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starstruckkittensweets · 28 days

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chapter two

Fandom: My Hero Academia Pairing: Dabi x Reader Words: 5.6k

A/N: Anon in my inbox, this chapter is for you! I've had this in my drafts for a while now, so I cleaned it up and edited it so I could post it ASAP. I hope you enjoy! Please heed the warnings both below and in the main masterlist!

Warnings: 18+ only (minors DNI), Reader is referred to with she/her pronouns, explicit language, mentions of arson, