your breath, and he sees the way your body gardens with a hostility he admires. "You were otherwise occupied with my body."

"Four hundred years," he sighs, and a playful smirk graces his lips, "and you've just now tracked me down. Has your anger kept you warm through all those winters?"

"Anger?" you scoff, baffled by his nonchalance. You stand, and your eyes burn into his skull as you glare into his turquoise orbs, "Anger has never warmed me – it's only ever been the hope for vengeance that's kept me warm at night, Dabi."

"And the fire," he jests, and you frown tremendously at the statement.

He's not wrong, of course – you can remember waking, the night your body had returned to life with a shuddering gasp, only for every inch of your flesh to burn with an immense desire for vengeance, an immense hatred for the people that had put you in the ground. And after clawing your way out from your grave, you'd risen to exact that vengeance.

You had a list: The priest, the vampire, but most of all, the mother who'd let it happen.

With naught but your hatred to guide your movements, you'd made for the town on wobbly legs. It was dark out, cold, but you paused for nothing in your journey, until you found yourself in the square, and with a lit torch in-hand, you exacted your revenge on the townsfolk, burning them all in their pathetic church, where they were holed up celebrating their fertile land.

You hadn't stopped there, either, not when they'd wronged you so terribly. And not when a thirst, a hunger, overcame you at the scent of blood and flesh.

You'd sought out your mother, the woman who was hiding in a room, praying to the monster that had put you in the ground. You could hear her chanting, her sobbing, her whimpering. It disgusted you, terribly, so much so that you tore through the home you'd once called your own and picked her up with your bare hands and threw her to the floor, screaming into her blanched face and demanding an apology, and when none came…

Her blood had sated your first thirst. Her body burning, your second.

"And," you say, eyes slitted and body hot with anger, as you lock eyes with Dabi, "the fire."

When you reach forward with one hand, grasping onto the vampire's thigh, he barely takes note and scoffs at what he assumes is your promiscuity – you fit in with the modern age, that he believes wholeheartedly, naively. Your form is perfectly complimented by your outfit, by your makeup, by your aura, and you fit perfectly in the little pub.

"What do you say, we get out of here?" you ask him, and he chuckles but fails to note the look on your face, the look of a woman with a plan.

"Sure thing," he says, voice low and sultry. "Wanna redo our last night together, hmm?"

You laugh like he's told you a joke, and you nod, a mischievous smirk gracing your features as you agree – but really, your stomach twists in disgust as flickers of the last night you'd spent with him flit through your vision. Why you would laugh sincerely, why you would agree excitedly, you don't know – and you don't understand why he doesn't even question your lack of hesitance.

"Let's go, hmm?" he suggests.

And he stands up in a moment, reaching out for your hand to tug you along. Just like that, you follow the monster out of the bar. You're patient, letting him lead you down an alleyway and giggling like a little girl as he pushes you against a wall with the strength of five men, so hard your skull beats against brick but you don't flinch at the impact.

"Oh, you wanna play rough?" you tease him as he hikes one of your legs up his side, a hand delving under your skirt, and he nods as he presses warm, well-fed lips into your throat.

"Fuck, yeah," he huffs, and you giggle at the lust that burns primally in his eyes and in his breath as it hits your throat.

"Okay," you coo, and you grin as he retracts his head to stare down at you, your hands tenderly reaching up to grasp his jaw on either side with animalistic claws that lengthen as your eyes shift in colour, glowing neon under the pale moonlight. "Then let's play rough, hmm?"

He smiles down at you, and you can barely believe he's the same man, no, the same demon he was before – but it doesn't matter, not really. Not when your cold heart suddenly beats again with a force like no other, with a purpose like none before.

"You're beautiful," he tells you, and he's serious. And you flinch from the sound of the words rolling so smoothly off his foul, sinful tongue.

You smile, and you mouth an insincere "thank you" before you pull his head to his chest and twist, violently and urgently with the strength only a demon could manage, until you hear the click of his spine from the pure force of the motion. And then you pull, hard and fast, until you hear the rest of his body flop to the ground, and your eyes flick up to the head of the monster that you hold in your hands.

"Four hundred years," you say softly as you eye the cyan orbs that stare lifelessly at you. "I stalked you for four hundred years, Dabi…"

You chuckle, and a relieved tear slips from your eye as you grip onto his hair with your right hand, dropping the head to your side where it dangles pathetically, and you step back to admire the limp pile of limbs that the rest of him has become on the ground underneath you. It's a pathetic sight, seeing the object of four hundred years of rage finally fallen to ruin.

"What perfect prey you were," you say, smiling.

Artfully, you swipe a bloody hand over the spot of your neck where the monster had kissed you, leaving it smeared with the fruit of your vengeance as you giggle, and you walk away leaving his body behind. The scent of him, a predator and a monster, wafts around you and filters through your lungs, smells of relief and of freedom.

After all, if you have his head, he'll stay dead as a doornail until you put him back together like a jigsaw puzzle.

bunny's taglist: @bihwhatever2 @mssuguru @feral-creep @thechroniclesofawriter @xsmilesx @kat-sukiii @kageyama-i-want-tobiors @obeythemasters @aeanya @softkao @ccoralineee @blaize-hewwo

Hurt

Dabi x fem!Reader

⇢ word count: roughly 3.3K

⇢ plot: You've been seeing Dabi for some time now, but it's far from a healthy relationship. Still so, unexpectedly it all escalates one evening.

⚠️Warning: some language and descriptions may be upsetting if you are sensitive to blood, gore, or grotesque imagery.

⇢ warnings: 18+, angst with smut and a bad ending, Dabi's a prick, implied toxic relationship, domestic violence, tw:burn wound, slight dubcon elements, smoking, drinking, kissing, unprotected sex, creampie, cum, orgasm, angry emotional breakdown (both sides), implied cheating, yelling, screaming, blood, a bit of gore, maybe lovers to enemies?

⇢ NO MINORS ALLOWED!!!

personal note: have somehow been in the mood for writing angst and hurt recently. Special thanks to @hunajan for helping me rephrase a lot of sections <3

You didn't hear anything besides the sound of the torrential downpour of rain, not even the sloshing sound of your soaked shoes hitting the wet pavement.

Looking up into the sky and letting the rain pelt onto your face, you had to laugh — not a word about cloudbursts in the weather forecast this morning.

Life had a not-so-subtle way of fucking you over.

Continuing your way home, you rolled up the collar and pulled the coat tighter to prevent the chilly water from running down your back.

It was useless.

Clutching your bag to your chest, you hoped that at least your cellphone and wallet would survive the heavenly onslaught.

While wiping the water from your eyes, you continued walking towards the high rise that you lived in. Even though it was a short walk from the train station to your apartment, you were already soaked down to your core.

With cold and numb fingers, you dug your keys from your soggy pocket before slowly unlocking the door to your apartment. Once dragging your tired feet inside, you clicked the door shut and locked it behind you.

After flicking the living room light on and stepping out of your shoes, you got out of your drenched clothes that let out a moist sound once hitting the floor. You straightened up and stretched yourself with arms raised high before staggering towards the bathroom.

Allowing the steamy water of the shower to warm up your cold skin, your brain slowly started turning its gears.

And with that came back the memories of him.

Another night of being all by yourself in the empty apartment and sleeping alone. You kept telling yourself to stop wallowing and move on. That he wasn't any good for you, that what you had with him was toxic. You kept trying to convince yourself that this had to end, hoping that he would never appear again.

But you also knew those were pointless thoughts.

Once dried off and with the towel still crowning your head, you walked towards the kitchen.

Lingering in your own thoughts, you recalled that he had disappeared again without warning or a prior message. It had been weeks now since you last saw or heard of him.

Whether he was dead, hurt, or gone forever, you didn't know.

And you didn't care anymore.

As if.

After pouring yourself a glass of Gin, you strode over to the couch and slumped down on it — not wanting to think about him or what you were going to do next. You just needed some time for yourself, just a little while to relax and breathe.

Still, there was no denying it – you yearned for him so badly and yet he kept disappearing and keeping you at distance. You placed the blame on your stupidity and loneliness for missing him so much.

With heavy emotions bearing down on you, you braced your face in your hands and let the tears run free.

You felt so broken inside, so unfilled.

You took a big inhale and released your face before reaching for the glass with the clear liquid in it.

You stared at it as if it was telling you that it would all be better if you just poured it down your throat. Without hesitation, you brought the glass up to your lips and gulped the Gin with the best intention to numb that annoying nagging voice inside of you.

It kept the thoughts in your head from racing, those half-lidded cerulean eyes from staring so seductively at you from behind your closed eyes.

You were on your second glass when the alcohol started working. Your mind dazed over, your brain all warm and fuzzy — when suddenly there was a distinct knock on the door.

You sat up sharply and focused your stare at the door.

As you checked what time it was, you knew there was only one person in this world showing up at your door this late.

And of all people, he was the last person you wanted to talk to right now.

You kept staring, wiping away the tears with your forearms, not moving when you heard a second thump, this time more demanding.

“Go away–-” You mumbled, surprised by the slur in your voice.

“'M happy to see you too.” a husky rasp came from across the door.

“Just leave me alone—” you were trying hard to sound like you meant it.

"Not gonna happen," his voice low and saturated with determination, "Lemme in."

"I'm not going to, Dabi," It was the Gin that encouraged you to be louder and more brave than usual.

Silence followed as the spoken words were slowly absorbed by the thick walls surrounding you.

"I wanna see you," he tenderly added.

You swallowed down a big sob, regained your composure, and muttered, "So what? Didn't seem to miss me the last two weeks you've been gone."

Silence.

"Dabi?"

"Still here…" you heard a thump outside the door that was followed by the same silence again.

You wiped your remaining tears off your lashes and strode over to the door. There was no sound outside except for the faint sizzle when he took a drag from his cigarette.

You leaned your forehead against the door, "You're not gonna leave, are you?"

"Nope, doll," he exhaled, the faint yet familiar smell of cigarette smoke invading your apartment and tingling your nostrils.

You turned around with your back and head resting against the door before slowly sliding down as your legs were too exhausted to hold up your weight.

"Dabi, seriously, this is not going to work."

"C’mon babe, just let me in and we’ll talk," his voice seemed to trail off.

"You can't keep doing this. I- '' you swallowed hard, bracing yourself, “I really like you. But you keep hurting me."

There was a pause again and a shuffle outside as he seemed to lean against the door.

"Can't we talk about this inside?" His voice was hoarse and low, creeping underneath your skin and having goosebumps erupt all over, "Just let me in."

"It'll only end up again with us in bed and nothing solved—" you exhaled, the corner of your lips trembling with unavoidable emotion.

An evident sigh was heard from outside, "Look, 'm sorry."

You sniffled, rubbing your eyes as if that would help understand the words better, "You're what?"

"Heard me alright, don't ask me to repeat it again," he scoffed at once, "Gonna let me in now, doll?"

You knew that stewing by yourself wasn't going to help sort out this issue, so you rolled your eyes and sighed, "Dabi?"

"Yes?" He grumbled lowly.

"Promise that we'll only talk if I let you in? Nothing else?"

"Anything for you, doll face," he rasped with a breathy chuckle.

So you stood up, unlocked the door, and let him in. Without waiting, you sat down on the couch before grabbing your drink again. The couch sank in when he sat down next to you, leaning forward to grab the remote, switching the TV on.

No other sound was in the room except for the TV, him staring at it as if you weren't there. It made you sink down even further into the cushions, unsure of what to say next.

You bit your lower lip and restlessly gnawed on it while fumbling with your hands. He flipped through the channels, filling the room with anything but conversation. His cold eyes glanced over to you, seeing how you nervously fiddled your fingers.

Then without a warning, he was on you, your protests muffled by his tender yet fierce lips on your neck and his hands trailing up your side.

Just as you were about to complain, you were cut off by his hands grabbing your face before he crashed his lips against yours. One of his hands let loose and guided yours down until it pressed against his clothed erection.

As he pulled back, a silver string of saliva connected your lips, his rapturous blue eyes looking down at you while still using your hand to stroke himself off, "Babe, I know you want this—"

His voice was low and husky as he groaned lightly in that specific way that made your face heat up and lust bloom inside your belly.

You gulped, letting him continue, the feeling of his hot and hard meat straining against his pants too enticing.

His lips spread into a cocky grin and he dipped down again. His hand released yours just to slide under your shirt, up your body, and onto your breasts.

Strong arms found their way around your back, pulling you close as he flipped around, placing you right on his crotch.

You let out a reluctant squeak as he jerked his hips up into you slow and lazy, grinning at you for biting your lips to suppress more whimpers.

“Want me so badly, huh?” he growled softly.

He firmly pulled your body against his and stared into your eyes before bringing his lips against yours. His tongue slid across your bottom lip, making you draw a deep, heady breath in response to the wave of heat sweeping through you. The corner of his mouth curled into a sheepish grin, as he lightly slipped his tongue between your lips. Then, with his soft warm mouth abusing yours, sucking your lips, he dipped his tongue past your lips, coaxing them open.

You felt a fluttering inside, your body craving him so badly. A shallow gasp escaped from within you while his breathing became heavier, the tidal wave of lust that had just churned within you grew rapidly into a full-blown tsunami.

He pulled back a little and looked at you, shakily exhaling.

Hooking his fingers under your shirt, he pulled it off and your bra followed with one smooth snap of his talented fingers, having your breasts spill free.

With tongue flat against your skin, he licked along your breast before sealing his mouth around your puckered nipple and starting to suck the sensitive nub hard. A gasp fell from your lips, making him smile, his teeth grazing along your delicate flesh and sending shivers up your spine.

"Let's move this somewhere more comfortable," his raspy voice mumbled and before you could protest, he forced his lips on yours again and swallowed up your feeble protests. His hands dug into the skin of your butt and with a swift strong move, he got up and carried you off to the bedroom.

He laid you down on the soft sheets, his mouth still attached to yours as he made quick work of your pants, pulling them off in one go.

Every little mewl and protest was relentlessly swallowed up by him while his hand slid underneath the hem of your underwear, his dexterous fingers starting to play with your sensitive nub, dipping down repeatedly between your folds to gather your juices. You moaned softly in response, having him snicker and release you before admiring the glistening strings of your slickness between his spread fingers.

“You're soaked baby," he chuckled, "Can't tell me you don't want this.”

“I didn't want this to end in bed—” you protested but he just tutted quietly while getting up and undressed.

"Your body’s telling me otherwise" he cocked his head, staring you down as his lips curled into a smirk.

He leaned back as he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his lean, muscular torso.

His nimble hands unbuckled his pants next, pushing them along his thighs before they dropped to the floor and allowed his thick cock spring free— he never was too fond of underwear.

After stripping you out of your clothes, he moved his body on top of you and leaned in for another longing kiss.

With an agonizingly slow pace, he guided himself into you, thrusting his length inside inch by inch. He let you adjust to his size for a moment before starting to move, at first just grinding into you, then deeper, hitting just every right spot each time he sank into you.

There was no denying it. It felt so good to be so close to him. Feeling him inside of you as he fit so perfectly.

He pinned you down with his whole body, breathing heavily as he started fucking you. You clung to each other tightly as his hips smacked loudly against yours. He didn't stop kissing you, hunting for your tongue, your moans and whimpers mingling with his needy groans.

As he picked up the pace, you started to get lost in the pleasure, calling out his name over and over again. Unable to focus on anything else but the feeling of him inside of you, you felt so overwhelmed by his deep, unrelenting thrusts.

He gripped your throat, forcing you in place as the tingling inside you grew into a white heat, the tension in your core growing tighter and tighter until the coil snapped and you came.

Shockingly loud moans mixed with his name spilled from your mouth, your back arched as waves of pleasure ran through you, having you clamp down on him like a vice. His hips stuttered and he followed you into bliss with a long, drawn-out groan, releasing his creamy seed deep inside of you.

He stayed in place, softening cock still inside of you with no intentions to pull out. Even though you felt sweaty and a little uncomfortable, it was nice to have his heartbeat thumping against your own.

All worries were swept away at that moment, feeling so blissed out, so close to him.

Then he rolled off, but instead of laying with you, he stood up and strutted off to the bathroom. You heard water running as he started washing himself off.

After he was done, he simply walked over to the pile of clothes that were thrown on the floor and got dressed.

"Ok, I'll be going then," with this he turned towards the door.

"You what?" You uttered in disbelief, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Heard me right, babe," his bored eyes gleaming down at you.

"W-Why— and where?" You swung your legs off the bed, hastily grabbed your shirt, and pulled it on.

"None of your fuckin business," his dry answer made your stomach twist.

"Dabi, we just had this discussion—" you swallowed the rising bile before slowly walking over to him, your voice getting louder with every word, "Stop closing up like this and stop walking away!"

"This is fuckin’ stupid," he hissed while sauntering towards the door.

"I can't do this anymore!" with your admission, hot, angry tears sprung to your eyes.

He spun around, seething, "What do you fucking want me to say, huh? To move in together? Share a fucking life?" His eyes were glowing with rage now and you made out a faint scent of burnt skin wavering through the room.

"All I want is for you to start being honest with me!" you yelled back at him.

You didn't even have time to inhale, he was on you that fast, grabbing your chin and pulling you close.

"Oh, you want the truth, huh? S'that what it is?" His furious eyes boring into yours.

You ripped at his arm, trying to pry it off of you but his grip was relentless. His digits dug into your delicate skin, sure to bruise the next day. Using his own body to back you up, he shoved you a few feet and you stumbled before he let go of you.

Catching yourself, you glared at him before rubbing your sore cheeks, "If you just need someone to blow off steam, go and just fuck some other girls."

"Oh, 'm already doing that, doll," his lips curled into a cocky smirk, cold eerie eyes scornfully burning into yours as he stood there, grinning at you with full pride.

Your heart stopped as those words sank in. All the rage that built up instantly disappeared and was replaced with a numbing cold sensation.

You couldn't control it. Your hand automatically came up and slapped him across his face.

"You're just as heartless as your father!" It barely came out as a whisper.

He froze, his chilling voice, colder than you had ever heard, growled, making goosebumps erupt on your skin, "What did you just say?"

Maybe it should've been a warning, but you didn't care anymore. The rage inside flared up again, blooming once more too strong, too hot, in your veins.

You glared at Dabi, jaw set as you forced out, "You heard me alright, you're just like Enj—"

It happened in a blur — he was on you with a vicious roar, his face contorted into a grimace, roughly shoving you across the room and against the wall by your shoulder.

There was a bright blue flash before your head and back hit the wall with such force that punched the air from your lungs.

Your vision darkened, ringing as shrill as a fire alarm in your ears— white spots danced across your retina as the taste of copper slowly overtook your tastebuds.

You first smelled it. The acrid, stomach-churning odor of burnt flesh and hair. Nauseatingly sweet and putrid, the smell was so thick and rich you could almost taste it.

Choking on air, your mind hurled back into reality with the speed of lightning. The throbbing pain in the back of your head shot through your brain, making it hard to stay conscious but you managed to stay awake anyways.

Your eyes refocused and your gaze wandered up, until your eyes met Dabi’s. And what you saw scared you more than anything you'd seen before. His usually controlled expression was now ridden with horror, even shock. His mouth kept closing and opening, desperately trying to form words. But nothing came out.

His hand, outstretched, was still smoking.

You followed his hollow gaze and turned your head towards your shoulder. Where his hand had grabbed you just a moment ago, was now an unrecognizable horrid mess of a blackened, flakey wound the size of Dabi's hand. The charred and open area of flesh was surrounded by blistered and bleeding tissue, splitting and curling away from the layers below. Surprisingly, you felt no pain though.

No, instead you felt empty.

As if from far away, you heard yourself mutter "Get out.”

"M Sorry—" He croaked, voice hoarse with shock.

Gathering all your strength, you pressed out between gritted teeth "I said to get out,” your mind swirling, trying to stand tall, swaying nonetheless.

Despair filled his expression, eyes helplessly darting between your marred shoulder and your face, his lips opening to repeat those words "M’sorry, doll, I– I didn't–"

Cold anger kindled inside you, eating you up and making you forget all about your mangled shoulder. Your vision turned from dull to red as you threw yourself at him, pounding at his chest with both your arms, having the skin of the burnt shoulder crack open and start to bleed.

"Get out, get out, get out!" Your screams were ringing through the room, echoing in your ears.

You threw yourself at him with all your might as Dabi stumbled backward each time - pale and shaking, still mumbling incoherent apologies.

You felt a surge of power as you reached out for your door, yanked it open, and pushed him outside with your last effort, before throwing the door shut and turning the lock.

For a few moments, nothing was heard from the other side before the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, becoming quieter until they faded completely.

Silence settled in.

Heavily panting, you swayed before falling to your knees, a mind-numbing pain starting to emanate from your shoulder, almost blinding your vision. You started rocking back and forth, tears continuing to flow as bitter sobs wracked your body, robbing you of the ability to scream and hardly allowing you to draw a breath.

There was not a sound to be heard from the other side of the door.

He was gone.

Forever.

Warm blood dripped down your arm and torso, pooling on the floor, slowly gelling as you kept crying - until you were empty. Empty and dead inside.

You knew it.

Life had a not-so-subtle way of fucking you over.

you asking Dabi if he'd still love you if you were a rat and him responding that you are his little sewer rat already

if he's a serial killer, then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?—

dabi x reader

wc: 9.5+

warnings: 18+, ATTEMPTED SEXUAL ASSAULT, explicit/crude language, reader is not doing well, angst, dabi is bad at feelings, also yandere by accident?

if he's as bad as they say, then i guess i'm cursed, looking into his eyes, i think he's already hurt—

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really.

It had been by some ridiculous coincidence that you attended Shizuoka Private School at the same time, in the same class and had the same peers. There was always an idiotic smile on your face; it made you seem so damn friendly that the other kids fought over you at lunch—who would you sit with today? But you sat with them last time! When was it my turn?

Even then you were pulled in different directions.

The two of you hadn’t been friends, only classmates. Sometimes he sat with you, sometimes he didn’t; more often than not he spent his time outside, counting out his breaths so he didn’t burn his stomach or his hands or his face—which is pretty fucking funny, in retrospect—but you talked to him, just like you did everyone. It wasn’t anything special.

A smile and a wave. How’s it going, Touya? Sure are working hard!

An offering, some of the leftover rice in the bento your dear mommy made you. Ugh, I’m so full! You need the energy, want it?

A chin perched on your knee, pulling them close to your chest as you watched him. That’s super cool! I bet you’ll be even better than your dad!

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

(He didn’t think that then. Nah, not back then.)

It always made you throw up, using that quirk of yours. Underneath the tree, the one in the front of the fence on the side of the school, he’d told you,

“You can be my sidekick! I’ll get them with Prominence Burn, and you get ‘em with Mind Freeze!”

There was blood in your teeth when you responded. “We’ll get the bad guys together!”

It’s not until after everything that he realizes what the problem is, not until you take that job in the hospital and put needles in veins and take temperatures and clean up shit that he realizes you can’t take it. Something about it ruining your own neurological whatever; if you had tried to be a hero, you wouldn’t have made it to your late-twenties. Brain would have ate itself, or something.

(In retrospect, he guesses that’s a good thing. If he ever ran into you out there, if he had to turn your bones to ash in an alleyway while you wore some cheesy spandex, you might not have recognized him—but you would have figured it out just before he carbonized you. You would have probed his mind all different ways, found everything out, even those things he shoves behind the door in his head.)

(Of course he could do it, smite you into fucking nothing, absolutely, no problem.)

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that supported whatever path you wanted, the kind that only exists in the movies. They said things to you like, “only if you want to” and “you can be just as much of a hero without your quirk”—which was a load of shit and you knew it. He knew it, too.

Those kids by the fence were supposed to be partners.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny. Every last bit of it.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you lit incense for him at least once a year. Most of the time on his birthday (he wasn’t sure how you figured that out; the idea that you went to his house to ask Enji was horrifying), but sometimes you wouldn’t show up that day. Sometimes you did it at Christmas, sometimes on Valentine’s Day. Sometimes on any random Saturday of the month.

Sometimes you showed up for a few weeks in a row.

So fucking sweet. So fucking idiotic.

Who the fuck even are you, anyway? Acting all sad and heartbroken because some kid from your class went and got himself incinerated to Hell. Acting like you cared, as if those conversations under the tree ever really meant anything. As if the future was ever gonna be up to him, as if he had any say. Acting as if you could ever do the Hero Thing, as if you had any say. As if the blood on your lips didn’t stain his when he kissed a girl at age ten, for the first time.

Grow up. Kids say shit they don’t mean all the time.

And without him, you had—grown up. After a while you stopped talking about him, stopped saying, “Oh, my friend Touya,” as if he was still there, waiting for you at the front of the school. You were an honor student, every year, and your parents bought you a car when you started high school. A normal one, not U.A. No one had figured it out yet, that your bouts of illness and fatigue, the Twice-sized migraines you got were all due to that quirk of yours, but you knew something was wrong. Even then.

Somehow you got blessed with good parents, the kind that paid your way through college, the kind that bought you a stethoscope as if you were gonna be some hot-shot doctor. So fucking stupid, in a world of quirks; someone could do what would take you hours, in seconds, but you still chose that job. Because you still wore that idiotic smile and people still flocked to you and you wanted to please everyone, just like always.

Yeah, he knew where you lived, but it’s not like he was a creep.

When he managed to unscramble his brain enough to use it, it was easy to find you. You lived in the same house you always did and he’d been over once, as Touya, and the curtains covering your windows were still pink, still had stars on them, when you were ten and when you were eighteen. Those parents of yours had to make a big ol’ deal of you moving out, to some shitty apartment closer to the hospital, closer to downtown, so it wasn’t hard for him to follow that moving truck.

And you still had those fucking curtains. Why wouldn’t you throw them away? Move on. Grow up.

To his complete horror, you kept a photo of him in the third drawer in your kitchen, the same photo Enji stared at. It was pathetic, all of it, how you kept him around and in your space. Sometimes you would open that drawer and see it and act surprised, as if you hadn’t put it there yourself, and you would say something stupid like, “How’s it going, Touya?” before grabbing what you needed and putting him back in the dark.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it was all so idiotic.

When one of your nurse friends asked about the picture, you told them everything. About the bento boxes and the tree, about the Hero to your Sidekick, about the one and only time he felt like a kid, in someone else’s home, while he watched some girly movie about a witch and her broomstick and a cat.

“—and my mom made me salmon, but he hates fish, so we threw it at a car in the school parking lot.”

Hates. As if he was still alive. As if you still cared. As if you could tell he was sitting against the wall in your dark bedroom, listening to every sip of that beer you took.

The worst part of it all was that you walked to and from work, like a big fucking fool. Mom and Pop bought you a car for a reason, stupid, and if you wanted to stay in shape so bad, you could just join a fucking gym, like the rest of the world. But no. You insisted, even when that cunt from the hospital cafeteria offered to drive you himself. “Fresh air is good for me,” you told him, which was a terribly lame response—one fit for you.

So fucking stupid, trying to be so perfect all the time.

The way you curled your hair and the careful hand you used to put on your makeup. If a bum on the street asked you for money, you’d come back from a coffee shop across the road with water and a sandwich, maybe even throw him a bill or two. People stopped you to ask for directions and you gave them, sometimes you would pay for the person in line behind you at some takeout place. If litter was on the ground, you’d carry it to the nearest trash can.

They told you that if you’d tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three, and yet there you were, holding open the door for four people in a row with that smile, playing the good guy.

Grow up.

There were plenty of other women in his life better than you, women that understood his motivation, his rage, ones that left the door unlocked when he needed to get his rocks off. Some of those women had pierced nipples and wore spandex—not the cheesy kind—and let him do the whole BDSM thing because they liked it just as much as he did. They didn’t expect anything of him, they didn’t talk about him like he was still there or pretend to care. They liked him, Dabi (most of them, anyway, some of those fucking bitches couldn’t get over his appearance, but he didn’t care about them).

He didn’t care about any of that, least of all you. Least of all the skimpy dress you wore when that cafeteria cuck finally got your number, finally got the balls to take you out. Who cares that he brought you flowers and that you kissed him for it? It’s not some big, grand deal that a man took notes from a shitty romance flick to impress you. He didn’t care at all, because he was balls-deep in a girl he’d picked up at the bar, and it wasn’t some big deal that he pretended it was you moaning his name.

Yeah, you were kinda attractive. Whatever.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, and it wasn’t a big deal he watched you after that twelve hour shift you always pull. The walk home in the first place is dumb, but it’s nearly 3am and you’re stumbling on your feet (it’s your third night in a row, because, of course it is). The alleyways gets real dark, he knows this, and all it takes is for him to tip his head down and breathe in his nicotine for you not to notice.

There’s blood on your scrubs and you look tired, a different kind of tired than the one you usually wear, a sad-tired. All the mascara is gone from your eyes. Probably lost some poor bastard in the ER because you didn’t have a quirk that mattered, not in your profession, and now you’re crying because you’re soft.

People die. Touya did. Grow up. Throw away the picture.

It’s all so boring and lame, weariness eating at the edges of his own eyes, but he isn’t ready to go back to that shitty motel room he’s living out of. Toga is on his last damn nerve at the moment and Shigaraki is messing around with some losers, so he doesn’t care, not right now. The motel bed is broken and it creaks when he moves and he’s fucking over it, so that’s why he leans against the wall when you walk by, why he closes his eyes and lets the cigarette smoke swirl into the sky, and it’s why he doesn’t follow right behind you, not yet.

One would think he’d be familiar with the sound of a tire iron against a skull, but that isn’t really his style, so it’s only when you start coughing that he realizes something is weird. When he rounds that corner and looks down the sidewalk, the last thing he sees is the curtain of your hair disappearing into an alleyway too far from him.

“Fuck.”

He almost says your name out loud, he almost calls it out, but someone actually has the nerve to grab you right out from underneath him, so he’s shoving his hands in his pockets and hurrying down the sidewalk. The first thing he sees is one of your teeth (he kicks the other one and it clicks down the concrete, skittering over the curb and into the street) and then he sees the tiny pool of blood you’d spit up when you hit the ground.

Dabi isn’t some fucking pussy, so he really isn’t sure why it happens so slowly, why he lets it go so far. By the time the sound of your cries reach him, some fucker already has your scrub pants around your ankles and he’s slotting himself up against your ass, but you’re too out of it to really realize what’s happening. Blood is pouring over your eye and half your face is already bruised and knotted from where the metal struck you, but you’re awake.

Which is why he thinks this idiot hit you where he did, nowhere truly lethal, because some guys like when girls squirm.

You’re just moaning in pain, lying there while he looks at you in shock (someone is really doing this to you? Just out in the street like a fucking tool?) but you’re trying to drag yourself away, pretty nails scraping against the pavement without any real effort. When the alleyway begins to glow blue, you look up at him, and he sees the fear in your eyes when you meet his.

It’s ugly, but it’s over soon.

That alleyway fucking stinks now, with the smell of melted skin and hair and it’s too smokey for either of you to breathe. For some reason, you aren’t even screaming, which is absurd, because that’s what you’re supposed to do when someone attacks you, idiot. Your entire face is covered in ash and dirt and blood, sticking to the sweat pooling from you, and you’re still just rolling around like a headless chicken.

And for a moment, he isn’t really sure what to do.

For a moment, he has some idiotic thought, about gathering you up in his—

Nah, fuck that, he won’t even finish it.

There is a hospital up the street, your hospital, and they would probably find you soon enough. If he leaves right then, as you try and fail to reach for your pants, he could even run up there and call out about a woman in the alleyway. People flock to you; they love perfect, little, you, and they’ll find you. They’ll call the doctor with the quirk you don’t have and they’ll heal you. They’ll take care of you.

The two of you weren’t even friends, not really, but he won’t forget the way he felt when you used that shitty quirk of yours on him. As if someone was reaching in through his ears and his nose and poking around, trying their damndest to touch his brain with their fingers, and then it’s like a switch is turned on, one he didn’t realize was turned off.

Just before you vomit enough blood to knock you out, you gasp and reach a shaking hand out to him and then you say it. You say his name.

You say, “Touya, please.”

And then he has no choice but to entertain that fucking thought from before, because you’ve used that quirk and you’ve unlocked that door in his head and he’s the kid by the fence, under the tree, all over again.

At best, he should have left you for someone to find. Possibly should have left you for dead because he’s not ready yet, not for the big reveal. There is a timeline he’s working with, one that will hit Enji the hardest, and tonight isn’t the night for it to all start. You know the incense you’ve been burning has been for nothing, that the picture in your drawer is about as stupid as he’s always thought it was, and you know that Touya isn’t dead.

And no one is supposed to know, not yet.

Yeah, he knows where you live, but he can’t exactly climb the steps to your apartment with you, half-dead and covered in your own blood and grime, in his arms and expect none of the do-gooders in your building not to call the cops. The motel is gross, but it’s in a bad part of town; this sight sure isn’t the worst they’ve ever seen, will ever see.

Maybe he’ll get lucky and you’ll just die in this creaky bed. Then he can blame the blood stains and the smell for the reason he needs to change rooms. Nothing about you seems alive, except for the pulse racing in your neck, for the heartbeat in your chest that nearly comes out of your skin. For once in your life, you aren’t wearing that fucking smile, not looking with those bright eyes or batting your eyelashes. For once you’re finally quiet.

Dabi has patched himself up enough times to do this, but he hardly has anything with him that can help whatever the fuck is going on with you. Will you die from the wound to the head? Have a concussion? Are you gonna puke blood all over the sheets, like he wants you to? After he pulled your pants up, your underwear were still on and intact, no blood on your thighs, so he doesn’t think that asshole actually got anywhere with you.

It’s kinda pissing him off, how long it took for him to do anything.

Not that he cares.

The towels in the motel are shitty and scratchy. The water is lukewarm and never cold, but he wets a hand towel all the same and tries his best to wash the blood off your face, off your mouth and your neck. There is probably blood in your teeth, just like there always had been, but he’s not about to pry your lips open and brush them with his only toothbrush, so you’ll just have to figure that out whenever you wake up.

There is a sorry excuse for a first-aid kit under the leaking sink and thank fuck you’re knocked out, because he’s got to cauterize that wound on your forehead (you still stir a little bit and tears escape your closed eyes), but he puts a somewhat sticky band aid over it.

In retrospect, it’s pretty fucking funny; your perfect little face, finally marred.

When there is nothing left to do but wait for you to wake up, he just stares at you. For a long time. Longer than he’ll ever admit, even to himself. Because he hasn’t been this close, not since the tree or that time he sat next to you in your living room, while you shared onigiri and watched that dumb movie. Enji didn’t even know—he’d been too busy with Shoto to realize he hadn’t gone outside to train. He’d been too busy to realize Touya had slipped out of the yard and down the street, into a girl’s house for the first and last time.

When he thinks about you, sitting beside him and touching the white of his hair, with your soft hands and your shy little face, he leaves to go get water from the store around the corner. There’s hardly any money in his pockets, but he uses it all to buy as many bottles of water he can, and when he gets back, you haven’t moved an inch.

“Are you dead yet?” He doesn’t look at you when he asks, only sets the water on the wood-chipped table by the door and waits. It’s nearly 5 in the morning and he’s dead tired, but he just sits on the ground and waits some more. About an hour goes by and he checks your pulse again, just to be sure.

He’s half awake when your fingers start twitching, when you start whimpering in your sleep. The bed creaks when you shift on your back, moving your legs in discomfort as you start rolling around again, just like you did in the alley. When your eyes finally open, you blink at the ceiling for a long time (he doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath), before touching your head gingerly. At the first feel of the band aid on your forehead, tears immediately well up in your eyes and you let out a gasp, looking away from him and to the shitty bathroom.

Dabi is sitting beside the mattress on the ground, looking at you when you turn your head to him. Maybe you should scream, if you had the energy, maybe you should do what most people do when they see him and his fucking skin, the staples holding him all together. But you’re a big idiot, so you don’t. You only scan his face and look into his eyes (and he’s a man now and not a fucking kid, so he stares back), blink at him, just like you did the ceiling, and you don’t say anything for a long time.

It looks like there are a million thoughts running through your head and it’s pissing him off.

“Say something,” He spits, “Don’t just fucking stare at me like that.”

“Touya.”

“Don’t call me that.” No one has, not since the Hero and Sidekick days, not since Shizuoka Private School, not since Sekoto Peak. “And don’t ever fucking poke around in my brain again!”

"Am I dead?"

So fucking idiotic. "Unfortunately for me, no."

Your head is so heavy that when you try to sit up, it just lolls back on your shoulders, looking like it's gonna fall off and onto the sheets. After a minute of trying, you give up. "Are you dead?"

All your words are slurring. Maybe you are dying, after all.

"Unfortunately for me, no."

"Where am I?"

And you're still not screaming or freaking out, even though you'd been nearly whacked to death, nearly raped into the concrete. Even though a kid from your class—one you weren't even friends with—is alive right next to you, looking like someone left him in the oven too long.

Does he tell you where you are? Chances are, if you survive this thing, you'll report him to the police since you're such a goody-goody. A wannabe hero and all that. Once, he'd seen you carry an empty fast food bag for three fucking blocks because every trash can you found before then was full. Fucking pathetic.

On the bed, you're still shifting your legs and twitching. It doesn't seem like you realize it.

"Are you alright in there?" Maybe if he hits you upside the head, you'll stop. "'Cause you almost got your brains knocked out."

More tears. The skin on your forehead is real tight with that knot and your brows only pull down a hair. A big, fat pout. "What? What happened? Where am I?"

The scrub top is tucked into your pants because he'd been in a hurry to yank them up your legs, but you don't seem to notice. There's a good chance you don't even remember getting whacked, and the last thing he wants to do is pretend he cares enough to console you. So fucking soft, you'll definitely start crying if he tells you what nearly happened to you (seriously, what the fuck was he doing? Supposed to be some badass and it took him a solid six seconds to act. So annoying), so he won't.

"Some guy stole your purse."

That's not true, it's behind the toilet.

"What? Where is he?"

Dabi snorts and his eyes relax into an unimpressed stare. "Oh, well after he bludgeoned you, I thought I'd entertain a game of Shogi with him—where the fuck do you think he is? I lit him up like the Chinese New Year."

"Oh." Is all you say and then you're quiet. When he looks up from the stained carpet and back at your face, your eyes are closed and he snaps his fingers until you reopen them. "Am I dead?"

"No, now quit askin'."

Your equilibrium must be way off, because you try to raise your hand to touch your face but it just waves around near your right ear like you're drunk off your ass. When you try to sit up again, you manage it, but you still sway back and forth.

He still has no idea what to do. Finish the job already? Put you out of your misery?

The bed creaks every time you lean back and you swivel around dumbly to look down at it, down at him. That perfectly curled hair of yours is a wreck, all tangled in the back like some sort of bad sex hair, and in the light of the barely rising sun, he can see parts of blood he missed. You don't smile that smile, so he doesn't know if it's in your teeth. Probably is.

Maybe you aren't gonna croak right then, because you look at the door, the chipping paint on the walls, the who-knows-what colored stain on the carpet. You look at the water on the table, at the shitty desk, the flickering light outside the bathroom. Then him.

"Can I have some water, please?"

Please.

Oh, shut the fuck up.

Dabi gives it to you anyway, even unscrews the cap for you like some kind of gentleman, like some kind of hero you or he could never be. Half of it spills out of your mouth and runs all down your shirt, like you have no idea how to work your lips anymore. When it dribbles down your chin, he can see it's pink.

Every time you blink your eyes, they get heavier and heavier, one closing and opening before the other.

Maybe you are really dying, right there in some shitty motel room with the ghost of a kid you kinda knew. Those parents of yours will probably lose it, maybe your mom will even off herself when they find your body, decaying on this creaky bed. But he'll be long gone by then. And he doesn't care.

In retrospect, it's pretty fucking funny. Touya will come back and you won't.

It takes you three attempts to stand, holding yourself up with a weak hand on the bed. The second attempt has you nearly falling on your face back into the mattress, ass all up in the air like it had been in the alleyway. When you take an unsteady step forward, he jumps up, just in case you're faking it and are gonna make a run for the door.

But you don't, you just look at him and say it again. "Touya."

"Don't call me that."

"Am I dead?"

It takes him three steps to cross the distance between you and him, and he grabs your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks together and making you look at all the burnt parts of him. "I wouldn't be here if you were dead, you idiot. Stop asking."

More tears. That pout again.

Oh boo fucking hoo, he's being mean. Grow up.

Thoughts are flashing in your eyes again but you're not saying anything, you might not even know how to anymore. He shakes your face a little before letting go and you stumble into him, like the grip of his hand had been the only thing keeping you upright.

"I miss you."

The two of you hadn't even been friends, not really, not at all. The tree had been cut down, Shoto was the hero he was supposed to be, and you were fucked up, dying out in the middle of nowhere. Nothing is how it was supposed to be.

Maybe if he cared about anything other than himself, he would be worried about you, drooling like that because you can't keep your mouth closed. Maybe if he cared, he would give a shit about seeing your face up close and he would admit he's been watching it for too long, seeing how it changes and gets prettier every year, seeing the woman you grew up to be. Maybe if he cared, he would even say something stupid, like that it meant something to him that he meant something to you. Maybe he'd even smile, let you touch him, maybe he'd even bury his face in your neck and tell you he missed you, too.

But Dabi doesn't care, not a bit.

So he holds you at an arm's length, face twisting into that crazy snarl he gets sometimes. Miss, like he was still alive. Like you were the dead one, imagining it all in whichever layer of Hell you ended it up. What a load of shit.

"Get off me!"

When he steps back away from you, you catch yourself on the wall, turning so that your back is leaning against it. Your eyes close again, but he can see that they're rolling behind your lids, even as you slump down to the ground. All the blood left on you has dried and it comes off in flakes when you itch at your hairline, at your jaw, underneath your chin. There is dirt and maybe some leftover skin, a little bit of gravel, all embedded under your nails and pressed against your neck, which you finally seem to realize.

"I'm...disgusting."

"Yeah."

That pretty little head of yours looks like it weighs a ton, but you raise it so your eyes can meet his, and, he's not close enough to tell, but is one of your pupils dilated? That band aid is hardly clinging to your forehead and at the touch of your fingers, it just gives up, falls off and into your lap. It stretches between your fingers and you look at it like you've never seen one before.

"I don't feel good."

No fucking shit. That first aid kit has a small package of expired Acetaminophen—whatever the fuck that is—and he gives it to you, though you choke while trying to swallow it.

It takes you another few attempts to get to your feet, but you finally do and he steps out of your reach again. "I need to shower."

A laugh actually barks out of him. "This water'll probably poison you."

Maybe your ears are clogged with blood or something, because you just repeat yourself. "I'm gross, I need to take a shower, please."

Please.

Fine, if you want to die with a yeast infection, go right ahead.

Dabi has seen your tits before—not on purpose—but you don't know that, so he tries to be a gentleman and at least act like he's not looking when you peel that dingy scrub top off, when you nearly fall down trying to get out of your sports bra.

He does look when you ask him for help, though.

There is no way you can stand up by yourself in the fucking shower, and you want this UTI so damn bad, so he just runs a lukewarm bath. The water splutters and comes out at all different kinds of pressure, but you don't slip when you step in, so he just leaves you to it.

Maybe you'll drown in there—though this shitty tub isn't really big enough for you to do that—and it will all be over painlessly. Then he won't have to hold a pillow over your face or burn your flesh off while you scream and writhe.

No problem, he could absolutely do it.

Maybe he'll just come back and you'll finally be done twitching, looking as peaceful as you do when you sleep, underneath that blood-tinged water.

After it happened, Dabi wanted to kill you. Like actually kill you. A whole lotta people, everyone he knew, really, but you were somewhere near the top of the list.

Maybe because you made him feel something once, maybe because the little charm bracelet you gave him was the first thing that turned to ash at Sekoto Peak. Maybe because, if he couldn't rise up and do the Hero Thing, then he didn't want you to do it, either.

(Which, in retrospect—)

There wasn't gonna be any big show, no flames or anything, just him and his hands. It lulled him to sleep most nights, out there on the street, thinking of the ways he would do it. He planned to slip through those pink star curtains of yours and wake you up—because he wanted to see the light leave your eyes—and then he'd wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze until your eyes fucking popped. Maybe he'd even kiss your gasping lips again.

There was a time when he wanted it so bad, that it was almost hard to distinguish that desire from reality. Some days he would wake up and he wouldn't think about shoving his thumbs in your eyes, because, he'd already done it, hadn’t he? They'd already buried you, the world had already moved on without perfect, little you. Dabi sure had, Touya sure had.

Guess that's why you're still alive (well, somewhat) in that bathroom and he's just sitting against the door, waiting for the sound of you to start gurgling or something. Somehow he just forgot to kill you, became too wrapped up in a plan for Enji. If he pictures that list in his mind, you were number 4 or 5, but he'd never made it past the first name.

It kinda pisses him off.

There hasn't been any sounds, none. Not even of you moaning or crying, no water splashing as you drowned or even washed yourself. Just silence, from the minute you sat down in that tub. It's been at least 30 minutes and that lukewarm water must finally be cold, but you haven't said anything. You've got to be dead. You've got to be.

Maybe he can cross your name off that list, after all.

The scene from the alleyway keeps replaying in his mind and he's finally figured out why it makes him feel so sick: if he had followed behind you in the first place, you wouldn't have gotten whacked. And if you hadn't gotten whacked, he wouldn't have needed to bring you back to his base of operations here, in the fucking decaying motel room, and you wouldn't know he was alive. There would be no chance for his plan to be ruined because you'd be at home, in bed or actually taking a shower or something, and things would be safe. His plan would be safe.

That's why the sight of you there, bloody and beaten, half naked on the ground, makes his stomach hurt and twist in all different ways.

That's why the sight of you in here, disoriented and fading, blood hemorrhaging in your brain, makes him nervous.

That's why. No other reasons.

Still doesn't explain why he hesitates with his hand on the door, thinking of seeing you naked with far away glassy eyes, but, fuck it, Dabi doesn't have time to figure that out, too. Now he's got to get rid of your body, throw it in the dumpster out back or something before people start to notice you've gone missing.

When he opens that door, his lungs seize up as he looks at you.

But after a few, still moments, your still-filthy head swivels to look at him and he breathes (in disappointment, damn it).

"What the fuck?" He says, but your expression doesn't change. "I thought you needed a bath."

There is still a layer of dirt and grime on your chest and face, all the places the water didn't rise to meet because you didn't sink down underneath it. It's been a big fucking waste of time, leaving you in there, because now it's after 6 and you're as wrinkly as a fucking raisin and still alive and he still doesn't know what to do.

"I do." When you swallow, it sounds like your throat is as dry as his skin. Probably left your mouth open this whole time, just staring at the peeling paint on the wall.

"Then why didn't you take one?"

"My arms are heavy."

"Mother of—fuck!"

So fucking stupid. So fucking idiotic. The water is an ugly color, similar to the stain out on the carpet, and he reaches his hand right down in between your legs to pull the plug. It's the first time he's felt the water being cold and, so close to you, he realizes you're shivering. Teeth chattering, shoulders shaking, lips turning a little blue, all because you'd just sat in the damn tub for too long.

"Get the fuck—stand up." Though he says it, he knows you aren't gonna do it, so he just puts his hands under your armpits and hauls you to your feet. The second he lets go, you nearly tumble sideways out of the tub and he doesn't want to clean up anymore blood, so he stops you from bashing your head on the tile.

But he should have let you, oh boy, he should have let you do it. Then he wouldn't be in this stupid situation anymore.

This fucking situation, where he's standing in a grimy tub as water swirls around his feet, as you dampen all of his clothes with your pruned body. Dabi has been in a lot of bad situations, but this one takes the fucking cake.

"Like taking care of a fucking baby," He mutters, and he's looking at the shower-head and the knobs, he's looking at the water draining in the tub and feeling the coldness seeping into his socks, into his skin from his wet clothes.

It's fucking pointless now, might as well.

The rings of the shower curtain rattle when he pulls it closed, the water is lukewarm when it sprays him directly in the face and he jerks back, blinking it out of his eyes as you sigh against his chest. It doesn't stop you from shivering, but the little bit of heat against your back has you curling, arching like a cat and nearly purring at the warmth of it.

It's pathetic.

Almost as pathetic as him standing fully clothed, holding up a half-dead girl in the shower, some girl from his class. One he wasn't even friends with.

"Touya."

"I said don't call me that."

The two of you stand in silence for a while, your cheek against his chest, his hands under your arms. The front of his hair has flattened against his forehead and every now and then, a dark drop of water drips down on your nose and leaves an inky trail. Dabi has this thought, a scary one, that a lot of things are going to come clean in this shitty shower.

The giant sighs you heave are the only way he knows you aren't dead. And you're a fucking liar, because those oh so heavy arms of yours are raising, he can feel your hands at his hips, dragging up over his tightened stomach and at his chest. Then you loop your feather-light arms around his back and shuffle just a bit on your feet, like the two of you are just hugging, like friends.

"Why’re you wearing clothes?"

Dabi snorts and rears his head back, but you don't look up at him. "Because I've got a massive hard on and you're not in there"—he taps his finger against the top of your sopping wet head—"enough for me to fuck."

That's not true, he's not the slightest bit aroused by you.

In this state, at least; okay, so yeah, maybe he didn't look at your tits on purpose, but it was in the spank bank now. Get over it.

The last thing he wants is to be naked with you, anywhere near you. Maybe if he cared about something other than himself, he could admit that the very idea terrified him. Not even in this failing state of mind would you laugh at him, or be grossed out or scared. You'd probably still put your hands in his hair, still touch his face, put yours against his chest.

And no one has ever touched him that way, not the way you would.

"Then don't." You say, like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"Yeah, so," For some reason he feels awkward now, thinking of it all and it's so stupid. "I'm not taking my clothes off."

That knot is still budding on your forehead, so your brow still doesn't pull down very far when you look up at him. A big pout is on your lips, though. "No, I—I mean, then don't take them off."

"Yeah...I'm not gonna."

"Wait," One of your hands leaves his back to rub at your rolling eyes. Maybe he should keep talking to you; it makes you use your brain and maybe it will pull you out of this state.

Not that he really wants that, of course.

"No, I meant, you don't have to have sex with me."

"Yeah, I'm not gonna." Fuck, he knows you got your brain turned upside down, but you can't comprehend anything, it seems. You must realize you're having a hard time making sense because you give a little sigh, like you're giving up, and just wrap yourself back around him, a little closer this time.

The two of you are both soaked, no matter how far he tries to lean out of the water, and he wonders if you can feel the texture of his skin underneath his wet clothes. For a moment his brain shuts off, just like yours is currently doing, and he wonders what you think of him like this. Doesn't really matter though, he tells himself, you're going in the dumpster all the same.

The water from the shower-head is starting to get a little colder and he's not perfect, little Shoto, doesn't know how to use the fire for anything other than killing and melting, doesn't know how to use it just to warm you up. There's no telling how much time has passed with the two of you just standing there, like idiots.

"Gotta wash my hair." You say.

"So, wash it." He says.

"My arms are heavy."

"You're so full of shit."

Dabi thinks, he thinks, that he feels your lips shift against his shirt, like they're curling into a smile because you know you're a liar, too. And you must be using your quirk or something (though he doesn't feel any fingers in his nose or ears, not like before) because he does what he shouldn't and would never do, which is bend around you and grab the snot green bottle of motel shampoo that's sitting in the corner of the tub.

Eucalyptus, it says. That's all.

It should be called Push Over or Pathetic, maybe Burnt Idiot, Not Really Friends, Sorry I Looked At Your Ass, Too.

Maybe Nervous.

When he dumps all of it onto your hair and starts digging his fingers against your scalp, you tilt your head enough so that he can see that smile of yours, the bloody one.

"I'll wash yours," You say, with copper breath and dark red gums.

When he kissed you under the tree, your breath smelled the same. He had been so afraid then, of a multitude of things: getting caught by his teacher or his dad, classmates seeing, messing up or embarrassing himself, you, mostly you. There were other kids in his class he talked to, sure, but none of them sat outside with him when he trained on his own. None of them shared their rice and threw salmon at cars or held his hand while he turned his face—red as his fucking hair—at the grass because he couldn't look you in the eye.

Sometimes Enji kissed his mother. Sometimes she looked like she liked it. Back then, he thought maybe you would, too. He didn't know he had blood on his bottom lip until he got home and Enji asked him about it, until Rei inspected it like he'd bit it by accident. But he couldn't tell them, didn't tell them that all of it, every moment with you, had been on purpose.

Dabi feels a lot like he did then, when you smile at him.

“Ain’t none left.” For some reason, it croaks out of him, like he’s the one with the issue keeping his mouth closed. Maybe blood is still in your ears because you don’t answer, you only keep your face titled towards him as he massages your scalp, lips open just slightly with closed eyes. As if to prove it, he throws the tiny, empty bottle back towards the corner of the tub and it clatters, loudly, the way all things do in the shower. When you open your eyes and look at him, unfocused and half-lidded, he thinks maybe he could fuck you in this bathroom, if you wanted him to.

He hopes you don’t ask.

There isn’t any soap on your hands, but they leave his back to go into his hair. A ghost of a laugh puffs out of your lips and into his face, like it’s the funniest thing in the world, you, pretending to wash his hair while he washes yours.

A bunch of idiots, the both of you.

“Stop,” Dabi tries to yank his head away from you, but you sway a little bit. You don’t push him, though because you’re a goody-goody, and when you run a hand across your face, there is a light gray smudge over your nose. All his hair dye is washing down the drain, lightening him up, making him Touya again. The soap washes off one of his hands as he rinses it directly under the water and he wipes the smudges from your face, a little rough, too rough, so rough that your head easily moves from the left to the right with each swipe of his fingers. Underneath his hands, you’re really soft. Too soft.

The walls of the shower are closing in on him and that sick feeling is building in his stomach again, the one that swirls every time he thinks about what could have happened to you in the alleyway if he’d waited another stupid fucking minute. Such a baby, so fucking soft, what that kind of aggression would do to you. How it would impact you. How it would impact him. That dopey, bloody smile wouldn’t appear on your face for a long time, he might not have even seen it again before everything with Enji finally went down.

It’s probably too drying for your face, but he uses the shampoo to wash yours, rubbing against the blood stains on your chin and your neck. They come away easily, the texture from his hands perfect for scrubbing it all away.

The way he can finally be of use to you, as a fucking loofa.

“Touya,” You say again, but he doesn’t correct you this time. “Am I dead?”

That sick feeling builds, really builds, until it feels like he’s holding his breath (he probably is). There is a settling wave that washes over him, just like the cold water from the shower-head, and he realizes, holy fuck, you’re dying.

Right there in his arms. Blood is probably pooling in your brain, killing you every moment that he waits. The hour he spent watching you writhe on the bed, the 30 minutes he spent outside the bathroom, the few blocks it took to get from the alleyway to the motel room. The time he’s wasting here with you, now. All of it is just him, opening that dumpster, digging a deeper hole to put you in. The star curtains will come down, the cafeteria fucker will drive himself to work alone, the homeless guy will shrivel into nothing, and litter will fill the streets.

Just like the doctor said; if you tried to do the Hero Thing, you’d be dead by twenty-three.

When he’d unscrambled his brain enough to think straight, he planned to take Enji down. Since then, he’s lulled himself to sleep with the idea of it, the downfall of Endeavor, and, if he lets you go, it will just be the downfall of crazy, batshit insane Touya. All of it will crash and burn with him. It’s probably too late for you anyway, too much time has been wasted, and it would all be for nothing.

All the fucking pain, all the rage and the planning, all the blood and sweat and tears would swirl down a shitty motel drain like his hair dye. And you’d end up in that dumpster all the same.

“No,” He answers, tipping your head back so the shampoo can wash out of your hair, off your forehead and chest. There’s more words in his mouth, like not yet and almost and i’m sorry, but his throat feels all croaky again, so he doesn’t say anything.

Dabi only has one change of clothes. Water is dripping off him and all over the floor when the two of you step out, when he wraps that shitty towel around you and rubs up and down your arms, like some kind of idiot out of a romance movie. He even runs it over your head a few times, hair getting all ruffled up, and he grabs the spare sweater by the bed when you smile lazily at him.

He wonders how much time he has. Maybe if he knew, he would say something. But he doesn’t, so there’s no fucking point.

The air in the motel room is stuffy and has never been cold, but, drenched in shitty, piss-water, it chills him to the bone. Now he’s the one shivering while you lay back down on the bed, creaking and shit, and he just stands over you and watches you blink, one eye at a time. One of your pupils is definitely dilated.

The two of you hadn’t even been friends, not really, but you fix those fading eyes on him and open your arms, inviting him to lay with you.

(When he came over to watch that movie, he’d been nervous, but you had a blanket on your lap and you opened it to him, patting the space beside you with that smile until he felt comfortable enough to scoot closer to you, to share that blanket.)

He wonders how much time he has, but he’s got no fucking idea, so he just does it.

Yeah, he’s soaking wet and you’ve just put on his warm sweater, but this is his first chance, his last chance, to be this close as the man he grew up to be. He’s just Touya and you’re just you, lying in a shitty motel, waiting for the end. There’s a vision in his head, of you and him, of what might have been. There isn’t a mark on him, all smooth skin and soft, just like you, and you’re lying in a motel room, the both of you, naked. Maybe you’re still young, in high school, hiding from his parents just like he had been that day under the tree. Maybe you’re adults, this age, getting away for the weekend, away from the Hero Thing.

It’s a disgusting thought, one that has his lips curling down, one that has him choking on the ugliness of it all. It’s no use wanting like that, when your body is getting quieter and quieter, when you try to say his name again but can’t get the words around your lips. Maybe you’ve forgotten it.

When you're silent for a long time, he lifts his head from where he’s buried it in your neck, but your mouth is open, staring at the ceiling.

“Finally,” He pants, “Finally you’re fucking dead. Finally you’re out of my fucking hair and my life.” When you don’t respond, he snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Hey!”

But now you’re just a corpse. Now he’s just clinging to the body of a kid he used to know, one from his class, one he hadn’t even been friends with.

The picture he sets up is one from the hospital website, your employee picture. At some internet cafe, he’d printed it off, paid the extra change just to get it in color, and he’s lighting the incense (and his cigarette) with the blue tip of his finger. There are a bunch of pink flowers around this place, though most of them are fake, and he can sit out in front of the grave without a hood on. It’s so far at the back that someone would have to want to come back there to find him, which is why he’s sitting there in the first place.

Dabi isn’t really all that interested in the cigarette; he’s just leaving it between his lips, letting the smoke swirl in front of his face, letting the ash fall into his lap.

“How’s it going?” He grunts, just like you would say.

Every time he thinks of you in that shower, his stomach hurts again. How close you’d been, how real you felt under his fingers. The smudge of his hair dye across your face, claiming you in a way, like you were his. As if you’d always been, ever since Shizuoka.

Maybe he’s got it all wrong, maybe he’d always been yours. Every time he sat in the tree outside your window, every time he slipped through it, every time he followed you after work, lingering back like an ugly shadow. All that time, he’d always been yours. In the shower, in the bed, breathing you in as you died.

Always yours.

It’s a big, fat weight that should be lifted from his shoulders. Now he’s back with the League, that plan for Enji is in motion, and he doesn’t have to make up an excuse to Twice about why he’s gotta slip out at night, why he’s gotta head across town, why he suddenly wants takeout. There’s no following anymore, that’s been given up. And yet, now he feels like he’s got too much time on his hands, too much space in his chest. Scars on his body feel too rough, there is an insecurity he can’t beat back anymore, he spends too much time thinking about the what-if’s, which is too dangerous for a man in his profession.

It’s all making him soft, just like you had been. It feels like a fucking sickness.

Toga notices, because she’s so love-drunk on everyone that she can read his face as plain as day.

“Ooooh, you’re thinking about a girl!”

Yeah, maybe, but it's still annoying; he’d always been thinking about this girl, Toga wasn’t special for just now figuring it out.

Sometimes he wishes he’d gotten that sweater back. Not because it was comfortable or fit over his chest just right, but maybe because it might smell like you. Or the Eucalyptus shampoo. He’s a pathetic piece of shit, thinking crap like this, but it feels like a somewhat sticky band aid has fallen off, like that door in his head is open just a crack. Like it’s stuffed with too much stuff to get closed again.

It’s a fucking sickness, seriously. All those years away, too many steps behind, had kept the germs from him, made him feel like he was immune to it all, to your charm.

(That’s a load of shit, truly; he’d followed you for 11 fucking years after all. Dabi wasn’t immune to squat.)

The grave is so far at the back that someone would have to mean to come find him and he hears the footsteps far before they reach him, which should send him running, but it doesn’t. His hair is still white because he hadn’t found the energy to re-dye it, and if Toga says one more fucking thing about it—

There isn’t a blanket to hold open, no need to pat the space beside him; you sit so close, you’re nearly on his lap.

“How’s it going, Touya?”

Okay, so yeah, maybe he’d run out of that motel room like a man possessed, cradling you in his arms and whining like a fucking pussy, but whatever.

That doctor with the quirk you don’t have loves you, just like all your little nurse friends do, and they must have dropped everything for you. Not that he stayed inside or anything, just had to yell a little and lay your body on the front desk before hauling ass back outside, but you were knocking on the motel room door that night. Looking for him, actually looking, with focused eyes, pupils that were the same size.

The scar on your head was small (which is a load of shit; just a little bitty one? Come the fuck on) and shaped a little bit like a strike of lightning against your skin. Probably needed to stay home and in bed for a few days, not make any sudden movements or flip the light switch on too quick, but you were standing there, in that sweater, before he’d fallen asleep.

No, he didn’t fuck you.

He would’ve though, if you’d asked. Kinda wished you had.

Dabi has seen you twice a week for 11 embarrassingly long years, but you’ve seen him for half a day. There’s a lot for you to understand, a lot of things to catch up on, which he thinks is why you hadn’t gone to the police. Not such a goody-goody after all; when he’d told you that, you looked confused and a little hurt.

“What makes you think I’d give you up so easily?”

He doesn’t really mention it after that.

There are a lot of things you don’t understand, a lot of things you won’t understand. Lots of things he won’t tell you, but you’ll be there. Yeah, he knows where you live, and yeah, you said you’d leave the door unlocked (probably shouldn’t though).

You’ll be there whenever he decides to show up, or rather, he’ll be there, for you, whenever you want him. Because he’s yours.

Always has been.

and yes, now i'm here with you and i would like to think that you would stick around—

dabi x reader

wc: 11k+

warnings: 18+, explicit language, angst, dabi is really bad at feelings, referenced sexual content, referenced alcohol and substance use, dabi is just a bully, reader has a quirk

< < < part one | HOME PAGE

The first thing you need to know about Dabi, not Touya, is that he isn't your friend.

Okay, so yeah, you know he's alive. Doesn’t mean he’s gonna pop in and out of your apartment, joining you for dinner or bringing you flowers or something equally as humiliating. Not that you ever say anything about it, but he knows you want him to come around more, can tell by the little frown on your face whenever he insists he has to leave. The towel in your linen closet practically has his name on it, the couch always made up with a suspicious amount of pillows and a casual throw blanket (which is embarrassing—you couldn’t be more obvious). It makes him uncomfortable, seriously.

That's why he’s been such a good little boy and hasn’t come around that often (doesn’t even follow you anymore), maybe has stopped by when seeing you was an itch he just had to scratch. Dabi can count the number of times he’s knocked on your front door on one, scarred hand of his because it’s awkward now, you knowing his death was a ruse. Those beady little eyes of yours, always fixed on him, running over the ridges of his face like you were cementing the sight of him to the inside of your lids, like you were trying to peek through the gaps in his skin.

Gross.

It’s been six weeks since he’d seen you last, in the dark of your apartment as you moved around, cleaning up the mess he’d made. Sometime after 3:23 in the morning, he’d conveniently showed up, just as you were microwaving food you ended up offering him (even if it had been for yourself), and he’d fallen asleep in the middle of the painfully uninteresting recount of your shift. With his mouth all open, drool dripping down the side of his lips, head thrown back against the couch—the simple sound of you must have woken him up only a handful of minutes later. The lights had been turned off, that blanket over his lap, and you were in the kitchen, washing out his cup and plugging your laptop into its charger.

It had been a little nostalgic, him getting to watch you through lidded eyes, without you knowing.

When the light from your bathroom flashed in the hallway, just before the lavender smell of your body wash overwhelmed the entire place, he’d finally slipped away. Nearly busted his ass jumping out the window.

The second thing you need to understand about Dabi, not Touya, is that he’s a big fucking liar.

And if you keep asking him stupid questions, (where do you live? what do you do for a living? are you busy tomorrow? how’s your mom doing? ), he’s gonna get real fucking mad, and he’s gonna keep lying. For some reason, you don’t seem to believe he’s a door-to-door vacuum salesman—fuck knows why you can’t buy that—or that his mom changed her name and moved out of the country, works as a prostitute in Germany.

“That’s the last I heard of her, swear.”

The look you’d given him had been laughable, the deadpan expression on your little sunshine face. “I’m serious.”

Yeah, he knows, you always are. But, get this smarty-pants, he ain’t gonna fucking tell you, so stop asking.

The only questions you don’t ask him are the important ones, the ones he can tell you really wanna know, and that pisses him off even more somehow. Come on, sweetheart, just fucking ask already, why do you look like that now? why aren’t you a hero, like you wanted to be? since when did you become such a fucking asshole? That look in your eyes, the one you always fix him with, must be disgust or something, because it makes his rugged, burnt flesh crawl.

Sometimes you sit across from him at your kitchen table, as he tries not to devour the leftovers in your fridge like the starved animal he is, and tell him all about the stupid shit he already knows. Your brainless friends, why you work at the hospital, how many classes you’re taking online in the spring, what your favorite movies are—Dabi just grunts in response like this is all news to him and, if he’s feeling really soft, he’ll even ask a few pointed questions to keep you rambling.

“We should go to the cinema together, on my next day off.” With your chin in your palm, you’d said it under the dim light of your kitchen, smiling a little when he started choking. Water sloshed out of your glass when you slid it to him.

“Sounds great, doll, I’ll make sure to wear my Sunday best.”

“I’m serious—tsk, Dabi.” The free hand, the one not holding your head, reached across the table to slap lightly at his unmarked skin when he’d made a face and mocked you. “You don’t wanna go out with me?”

Whatever way you’d meant it, why you phrased it like that, and the little puppy dog look in your eyes: it all made him just start choking again. Stupid questions, all the damn time—which is why he needs you to understand he’s not your friend, which is why he can’t keep coming around your apartment. Awkward. Gross.

Don’t imply shit like that.

Another thing you need to know about DabiNotTouya, is that he’s not going to talk about it. In fact, don’t even bring up that day in the motel. As far as he’s concerned, it never happened. The little scar on your head has always been there, he would know.

Now he really wishes you’d give the sweatshirt back, though, because the first time he’d come to your apartment after the whole ordeal, you’d opened the door with messy hair and it draped over your body. What the fuck you were thinking, answering the door in such tiny shorts, is totally beyond him, but everytime he thinks about you rolling around in your bed, the fabric of his clothes rubbing against your tits, it gives him a really unfortunate boner.

It had that day, also, which is why he'd slipped out your bathroom window after starting the shower, leaving that fucking towel on your sink. Embarrassing, the reactions of the male body (because it didn't really have anything to do with you in particular—men get hard all the time).

There is still a little knot on your head, one that probably won’t ever go away, and—apparently—another blow to your brains like that could be instantly fatal. Dabi doesn’t really care, honestly, because if you get whacked in the middle of the night again, you deserve it—for walking home so late. If he had any money, he’d probably buy you a pink, sparkly little helmet just to rub it in your face. Maybe even dress you in some elbow pads, shin guards, give you some idiot-proof armor.

But then you might think the two of you are friends, so it’s a good thing he doesn’t have a cent to his name.

It’s been six weeks since he’d seen you last, since the smell of lavender made him shudder and ache, and he knows by now that you’ve seen the broadcast.

For some goddamn, stupid, motherfucking reason, you keep trying to get in contact with him—on his burner phone. Of all those movies you chatter about, none of them must be crime documentaries or gang related, because you call him by his stupid name in the fleeting little texts you send him, probably have Touya with little emojis saved to your contact list. Three times he’s screened a call from you—once in the middle of the day, another early in the morning (probably after you finished your shift), and the last, right before he’d started fucking celebrating.

By the time he realizes that it really is you, standing near the bar of the club he’s been in, almost 48 hours have passed since he’d hit ‘ignore’. Dabi has no idea how much alcohol he’s downed at this point, no idea what substances are making his bloodstream fucking sing, so when he thinks he sees your little sunshine face looking at him, he just assumes it’s an illusion.

(Here’s something Dabi doesn’t want you to know: sometimes he thinks about you. In the dead of night, when he showers, in the middle of conversations with Spinner—he thinks about what you must be doing at that exact moment. Somewhere, out there in the city, scrunching up your nose because you’re frustrated or smiling so wide because you’re laughing, doing your damndest to be a hero at work, sweating with all your effort. Thinking about him in return, wondering what he’s doing, worrying about it. Smiling and getting all hot, thinking about his hands on your body under that shitty water.)

(That last part is bullshit; you don’t remember anything from that day, had told him as much, just that the motel room seemed familiar and that’s why you’d shown up there after the hospital. Because something about it promised the sight of a kid you used to know, one from your class.)

There is a tight, little cat girl on his lap and she has been for hours, blowing smoke in his mouth, whispering filthy shit in his ear, but he’s been thinking about you—again—and pretending it’s your fingers popping the button on his jeans. It’s been relatively easy; the club is packed and so fucking loud, even though his head is pounding, he can close his eyes and pretend anything he wants.

That the blaring noise reverberating in his skull is just sounds from the movie on the screen, that the theater is empty—just the two of you sitting in it, somewhere at the back—and the weight on his lap is from you. You must be a little kinky, licking the hoop in his ear like that, and you giggle when his hips jerk as you slide your hand down the front of his pants. It’s so fucking hot, to be with you like this in an empty movie theater, because he’s wanted it for what feels like a goddamn eternity and now he can drop the act and sigh your name as you—

“What?”

The cat girl keeps purring, even keeps her tail wrapped around his leg when she pulls back to look down at him. It’s clear the name has been lost to her, because she doesn’t look pissed, just confused—as if she genuinely didn’t understand what he said—which only kills the new high he’d been chasing. Dabi is drunk as shit and he can feel his dick go limp under her hand, just as the rush of disappointment and reality rise up in him like a stomachache.

He can still see your face though, as if it’s watching on a couple feet from him, but all the sunshine has set on it. There isn’t a pout on your lips, but they’re open just a bit, brows furrowed and, oh fuck, your eyes. There is no puppy dog look in them, not even the kind you send him in the quiet of your apartment—they’re just wide and big and sad. Like you’re the one with the gaps in your skin, like they’ve been ripped open.

It makes his body cold all at once (which is fucking weird), this feeling like he’s a piece of shit boyfriend that’s ghosted the woman of his dreams for days, and now she’s caught him with a cat girl on his lap. As if she’s been trying to get ahold of him after the demons of his past had been revealed to the entire world—probably because she genuinely cares or something—and she’s even gone so far as to track him down in the dingiest of places. And she’s looking at him like she’s put her heart on a platter and given it to him, just for her ugly motherfucker, sorry goddamn excuse of a boyfriend to throw it on the ground and stomp it to bits, because he doesn’t know how to do anything but ruin.

The woman of his dreams knows she doesn’t deserve that shit, which is why she turns on her heel and begins to leave.

“Gettha’ fuck off’a me.”

By the time he manages to get to his feet, the girl is on the floor and hissing at him, but Dabi doesn’t care, because he’s busy doing what he’s always done—chasing you down, too many steps behind. Every one he takes is unsteady and he’s blinking rapidly with how hard he’s trying to focus, on the sight of your yellow dress, on the shine of your hair in the neon lights, of the curl of your little fist. It seems like all the substances in his system surge in his bloodstream, come up his throat (and go back down, as he stops and leans against someone so he can swallow), and nauseate him with every body he pushes through.

It all gets drowned out, though, by the anger he’s inherited from the man he despises most in this world—when someone grabs you by the arm and halts you in your tracks.

Of course it’s some big fucking guy, a tree trunk of a man that could crunch you in his fingers if he wanted to, pick his teeth with your bones.

(Look, Dabi totally has an eight pack—and he could show you, if you don’t believe him—but he’s not even half as wide as Enji. Fucking Natsuo has broader shoulders than him, and every muscle in Touya’s body is lean, probably a little malnourished. He’s never come across a fight that required his fists alone and that, coupled with the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a crowded club, when he can’t decide which vision of you is the real one, makes for a big fucking problem.)

Something comes out of his mouth, something completely unintelligible, but it’s lost along the music as he tries to close the distance between the two of you. Just as he starts to shout something again, you completely stun him; that fist uncurls, flattens out into a firm palm, and it slaps across the face of the man grabbing onto you. It actually gives Dabi a bit of a chub, makes him smirk as he sways back into the body behind him and mutters something that sounds like “fuck yeah”.

But then you’re getting backhanded into the floor and Dabi is launching his wiry body through the air before red finishes settling in front of his eyes.

If the two of you will ever stop getting into situations like this, when your precious, stupid little life is on the line, he doesn’t know—but he sure as fuck would like to. This is different than the time in the alley, because he’s the one on the ground, getting the shit knocked out of him, but he’s batshit insane anyway, so he just laughs the whole time. It’s like armor, this sick craziness he can wield, and though it’s dented and broken and dull, it still makes that tree fucker look nervous. Somehow he manages to get the upper hand once, manages to maneuver his lithe body on top of the guy, but then he realizes you’re screaming his name and grabbing for him.

It stuns him again, when his elbow rockets back and hits you square in the nose, when he watches with wide eyes as tears well up in yours, as blood starts spurting down over your lips.

And then staples are coming loose in his face as knuckles crack across his cheek.

Maybe you already know this about Dabi and Touya, maybe you don’t: sometimes, that fire of his burns so hot, it makes his skin peel away from his bones. The burning pain and sting of it all is starting, welling up in him like an ugly vice when he’s finally had enough of this little game, but then something pricks in his neck and it’s like a bucket of water has been dumped over him.

The flames die out in his hand so fast, it makes his head spin, and Dabi somehow manages a breath before he looks back at you, before a cold panic sobers him up when he sees the club owner with a gun pointed at your chest. It almost makes him piss himself, but a little tack just comes out the end of the barrel and he watches your lips form around an 'ow’ before you tug it out of your skin. A loud groan of relief is released from his mouth at the realization you haven’t been shot to death before his eyes and it even makes him forget about the fight, until a heavy hand is twisting in his hair and his feet are dragging across the dance floor.

The quiet night air almost hurts his ears with its silence, the cold nips at his sweaty face as the concrete rushes up to meet him. More staples come loose with the bust of his head against the ground and he can’t tell what on him is blood or perspiration, maybe some of it is even alcohol or his vomit. It makes him think of how disgusting you’d been in that motel room, almost makes him laugh at the irony of it all—how the two of you always end up like this. The night sky is empty, much plainer than the walls of the club had been, but that somehow just hurts his head as a myriad of colors and shapes swirl in his vision.

The only thing he’s sure of is your face leaning over his, that the look in your eye isn’t as sad as it once had been. It’s a good thing he’s already on the ground, because it might have knocked him to his knees, and he says something questionable that only makes you shake your head.

“Touya,” When you sigh, a bead of blood drips from your nose, down your chin, and onto his lips.

The trek back to you apartment is fucking awful and damn near impossible.

At one point in time, during his youth, Touya had been shorter than you. Not by a lot, but it didn’t matter, it was just as embarrassing, and there is some kind of juvenile glee he gets now that his frame is towering over yours (even if he's still not as tall as his younger brother). Despite the blow to his skull and the fear you were gonna get blasted to Hell, there is still so much crap swimming in his head, he doesn’t care that the two of you are touching; your arm is wrapped around his thin waist, his is draped over your shoulders as you help him stumble down the sidewalk.

Blood is staining your little dress, turning the white flowers red, but you hug him close regardless. Sometimes he steps too wide or unsteady and it takes all your effort to keep the two of you upright, him on the inside of the sidewalk, away from the streetlamps, and it makes him laugh as you grunt his name.

Out there, in the night, it feels like the two of you are the only ones in the world, like the only ones in a dark theater. Something warm spreads in his chest at that thought, that maybe this is even romantic, but then he just starts sputtering out a cackle again because holy fuck, is that embarrassing.

Dabi doesn’t even realize you’ve stopped and are standing a little in the street, that his mouth is against your hair as he mutters, “I’m tall, huh?”

“Yes, Dabi, you are tall.” You sound a little annoyed with him, but it doesn’t bother him as much as it should. At least not for the moment.

When you raise your hand a little and wave it around, he thinks you’re trying to get his attention and he grunts at you, slouching down further, breathing in the smell of your shampoo, and it’s only then that he realizes a car is pulling up in front of the two of you. Dabi whips his head back so fast, his stomach lurches.

“Come on, get in.”

“What’re ya’ doing?”

With a huff, you try to usher him into the cab. “I can’t carry you all the way home.”

“’m not gettin’ in that fucking thing.”

The driver swivels around in his seat, glancing between the two of you, probably wondering what the hold up is. Even drunker than shit, Dabi wants to ask what the fuck you’re thinking, if you’re even thinking at all, as he instinctively tries to slink back into the dark. That feisty hand of yours latches onto his at lightning speed to stop him.

This is something he thought you already knew about him, that he can’t just go waltzing around in public, as if his face hadn’t been blasted all over the television, as if he wasn't a known and wanted criminal. There are a lot of choice words forming on his tongue, ones that he wants to say because he knows they’ll hurt your feelings, but you’re already slipping in the leather seats, tugging him hard enough that he nearly hits his head on the roof of the car.

The minute you can, you buckle his seatbelt and give the driver your address, even lean all up against him as his entire body goes rigid.

“Relax,” You try to tell him, but he absolutely does not do that.

First of all, Dabi hates seeing the streetlights pass him by like that, especially with his head reeling, and it makes him feel sicker than he already does. Yellow and black, yellow and black, yellow and black, lights and then darkness; it’s a damn nightmare for his headache. Second of all, why the hell are you so cramped up on him, anyway? Blocking him in, shoving your shoulder against his chest, trapping him like the cab is speeding to the hospital, so you can check his crazy ass into the nut house.

Fucking traitor.

For a brief moment, he looks down at your face, tries to read the tired sheen in your eyes, watches the gentle way you dab at your nose, to see if he can find any truth to this theory. There is a small bead of sweat at your temple and his eyes narrow at it suspiciously. If his heart wasn't beating out of his chest at the fear of being in a public cab, a lot of accusations would start flying, but if he opens his mouth, vomit will probably come out and get all in your fucking hair. If he needs to use that to distract you so he can escape in the near future, then he better hold onto his guts.

The glare he's sending you must be burning a hole in the side of your face, because you angle it up at him, get even more in his personal space, blow your minty breath on his lips as you ask him if he's alright.

And then things start spinning again, start making him feel warm like before. As if the darkness of this backseat and the flash of the streetlights are all just scenes in the movie, the ambiance in the theater, and the two of you are the only ones that exist. Only two tickets got sold for the showing of this crap—something girly and cheesy, something about a witch and her broomstick and a cat—and the whole room is dark enough that you can’t see the burns on his skin, the gaps in his face.

Dabi is such a fucking pussy, so he slurs something like, "oh, shit," as you stare at him like that.

But then the cab driver flips around in his seat with a surprised gasp and you’re shoving yourself even further into him, pressing the back of your head into his face and holding up your hands.

“Please keep driving.”

All Touya smells is lavender, all he feels is the warmth of your back against his chest. It’s too warm. When he shifts his head, the tip of his nose bumps against the shell of your ear and he thinks about you in that shower again. The copper of your breath, the faraway look in your eyes. How easily you'd let him hold you like that, even looking like he does, even after so much time. For some crazy reason, the muscles in Dabi's hands twitch and his fingers tighten on the fabric of your ruined dress.

“I know what you’re thinking, but please keep driving and I’ll pay you extra not to say anything to anyone.”

You stay like that for the remainder of the ride, only looking back at his face once, nose brushing against his as you check his eyes to make sure he’s alright—and the whole action sends his stomach into his fucking throat. One of your hands pats his, the one fisted in your dress, and your fingers even run over his knuckles softly, in a way that makes him want to lean his head back and pass out in this cab.

Or die. The plushy, sick softness of it all makes him want to just fucking die.

Another thing: Dabi can only do this like this, if you're wondering at all. Can only be quiet like this, can only touch you like this, when he can't feel your eyes on his face. If you're not looking at him, maybe you don't know. Maybe it's like before, when he could sit in the dark of your bedroom and count your quiet breaths as you slept, when he could close his eyes and pretend that it would be normal for him to crawl in with you, if he wanted to.

When you fish a (probably) outrageous amount of money out of your purse and toss it to the driver, he just keeps his head down, partially in shame, because his anger had come and gone so fast after you'd just looked at him, and partially because his neck is fucking tired. After you push him out of the cab does he realize the two of you are not in front of your apartment building, that you lied about your address just in case.

The walk up the block is a little less painful and Dabi doesn’t let you touch his hands this time, just wobbles around on his own.

It takes longer than it should for him to get up the stairs; every time he starts to fall, a reflexive laugh comes out of him as he throws his arms in the air, and you have to plant your feet into the ground, push your back up against his in order to further him along.

On the second floor landing, you say the line, you say, “Dabi, I’m serious,” when he pushes back against you, which only expels an exaggerated, exasperated groan from his throat, and then he lets you lean him against the wall while you unlock your front door. The couch isn’t made up and that surprises him, almost makes him a little mad, makes him instantly come to the conclusion you’d had company over, but he slumps down on it all the same. He starts to make a half-hearted inquiry about who you fucked on the cushions he’s sitting on when he realizes you’re not even next to him, that you’re piddling around in your kitchen. The absence of you gives him a small bit of reprieve and he tries to get himself the fuck together.

“Are you hot?”

When he opens his eyes—that he hadn’t realized he’d closed—you are holding an ice pack against his forehead, using some of the wetness to wipe at the blood there. There are two dried, crimson rings around your nostrils and a small, budding bruise right at your cupid’s bow, one that is just a little indigo in the shitty light of your apartment. The skin of his jaw is rough and he’s so caught up in looking at your swollen lip that he doesn’t realize you’re touching him there, doesn’t register the pressure of your fingers right away, but he smacks your hand away when he finally does.

“‘m fine, don’t touch me.”

The look you send him is surprisingly irritated and, now that the stillness of your apartment is shrouding him in peace, he can feel the laxity in his cheek when he grins. The staples are still in his face, just stretched out too far, so he tries to dig his fingers into his mouth to pinch them back together, but you stop him.

“Your hands are dirty!” You cry, like a little bit of bacteria is gonna kill him.

Get this, smarty-pants, a lot of things have tried to kill him, it ain’t gonna be some germs that take him out.

"Don' touch me."

With a sigh, the ice pack drops to your lap, eyes traveling over his face in that too-studious way you always do. Dabi has this urge, to grab the loose part of his cheek and pull at it so you can see his skin stretch, see all his ugliness up close, but the look in your big, Bambi eyes tells him you can already see it, without even trying. Your tongue comes out to lightly run over the puffiness of your lip, which grabs his attention (and you totally do that shit on purpose), and the absence of the ice on his forehead makes him realize just how hot he's running, like the heat is on in your apartment or something.

"You mad at me?" He doesn't know why he asks, maybe because some part of him thinks it's funny—he's seen your face for 11 years and none of your weak anger has ever been directed at him—and because some part of him really wants to know. If it's this easy to get under your skin, then you're in for a rough ride, princess.

Almost instantly, you open your mouth and start shaking your head, but, after a moment of looking at him, you close it and sigh—as if you actually might be. It makes him sputter out a silent laugh.

"No, Touya, I'm not mad at you." Is what you say, and it's so soft and distracting that he doesn't care when you put that ice pack on his forehead again. “I just—” It looks like you’re sad, ashamed even, the way you stare down at the couch cushions. “I wish I knew, that—I just wonder if there was something I could have said or done to—”

The broadcast, him, you’re talking about him; Dabi is drunker than shit, but it’s still sitting at the forefront of his mind, that fucking hilarious look on Enji’s face, how Shouto’s voice had gone hoarse from yelling so hard. All the dirty laundry in the Todoroki family, aired out for the world—you included—to see.

Whatever the hell you’re trying to say pisses him off.

“My bad,” Dabi rolls his eyes and knocks your hand away again, because you apparently don’t know anything about personal space. “Sorry I didn’t stop during our games of pretend to tell you my dad was a total fuckstick.”

The ice pack goes to your lip as you slump into the couch, looking defeated (which is funny), and you bring it away from your mouth two times like you’ve got some kind of rebuttal, but it just ends with a shake of your head. When you look at him again, Dabi realizes you’ve seen him without a shirt on, over the television, which is what he’d wanted, but you’re looking at his neck and his ears and his hands, and you must be envisioning what you saw then, wherever you were when it came across the screen.

“Say something,” he mutters, feeling perspiration drip down the back of his neck, “don’t just stare at me all stupid like that.”

A flat, unamused look flashes over your face just before you shift your body completely in his direction, laying your head on the couch to look straight at him. It makes his lips curl, especially the little smile on your annoying face. “Do you remember that game of tag we used to play? When I would touch you—”

And Touya would have to stand stone still, wherever he was, only could start moving freely again—out of your Mind Freeze—if he successfully completed a dare of your choice (and they were all stupid: "do a cartwheel” or “hang upside down in the tree” or “run three times around the playground”). If he caught up to you during the game, touched your arm or leg, you were forbidden from using it for one full round, because it was “burned”.

Embarrassing.

“No.” His eyes are on the hole in his jeans, the small one right above his knee. “I don’t ‘member any’a that shit.”

“Hmm,” There is a smile on your face, he can tell without even looking at you, because you’re always so fucking obvious. “I remember—always winning, of course.”

It’s bait and he’s not that stupid. Nice try, smarty-pants.

“Doesn’t really sound like the you I ‘member.” Dabi risks a glance out of the corner of his eye, sees the lump on your lip darkening a bit, sees the way your cheek squishes against your hand when you tuck it between your face and the couch. “Couldn’t even use your quirk without losing your guts.”

The small kick against his shin isn’t accidental.

When you shift a little closer to him, he sits back, further into the cushions. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing you don’t remember, then.” You make a teasing sound as you stick your tongue out at him.

The long-sleeve he’s wearing is sticking to him, clinging to the textured skin of his back. Sweat drips down behind his ears and it’s not from the ice pack—which has melted down to water—like he had originally thought. It’s fucking burning up in this apartment of yours, what the fuck? If he closes his eyes, he can almost envision it’s crawling all over his skin, that blue fire, peeling back all the layers of his stapled face.

It’s almost like you’re waiting to see it, looking at him like that. Like you’re waiting to see what hides in all the ugliness, in the meat of his muscles and the char of his bones.

“You know,”

Maybe if Dabi didn’t feel like he was melting into a puddle of human goo, he would feel a bit cold as you start saying this soft bullshit.

“You were the first boy I ever had a crush on.”

A sick fucking freak, that’s what you are. Waiting on his reaction, trying to dissect the way sweat is drenching him, watching every breath he tries to pant out. It must be why you’ve got the heat on—it must be—trying to trap him and force him to come out of his skin, to see all the hatred that’s kept him burning all these years. What you want with it, what you want him to say to that, he has no clue.

It’s like you’re using that loser, piece of crap quirk of yours, digging your fingers into the staples just to pull them out, just to see him unfurl into pieces.

Dabi feels hot, like really hot. Hot like he does when his skin burns, hot like he had hugging Shouto, hot like he had at Sekoto. Hot like he had under that tree.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” You sigh, finally turning your face away to close your eyes, furrowing your eyebrows as you run your tongue over that swollen bruise on your lip again. “I lit incense for you, too, at the grave.” The words come out a little stuttered, a little different, like you’re the embarrassed one. “One thing I realized about death is that—well, of course it’s never easy, it always hurts, but there’s something about being a kid and—and one day your friend just stops showing up to play.”

There is a faraway look on your face, staring absentmindedly at the television, as if you’re remembering. The little version of you he’d known comes to his mind, the one he tagged, the one he kissed (or kissed him, really), and he tries to imagine you on the playground alone.

It’s never been something he’s thought about, never something he had the luxury of thinking about. A few weeks had passed before he screwed his head back on right, before he found you again, and you must have figured it out by then.

Maybe if Dabi cared about anything other than himself, maybe if he could cry, his eyes would be a little swollen right about now.

“At school, they never told us, you know, no one. Even after the paper came out, even after we asked about it, no one would say anything. It was—” One of your hands goes into your hair and you tug at it, like the memory still stresses you out or something. “—frustrating. And the entire time, we’re all just waiting, stuck as kids no one listens to, just trying to find out what happened to our friend and if—”

To his absolute horror, your voice cracks.

“I just wanted to know if you were coming back.”

Out of the corner of his eye—because he’s sure as fuck not going to look at you—he can see you wipe your tears, hears you sniff up a bunch of snot. The spot beneath his palm on the couch has gone dark with his sweat, he can feel what’s gathered in the collar of his shirt. If he still dyed his hair, it would be running down his face, the way your mascara is.

“It had a monumental impact on my life, being young and losing you like it.”

There’s one last thing you need to understand about Touya. If you peeled back the layers of his skin, took all his staples out, dug through all the ugliness—

“It still does have a monumental impact on me, you did in the alleyway that day. You do now.”

—there’d be a little version of you, standing under a tree, blood on your lips.

It’s buried so far in there, in the tendons and hot blood of him, you’ll probably be stuck there forever. Not even his own hands could dig it out, no matter how hard he tries, or has tried. It’s a curse, a terrible, sweaty sickness. A chink in the crazy armor he thought he’d forged.

It’s his only weakness, the only thing that could ruin him. Maybe it already has.

There’s a question simmering on his tongue, one he’s always had, and Dabi can feel himself fucking losing it, so he tries to cling onto the only emotion that makes sense. “Then how did you find out?”

When you swivel your head to finally look at him, you see the mess he’s melted into and sit up in a hurry. “Touya, you’re—I think you should get in the shower.”

Before you can spring to your feet, he’s beaten you. Fists clenched, the answer he already knows, all the emotions he’s tried to bury—all thrumming in him like the headache behind his eyes. “How did you find out what happened?”

“We can have this conversation later, after you cool off.” You step toward him and he steps back, until he’s slipping against the wall. “Take your shirt off, it’s soaked, Touya, we—”

This time, when you reach for him, he grabs your hands in his and squeezes, wants to turn your fingers to ash under his palms with how pissed off you’re making him. Rage is twisting his face the way it always does, the way he hadn’t wanted you to see once. “Answer my fucking question. Now.”

“I asked Enji.” It’s obvious that you’re saying the wrong thing, he can see the way awkward regret is blooming on your face (there’s a bitter part of him that is giddy about that—welcome to his world, where saying the wrong thing is only natural). “They wouldn’t tell us what happened, I had no choice! I cared about you, I deserved to—”

“You’re crazy!” Dabi shoves you—hard, because you fucking deserve it—and his hands fly to his damp hair. “What the hell is wrong with you? Asking him? Why the fuck would you do that?” The tone of his voice is hysterical, almost two octaves higher than it usually is, and panic makes you sweat. Another wave of heat rolls over him and almost makes him heave.

“You were my friend, Touya, what else was I supposed—”

“Fuck! You’re nothing but’a huge problem for me, you know that?”

Everything Dabi has ever needed to be, everything he has the chance to be, comes crashing down at the simplest bat of your stupid fucking eyelashes, and it’s finally driven him insane.

Did that mean Enji knew? Or Shouto?

Only days ago, when he’d shown them the man he’d become—how heartless and bitter, how strong and unbreakable—did they watch on with that stupid look, knowing what had happened underneath that tree? Did they know the fucking weakling, the fucking coward, he had once been in your mere prescence?

Wrapped around your stupid finger, turning red and dreaming about you at night, imagining himself—fuck—imagining all the things the two of you would be when you were older.

Rei had to keep popping out kids for a man that forced her into a fake, bullshit marriage; Touya didn’t know what love was, wouldn’t know it if it slapped him in his stupid, chubby face, but there was something he had felt at school, when he saw a girl, when she played tag and talked about their future as heroes—there was something that felt real good about that.

It was distracting, you were (still fucking are), and the last thing he needed during all his training was a damn girl to steal his mind to other possibilities, to other futures—but you had regardless.

And Enji wasn’t supposed to know. Not then, not now, not ever.

“We weren’t friends! We were never friends, I—I hated your annoying ass.”

Finally, he hurts your stupid feelings; your nostrils flare and another flat look tries to shine over the sadness in your eyes. “You don’t need to talk to me like this.”

“Fuck, you were pathetic!” The laugh he lets out is all Dabi, all crazy and furious and fire. “I should have killed you, just like I wanted to!”

“Touya, stop.”

Dabi takes a step towards you, another one when you back up from him, and grabs the front of your shirt. Any minute now, it’s going to burst into flames and maybe, if he’s lucky, you’ll fuck out of his life forever. “I wanted to dig your eyes out with a spoon while your parents were sleeping. I wanted you to scream and cry and—”

“No, you didn’t.”

“—while you asked me why, why, why me? so I could finally tell you how much I hated you.”

It only infuriates him more, the look on your face, which isn’t as scared as he wants it to be. Which isn’t really scared at all.

“I daydreamed about it every day, I fucking jacked it to the thought of your dead, rotting body laying six feet—”

“I’ve been inside your head.” Your hands come to wrap around his, which prompts him to yank them back. “In the alleyway, trying to find out who you were. I know, Touya, I know that you’re lying, so please,” with a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut, “stop talking to me like that.”

Every part of you is sick and soft and quiet, from the look on your pinched face to the shaking hands that reach for him again, and Dabi realizes it is something he has never known. What does all of it even mean, anyway? The tone of your laugh when he makes an ugly face at you, when he mocks the stupid questions you ask, when he rolls his eyes at your fucking implications. All of you, every last piece of you, has always been a mystery to him, one he wasn’t able to leave unsolved.

When he yells at you like this, you’re supposed to turn away and you are supposed to cry. When he raises his hands to strike you, to burn you into fucking nothing, you are supposed to be afraid, you are supposed to fear the scorch of his flames against your skin, the ones that will turn you into him. When he ignores your calls and doesn’t come around as often as you want him to, you are supposed to get it. You are supposed to know you’ve been replaced—by a cat girl, one that is more talented than you, one that fucks better—and he is supposed to turn away and forget you existed.

But none of that ever seems to fucking happen.

“What?” His voice has gone hoarse, “You don’t know anything.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Though he’s the one with the fist raised, though he’s the one with sweat slicking his hair to his neck, though he’s the one that’s put that bruise on your lip, an apology is evident in every word you speak. “I just wanted to know who you were, I didn’t mean to see it all.”

The only response he gives you is the thunderous beat of his heart in his chest, the wide-eyed look on his ugly mug.

“I wanted to tell you and talk to you about it, but you come around so rarely and you never answer when I—” You shake your head, “I’m not blaming you, I’m sorry. But then everything happened and—” In the black screen of the television, he sees how trapped he looks when you gesture to it. How small he looks. How Touya-like he looks. “—and I just never got the chance to, before now.”

Every thought he’s ever had about you makes him sway on his feet. Every lustful thought, every remembrance of the jokes you’d told him as kids, of the games you played, of the looks you’d given him. Every horrible thought he’s ever had about you—sincere and in an attempt to stuff his feelings back down his throat. All the wanting he’d ever done, for the future, for the past, for now. It’s all laying out in front of him, between the space on the carpet between the two of you. Like he’d vomited it all up. Like you’d peeled back the layers of his skin and dug it all out of him.

“You’re full of shit.”

“No, Touya, I’m—” Frustration flashes over your face again and you rub at the crease between your eyebrows, dab at your nose, tongue the bruise on your lip. “I would never lie to you, I need you to know that.”

“Yes you are,” Pressing himself further into the wall behind him, he whispers, “Yes, you are lying. I know you are.”

“What makes you think I’m lying about this?”

“In the alleyway, that wasn’t the first time you’ve ever put your fingers inside my brain.” The first time he’d met you, at that fucking private school, when you told him about your quirk, he hadn’t believed you. Some kind of mind game bullshit? How was that fair? A nobody-girl, one that wasn’t even from a prominent family, like Touya was, would rise through the ranks as a Pro in no time flat, with an OP quirk like that.

When he asked you to tell him what he was thinking, to prove it, you’d gone quiet, flinched a little, and told him that the burns on his shoulders were hurting him. It was the first day he’d met you, wearing a school uniform, one that covered him up in a way that hid it all—from his teacher, from Enji, from a nobody, smarty-pants girls like you; there was no way for you to know that kinda shit.

Whatever he wants to say next doesn’t come out, not even when he opens his mouth and gasps like a dying, stinking fish. Maybe if Dabi could cry, he would be.

If you could read his mind in half a second, in the alleyway, to know, then how did you not know then? In the classroom, peeking inside his mind, knowing about the burns and somehow not knowing about it all. About Enji. About the Hell he was living.

It all seems to dawn on you, all your petty, stupid fucking lies, and you take a step forward. “I didn’t know back then because I didn’t know how to use it yet. I—I still don’t! Because I can’t, Touya!”

“It doesn’t make sense, no matter what you say. Because you’re lying.”

“If I had known what you were going through, don’t you think I would have—” For some reason, you start crying, like you’re the victim here. Like you’re the one with the gaps in your skin and the burns on your body and the hate in your stomach. Like you’re the one that fucking lost it. “I didn’t know how to use my quirk back then, in order to see more than what you were thinking. I cared about you, I still do! If I had known—”

“Shut up!” Dabi raises his hands, curls them in the way he does when he wants to burn everything around him. He grabs you then and he doesn’t care about the gentle way you’re touching him, doesn’t care about the hands on his or the breath on his face when he drags you closer. “You’re a liar!”

“You’re burning up, you have to calm down!” Still, you aren’t scared of him, just trying to wipe the sweat pooling all over his face and neck. Pleading and crying, just like he wants, but the worry dancing in your eyes isn’t for yourself.

“I’m going to kill you, right now!”

You can’t know. You can’t know all the things he’s thought about you. You can’t know him like that because no one does, not even Dabi knows all the things about Touya like that.

“If you don’t calm down, you’re going to roast yourself alive, Touya, you’re overheating!”

“Right now, I’m going to do it! Just like I’ve always wanted!” He’s going to shove his thumbs in your eyes, he’s going to snap your pretty little neck, he’s gonna cut you up—just like you’ve done to him. Hands on your jaw, fingers cradling your face: he’s ready.

Any minute now.

Any second, he’s going to finally do it.

They’ll close that movie theater down. No one will ever go there again. It will all be reduced to ashes.

“Touya, please.”

Any moment now. He can do it, no problem. Absolutely no problem.

But your fingers cradle his face, and then you push them up his nose and in his ears and everything gets cool, just for a little while. Just enough that he can finally lean his head back against the couch you’ve made up for him, just enough so that he can finally sleep.

The first thing Dabi knows when he wakes up is that he’s in your bed (it takes him a long time to figure this out—what with the migraine and sour taste in his mouth and all that), and he knows this because the mattress is way too soft to be his, there are too many pillows all around him, and your smell is invading every piece of him.

The second thing he knows is that he’s wearing the sweater again—and that you must have put it on him, which means you’d seen—and then that the sheets are a little damp from all the towel-wrapped bags of ice near his neck, his hands, his thighs. It all comes painfully flashing back to him, the night before, and it’s a testament to how tired he is—seriously—because he doesn’t really do anything, just lays there like a dead, stinking fish.

There are two piles of sheets balled up on your floor, stained with blood, stained with (what is obviously) his vomit, and he can faintly hear your washer banging across the apartment. For a minute, he wonders if this is how you felt, laying for 30 minutes in that bathtub—somehow alive, but feeling like death—fading in and out from the world around you, thoughts coming and going like the breeze from the ceiling fan above him.

Today, whatever time it is (late afternoon, maybe?), Touya is too exhausted to put up the act.

It’s embarrassing, the way he wraps his arms over his face and breathes you in, the soft little groan he lets out when the smell of lavender subdues his headache for a moment. His tight jeans are still on, though they’ve been unbuttoned, zipper down, and—with all the wiggling he’d done in his sleep—they’ve come down uncomfortably around his ass. It takes a long time before he moves his arms, before he pulls them back on right and rolls out of bed.

The idea of you makes his stomach hurt, so he doesn’t go there just yet.

Peeking out of your room, there is no sign of anyone else in the apartment, and Touya quickly pads across the hall and into your bathroom, leans against the door when he closes it and holds his breath, just in case you’re gonna pop out somewhere.

It’s hard to meet himself in the mirror, always is.

Somehow, the burns under his eyes look worse, darker, and two of the staples in his cheek are more crooked than usual. Part of his hair is flattened against his head and the other parts are wild, a little crimped and folded, and running a hand through it all doesn’t do a fucking thing, which makes him snort. It’s strangely domestic, the rugged sight of him in your bathroom, wearing a sweater that was originally his, that he’d seen on you, that you’d put back on him.

The bristles on your toothbrush are stained pink, but he brushes the sour taste of puke out of his mouth anyway—no, he’s not gonna tell you about that.

When there’s nothing left to do but face you, Touya wonders what else you’ve seen in this crazy head of his. In between the time since you’d read his mind in the alleyway and last night, he’d worried about you, thought about the future the two of you were supposed to have. He’s wanted you, and a date at the cinema, jacked off to the thought of your tits under his sweater (and a bunch of other things, honestly), cursed himself for being such an asshole by ignoring you, and hated you. Every part of you he couldn’t understand, every part of you he wanted to.

That laptop of yours is open, the headset around your neck as something dull and boring drones on quietly, and you look at him for a long time before hitting your spacebar, before taking off the headphones and standing up to approach him.

The bruise on your lip has fully settled and it’s ugly.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” You’re whispering, which is nice for his headache. When he shrugs, you turn back to the table and grab a piece of buttered toast from your plate, the piece that isn’t bitten, and offer it to him.

And he’s too tired to fight, so he just takes it and moves around you, away from the way you’re looking at him—soft, like fucking always—and slumps down on your couch. It’s been made up, with the blanket and the pillows; you must have slept on it last night.

The toast crunches real loud, gets crumbs all over him that he swipes onto the carpet, and some are clinging to your cheek when you eventually come to sit beside him. Dabi thinks it’s too close, Touya thinks it’s too far away, and all three of you just stare at the empty television screen. Out of the corner of his eye, you’re opening and closing your mouth, sighing quietly, and it almost makes him laugh, it would if it didn’t require so much effort.

Then the apologies start.

“I’m sorry for knocking you out like that.” All the words are still whispered. “I don’t know if you remember,”—he does—“but they shot us with suppressants, at the bar, and you were overheating.”

Suppressants. That Yakuza fuck.

It makes you sound real small and sad, with your Bambi eyes and sunset face. “I was afraid you were gonna cook yourself alive, so I—”

“‘s’fine.” Touya grunts, and you just nod in response.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about it earlier, I should have made time to find you.” The huff you let out is a little bitter, too harsh for someone like you. “I did it just fine yesterday, I should have tried harder before then.”

None of this really means anything to him, so he shifts a little bit—cringes—and looks at you. “How did you find that place?”

“You’ve been there before,” Even though it’s all out in the open, you seem shy about admitting it, which is real fucking hilarious. “It’s the second place I looked.”

The image of you, in that yellow dress, wandering down streets and sidewalks, looking in the places he hangs around, makes him want to throw up. What the fuck are you thinking? Another blow to the head will kill you, stupid, so why are you walking around like a ripe little peach, around people that would love to take a bite?

(There is a small, uncaged part of him that feels warm about it, that makes Touya feel like he did at school with you; the idea that you had searched high and low, slapped guys that grabbed you, tried to talk to him about his embarrassing fucking feelings—it all makes you seem like a mystery again.)

You’re quiet after that, thoughts flashing over your face as you lightly touch the bruise on your lip, and it pisses him off suddenly. All of his memories and daydreams, all of his fears and wants and desires, all of his plans and secrets have all been strewn out before him like a disemboweled pig, and you get to sit quietly with all your own feelings.

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Now.” When you raise your eyebrows at him, his face scrunches up like that of a child, like it probably did back then. “I deserve to know.”

Because you’re an annoying little goody-goody, you just shrug.

“I think that’s fair.” You shift to face him, the way you had last night. “I’m thinking that I’m still worried about you overheating. I’m thinking that I’m tired, that I’m upset with myself.” A frown pulls on your lips. “I’m thinking that...you’re going to leave, and I’m worried you won’t come back this time.”

Not in some you’re-gonna-die-out-there kinda way, but in some you’ll-never-talk-to-me-again kinda way. It’s as plain as day on your face and he, Dabi, thinks it’s good that you feel that way, that you should. Because he, Dabi, shouldn’t ever speak to you again because he’s been compromised, he’s been found out. All the secret inside shit you aren’t supposed to know has come to the surface—in fact, you dived into that water to find it yourself—and, by the rules of the street, he shouldn’t come around you again. He should kill you, actually, to prevent anything from happening to him or his mission.

“I’m thinking that I regret not trying to find you sooner, when we were kids. I maybe could have done it, I don’t know,” You shrug again and it becomes obvious how tired you are. It must have been a long night, for the both of you, after you’d finally shut him up. “But I’m also thinking there is no use regretting, because it won’t change the past. I’m thinking that,” Bambi eyes, big and worried and sad and gentle. “I just have to keep trying, for the future.”

For once, he doesn’t know what to say. Or think. Or do.

Because nobody has ever tried for him, for Touya, not like you have.

A little chuckle comes out of you, brings his eyes back to your face, and he’s surprised to find it a little shy. “I’m also thinking that it’s a little silly for me to be sad, because I should have known there were other women in your life, after all this time.”

And that confuses the hell out of him, makes him roll his eyes and shake his head—painfully—as he tries to figure out what the fuck you’re talking about.

“What?” It’s absurd, really, this idea that he’s the kinda guy worried about other women, that he’s the kinda guy that has a multitude of them stored in his back fucking pocket or something. Toga? He wouldn’t call her a woman, more like a noisy little brat that could go to Hell, for all he cared. “What other women?”

The smile on your face wavers, like you want to drop it into a frown, but you hold it steady. “I don’t know, just, whoever. Like the one from last night.”

Are you kidding?

Your stupid ass quirk has reached into the recesses of his mind and broken open that seal, spilled his guts all over the floor of your apartment and cleaned it up with your sheets, and you still think—

“The cat girl? I don’t even—I couldn’t tell you her name if my life depended on it.”

“Oh,” The laugh you let out is a little surprised, but your face still looks pinched and upset. “I don’t—uh—I don’t know if that’s better or worse, actually.”

“There are no 'other women', smarty-pants.” Touya scoffs and leans closer to you, sneers in your face so you fucking get the point. “Use that brain of yours, Miss College Classes, there ain’t no one else, just—”

When he cuts himself off, you raise your eyebrows, lean closer to him in response—which sends him back to the other end of the couch. “Just?”

This is so stupid, makes him cross his arms in annoyance as a wave of embarrassment heats up his whole body. “If you wanna know so damn bad, just read my mind again. You seem to have a real affinity for that!”

“Touya,” You chide, “I’m serious. Just—?”

Here’s one last thing to know: he isn’t going to say it. Absolutely not. If you wanna cough up blood and dig through the gaps of him to find out, be his fucking guest, but he is not going to say it. Not even if you scoot closer, not even if you put your hand on his—not even if he lets you—and certainly, not even if you run your tongue over that bruise on your lip.

You do that shit on purpose and he knows it.

“Get out of my face.”

But you don’t.

It makes his head crane back, the way your minty breath hits his lips again, the way your nose nudges his like it had in the cab, and—even though any and all thoughts from last night are painful—it has the same fucking effect. Everything about you is soft and touchy, your fingers over his cheekbone, your eyes watching him, your lips on his.

Touya hasn’t ever done anything softly, doesn’t even know how to, but he tries. Because he’s too exhausted to put up the act anymore, too eager for this to finally happen, too distracted to care about the gaps in his skin. He tries because he’s been ready to cross this boundary with you for a long time, too long, maybe because the two of you did that day in the motel. Touya tries for you because you’re the only one that tries for him.

When he pushes his lips back in response, a little breath comes out of your nose and fans across his face, makes him stop pulling his head away from you so he can move his chapped lips against yours, so he can nip lightly at your bottom lip and so he can dig one of his hands into your hair. A little sigh of relief is exhaled between the two of you and he moves in closer, presses his lips a little harder, so he can lick into your mouth, the hand on the back of your neck pulling you into him. The metal in his tongue must surprise you, because a little sound squeaks out of you; it isn’t one of arousal or pleasure, but just the mere fact that your lips are slotted together, that you’re making little noises against him, finally gives him the energy to nearly push you back into the couch.

“Ow,” The word murmurs around his lips and he pulls back instantly, eyes wide and zero-ing in on the purple bruise marring your face.

It’s fucking hilarious; he’s finally getting the chance to kiss you, for the second time in his pitiful life, and—of course—your lips would be too tender for him, with the injury he gave you. Fucking great. So fucking funny, in retrospect.

If he backs out now, he might lose his wits and jump through your window again, so Touya just adjusts his head and presses another kiss into the corner of your mouth. It makes you laugh, how hard he tries not to smash into that bruise, and he keeps pressing his lips to yours, keeps licking into them, digging his fingers into your scalp, even as you say his name.

“What?” He grunts, finally pulling away from you when you laugh again. Your hands follow him, lay gently on his cheeks—and he lets you, even if it makes him sweat a little—and settle your forehead against his.

You press another soft kiss to him, just to be a fucking tease and pull back when he chases you. “No other women?”

“Does it look like I’m—”

“Touya!”

“No, damn it!” As annoyed as he’s trying to sound, one of his arms is wrapping around you, pulling you closer to him as one of yours goes behind his neck. It makes him a little tense, the unfamiliarity of it all, like you’re gonna dig your nails into him or choke him out when you get the chance. But your eyes are big and wide and shining with something that embarrasses him, shining the way they always do when you look at him.

And you better not fucking tell anyone about the little kiss he gives your bruise.

“Ain’t no one else but you.”

The smile you give him makes him pull back his head, or he tries to, but you keep your forehead against his, and give his nose a little kiss in return. It makes him groan—in embarrassment and not because he likes it—so he presses another kiss against your lips, lets it get a little passionate and heavy, hands running from your back to your thighs, from his hair to his chest, before he purposely nips at your lip again. All this cutesy shit makes him queasy, but it’s the first time he’s seen you really smile since he’d been in your apartment, since before last night, since six weeks ago, when you let him fall asleep on your couch.

And for some reason, you look just about as happy touching him.

“You aren’t gonna leave and never come back?” Even through all the sugary sweet kissing, he can hear the concern in your voice, can feel the heat from the burn in your eyes against his own.

It makes him laugh, actually; get this, smarty-pants, he tried that shit for 11 years. It didn’t work then and it sure as Hell isn’t gonna work now, not when he’s touched you like this, not when you’ve seen the inside of his skin the way you have.

And, come on, you should know better than to ask a stupid question like that.

Initiation

So... that one anon on Jo's page asking for Dabi and Bakugou smut. It uh accidentally happened. This was in continuation to the whole biker au thing. @lady-bakuhoe Jo I can't believe we deadass wrote a whole ass smut fic in discord 💀💀💀

All characters 18+

Biker au. Dabi x reader x Bakugou Katsuki

Warnings: Sexy time themes. Dub/con, fisting, recording and probably bad grammar. Well we thought you guys would enjoy this so here ya go ^.^:

Fuck couldn't add them all text continued here:

Jo:

“Fuck, so fucking tight.” Bakugou growled, your tight hole preventing him from getting his length all the way in. You clenched desperately around his length at the intrusion, a burning sensation filling your lower half as Bakugou landed a harsh smack to your rear, “calm the fuck down, otherwise it’s gonna hurt so much more.”

Bakugou leaned back to spit on your asshole, leaning back as his length slipped out of you before pushing forward again. Trying to sheath himself fully inside you. “Just force it in, I can tell she fucking wants it,” Dabi held the camera towards your face, capturing your pained expression as he weaved a hand into your hair, pulling your head back, “isn’t that right, doll? You knew what you were doing when you let us in. You fucking wanted this, didn’t you?”

You tried to splutter out an excuse, a denial but Bakugou’s cock continued to press inside your tight asshole, filling you and making it hard for you to think straight “filling your virgin asshole up, hah.” He groaned when he was finally buried to the hilt inside your tight rear, his hands moving back to squeeze your cheeks as he took the phone back off Dabi, angling it towards where your bodies were connected. Using his hand to spread one of your cheeks so he could capture his cock disappearing inside your tight little hole. “I’m gonna make you a gaping fucking mess, Princess.” Bakugou gave your ass a smack, watching the skin jiggle as he worked his hips against you, feeling you squeeze around his cock. “Gonna paint those walls white with my cum. Fill your slutty asshole right up.”

You mewled at his words, biting down on your lower lip to try and block out the throbbing pain. Dabi was sick of being ignored as he moved back to slap his wet cock back against your cheek, pressing down on your lips to try and get you take him back inside, but you shook your head in defiance. This was too much. They’d lied to you, what if your father came home and saw you like this? Dabi grunted, moving his hand down to squeeze your nose, blocking off your airway. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, doll. The hard way is gonna hurt a lot more.” His hand weaved its way around your neck, holding tight until your mouth opened gasping for air.

Unable to get your fill as Dabi has already thrust his cock back inside your wet heat. “Shit. Look at you. The perfect little cock slut.” He began to laugh as he held your hair, thrusting himself into your mouth at a brutal pace, “not so innocent anymore, are we?”

Monst: Bakugou groaned at the sight of Dabi's cock bulging against your throat. He reached out his hand clasping it around your throat Dabi groaned hunching over as he aimed to drown you in his semen. Bakugou never thought he'd enjoy using someone like this. But you looked so fucking perfect ruined like this. You only let out muffled whines and tremors as they abused your holes. And as Bakugou slammed into you he moved his fingers and dipped them inside of your slick cunt. He felt you clench down on them and snickered.

"Your about to cum again aren't you? H-here you were pretending to be innocent and your about to cum from me fucking your ass." He mocked.

"Ngh you fucking slut. What would your old man say huh?" Dabi goaded his hips stuttered. He came with a grunt, his cum slipping down your throat. He stayed lodged in your mouth talking the phone from the new recruit; waiting for Bakugou to paint your walls white. And when you felt his nails dig into your hip you knew he was close. His hand that would occasionally come down on your ass went to the other hip as he continued his frantic pace.

It was then that Dabi moved being gracious enough to offer you another orgasm by rubbing shapes into your clit. Bakugou's hot seed filled your insides moments later. And Dabi pulled out of your mouth to hear you cry out as you came. He let your head fall against the floor as he moved around your body to record. He spread your lips zooming in on your empty contracting cunt. He felt himself start to grow stiff agian when Bakugou pulled out and his cum sloshed out of you.

True to his word Bakugou left you gaping. And Dabi's fingers moved to push the milky liquid back into your hole. He didn't know how to end the recording and just cut it off after closing in on your face.

You all panted to regain your breaths when you finally spoke.

"Fuck Dabi I don't think I've ever been this stretched out." You moaned as you sat up.

He didn't answer turning to dig into the fidge. Bakugou was confused when he handed you a cold one.

"Bakugou meet (Name). (Name) this is Bakugou." Dabi introduced opening a can and tossing one to the blonde.

"What the fuck is going on?" He asked annoyed.

"Initation." You answered casually reaching over to open a cabinet. You shuffled through it and pulled out a bag handing it over to the blonde. "Most people pussy out. But I'm glad you didn't. We should do this again some time" you winked standing up on wobbly legs.

"Hold up? What about your father?" He asked still confused.

"He hasn't been around for ages." You mused. "But daddy did tell me not to open the door." You grinned.

"And that's why you got punished for it you fucking slut." Dabi added.

Bakugou wanted to rage at the trick but when he looked down to the bag he grinned. He understood that they couldn't let just anyone join and at least he got a good fuck out of it. And more importantly he was now part of 'Endeavor's demise'.

"You guys wanna go again?"

Bully

Bully!Dabi x F!Reader Series

Warnings: +18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! This series contains: HEAVY Noncon, smut, bullying, manhandling, penetration, binding, threatening, creampie, breeding kink degradation, humiliation, abuse, violence, anxiety, spoilers, trauma, bruises, choking, spit play, cussing, dirty talk, oral sex (m.receiving) cum swallowing, semi public, noncon selfie, mention of alcohol, manipulation

Summary: After joining the League of Villains, you started facing bullying from a certain arsonist. Little by little the harassment grew to the point of physical violence that culminated to you being his personal fucktoy.

A.N.: If there’s any warnings missing, please let me know! 

Disclaimer: Characters mentioned belong to Kohei Horikoshi

Part 1.

Part 2.

Part 3.

Part 4. 

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9 

BETRAYAL

a/n: happy (belated) birthday my burnt chicken nugget. also @ninjamomo is my personal hype-woman so thank her for this too, thank you

warnings: prohero!reader; literal m*rder; major character death; dabi’s real name; choking; violence; swearing; 4k of angst

“i should have seen this coming,” dabi snarled, his black boot pressing onto your chest as he towered over you, hands in his pockets, “i should’ve known”

you stared up at his dark figure, eyes narrowing at him. the damp ground underneath you was cold, you could feel your clothes absorbing some of the water, sticking against your skin. pebbles pressed against your back, the weight of the villains foot drove them deeper into your body with every passing second.

“any last words, hero?”

you couldn’t see how he had his fists clenched, fingernails digging deep into his skin. he looked at you with hatred, disgust — a look you knew he would send you sooner or later and yet hurt so much.

would he believe you if you said you didn’t want this? would he believe you if you said you never wanted it to be like this? would he believe any word that would hush over your busted lip anymore?

“you don’t have to do this,” you replied calmly, completely contradicting your irregular heartbeat and pressed breaths.

you looked up at his hunched form, his jacket flowing due to the slight wind in the alley. dabi held his head high, his eyes looking at you with disgust and hate.

it has always been only a matter of time until you‘d be subjected to this look of his — a look that was reserved for his enemies and everybody else that would even dare to stand in his way. it was inevitable, obvious that one day you‘d be on the receiving end, you had told yourself this the moment you first came in contact with him. dabi was a villain, a threat to society, a threat to every person that was just peacefully living their life. he was your enemy.

you couldn’t die here. you had a responsibility, a duty to protect the people of this town, this country.

and yet you failed, disappointing everyone in the process. your colleagues, the commission, the civilians. your friends, your family.

“maybe i don’t. but i fucking want to,” the villain huffed through his clenched teeth, putting more of his bodyweight onto your chest, making you wince in pain, “theres nothing i want more than to see you cry out in pain, begging for me to make it stop. to put you out of your misery”

you should have never agreed to this mission, not like you had a choice anyways; not like you would’ve declined anyways. they needed you and who were you to turn your back on them?

looking back, you maybe should have. maybe then you wouldn’t be here with an infamous villain threatening you — killing you. you wouldn’t leave anybody behind, you wouldn’t have violated your duty and you wouldn’t have betrayed your colleagues and your cause.

you wouldn’t have played with the thought to turn your back on them.

how did it get this far?

the weight on your chest lifted and you greedily sucked in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air. yet before you could take in another, you were forcibly grabbed by the shoulders and pulled up, your back soon crashing into a brick wall. you pressed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to not wince in pain.

“maybe i should just set you on fire right here, right now,” dabi continued, one hand on your throat as he stretched the other one out dramatically, “do you think your little hero friend would manage to save you in time?”

you clenched your jaw, hands weakly pulling on the one on your throat.

he turned back to you, his second hand now also closing around your throat, pushing you further into the cold wall, a sadistic smile on his lips. “he’s supposed to be the fastest one after all, isn’t he?”

you kept quiet however, only struggling against the villain‘s hold. you could feel his hands heating up on your skin, eyes slightly widening when you felt the rise in temperature.

“i’m curious”

how could you let it get so far? how could you allow yourself to fall so deep, to betray everyone and mostly betray yourself? and how were you even supposed to live with yourself after this — if you somehow managed to get out of this hopeless situation, that is.

“then kill me. kill me right now and find out,” you managed to reply, keeping your eyes on his face. you knew that you had no way of possibly getting out of this. dabi knew what you did, he knew who you were and he knew why you were with the league, with him. and no matter what, there was no way dabi would forgive you for this.

yet you couldn’t stop yourself from hoping that he would.

the villain tilted his head, his heated hands cooling down. he scoffed. “so willing to die after all?”

no. yes. maybe. you weren’t sure.

no, you didn’t want to die. but could you live on like this, knowing what you did, knowing what you had thought? could you continue your life like this, mentally trying to convince yourself that you did the right thing, that you did what you had to, that no matter what, you did your duty and your duty as a hero came first. waking up every morning to the blank ceiling in your home, your blanket wrapped around your legs, as you tried to believe the mantra you repeated to yourself every day.

how could you stay a hero, smiling at clueless civilians, saving them from villains, knowing that you were no better? knowing that you had considered leaving your hero self behind, leaving your entire life behind? knowing how your entire life you romanticized a flawed and corrupt system and even chose to become a part of it?

but did any of this even matter? at the end of the day, it wasn’t your choice, wasn’t it? your life laid in the hands of the villain in front of you whose hands were literally on your throat.

you closed your eyes in resignation. maybe it was for the best, you thought, slowly coming to terms with your reality. was this your punishment for betraying your morals? “if you could do me one last favor? do it quick”

dabi slightly furrowed his eyebrows. he didn’t want to admit it, but this was the first time he had seen you so passive. it wasn’t like you to not fight, to not yell, to act so defeated. where was your fire, your passion? how dare you not fight back? how dare you be so dejected? you were supposed to give him everything you got, you were supposed to show him just why and how you became a hero, you were supposed to protect yourself and defend yourself, your honor, your pride? how dare you to give him nothing?

how dare you to betray him for nothing?

“give me one reason why i should” dabi clicked his tongue, squeezing your throat. “one fucking reason”

he wanted to hear you plead, beg for your life. give him any reason, your duty, your family, friends, anything and he wouldn’t care. he wanted you to be hopeful, he might even play along and consider allowing you to walk away with severe injuries but still alive. he wanted to see the hope rise in your eyes before he would crush it with his own hands.

you should feel hurt, hopeless, betrayed.

however, what you said, caught dabi by surprise. “you love me,” you stated calmly, eyes piercing through his turquoise ones.

you don’t know what you expected, you don’t even know why you said it. after all, you embodied the very thing he despised more than anything, the one thing he swore to destroy. a shiny hero, adored by the public, that is nothing more than a cruel puppet, willing to do anything to bring the very same people down, that the system you protected with your life, failed to save.

disgusting. why would he love you?

“i don’t,” the villain shot back immediately, voice filled with fury. bringing his head next to yours, you could feel his warm breath on your ear as he continued. “i never did,” he spat angrily.

there was something about him that made you question him. the way his eye twitched, how he pressed his teeth together, how his grip on you tightened, pressing you hard against the concrete wall, like he wanted to bury you inside of it.

“i don’t believe you,” you managed to choke out, shaking in his hold. in return, dabi narrowed his eyes at you, before throwing his head back and erupting in chaotic laughter.

“since when do heroes believe villains anyway? all we do is lie and betray,” he proclaimed, one of his hands letting go of your throat as he gestured into the empty alley, like he was on a stage, reciting a dramatic monologue.

after a few seconds dabi huffed and turned back to you, his lips curled into a sadistic smile, his eyes cold. “didn’t know a hero had it in them too,” he mocked you.

“you’ve lied a lot in your life, touya,” you stated, your words coming out pressed and barely audible as you gasped for air.

“but you can’t lie to me”

dabi — touya — was a lot. a criminal, a villain, a murderer, you knew that. just like he said, he was a liar too. he lied to get his way, he lied to lure people in and he lied just for the fun of it, just because he could. he lied to you too. he tried to put you on the wrong track, he lied to conceal the league’s plans from you because he didn’t trust you when you met, he lied just to annoy you.

but dabi forgot that after all the months you have spend together, you got to knew him and his habits. you inevitably grew closer, talked more and dare you even say understood each other‘s mannerisms. as much as he hated to admit it, you knew him just as well as he knew you.

“i always lie, to everyone,” the villain claimed boldly, the cold smile still on his lips. he sounded so condescending as he continued to mock you. “surely you’re not so arrogant to think that you’re an exception”

how dare you tell him that you know him? how dare you tell him that you don’t believe him? you lied, deceived, so why would you think he wouldn’t do the same?

“i’m going to fucking enjoy this”

“what’s there to enjoy”

much to your surprise, a laugh erupted from dabi.

“i wanted to kill you the moment you were brought to us,” he claimed, face inching closer to yours as he placed his hand on your cheek, the warmth of his palm sending shivers down your back. dabi hummed. “see the life drain out of your eyes and hear you scream like the pathetic thing you are”

“but you didn’t,” you replied stiffly, staring at the villain in front of you. his breath was hot on your lips, he was close, way too close given the situation you were in.

but you knew this look, you were familiar with how his scars looked up close, his triple pierced nostril and every patch of burned skin on his flesh.

“i didn’t,” he confirmed, nodding slightly. he ripped himself away from you right after, eyes narrowing again as he examined your face. the cold air hit you immediately, you felt like your cheeks were burning. “but no one can stop me now”

you tried to take a deep breath again, holding your chin high, trying your best to stand your ground. “then get it over with”

and again he laughed, his voice booming through the dark alley.

“why? i should drag this out, shouldn’t i?” he asked rhetorically, his mind already made up.

dabi wanted you like this. resigned, afraid, hopeless, at his mercy. looking at him with watchful eyes, over-analyzing every movement, no matter how small, and bracing yourself for the moment he would strike. you looked like a cornered animal, completely helpless. pathetic.

“a pro hero, right here, just willing to die by my hands. what a sight for sore eyes”

he smirked, inching his face closer to you again, only stopping when you could feel his hot breath on your ear. “that’s not something i get to enjoy every day”

“you’re torturing yourself”

dabi hummed again, much to your surprise even nodding his head slightly at your statement before shrugging. “who cares? nothing will satisfy me more than to kill you myself”

“then do it!” you screamed back, resisting against his hold of you again, only to earn a raised brow from the villain.

you knew he wouldn’t let you go, no matter what you were to say. threats, promises, nothing could persuade him. you were mere minutes away from death and nothing in your power could stop it from happening.

no one could stop it and no one would come to save you.

“go on. kill me. leave me here to rot for all i care. but when i‘m gone, there will be no one left who ever loved you“

from the very first moment you saw him, you knew who he was and what he had done, obviously you did. you had every piece of information available on every member of the league that you knew of. you knew their stories.

but him?

dabi was a blank space, a mystery. it was like he had just appeared one day, desperate to cause chaos and destruction wherever he went. and as much as you hated to admit it, that was what was so interesting about him, what almost drew you in. you wanted to know more, you needed to know more. what could make a person drive to kill innocents with seemingly no motive, haunt the streets of the city at night, causing panic wherever he went just because he could?

it wasn’t easy to find out more about him — mostly because nobody, not even the people that called themselves his friends, knew anything. he was a closed and locked book, nobody having the key to even read one page of him.

“shut up,” he shouted back, violently pushing you against the wall again. your head began to spin at the impact, vision flooding with a few tears before it cleared again. “shut the fuck up”

you didn’t know how you actually got closer to him and you certainly didn’t know why he decided to open up to you. was it some form of bait? was it genuine? at this point, you weren’t sure what you would prefer.

if it was nothing more than bait, trying to make you feel safe around him, trying to lure you in, you had to accept that the villain managed just that. he pulled you in and dragged you down, just like he had planned.

but what if it was genuine? what if he confided in you because he trusted you, because he believed that even though you were his enemy, something was different? that somehow you could leave this behind, that it didn’t matter and that you were someone he could trust. someone that wouldn’t ever betray him.

but at the end, you did. at heart, you were a hero after all, the commission‘s puppet, willing to protect the fragile legs your system stood on — not caring if you hurt people in the process and certainly not caring about the ones your system kicked away like trash.

all you knew was that he told you. he told you of the little boy touya. he told you of his family, his father. he told you about the shoes touya had to fill and how at the end it was so easy to just toss him aside.

and you comforted him, as much as you could. you showed sympathy and you felt pity. pity for the boy that wanted to become a hero more than anything, the boy that was turned away. a boy that was hurt so deeply that he had nothing left anymore.

“no one, touya”

what kind of person were you to exploit this very part of him?

“don’t call me that,” he demanded immediately, expression changing to one full of anger. there was no touya.

“that’s your name,” you only stated.

what were you trying to do? trying to appeal in the hopeful and ambitious boy inside of him? were you seriously hoping that this would change anything?

“touya died the day dabi was born,” the villain claimed loudly, eyes shut tightly as he spoke.

there was no more touya. touya died on a hill, leaving his childish dreams of being a hero and proving himself behind. dabi was all that mattered now. he found a new purpose, a goal in him and he would allow nothing and no one to stand in his way.

“i don’t believe you”

“i don’t care,” dabi spat back immediately, voice still booming as his palm heated up against your throat, your eyes widening when you felt the rapid rise in temperature, squirming in his hold. “it means jack shit to me”

you could hear how shallow his breathing was, how he tried to regain control of himself. slowly but surely his palm cooled down again.

“just like you” his eyes scanned your face again, narrowing slightly.

“hero” you knew of his, and frankly, the league‘s, distaste for you and your fellow heroes. the supposed protectors of society, yet the ones that cause the rise of villains in the first place. you saw how they rolled their eyes whenever someone even dared to mention a hero name, how their jaw clenched and how they loudly proclaimed that heroes were the true villains. but this was the first time that dabi had spat your profession, your cause, your entire being right at your feet.

“what are you waiting for?” you asked again, trying to ignore how heavy your chest felt.

the villain clicked his tongue and shook his head. “i’m surprised you care so little about your own life,” he said sighing. “aren’t you supposed to fight till the end?”

wasn’t this already the end? what was left for you to fight for? and even if you did, even if by some wonder you managed to escape what would you do? how could you return knowing you had betrayed everything you ever stood for?

“scared to kill me after all?”

and again, dabi shook his head, looking at you almost like he was about to claim that you didn’t know him like you claimed to after all. “scared?” he repeated, tilting his head. “i’m practically dying to see you go up in flames”

with a sadistic smile on his lips he looked around, eyes halting when he looked above you, analyzing the terrible state the building was in. “who knows, maybe i’ll set the house on fire too”

“you’re cruel,” you spat, shaking in his hold again.

dabi wasn’t surprised to see you attempting to fight back, even though you knew the fight was lost. a true hero at heart after all, willing to do everything in their power and even more to protect innocent civilians.

“and yet you love me,” he stated, eyes turning back to you. “now tell me, isn’t that cruel too? loving a ruthless murderer?”

it was. you hated it and you hated yourself for it. he was a villain, a murderer just like he said, someone who actively fought against everything you stood for, someone who was about to kill you and yet you loved him.

“you’re pathetic,” dabi spat, throwing your weak body onto the ground. you groaned when you collided with the wet asphalt, pain shooting through your every limb. your chest moved fast with every shallow breath you took, trying to regain your composure and clearing your clouded senses.

meanwhile dabi crouched down beside you, feigning sympathy at your pained expression. he reached out, his fingers softly caressing your cheek before gripping your chin harshly and forcing you to look at him.

“guess that is goodbye,” he sighed, purposefully giving you a sad look, before a smirk adorned his dry lips. igniting the palm of his hand he pointed it towards you. “after all, i never liked it when anybody interrupted us during our fun times”

the villain stood up, looking down at you with a cold expression, his earlier smile nowhere in sight. “burn in hell, hero”

you closed your eyes for just a second, silently apologizing for the things you‘ve done and the things you failed to do.

you apologized to your friends and family for leaving them behind like this, knowing the only closure that they were going to get was that you were murdered in an alleyway, supposedly by none other than the infamous dabi.

you apologized to your fellow heroes, because you knew how hard it could be to lose another hero, a colleague, a friend.

you apologized to hawks for compromising not just your but also his image with the league, effectively ending his cover and endangering your mission.

you apologized the hero commission, disappointed in yourself for failing them.

you apologized to touya for hurting him, betraying him. you never wanted for it to get this far.

you apologized to everyone because no matter how you looked at it, you betrayed them — hero or villain.

and lastly, you apologized to yourself, wanting nothing more than being able to forgive yourself for your inner chaos.

and yet, you couldn’t help but just wonder about how things might have been if you hadn’t agreed to this. you could have prevented so much pain on every side, so much distrust, so much hurt, so many lies.

you wouldn’t have forgotten who you were, what you stood for and what your duty was. you wouldn’t even have considered not only retiring as a hero, but going underground, fleeing from every promise you ever made, escaping from your duty. and if all of this wasn’t enough, you weren’t even ashamed to admit that you wanted to to it with a villain.

leaving this society behind, leaving everything behind that made you who you were to live out the rest of your days with a person that was the embodiment of everything that was wrong with the system you protected.

“i’ll wait for you, touya”

shortly after, dabi turned his back to the now charred body on the dirty floor, closing his eyes as he lazily walked away. kicking a pebble away with force, he hushed around a corner, disappearing into the shadows as he heard the first terrified scream from the poor soul that came across what used to be a beloved pro hero.

the image of you smiling as you spoke his last words to him clouded his mind, not allowing him to think about anything else but you.

you betrayed the league, you betrayed him. you used him. you lied to him.

the villain huffed in disgust, clicking his tongue. of course he was happy that you wouldn’t be there to bother him anymore. you couldn’t lie to him anymore, you couldn’t use him anymore.

you couldn’t hurt him anymore.

dabi was glad that you were gone — dead — and he was more than elated that he was there to see you as your life force burned away. after all, you were nothing but a way to get information, a puppet he could use to achieve his dream one day. you were part of a corrupt system, a willing participant, that used their shiny imagine to lure people in and prevent them from seeing what a bunch of hypocrites was actually hiding behind it.

only a dead hero was a good hero.

the sound of dabi‘s fist clashing with the tough concrete wall disrupted the comfortable silence he was walking in. with dull eyes the villain looked at his bruised knuckles, his already bloodied skin now turning even darker.

but why did you have to be a hero?

reblogs are appreciated

Ruined Series Masterlist

Ruined (Prequel, 4.7K words)

you are more than surprised when number one hero Enji Todoroki proposes that you marry his son Shouto. A pair of cerulean eyes witness the deal and decide to ruin it.

Salvation (7.2K words)

having birthed the perfect child to Shouto and Enji, you should call yourself happy. But you aren’t, keeping a secret that could mean ruin. But then a public revelation sends your life spiraling into chaos.

Related Asks:

Headcanons on what happens after Salvation

Names for their daughter

Househusband Dabi

Resistance

Summary: Dabi returns to retrieve the sweatshirt he mistakenly left in your apartment,

Genre: angst with comfort, fluff

CW: mentions of sex, mentions of choking, cursing (?), Dabi is in denial about his feelings (surprise, surprise), smoking

Word Count: 1,126

Pairing: Dabi x gender-neutral reader

Dabi falls for you slowly, dragging his feet as his heart leads him back to you time and time again, despite how he protests.

And protest he does. Forces himself to stay away for weeks at a time, forces himself to avoid your part of town, just in case he can’t resist the pull of your smile.

But inevitably, he gets a little too high, a little too drunk, and he finds himself tapping that soft pattern on your window. It’s suspiciously close to the melody of the song playing when he first kissed you, laying in the middle of your living room all those months ago, but you’d never dare to ask.

Everytime he gives in is the same, whether he’s drunk or sober, with lots of whispered apologies and confessions of how he missed you. He pretends not to care what the answer is when he asks if he can kiss you, and you never fail to see the way his eyes light up when you tell him yes.

For a while, things will return to normal, where he’ll sneak in late at night, hold you in ways no other man has ever been allowed to. It’s sweaty skin pressed together, dark strands sticking to your face when he presses his forehead against yours, and whispered praises against your throat right next to his palm circling it.

And then one morning, he’ll be gone again, without a trace. It’s comfortable for him, leaving like a ghost. He’s sure it’ll make things easier when he inevitably leaves for good.

Except he’s bound to make a mistake eventually. He just wishes it’s not in the form of his favorite sweatshirt left crumpled on your couch where he’d let you tug it off him, hands slipping over his skin.

For a week straight, he debates leaving it, but eventually decides there’s no reason he can’t sneak in and take it back, missing its warmth and the anonymity it provided when he went out.

He waits until the light shuts off behind your curtains, smoke billowing from his lips as he sits on the rooftop edge of the building across from your apartment, mentally mapping out the location of your furniture so he can slip in and slip out quickly in the dark.

Your living room window is unlocked like usual when he tries it, and he shakes his head in disapproval, muttering under his breath about all the trouble you could invite into your life with your bad habits.

The irony isn’t lost on him, but he swallows the guilt quickly before it can overwhelm him and convince him to see you, opting to search your living room instead.

He’s frustrated to find it’s not in the exact spot he left it, but not surprised, given how much time has passed. He’s silent as he creeps along the hall to your room, the door open as if you knew he’d be coming by. 

Or maybe just hoping.

The light from the city washes you in a white haze, and he’s surprised to see you curled up into yourself rather than sprawled out like usual, your hands tucked in close to your face.

He risks a closer look, eyes scanning over your sleeping form, and surprise ripples through him when he finally realizes you’re wrapped in his sweatshirt, the black material baggy on you.

He sucks in a breath at the sight, feet shuffling closer until he’s standing directly over you, and it’s only then that he notices the tear tracks that streak down your cheeks, and the way your brows are furrowed unhappily even in sleep.

He feels a pang in his chest as he wonders if this is because of him, if this is his affect on your life. He wants to be able to shrug and leave, wants to roll his eyes and huff at you for being so emotional, but he can’t bring himself to pretend.

Instead, he crouches down to eye level with you, resting his arm on the edge of the bed as his chin settles on it. He watches you for a moment, the way your breath puffs out between your lips, the way your frown seems to deepen occasionally and you press deeper against the material of his clothes.

Finally, he can’t take it anymore, and he lifts his other hand, knuckles running lightly over the swell of your cheek. You’ve never been a light sleeper, but it doesn’t take long before your eyes are fluttering open and you’re peering at him in confusion.

“Dabi?” Your voice is low, and emptier than he can ever recall it being in his presence.

His lips purse for a moment before he gives a simple nod, knuckles continuing to smooth over your skin, a feeble attempt to wipe away tears that have long since dried. “Hey, doll.”

You stare at him for a moment longer, blinking slowly, as if you’re sure the next time you open your eyes, he’ll be gone. But he isn’t.

“Seems like you’ve had a rough day.” he comments quietly, and your eyes widen almost imperceptibly for a moment before they’re closing tightly and you’re leaning into his touch, fingers wrapping around his wrist to keep him there.

Your lip press into a tight line, and all you do is nod once, tilting your head to press your lips against his pulse. He hopes you can’t feel it jump under your mouth, pulling away gently so he can stand once more, leaning over to press a gentle kiss into the crown of your head.

You glance up at him sadly, disappointment flooding your gaze as you wait for him to leave again, brows drawn low on confusion when he moves to take off his shoes instead.

His shirt goes next, hooking his thumbs into the collar and tugging it over his head before throwing it somewhere in the dark. He pauses then, second guessing himself as he runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up in odd angles.

But the way you’re watching him has him softening, jerking his chin towards the center of the bed as his knee sinks into the mattress net to you. “Scoot, I’m not letting you shove me off again,” he grumbles, but there’s no malice in his words.

If anything, he’s glad you can’t see the way his face heats in the dark over how he lets affection bleed into timbre of his voice when he next speaks, sinking into the softness of your bed as he pulls you into his chest.

“Missed you.”

A Burnt Rose (Complete)

✿ You and Touya parted on bad terms. Six years later, he spots you visiting his father, a red-headed kid in tow. He’s determined to find out what you’ve been up to while he’s been gone.

Touya x Fem!Reader ✿ Single parent

Updated Tuesdays and Fridays, any times indicated are in PST

Overall themes of angst. If you’ve read any of my other work, angst with a happy ending is my usual MO. Warnings marked at the beginning of applicable chapters: violence, child loss, implied drug use

⁕ Chapter 0 (Prequel)

⁕ Chapter 1

⁕ Chapter 2

⁕ Chapter 3

⁕ Chapter 4

⁕ Chapter 4.5

⁕ Chapter 5

⁕ Chapter 6

⁕ Chapter 7

⁕ Chapter 8

⁕ Chapter 9

⁕ Chapter 10

⁕ Chapter 11 (Epilogue)

Tag list: @mmmochi-art @jems-all-in-a-wood @boosyboo9206 @dani-d0rk @kunaigirlx44 @myriadis @northsideprincess @cutiebear45 @prettypuppy1563 @fandomsgotmefucked @txixy @whore-for-anime @isabel2you @haitanihime @callmelucas @askerror87 @devilsbooksworld @mikasackrmann @xnorthstar3x @undefined--person @bubblegum-bee-otch @h0wab0utw3d0ntd0that @eijis-stuff @cinnamon-n-roses @theequeenofcurses @bananasquash @aizawasfemdom @cascade-away @dabi-sunflower

Corpse Bride AU

Dabi x Fem reader

(Colored this meself👰🏽‍♀️)

You left your betrothed at the alter.

When his family proposed the marriage, you wanted to decline but were persuaded by your parents for the money. As the days led up to the grand wedding, the more your anxiety prickled your skin. You lost sleep thinking about how much your life was going to change; you would move to their house, his parents would become yours, you’d be expected to play the perfect married life and eventually even have children with him. This wouldn’t be a bad future with someone you loved but you barely knew him! You had learnt of his surname just last week…

The day of the wedding, your anxiety had seemingly snowballed into a great pain in your stomach. It was such a nuisance that getting into your traditional and uncomfortable wear was almost impossible without help. “Just breathe in and out. This is the beginning of your new life, a new adventure, just think about all the possibilities!” Your maid beside you advised, you both stood in front of the church’s doors. The organ played your cue, your maid pushed the doors opened with a strong thrust. A million eyes descended upon you. Your stomach ached in response. You managed to lift your leg to take a step forward then another tentative step.

‘Just keep looking towards your future. He must be just as nervous as you.’ You told yourself, another step. “Pfft…” Your head snapped towards one of the aisles, two girls slightly younger than you were giggling to themselves as they stared at you. ‘Great…’ “Hush up!” A much older woman, maybe their mother, hushed them. They obeyed immediately. Despite the more respectful silence, your heart still pounded wildly. Did you look ok? Was there a stain on your dress? Has your makeup smudged? What were they laughing at?! Your anxiety and anger were mixing in your mind. The fake smile you wore on your face was seemingly getting heavier and heavier with each step towards the alter. Your groom, your future husband, was standing at the alter with a mix of boredom and annoyance fitted on his face. This is will be the 3rd time you’ve spoken to him. The marriage was arranged by both your parents and by the way the groom looked at you, it wasn’t hard to see he wasn’t excited for this either. This man is your future husband, the man you’ll be spending the rest of your life with… mother and your future husband would never approve of a divorce regardless of the circumstances. This will be the man you’ll grow old with… “Hurry up.” A harsh whisper came from your right, your mother was scowling at you. You picked up the pace to the alter and stood in front of your husband. You could feel his eyes staring right at your chest. Your anxiety again prickled at your skin, if it was any other man, you would’ve gave him a harsh talking to.

“We are gathered together today to witness the joining of two individuals. Under the lord’s grace, these two individuals will not only be making a vow between themselves but with the lord as well.” The priest began. You could barely hear him as the warmth of the room was making you sweat in your large wedding gown.

“Would the bride and groom like to say any words?” The priest asked, your husband nodded his head and grabbed a piece of paper that was hidden in his jacket. He cleared his throat and began.

“My dearest, (F/N) (mispronounced L/N),” You flushed in embarrassment as the crowd looked to one another. “I thought the bride’s name was (F/N) (L/N)?” You heard one say. The priest leaned over to his ear. “Her surname is actually (L/N).” He corrected, your husband scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Does it matter? She’ll be taking my surname in a few minutes.” He huffed, an awkward silence hushed the room. It was obvious to you that temperature was getting higher and higher in that room. He cleared his throat again.

“My dearest, (F/N) (L/N), your beauty and grace are comparable to none. The minute I saw you was the moment I knew I would spending the rest of my life with you…” He squinted his eyes at the paper. “The lord will bless our marriage like you’ll bless my life as my soon to be wife. You will serve me as my eternal wife as not even death will do us part?” He squinted at the paper again and groaned before crumbling the piece of paper and shoved it back into his pocket. Even in heaven you would be his wife?! You glanced back at your mother, she caught your eyes and made a smiling gesture with her hands. You didn’t even notice you stopped smiling…

“Would the bride saw anything?” You shook your head, you didn’t feel like giving the speech you had already prepared, you wanted to go home. You already felt humiliated already. This wedding was nothing like the one you had pictured as a little girl.

“A-Alright then. Mr. Parrish, please say the vows of marriage.” The priest placed down two cups of wine and three candles onto the podium. The priest lit the tallest of the three candles. You and your groom picked up the two unlit candles for yourselves. The candle yet foreign and heavy in your hand. You swore you were close to dropping it with how sweaty your hands were getting.

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. You cup will never empty for I will be your wine. With this candle-“ He placed his unlit candle to the priest’s. The candle did not light, he sighed then placed it again. It did not light.

“The candle’s wick seems to be defective. Trade with me.” He harshly whispered to you. You looked between him and the priest. “Is that allowed?” You asked, the murmuring from the church goers had gotten louder. “I suppose the bride and groom can switch candles if the groom’s does not light.” Your groom was frustrated, he snatched your candle from your hand and slammed his onto the podium. The priest seemed to also be getting frustrated. “I suggest you remember how to behave yourself, Mr. Parrish. I won’t be approving of a marriage if the groom cannot behave himself like a gentleman.” Your groom sighed and slicked back his hair. “I apologize.” You picked up the candle from the podium.

“With this candle, I will light your way in darkness,” He lit the candle in his hands, he used his to light yours. “With this ring-“ He rummaged through his pocket, a sudden look of confusion flashed on his face. He switched to his other pockets then started to look at the ground. “I’ve lost it!” He exclaimed, the crowd gasped. Both mothers ran up to the podium, “Can we do the ceremony without it?” His mother whispered, the priest sighed.

“I’ll be approving of the marriage when the groom can find the ring.” Your mother ran back and faced the crowd. “Help us find the ring!!” The crowd immediately jumped up from their seats and started searching the ground and sets for it. Going through the chaos, you decided you needed some air. You sneak and crossed the church’s doors for the second time today. The air just outside of the church was like nothing you’ve ever breathed before, the air was cool and fresh, it felt good. You took the time to pay attention to your surroundings, the lonesome area around the church was peaceful. Nothing but grass that led up to the forest’s edge. You wandered farther and farther from the church, taking the occasional glance back to see if anyone was paying attention to you. You reached to the forest’s edge, the green grass was interrupted by the forest’s grassless ground. You looked back to church and saw the chaos was still in full swing. You would deal with being in trouble later, you really couldn’t picture yourself going back there again. Maybe your families could finish the ceremony in one of the estates?

The trees obscured the sun’s rays making the forest cool and darkened. Your wedding dress in your eyes started to appear light blue instead of the traditional white. You found the forest relaxing. You stopped in your tracks when you saw something that didn’t match the rest of the forest, a thick oak tree that served as a stark contrast to the numerous thin and tall trees surrounding it. You found a perfect spot under it and it was surprisingly comfortable to sit on the tree’s roots. Your dress could always be cleaned afterwards. You closed your eyes and breathed in and out. The forest was silent besides the sounds of birds chirping in the distance. The atmosphere was tempting you to relax yourself even more by making you want to take off the stuffy dress. Imagining your mother finding you relaxed and half naked under this tree made you giggle. ‘But what would they say?!!’ You swore it was her catchphrase. You turned your head when something caught your eye. A root that laced through the ground, it had a stub pointing out of the ground, it looked like a finger. You went closer to it, you reached into your dress’s sleeve and pulled out the ring that caused the chaos in the church. Your groom dropped it outside of the church and you wanted to give it back to him at the alter but…. You squatted down and slid the ring onto the stub and stifled a laugh. “With this ring, I ask you to be mine.” You finished the vows, the silence of the forest was the only reply you heard. “You know it’s not very traditional for the bride to slip the ring onto the groom.” You chuckled but it quickly died in your throat when you noticed that the forest was silent. Dead silent. You couldn’t hear the birds or the squirrels in the distance. Matching this new creepy atmosphere, the surrounding forest was turning from a pale blue to a midnight black.

Crack!

You snapped your head back and your jaw hit the floor, the ‘root’ was moving on its own! It was tearing itself out of the ground. The moving ‘root’ was connected to something even bigger deeper in the ground. The ground was opening up right in front of you. Was this an ‘earthquake’? You had heard some of the adventures of sailors where they went to new lands where ‘earthquakes’ were common occurrence. Large pieces of ground ripped open, reaching towards yo. You jumped up but caught yourself on your own dress and fell back. You opened your eyes, two legs were in front of you, was this a man from the wedding? Your eyes trailed up the pair of legs that stood in the ground and then your blood turned cold.

“I’ve never been one for traditions.” The figure stepped in front of you and leaned down. A man with blue skin was staring into your eyes, his skin wasn’t just blue but also had purple patches stapled into it. It had reminded you of the dead hairless cat you found as a small child, you never forgot the look of rotten skin. The man wore a groom’s suit, blue, matching his skin. “I do.” The man smiled manically.

My Hero Academia Masterlist

I’m open to any and all requests

💋- smut

🧸- fluff

🥀- angst

🎀- blurb

Katsuki Bakugo

needy girl 💋

infirmary confessions🧸

Eijiro Kirishima

cuddling w/ him 🧸

Izuku Midoriya

jealous boy 🧸

Denki Kaminari

Shota Aizawa

Hawks

POLY

Katsuki Bakugo & Eijiro Kirishima

Relationship Headcannons 🧸

Katsuki Bakugo & Izuku Midoriya

Headcannons of liking a new girl at the agency 🧸

Bakusquad

Just A Dream

synopsis; in your dreams, he is yours. in your nightmares, he isn’t. and in this life? who knows. (dabi/touya todoroki x fem!reader)

cw; talks of nightmares, slight angst, allusions to character death, minor portrayals of anxiety, suspicious behavior, one mention of endeavor, happy ending, quirkless reader (this is sort of a part two to in another life, can be read as a stand alone), dabi calls reader wisp (like a wisp of a flame).

wc; 1.4k

a/n; an apology to @chaoslibra and @rueclfer for breaking their hearts with the previous touya angst. credits to my fiancé @feralshenanigans, for the nickname dabi calls reader and she made the instagram post at the end.

as always, enjoy the story but don’t use, copy, or steal my writings.

the gaps in the blinds allow the sunlight to filter in, spreading across the otherwise dark room. your eyelids feel heavier than usual as you blink the sleep away, one hand moves across the bed, reaching for the familiar warmth of another body. there’s nobody there but the bed is still warm.

“miss me already?” his tone is teasing as you sit up and glance to the doorway. touya leans against the side, he’s shirtless with his arms crossed over his chest and his sweats riding low on his hips.

his face turns serious as he notices the tear tracks on your cheeks and makes his way to the bed.

“another nightmare?” he’s pulling your body into him while you nod and wrap yourself around him, he hums while rubbing your back.

“what was it this time?”

“you died after your birthday before i got to see you again and confess properly.”

“oh you mean when i’m awake to say it back.” his tone is back to teasing as he tries to lighten the mood by reminding you of the first time you confessed.

you laugh, shaking your head while shoving him away, he chuckles deeply while swiping away a stray tear.

“you promised you wouldn’t bring that up again.” you scold and he just laughs louder.

“oh c’mon baby you know i’m just teasing. gotta make sure my girl isn’t sad on this very special day.” the smile he wears brightens your mood instantly, though you’re left confused on what today is.

“special day? it’s only monday we don’t have plans do we?” you rack your brain, searching for answers. it’s not anyone’s birthday, not an anniversary or anything else. dabi senses your confusion and smiles brightly.

“it’s a surprise, we’re going to meet yumi and mom for breakfast first and then you three are going to have a girls day while i run some errands.” he explains before standing up and helping you off the bed.

“you get the bathroom all to yourself today since i already showered.” it’s only then that you notice his white hair is damp as it clings to his skin.

you smile and make your way to the restroom to start your day.

a while later you’re sitting at a table with rei, touya, and fuyumi. you’ve just finished breakfast and are discussing today’s plans.

“i have errands to run but you guys can have a spa day as long as y/n’s back before our dinner reservations.” dabi explains as fuyumi and rei smile brightly.

“did i miss a chapter? since when did we have dinner reservations?” you speak up, first breakfast and now this? you’re starting to get suspicious.

“don’t worry wisp, it’s a surprise.” touya’s fingers tighten around your thigh where they rest, he gives you a teasing smirk.

“yeah you’ve been saying that a lot,” you grumble and he only hums in response, winking at his mom and sister.

the four of you say your goodbyes and go your separate directions, fuyumi leading you to her car where you sit in the back and text keigo while she drives to the mall.

if anybody would know what was happening and tell you, it’d be him.

aside from calming your growing nerves about your boyfriend’s suspicious behavior, keigo offered no help.

it’s been a few hours since the girls' day began, you’ve gotten your nails done, shopped at a few different stores and had a light lunch.

fuyumi checks her phone far more than usual and coincidentally dabi will text you right after she pockets her phone.

it’s nearing five o’clock now and fuyumi is driving towards the apartment you share with touya.

“alright be honest with me, what does he have planned?” your voice comes out whiner than you wanted it to and you wince at the way it sounds.

“sweetheart everything is fine, just take a deep breath in and relax. he just wants to treat you to dinner.” rei’s soft motherly voice flits through the car and into your ears.

your shoulders sag as you breathe deeply, you don’t mean to be anxious, it’s just that your nerves are on edge from this morning's nightmare and truthfully you’re scared you’ll have to say goodbye.

when he was in the facility, you had dreams of another life with him, a different one where he never got hurt and life wasn’t cruel to him. a life quite like the one you’re living now, only without the monster that is touya’s father.

but ever since three years ago, you’ve had nightmares of dabi passing away in his sleep, just like he almost had that night. now you can’t shake the feeling that this might all be a dream.

one you’ll wake up from crying and in bed alone.

“are you okay? y/n?” the call of your name from fuyumi’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

the cars been parked and both women are looking at you softly. you can feel the lone tear that began falling from your lash line.

“i’m fine, i think.” your voice betrays you as it cracks and you’re faced with two soft sympathetic smiles.

“he’s a strong man honey, he got better and he made it out. he’s here, alive and with us. it’s okay now,” rei reaches a hand out to grab yours, squeezing it tightly she meets your gaze.

you give a firm nod and squeeze her hand in return.

“you’re right, he’s strong.”

you continue reminding yourself of that fact all throughout your dinner with dabi as he fidgets nervously in his seat.

he’s strong.

you think as you watch a bead of sweat drip down his forehead and roll off the side of his face.

he’s strong.

his hand is on your thigh as he drives to an unknown destination. the windows down and a song playing on the radio.

he’s strong.

he took you to a park, the cherry blossoms in bloom as the night sky twinkled brightly with millions of burning stars.

he’s strong.

he keeps your body close, one hand warming your waist as he holds you. the other holds a box in his pocket, as he leads you down a barely lit path.

he’s strong.

he leads you to a secluded section, fairy lights decorate the nearby trees. the garden gazebo is decorated with strings that hold photos of the both of you throughout your lives together.

he’s strong.

your breath catches in your throat as you turn to see him on one knee, box in hand held open to face you.

he’s strong.

his hands shake as his palms grow clammy, the nerves making him sweat. and for once, his body runs cold as his eyes meet yours.

he’s strong.

“will you marry me or what?” his voice shakes as he tries to calm himself down, his usual gruffness nowhere to be found as you smile brightly at him.

he’s strong.

a flash of light pulls your eyes away momentarily to see your friends and family hiding in the bushes, keigo looks sheepish as touya glares at him.

he’s strong.

“yes.” he sighs as relief floods his entire body, before he chuckles deeply.

he’s strong.

his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss as he slips the ring onto your finger. a happy sob leaves you as your body melts into his, and he smiles.

he’s strong.

after years of dreaming of another life, one where dabi could be yours, and after years of nightmares where he never was.

and in this life?

your eyes flutter open and you smile as you feel dabi’s hair tickling the back of your neck.

“hmm morning.” your voice is cheery as he groans, the vibrations running down your arm when he places a kiss on your shoulder.

“what’s got you so cheerful this morning?” his voice is deep and groggy with sleep as he moves to hover over you, his cerulean eyes shining brightly.

“oh nothing, just a dream i had.” you smile and scrunch your nose when he kisses it, he hums.

“was it a good one?” he kisses both your cheeks and you laugh lightly.

“yeah, yeah it was.” he smiles at that and places a kiss on your forehead.

“what was it?” he holds himself above you now, legs tangled with yours and chests inches away from touching.

“just a dream.” he shakes his head with a sigh.

“fine then keep your secrets.” your giggle is cut off as he finally kisses you. lips molding together in a moment of tenderness and serenity.

“i love you wisp.”

“i love you touya.”

sometimes dreams really do come true,

because in this life,

touya,

he’s finally yours.

In Another Life

dear rue, don’t hate me 🥺 @rueclfer full fic to the angst drabble i wrote the other day, which can be found here; angst drabble

synopsis; he’d never be yours in this life, but maybe in another he could be. (dabi/touya x reader)

cw; angst, allusions and mentions of character death, fem!reader imagined but not exclusively stated can be read as gn!reader, quirkless reader, mentions of endeavor (yes i consider this man a warning), i think that’s all

word count; 1.7k

please don’t use, copy, or steal my writings thank you and enjoy 😊

“fuyumi invited me to dinner this weekend. she says everybody will be there. your mom, natsuo, and shoto. i think he might also be there, she didn’t say but i could tell by the look on her face. i told her i’d think about it,” you sit on the uncomfortable plastic chair in the bland white room.

the only sounds are the beeping and the raspy shutters of the life support machine that is keeping touya alive.

“do you think i should go?” you're silent as you wait for him to answer. fuyumi had told you that you would be the only one to visit him today, meaning he’d be able to answer you if he wanted.

“that’s up to you.” his voice is raspier than you’ve ever heard it before, you know it’s because he’s burned his vocal cords beyond repair.

“i don’t think he likes me very much. he always glares at me,” you explain and watch the roll of his eyes as he lets out a scoff.

“i’m serious, he never liked me as a kid because i’m quirkless. i’m pretty sure it’s still the same. i know he only puts up with me because your mom forces him to since i’m friends with all of you four.” you assume the garbled sound that leaves him is a laugh and it makes you chuckle in turn.

“i miss those days,” he sighs and you smile nostalgically, as a kid you’d go to his house after school some days and nearly every weekend to play with him, fuyumi and natsuo. 

you were their neighbor and the same age as fuyumi who you quickly became friends with, and grew incredibly close to touya. so close that you developed a crush on him at five years old, though you’d never admit to it.

“yeah,” you sigh while looking over to the machine encasing him, “me too.”

it’s been almost two weeks since you last went to visit touya, work has been keeping you busy lately and you’re finding it hard to make time for him.

you have tomorrow off and have made the plans to go see him, fuyumi already knows and is making sure nobody else will go see him so that you can have the whole day with him.

it’ll be nice, you think, to see him and spend an entire day without having to worry about leaving if his family shows up.

you love them you do, but sometimes it’s nice to just be with touya. 

“you should tell him how you feel,” fuyumi’s voice sounds from your phone as you make your way into the facility where touya is.

“does everybody know?” you groan out, stepping to the check in desk and writing your name down.

“everybody except him,” fuyumi laughs, “you’ve been in love with him since we were five it’s not hard to miss.”

you scoff, of course it isn’t. it’s not like you hid it, but admitting it isn’t as easy as it seems. you have no idea whether he feels the same, and the fear that he might not make it out of the facility is what keeps you from telling him.

“i’m just scared yumi, what if he doesn’t feel the same?” you pause to take a breath as you enter the elevator.

“what if he does?” she responds,

“ok well what if he doesn’t get better? i don’t want to get my heartbroken,” you explain through a heavy sigh.

“and what if this is the push he needs to get better?” she’s always been the logical one.

“i’ll think about it, but i’m here. i’ll talk with you later,” you say your goodbyes as you approach his room.

you smile as his eyes flicker towards you when you enter the room.

“i know you can’t have any but i brought soba to eat. figured it might cheer you up a bit since it is the day before your birthday.” he rolls his eyes and scoffs as you sit in the uncomfortable plastic chair.

“i’m sorry i haven’t come to see you, works been keeping me busy.” you sigh and take a bite of the soba you brought.

he only grunts in return and you sit in silence for a while.

“will you be here tomorrow?” his voice startles you out of your thoughts.

“i might come after your family, i don’t want to be around your father.” you explain and he makes a humming sound.

the silence stretches another few minutes before he coughs violently, you’re by his side immediately to check if he’s alright.

“are you okay? i mean obviously you aren’t but i fuck i’m bad at this.” you ramble on and he chuckles deeply, or at least he tries to.

“i’m as good as i can be.” his eyes meet yours and you feel your knees weaken. his eyes were always your favorite.

“do you want me to go?” you ask, he gives a slight shake of his head.

“just sit with me for a while.” he whispers and you do. 

you spend the rest of your visit rambling to him about the last two weeks and he listens in silence, giving an answer here and there.

he’s asleep by the time your visit is over and you smile softly at his sleeping form.

you stand to leave, leaning over the machine to get a look at his face.

“goodnight touya, i love you.” you whisper and gather your stuff to leave.

you miss the twitch of his eyelids as you walk out.

you see him the next day for his birthday, surrounded by his family. and although his father is there too, you’re able to manage being around him for touya.

it’ll be another week before you can see him again, so you enjoy the time you have today.

the night of his birthday, you dream of another life.

in the dark of the night, when the people sleep and the city is quiet, on a rooftop under the clear sky, two figures sit and watch the stars.

“if you had the chance to go back and redo things, would you change anything or keep it all the same?” a whispered voice carries in the wind, a chill running through his veins.

there’s a soft humming sound that filters in the air, an acknowledgment of the question and his head tilts as he processes your words. the stars blink at him in anticipation, silently awaiting his answer.

“i don’t know.”

his voice is meager, afraid to speak any louder and scare you away again. but it’s clearer than you’ve ever heard it before.

“do you?”

such a simple question yet the answer is anything but.

he draws in a breath at your silence.

“i think i would change one thing.”

a pause, he turns to look at you.

“i’d fighter harder not to lose you.”

he smiles softly and gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. you continue to stare at the sky, afraid it’ll all disappear if you move.

“y/n… you lose me no matter what you do.”

you sigh and his touch is gone just as quickly as you felt it.

glancing to where he sits, you choke back a sob, he’s already fading as the light from the sun starts to rise.

“i know.” you feel like you can’t breathe as the words force their way past your lips.

he smiles. it’s broken.

“i’m sorry.” your heart breaks as he speaks, you’re starting to forget what he sounds like, it’s been so long.

“i love you.” you reach for him, hoping, no praying, that you can touch him, feel him one last time before he slips from your grasp again.

“i know.” he never says it back and you know it’s because your brain can’t imagine what the words sound like on his lips, never having heard them before, even if you confessed while he was alive.

not even your dreams can bring you solace as you watch him fade completely, your body jolting upright in the sweat soaked sheets you lay.

the tears are steadily streaming down your face, you do nothing to stop them as the sun crests over the horizon and the light sneaks into your room.

“why’d you have to go?”

there’s no answer. there’s never been one, but you’ve always known his motivations.

“i had another dream of you last night,” you sit cross legged on the grass, the wind blowing softly in response to your words. as if filling the silence in place of an answer.

“this time we sat on the roof watching the stars, like we did when we were kids,” you sigh, the tombstone across from you reading touya’s name.

‘dabi’ is written in smaller letters beneath, your idea as you knew he would’ve liked that over touya but his father insisted on using his given name.

it had taken fuyumi, natsuo, and shoto just to get him to agree, but you knew touya would be happy wherever he was.

“i told you i loved you in this one, before it ended the same as the others. with you fading away as the sun rose, and me jolting awake with tears streaming down my face.” it’s just you visiting him today, and somehow it feels better than visiting him in the facility.

he passed away after his birthday, a couple days before you had the chance to see him again. you got the call from shoto, fuyumi too distraught to be able to tell you.

hearing the words from shoto’s monotone voice made it hurt worse than you imagine hearing it from fuyumi’s voice would’ve.

“i still can’t believe you’re gone. it’s been a year now, it feels like just yesterday you were turning twenty-four,” your voice shakes as your arms wrap around yourself.

“i never thought there’d be a time where i was older than you,” the tears don’t come as quickly anymore but they still come.

“i miss you so much touya. why’d you have to do it?” you plead as if the stone would provide an answer.

you sigh heavily and stand, dusting yourself off to leave.

“i love you,” the wind that blows is warm, a gentle caress around your body and you imagine it as his arms wrapping you in a hug. a silent i love you too, his final comfort to you.

your eyes blur as you leave, you don’t visit him again after that.

i hear melodies 🎶

synopsis; in which you prank them with song lyrics (lowercase intended)

a/n; some of these are pre-relationship (izuku, katsuki, tomura), others are established relationship (hanta, dabi, keigo), fem!reader for hanta, the rest are gn!reader, this is my first time writing for these characters so they may be ooc, i headcanon hanta as latino, i speak a little spanish but please correct me if something is wrong, it is sfw but all characters are to be imagined as 18+, enjoy!

please don’t use, copy, or steal my works thank you! :)

songs used;

1) luck runs out by jorge rivera-herrans and cast of epic the musical (izuku)

2) thinkin’ bout me by morgan wallen (hanta)

3) homesick by mico (katsuki)

4) distraction by jack & jack (tomura)

5) flights by jack & jack (keigo)

6) 2 cigarettes by jack & jack (dabi)

izuku;

hanta; please ignore the mistakes on the first and third slides (it should say ‘been here all day studying’ and ‘you’re everything to me🖤’)

katsuki;

tomura;

keigo;

dabi;

MASTERLIST

MHA / BNHA

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ HAWKS / KEIGO TAKAMI

''BROKEN TO FIX ,, [ hurt / comfort , oneshot]

'' BOOKWORMS ,, [ oneshot / drabble ]

'' DANCE WITH ME ,, [ hurt / comfort , oneshot ]

'' HUSBAND HAWKS ,, [ drabble / imagines ]

'' LONGING ,, [ hurt / comfort ]

'' LITTLE DOVE ,, [ hurt / comfort ]

'' DEPOLLUTE ME , GENTLE ANGEL ,, [ reverse comfort ]

'' NEVER LEAVE ,, [ hurt / comfort ]

'' FIRE AND WINGS DON'T MIX ,, [ dbhks x reader , drabble ]

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ DABI / TOUYA TODOROKI

'' BLINDSIDED ,, [ drabble / oneshot ]

'' FIRE AND WINGS DON'T MIX ,, [ dbhks x reader , drabble ]

MARVEL / AVENGERS

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ BUCKY BARNES / THE WINTER SOLDIER

'' DANCING LIKE WE USED TO ,, [ fluff ]

'' SEND ME NO FLOWERS ,, [ bittersweet , 1940s bucky ]

'' INSOMNIACS ,, [ fluff , neighbor bucky ]

'' FLOWER SHOP OF NEW FEELINGS ,, [ series , ongoing , florist!reader ]

'' BLINDSIDED ,,

|| pairings: dabi x gn!reader / touya todoroki x gn!reader

|| warnings: dabi is in rehab, i explain it later. reader is blind.

|| oh my god, achilles writing about someone who's not a hero birdman? crazy. dabi's gonna be ooc since idk how to write him

|| word count: 1.7k

|| Touya Todoroki, more commonly known as Dabi. In this small dabble/fic, the League of Villains were caught and detained. However, through the power of fanfiction, Dabi and the others were allowed to go through rehab (in the prison first), be let out in small time increments while being watched over by some hero or guard, and lastly they were put under a heroes care to make sure they don't.. Y'know, get worse. Dabi was put under, you guessed it, Endeavors care. And, lastly, if they so choosed, the former villains could become heroes, or at least sidekicks.

|| He absolutely hated it, what's worse was that he wasn't able to use his quirk for a year since he had a quirk anklet thing, he didn't know what it was called. Was he happy he wasn't in prison anymore? Yeah, of course. Did he act like it? Hell no. He hated Endeavor with a burning passion, and he stole his credit card more times than he can count with the help of Shoto and Natsuo. Fuyumi was against it, though.

|| He got to visit Rei as well, which was.. Nice enough. He didn't really care much for his mom. He did care, but.. It was weird, whatever, he doesn't care about anything. All he wants is to be able to use his quirk and be free of Endeavor. At least he could laze around the house most days, it was, obviously, nicer than the old League of Villains place.. At least he didn't have to scrap for food. He could have cold soba with Shoto everyday if he wanted.

|| Gah! Whatever. Plus it's not like he could go anywhere without people flinching away from him everytime they saw his face. I mean, it made sense. Notorious villain, ugly set of scars. Makes sense why people flinched away. He understood, honestly if someone didn't flinch from him, he'd think they were a psychopath. Who wouldn't be scared of a known villain who's murdered people??

|| But then there was.. You. Dabi had met you in front of a small cafe that is the only place Dabi didn't feel like he was hated, or cast aside. Again, people hating him was totally valid and he understood why they did, he just needed a break. But, I digress. When he first met you, you were sipping on your beverage of choice and, at least appeared, to be looking out the window. You seemed so... Soft as the light hit your face. But, Dabi being Dabi, he just ignored you every time he saw you. Well, acted like he ignored you, in reality he glanced over to you a few times.

|| This day was different, you left before he was going to leave and you knocked over your.. Cane? How did he never notice that before? You tried to find it, using the table as a crutch but it was too far. So what did Dabi do? Look confused for a moment as you struggled before scoffing and helping you out. Why he did? He didn't know, god maybe the rehab wasn't getting to his head.

|| "Think you dropped this," He lifted the cane and handed it over to your, very very VERY grateful self as you thanked him profusely. With that he left you alone as you used your cane/walking stick to help you leave the cafe. And that's your official meeting!

|| The next few days were pretty typical, however you did say hi to him at times after you found out his usual table. With much failed attempts. You never knew his name so you were just like "Hiya stranger!" or just a simple "Goodmorning" or something along those lines. He enjoyed it but never showed it, always grumbling a small "Hello" back. He hadn't told anyone about you, not his siblings, definitely not his dad or mom, definitely not the League they'd make fun of him, the only one who he'd be somewhat willing to say to is... Oh god, the damned bird.

|| Ever since rehab, him and Hawks had gotten on good terms, the only guy Dabi would begrudgingly call a friend outside of the League. They'd text.. Quite frequently, tbh, they'd trauma bond about their pasts so it was semi easy to talk to him. I digress, Dabi's mentioned you to Hawks once or twice. And he doesn't know how to talk more to you.. He doesn't know why he wants to talk to you.

|| "Sounds like you're just touch starved and want a friend?" Hawks stated, but sounded like more of a question as he snacked on some chips lazing about on his couch while Dabi was out on his balcony having a smoke. "Just say hi to them? Or sit at their table or something"

|| "Sitting at their table huh?" Dabi muttered that, actually taking that into consideration as he blew some smoke out of his mouth. The two of them stayed in silence for a few moments, the only noise was the tv, Keigo's crunching and Dabi blowing out more smoke. That was their friendship, and Dabi actually enjoyed it. Especially since he uh... Didn't have to betray him or whatever, ahem.

|| He left Keigo's place, giving his lighter back and saying bye to him. By now it was dark, like.. 11 pm? He'd like to say, he didn't know, his phone died a while ago. He kinda regretted not asking Keigo for his charger but whatever, it was a nice enough night to walk around, taking a small detour through the park. He could actually enjoy the city without having to worry about getting arrested or.. Hey.

|| He saw you on the park bench, just chilling there. You didn't have a phone out, not like you could stare at it. You just had your head tilted up to the sky. Damn, you looked so.. Peaceful. Dabi didn't wanna interrupt whatever the hell you were doing, but he could just... Talk to you. And he did. He sat on the bench beside you as you kept your head up to the sky.

|| "Hey, stranger," He muttered. You knew that voice! Your ears perked up the second you heard his voice and turned his direction, a small smile on your face as your gaze bore into his.

|| "Hey.. Uh.. Never caught your name, friend." You said, as you let out a small chuckle. The cold air around the two of you showed your small breath. Is this what peace felt like?? Is this what being a normal person felt like? Dabi didn't know, but he sure as hell isn't going to let it go. But.. What was he going to say for his name? Dabi? And let you know he was a villain and he'd never talk to you ever again? Or Touya? The name he so hated and renounced long ago.

|| ".. My name's Touya." He said quietly. He decided if he was going to befriend you, might as well not screw it up before he could even hear what your name was. He watched as you nodded, quirking your eyebrow up as you tapped your chin. What the hell were you thinking about that made you seem so.. Amused?

|| "You sure it isn't Dabi?" You asked with a small smile, a bit of mischief in your tone as Dabi froze. You knew?? Since when? For once in his life, he was speechless. No witty comeback, no insult to throw, nothing. He just sat there as you laughed in amusement.

|| Once you've finished your fit of giggles and chuckles you introduced yourself. Huh, now he knows your name. He repeated it quietly with a nod. He still didn't understand.. Why weren't you running in terror? Or insulting him for being a terrible person? Why did you just smile at him.. Like he did nothing wrong?

|| You admitted you asked the cafe owner who he was a few weeks back. Ever since the day he helped you with your cane, you were always.. At least interested in becoming friends! Sure, it freaked you out when you found out Dabi was a villain, but after learning he'd gone through rehab, you were more.. Relaxed? Afterall, he seemed nice.

|| You and Dabi- no, Touya, stayed on the bench for a long while, talking. For once! Learning about each other, and the more Touya learned abour you.. The more he wanted to let you into his life. Let you learn about his family, learn about his past.. Not be Touya, not be Dabi, but just.. Well, he didn't know. But, whatever.

|| Now! He offered to walk you home which you happily agreed, it was only a five minute walk though, you'd already memorized the way. He wondered why you only had a cane instead of a guide dog, you were saving up for one... Hmm..

|| He bid his goodbyes, promising to see you (haha) the next day and getting scolded by Fuyumi for being out late. After she learnwd WHY he was so late, oh she was ECSTATIC to find out Touya made a new friend!! Especially the one from the cafe! (He's told her about you before.)

|| Time skip to around a few weeks later, you and Touya had breakfast together at the cafe. You've met Fuyumu, Natsuo, and Shoto!! They were so nice! Shoto was really funny, really blunt! Fuyumi was so kind and soft spoken and Natsuo was entertaining! Much to Touya's dismay, you ended up close with all of his siblings. He wanted you for himself- wait what?

|| Ah, well, your friendship with Touya grew as the two of you kept hanging out. He'd talk about his home life, how he's going through rehab and that by the end of it he'd work as a hero. More of an underground one, but still a hero. And everytime he'd speak, you'd be there to listen.

|| When you would talk, oh you know that all of Touya's attention would be on you. Wether you knew it or not, he'd stare at you, all wide eyed as he listened to every word you said as if it were the law. He never did that with anyone else..

|| The two of you grew close as time went on, when he debuted as a "Rehabilitated Hero" (that wasn't his hero name), you were his first and number one fan! And don't think his family didn't notice! They had grown close to you, especially Fuyumi. She absolutely ADORED that you were Touya's friend (he.. didn't have much friends.).

|| Though, she could tell.. Your relationship was shifting. Touya was falling for you, and unbeknownst to anyone else, you were falling for him.

|| i had an idea and ran with it! idk how good this is, might make a second part but idk! js needed to cope from doing finals with this <//3

'' FIRE AND WINGS DON'T MIX ,,

|| pairing: dabi x gn!reader x hawks / touya todoroki x gn!reader x keigo takami

|| warnings: established relationship, sfw headcanons, i go between "dabi" and "touya" a lot, sorry :(

|| btw, dabi is in rehab cause i want him to be, also he ends up as a pro hero in the end

|| word count: 2.0k

|| You, Keigo and Dabi and been dating for a few months by now. Let's just say... Endeavor's not the happiest about it. Neither are your own parents. Is it cause they hate polyamorous people? No. Is it cause they're generally homophobic? No. It's cause Dabi's a damned criminal (your family) and that Hawks is annoying as hell (Endeavors reasoning).

|| Do any of ya'll listen? Hell no. Now onto the headcanons.

|| You, Dabi and Keigo have your own places. Dabi lives with Endeavor (unwillingly) as you live in your own smaller apartment as Keigo lives in his damned penthouse. It's safe to say, when the three of you hangout you stay at Keigo's place. It's bigger, he has nicer things, and no one else lives with him. Safe to say you and Dabi even have your own towels, some clothes and toothbrushes there. It's like you live there 2/3rds of the time. Only reason you don't move out is cause you guys only started dating a few months ago.

|| PDA? Non existant, at least with you and Dabi. Dabi generally doesn't like PDA, is it for shame reasons? No, he just doesn't like it. He'd rather keep his scary, mysterious facade up in public, and you just get embarrassed easily. The most you two do is a peck on the cheek or holding hands, that's it.

|| With Keigo or all three of you on the other hand, oh PDA is a must have. Keigo loves holding both of your guys' hands, whether he's alone with Dabi or if he's alone with you or if all three of you are out. He loves giving kisses, holding hands, holding your waists. Now if you or Dabi hold onto him, he's SWOONING.

|| Jealousy? Only at some scenarios. And it's only for petty things. Let's say all three of you are at Keigo's place, if one of you guys are only showing attention to one, oh jeez. Dabi makes a whole fuss, he pretends he doesn't even wanna be there. Says shit like "No, don't even touch me fuck you" then reaches out to cuddle both of you. If Keigo's feeling left out he'll puff his wings out and brush his feathers against you two. Sending them in a flurry and you find yourself in a pile of his feathers as you both give him small kisses. However you react is your own choice, but whatever you do they both end up kissing your face all over and you rest your head on Keigo's chest and hold Dabi's hands.

|| However, if we're talking there's someone hitting on one of you guys.. Oh it's interesting. If someone's hitting on Keigo, it made sense. He was a pro hero, number two at that, and absolutely GORGEOUS. You and Touya had a protocol for this. As Keigo would turn the person down, you'd snake your arm around his waist and rest your head on his shoulder as Touya wrapped his arms around Keigo's neck and rested his head on the other shoulder. Both of you having smug smiles. If Touya's the one getting hit on, oh boy. If Touya hadn't already scared the person off himself, again there was a protocol to this. Keigo would go over first, putting his head on Touya's shoulder while you held his hands and kissed his knuckles softly, safe to say the person was scared off. Lastly, if you were hit on... Touya might just kill the person /j nah nah, he reformed... Touya would wrap his arm around your shoulders as Keigo wrapped his arm around your waist. Both absolutely GLARING at the person hitting on you. Scary dog privilege. Touya's the more.. Jealous one in the three of you? Like, would definitely ask a bunch of questions to you and Keigo like "Who're you going out with?" "Where are you going?" "You better be back soon."

|| In the winter, oh you know you and Keigo take advantage of Dabi's quirk. He can warm up his body (at least in my mind) without actually setting on fire. So, after a long cold day on patrol for Keigo and a long day at work for you, you both snuggle up against Dabi, wrapping your limbs against his body, getting as much warmth as you can as Keigo drapes his wings across all of you. Is Dabi absolutely steaming and wishing you'd both get off him? Yeah, he's sweating balls, but you two just ignore it.

|| One of the best dates you all went on? When Mr. Billionaire Hero rented out the whole aquarium to have a date with you and Touya. The only people there being the workers, which was maybe 4 or 5 people at MOST. It was peaceful, you were geeking out over the smallest fish to the biggest shark, while Touya admired the water, it was also pretty chilly in the aquarium. Not to the point you had to have layers, but it was nice and cool, he appreciated it. Then there was Keigo, being head over heels for both you and Touya. He just kept his eyes on both of you, of course he was listening to whatever you were rambling about but.. What can he say? His partners were just to pretty not to stare at.

|| Arguments? You three have had arguments before. Of course, all of them ended in hugs, kisses, apologies and make up dates, but there were a lot of times that you and Touya went to sleep with just each other in Keigo's apartment because he was working. Another argument starter was that there were a lot of times where you and Keigo had to deal with Touya's pissy mood without him telling you guys what's wrong, or deal with him ghosting you both because he's shit at communication. Biggest problem with Keigo was that he was to much of a workaholic and would bail on date nights or sleepovers because he was to busy. Biggest problem with Touya was that he was terrible with communication, he'd never say his problems because he saw it as weakness. You three get through it, of course, but it took a lot of work.

|| Who cooks? You. Keigo and Touya can't cook for shit. If you can't cook either, you're all fucked. Keigo can't cook because the commission never taught him to, and Touya was never taught either, his mom always cooked or he stole something after his "death." One time you came over to Keigo's penthouse to have a date night with the two of them, just staying in though, but what did you find? The fire alarm going off, black smoke all around the halls, and screaming. You thought they started to fight like villain and hero again, but nope. They were trying to cook. Touya tried to cook the stuff on his body because "it'd be faster" and "we wouldn't have to use electricity" and dumbass Keigo agreed to it. You helped clean up the mess and just decided to order in. That was the last time you'd ever let them try to cook.

|| Gifts? Keigo buys the most gifts for you and Touya. He's the richest, so it made sense. A lot of gifts Touya gave were home made shit or something he stole. You found it endearing, Keigo found it terrible and made him give it back. He is NOT losing one of his partners for stealing a 15$ plushie. Keigo's gifts were extravagant, of course. He'd buy you and Touya the most expensive jewelry, especially piercing jewelry for Touya since he knows he has like over 10 piercings. Keigo HAS planned a surprise vacation trip to some sort of private island for the three of you to have a weekend to relax. It was welcomed with open arms, it was just... A lot. You two didn't complain though. Your pretty boy boyfriend pampering both of you? Oh fuck yes.

|| How you get along with their friends? You get along with Keigo's friends pretty well! His friends being Mirko, Tokoyami and Endeavor... He's not as social as he seems. You and Mirko HAVE hungout together before, she's really funny and a little loud but she's fun to be around. You've met Tokoyami on multiple occasions and Keigo acts as if he's his big brother/uncle. It's so funny. Tokoyami's not the biggest fan of Touya but he's warmed up to him. Baby steps, baby steps. (They've shit talked, lovingly, about Keigo before.)... You don't like Endeavor. He's big, he's scary, and he always seems grumpy and after hearing Touya's past, you're so confused how Keigo could still hang around him normally. I mean, Touya lived with him.. And he seemed to be getting better and making up for what happened. But still.

|| With Touya's friends, aka The League of Villains.. You were scared when you first met them. Safe to say you're closest with Compress since he seemed the most chill. Toga did say she wanted to stab you, which was fun. Touya explained that's just her way of saying she liked you, and you were like "cool okay, still gonna stay away from her." You have talked to Spinner before, he was chill, surprisingly. Talking to Shigaraki was... A lot. You were scared to even be 5 feet next to him. Twice was very fun to be around! You liked Twice a lot and he seemed to like you... And for continuity sake let's say this is like.. After the Overhaul shit. So none of them were pissed at Keigo, thankfully. Honestly, Keigo's chill with everyone of the League members, a little less with Shigaraki, but it's whatever. He's closest with Twice. (kill me)

|| Do you guys ever move in together? Yes! You do. At least around a year or a year and a half of dating. You and Touya move into Keigo's big ass penthouse for obvious reasons. It was an easy "yeah sure" on all of your parts. It was already like you all lived together there since you and Touya had stuff in his apartment, so it was like extremely easy to move in and adjust.

|| Pet names? Yeah, you guys have pet names for each other. You call Keigo and Touya; "Babe" "Dear" "Love" or just their names shortened to like "Kei" or "To." You have tried calling Touya "Toto" and Keigo laughed at that so hard, calling him the dog from Wizard of Oz. Keigo would call you and Touya the stupidest shit EVER. Stuff like bird-like nicknames as a joke a lot, then it stuck. But actual pet names he'd call you guys "Dove" "Love" "Sweetness" "Sweets" or shortened versions of your guys' names. Has called Touya "Toto" after you did and finds it equally as hilarious. Lastly Touya, he doesn't do much pet names, honestly he finds them cringe. But the ones he actually does is "Doll" "Sweetheart" "Babe" and those are the ONLY ones. Anything more he's like that's bullshit. But what's weird about Touya is that he barely calls you and Keigo your actual names, or even shortened versions of your names, always those pet names. You two don't complain.

|| Media? Keigo makes sure to show both you and Touya off as much as he can. Touya's already a pretty (in)famous person so he didn't care, plus it's not like he did much. Especially if it was during his rehab. After rehab he ended up working as an underground hero since that was the only thing he really saw himself doing. There is no way he'd be some normal citizen who couldn't use his quirk everyday, like no. Through the Hero Safety Commission, he was shown off as a "second chance." For the public to believe in redemption and seeing the best in people. Keigo didn't exactly like that the Commission was using Touya like this, but Touya literally gave zero shits, so it was whatever. So now, you have two pro hero boyfriends. If you worked remotely or at home, you were more than okay with being in the media, but if your job was more open to the public you'd try your best not to be apart of the media. If you for some reason were already a famous or public figure, you were a-okay with having your relationship public.

|| You all have matching profiles on all your socials. You three are the cringey ass throuple that everyone envies or hates.

|| All in all, your relationship is wonderful! You love your boys and your boys love you!

|| oml i love dabihawks x reader

Loved me those lov reactions! Could I get one for reactions to a recruit with a snake based quirk (control,naga,etc) that talks in sarcastic haikus? Think zero from borderlands if you've ever played lmao

anon came for my obsession with snakes and love of poetry with this one

I’ve never played borderlands but I hope this is what you’re looking for ;)

Quirk: Snakecharmer - With this quirk, Y/n can summon snakes that live inside of their skin to do her bidding. The only drawback is they have to shed their skin now and then and they have a speech impediment that makes them prolong the ‘s’ sound (like a snake’s hiss”

Shigaraki

giran brought you along with toga and dabi as new recruits for the league

at first glance, he just thought you looked normal, your face wasn’t fucked up like dabi and you didn’t seem to be as batshit crazy as toga

when he asked you to introduce yourself he took back the part about you being normal

“Our eyes meet across

the room. My lips say no, my

eyes say ‘read my lips’ “

bitch what

he doesnt understand this cryptic bullshit

when he starts to realize what you just said, he gets super annoyed

he just wants to disintegrate your flesh but kurogiri won’t let him

poor brat baby

he thinks your quirkless or that you have an weak quirk because you just seem so harmless

But

when the league were out on a mission and you and shigaraki got separated from the rest of the members, he thought shit had completely shit the fan

the heroes were surrounding you two and he was slightly injured

but when 20 fucking snakes jumped out of your body and started swallowing the heroes whole

[surprised pikachu face]

shigaraki literally said “and i OOP?!?”

he was so shocked

he thought it was kinda hot too 👀

shigaraki has a naga kink : exposed

he definitely starts to see you as less annoying and more ‘evil hot snake god(dess)’

the poems still get on his nerves tho

Dabi

he thinks giran is out of his mind to bring an actual knife-wielding child and a weird poetry lady

that is until he sees your quirk

he thinks it’s pretty awesome

one day, Shigiraki tries to grab you when you make a comment about Father and Dabi just sits back and watches these giant pythons come out of your back and bite shigaraki’s wrist before his hand touches you

Dabi is fucking impress

Your dialect does confuse him but if we are going off on the Dabi is a Todoroki Theory, then he’s used to Traditional Japanese Culture and his mother probably read some haikus to his as a child so he finds it endearing

but sometimes he gets triggered of his past and ignores you but if he thinks he can just get rid of you so easily he’s got another thing coming 👏

“A friend’s silence leaves

scars far deeper than the lash

of an enemy”

Dabi doesn’t get emotional very often but when he’s like that and having flashbacks about his past, he’s so soft

you remind him of his mom

or how his mom used to be before she went crazy

you wrap your snakes around him like a tight hug but not enough to hurt him

he actually gives you a genuine smile

uwu

Toga

this girl only speaks in kawaii and yandere

she’s also a middle school dropout so

she stupid

i mean she’s street smart but girl don’t even know that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell

smh

she first starts taking interest in you after watching your snakes rip through an enemy’s body, splattering blood all over your body

she thinks you’re hella cute with all the blood on your face

she also thinks your pet snakes are adorable and she’s named every single one

lowkey named one izuku and started stabbing it but stopped once you started crying about your baby being hurt

she has a uwu crush on you

but not in the way where she wants to stab you

in the way where she wants to stab people with you

be gay do crime

she gets so confused when you talk tho

she stupid, as i said before

she loves when you make haikus about her tho

or the ones you stay when you’re about to kill someone

“ “women are weaklings!”

I’m strong enough to carry

your corpse to the woods”

she likes that one 🥰

Hc on how the LOV would react to either Dabi or Tomura or even both having a kid of their own that is like a mini clone of their dad? Love you ❤

League of Villains Reactions to Dabi and Shigaraki’s Children (BNHA Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: There is only one thing worse than a rapist. *Boom* A child. Anyways, back to this wonderful request bc honestly, they’re always so amazing from this one🥺 I did both boys because *kiss* I love em both. Small warning: I have watched about as far as the beginning of bnha season 2… aka, all of these reactions are based purely on how I assume the LOV acts. Enjoy!

Word count: 1246

Dabi: 

First of all, you already know this child just folds his arms and glares at everyone.

You dropped off your guys’ son at the Villain’s Lair since you would be busy with work for the day.

“Dabi, you gotta take care of him today.”

“YN-” You throw him a look that shuts him up instantly. 

“Pfft, he’s whipped,” Twice whispers, only to squeal when a blue flame flashes toward his face.

Anyways, having Dabi’s son running around is hectic in more ways than one. 

Toga, for example, loves children, but Dabi’s is more pain-in-the-ass than child. 

“Aww, aren’t you just adorable!”

“...You seem like an idiot.”

Toga *pulling out knife* “Bitch-”

Moving on, as we all know, Dabi’s kid is basically his younger clone, so of course he’s gonna fuck with Spinner. 

The little boy’s got a flame in his hand as he watches the older villain. “You’re a lizard, right? So if I burn off your limbs, they’ll grow back.” 

…

“DABI GET YOUR FUCKING SON AWAY FROM ME!”

Kurogiri, on the other hand, tries to be the only adult in the situation. 

“Dabi, please control your son before I send him to another dimension.”

“Psh, why?”

“... Because the kitchen’s on fire.” 

“Ugh, I know. Isn’t he amazing?”

“... No?!”

In all honesty, Shigaraki locks himself in his room until it’s all over. Why? Because the kid almost incinerated his collections of hands. (You can occasionally hear his voice screaming from behind the door “I wAnT ThAt ChILd GoNe wHeN I cOmE bAcK oUt tHeRe!”)

Mr. Compress, however, is the natural showman of the group, so of course he’s gonna want to try and entertain Dabi’s son. 

He puts on a magic show as Dabi’s kid sits on the ground, watching boredly with a fist curled under his jaw. 

“Watch me turn this ordinary marble into a teddy bear!” *Snap* “TADAAAA!”

The man shrieks in fear as the toy blows up in smoke. 

“Give me another one!” The young boy claps his hands excitedly.

“...Hahahahaha, erm, m-magic show’s all d-done for the day!” As he walks past Dabi leaning against the doorway with folded arms, Compress mutters, “The fuck is wrong with your son, dude?”

“He’s the best child a father could ask for🤧”

Soon, Twice has learned from the others’ experiences to steer clear of Dabi’s son.

(Just kidding, this guy tried to give him a motivational speech.)

“You can be anything you want to be! Don’t be afraid to be yourself!” 

Dabi’s kid is just like *scared pikachu face* “Dude, are you okay?”

“nO.”

By the end of the day, Kurogiri has called you to specifically request that you find another place to leave your child while you are at work. (You’re the definition of P.O.ed that Dabi let his child misbehave as such)

“Please give the phone to Dabi.” Kurogiri hands Mr. Stitches the phone. “Yes my love?”

“Dabi…” He already knows from the way you spit his name that this conversation is going to end up a one-sided yelling match. You are the reigning champion after all. 

So what does he do?

*Twenty minutes later*

“Y-YN?”👉👈

“I FUCKING TOLD YOU- Yes Kurogiri?” 

“Dabi set the phone down and ran away like twenty minutes ago.” 

… *sigh* “All right. I’ll come pick them both up.” 

Shigaraki Tomura: 

Do you even gotta ask?

The child throws fits. Of course he does. 

Let’s get one thing straight-- this kid’s a brat. (Just like his daddy😍)

So when he throws fits, shit gets destroyed. That’s just life🤷‍♀️

Dabi, right off the bat, just hates this thing. 

Initially, he’s like “Aw shit, there’s two of ‘em.” 

Then it starts talking. 

“Don’t fucking touch me, kid.”

“You’re right, you look fucked up enough.” 

oop-

...“CONTROL YOUR SPERM, SHIGARAKI!” 

To be fair, Shigaraki taught his child right away how to handle his quirk. He especially didn’t want you to get, y’know, decayed while trying to feed your son Cheerios.

But that doesn’t mean that the child doesn’t use it. 

As we all know by now, Toga loves children, so she is the first one to introduce herself and try to play games. 

That, uh, that doesn’t end well. 

“MY KNIFE COLLECTION! NOOOOOOOO!”

Shigaraki’s just slowly trailing behind his son, watching everything he does and making sure he doesn’t do anything too terrible…. But then he gets bored, so y’know, whatever. Just do anything, idc.

The day begins with pissing off Toga, after which Kurogiri encourages her to step outside and cool off before she murders a murderer’s child. 

Then Mr. Compress decides he can solve the issue.

✨Magic Show Time✨

“Watch me turn this ordinary marble into a-... what’s wrong?” 

“This is boring.” Shigaraki’s son stands up and grabs the marble, incinerating it with two fingers. “When do we get to the fun stuff?” 

“What fun stuff?”

“Fun stuff like KILLING EVERYBODY!”

Mr. Compress is just like 😑 as he walks away muttering under his breath. “These Goddamn kids always being so spoiled nowadays.” 

Spinner is nowhere to be found. He’s already met a fully-grown Shigaraki, what makes you think he wants to see the fun-size version?

Moving on, up next we have Kurogiri, who tends to try and act like a father once again.

“It’s lunch time! Here you go!” He hands the child a plate of delicious food.

The young boy just stares in disgust. “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich? How old do you think I am?” 

He’s five

“You’re five…”

“YEAH, THAT’S FIVE YEARS TOO MANY TO EAT FUCKING PB AND JS LIKE A PEASANT!” 

The child runs away screaming and destroying everything he can find. Kurogiri purses his lips and decides he’s got too many children to deal with, so he’s gotta help one of ‘em grow up. 

“Tomura, please come and tell your child to stop throwing a tantrum.” 

“Why don’t you do it?!”

🤦‍♀️b r u h

“... because he’s your fucking kid!”

“... I don’t want to.”

Thankfully, the day ends quicker than the others realize, and soon enough you’ve returned to pick up your and Shigaraki’s child. 

You’re just standing in the entryway as an exhausted Kurogiri joins you. 

“How was he today?”

“YN… you deal with that every day?”

“Ahh, it must’ve been one of his better days.”

(Extra: “How so?”

“Because nobody’s missing any limbs.”)

Twice is chasing your child out of his room. “NOT MY HEN-” he spots you in the doorway, “-a-adult… films.” 

The lair is a disaster zone. Furniture is tipped and askew, tatters of clothing lay across the floor here and there, and there’s just so. Many. Ashes. 

And of course, in the corner of the room stands Dabi, his arms folded across his chest as he hurls you a deathly glare. “Why would you do this?”

Wha….

“WHY WOULD YOU BREED THE SPAWN OF SATAN??”

Can you do Shoto, Bakugou, Tokoyami, Tomura and Dabi learning their s/o was born with a heart condition but it doesn't stop them from fighting (eg. I was born with an irregular heartbeat so I'm stuck with it for life and I always have to let the doctors know say I was to need to be asleep for something a special doctor 100% has to be in the room to make sure I don't die even if the work is something small and simple)

S/O Born with a Heart Condition (BNHA Headcanons)

*GIFs not mine*

A/N: This is my first attempt at headcanons, so they might be too small or too large (or too shitty), idk (I also haven’t watched bnha long enough to meet Dabi’s character so :/). Thank you so much for the request, and I truly hope you like it! I tried to make it as accurate as possible to what I could find online, so I hope it works for you. Enjoy!

Word count: 1494

Todoroki Shouto:

If Todoroki wasn’t attached before, he sure is now. 

This man doesn’t hesitate to cater to your every need, and always supports you when you want to do something out of your comfort zone. 

That doesn’t mean he ever leaves your side for more than 20 minutes at a time, though. 

He’s grown attached to you in a way he never thought he could, and hates to see you do something dangerous without his or a doctor’s supervision. 

If you want to work out or something, he’s hesitant at first, but allows you to do so with his constant warnings not to hurt yourself and take it easy. 

He’s always willing to cuddle and comfort you if your chest begins to hurt, and slowly spoons you while massaging your stomach. (His warm hand is a dream.)

You’re still growing used to having doctors watch you almost 24/7, and when you confess this to Todoroki, he hugs you tightly and whispers that he will only stay by your side when you feel up to it.

Of course you feel up to it. This man may have part-cold powers, but he’s still hot as hell. 

You always feel more comfortable with him in the room, and Todoroki is always glad to be around you, taking as much comfort in your presence as you do with him. 

Bakugou Katsuki: 

When Bakugou learned you had a heart condition, he wouldn’t let anyone near you, treating you like a glass doll. (He barely keeps it together when your doctors come around.)

Every time one of his friends would get a little too close, he would start to growl.

If someone bumped into you in the halls, you best believe he blows up on their ass, even if it’s one of his closest friends.

“WHAT WAS YOUR DUMBASS THINKING RUNNING INTO HER LIKE THAT?! I’M GONNA EXPLODE YOUR ASS INTO THE NEXT CENTURY!”

Ten more minutes pass of him screaming at that person, and at some point you have to poke him in the side to get his attention. After that, he goes Mama bear mode.

Yes, even Bakugou has that setting.

He grabs your shoulders with concern written all over his face. “What? Are you okay? Do you need a doctor or something? SOMEONE CALL THE NURS-”

You gotta smack him across the forehead just to get him to shut up. (It resets his brain a lil bit.)

Overall, even though his friends tease him about it, he’s still fiercely protective over you, and no one aside from him is allowed in your ten-foot radius personal bubble. 

You hated how he treated you like a baby, always grabbing your arms to stop them before he snatched the item off the top shelf for you, or any other acts that he does for you that piss you off so much.

Like a pit bull on a leash, he barked and snapped at anyone you passed on the street as his hand gripped your own tightly. 

He was your little guard dog, your furious, explosive protector, and although you often argued about how you could handle yourself, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Tokoyami Fumikage:

You already know this man perches in the corner of your room at night. 

Although he trusts your doctors, he still wants to make sure you’re okay while you sleep. 

There’s a desk in the corner of your room, and he just squats down on top of it like nobody’s business, keeping a watchful eye on your every move. 

The first time he did it, it kinda freaked you out.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You look like Batman-”

“Go to sleep.”

From then on, you let him just watch as you slept, used to having eyes on you as you do. 

Occasionally, Dark Shadow creeps out in your dim bedroom and pets your hair gently, with constant warning from Tokoyami to be careful around you. 

As your relationship grew stronger, you would find him sitting closer and closer to you every night. 

(He scared the shit out of you one day when you awoke to find him crouched on your nightstand.)

Then, one night you stirred to him cuddling you in your sleep. You asked him what he was doing once again.

“I keep watch much better from this vantage point.”

You always ran a hand through his feathers while Dark Shadow’s presence slowly curled around you, and rarely found yourself falling asleep just as easy without him after a certain point. 

Tokoyami watches you like a hawk, and always keeps you on your pills if you take them. He’s a dutiful boyfriend, who never hesitates in making you feel comfortable and loved, day or night. 

Shigaraki Tomura: 

HAND MAN, HAND MAN

Let’s be honest here. We’re talking about a villain. We all know this mf kidnapped you. 

He fell for you first, of course, and was initially confused by your constant doctor companions. He just didn’t like how close they got to be around you, when he had to stay so far away.

He overheard your condition, and by then he had loved you too much to let you suffer, so he snatched up a doctor to take care of you in the villain’s lair as well. 

After a year of patiently waiting, he finally wore you down enough to have you love him. 

By then, he didn’t even have to request you stay in his line of sight at all times. You did so willingly. 

Whenever you wanted to go outside and go shopping or whatnot, he always held your hand to do so. With your doctor near of course.

He just couldn’t risk losing you, no matter how much you whined that you would be fine. 

He’s just as hesitant to cuddle or touch you, but still craves hugs from time to time. Nighttime snuggles are a rare occurrence.

When they do happen, he’s a bit bitter they can’t lead on farther thanks to the unwanted audience in the room.

He definitely lays his head on your chest to listen to your heartbeat.

“Still tickin’!”

In the end, Shigaraki embraces your condition with stride, and does everything in his power to make sure you’re safe and alive.... In his home…. And in his bed ;)

Dabi: 

When Dabi learns you have a heart condition, he becomes ten times more alert around you. 

If you stub your toe, he’s by your side in an instant, shouting about how you have to be careful.

If you bake a cake, he watches over your shoulder to make sure you don’t hurt yourself with any kitchen utensils used. You know, like a whisk.

“What if your finger gets caught and you panic and die on me?!”

Fight me on this, but blue fire boy’s attitude would flip a 180. 

Out of all these guys, he’s the one who’s gonna watch over you the most, acting like a self-taught doctor. 

You can’t do anything without his approval. 

One time he came home to you accidentally taking a nap on the couch. 

… *sigh*

Yeah. Dabi flipped his shit. 

“DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE MY SIGHT EVER AGAIN YN!”

“I was just-”

“NO!”

You’re the only love in his life, and he doesn’t know what he would do if he lost you. 

(Two words. Fire. Rampage.)

Just… be careful. Dabi is the last guy you want to piss off. Of course, he could never be truly mad at you, but you sure know how to push his buttons. 

He, um, he typed up a list of things you could do without his supervision. 

It’s two bullet points long.

1. Go to the bathroom.

2. That’s it.

Dabi can’t remember a time he was as attached to someone as he is to you, so when you throw your fits about wanting to do something on your own, he listens just about as well as a student in an online class. 

“Mhm, sure.”

He just doesn’t wanna lose you, so from now on, try to stay away from doing just about anything until he’s around to witness it. 

aSiDe FrOm gOiNg tO tHe bAtHrOoM oF cOuRsE

─ SHE CAN GET IT

dabi x f!reader

you’ve gone to the tattoo and piercing parlor that sits between the two family-owned restaurants before, never for yourself but as support for friends. The man with jet black hair who does a majority of the work always makes small talk with you, encouraging you to stop by for yourself. Your curiosity is piqued, if they can do it why can’t you? It won’t hurt that bad, right? It’s not like his gaze alone lights a fire deep in your core.

tattoo-parlor au, no quirks, dom!dabi, needles, nipple play, piercing nipples, cock piercings, biting, vibrator, semi-public sex, masturbation, minor dacryphilia, overstimulation, teasing, squirting.

Keep reading

little bit of poison in me

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: okay FINALLY!! very loosely inspired by tag you’re it by melanie martinez!! uhh dabi’s a drug dealer, keigo’s in his third year of university and a track star, reader’s in her first year of university. please, please pay attention to the warnings below! if keigo’s your comfort character and you cannot handle him being physically abusive and a drug addict, then you might wanna sit this one out! promise he’ll be painted in a more sympathetic light in part two. | aaah dedicating this to @rat-suki​, because ur the only one who’s actually known the details of this fic since november, and because i put a lil something inspired by new moon in there for u ehehe <333 | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

warnings: 18+, noncon/dubcon, physical abuse, drug use & abuse + graphic depictions of addiction, mindbreak, overstimulation, manipulation, lowkey yandere vibes (which will get worse), daddy kink, a brother a lil too obsessed with his sister + questionably close sibling relationship, generally toxic relationships (possessiveness, jealousy), rough sex, semi-public sex, cumplay/cum feeding, minimal prep, degradation/dumbification, choking, kinda brat taming???

words: 14.8k

synopsis: 

“Do you wanna come home with Daddy, princess?”

He’s caging you between his body and the murky convenience store window as he asks, both palms pressed flat against the grimy glass.

No. You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t, can almost hear your brother’s voice in the back of your mind telling you not to. But you’re too enticed in sapphire to care, drawn into pretty, almost glittering blue fire, letting the flames lick your skin as you immerse yourself in it, deeper and deeper and deeper, and allowing it to wrap itself around you, to consume you, to knock the very breath out of you as you gaze into it.

“Okay,”

Keep reading

(I’m also a mid/chubster, don’t worry we look great, espy in stockings) Could write Dabi’s darling not being scared anymore but angry and fighting? And then Dabi puts a collar with a little bell on them and calls them his feisty little kitty and suddenly they are all quit, blush and stare at the floor and this is how he finds out the are heavily into petplay and become super docile/tamed with a collar on?

♡ My Kitty ♡

I loved writing this 💕 There’s slight sexual tension in this so be aware!!! Also a possible hint towards my next Dabi fic 👀👀 

“Stop it! Get off of m-me!” You try hopelessly to get Dabi off from on top of you. You’re failing. You can barely move. Dabi’s sitting on your hips, you can’t kick him. You try to push him away with your arms but he’s much stronger than you.

You can feel Dabi put some type of chocker on you. Clipping in on in the back. “See that wasn’t so hard, was it” Dabi says pulling on the chocker around your neck with what feels like a leash of some sort. Did he put a fucking collar on you? You can’t believe him!

You claw at the collar around your neck, half because you don’t want it on and half because you don’t want to admit to your kidnapper that you’ve always wanted to be on a leash. “You’re not gonna be able to get it off, princess” Dabi says, tying the long leash to the bed board.

“Don’t worry, baby, it’s long enough so you can move around the room. I just gotta make sure you don’t try to run away, again” Dabi emphasizes the ‘again’ part of his sentence. You only look down in embarrassment, moving your hands away from from the collar. The bell on it jingling as you do so.

The collar’s admittedly cute. It’s pink with a bow, hanging from the bow is a large silver bell. The collar looks like a large cat collar. “What? What’s with that face?” Dabi asks, you don’t answer, only looking at the ground with a pout on your face. “Answer me” Dabi says, slightly stricter tone in his voice. You shake your head stubbornly. Dabi slightly tugs on a part of the leash to get your attention.

You let out a sudden yelp at your neck being tugged on through the leash. “Aww, do you like this, babygirl?” Dabi coos, how could he tell! On second thought, Dabi knew everything about your behavior and the way you thought.

You think for a moment before hesitantly nodding at Dabi’s words. You can see Dabi’s face erupt into an ear to ear smile. He tugs on the leash once again, harder this time, causing you to fall forward onto him. Dabi only picks up your face, forcing a kiss onto you. You let out a yelp when his slightly bites your bottom lip.

“Where’d that fighting spirit go? If you like this, wait until the cat ears and tail arrive” You widen your eyes at Dabi’s teasing. He can’t be serious! Now that he knows you like this kind of stuff, he’s never going to let out out of this. “Maybe, I’ll even get my kitty a cage”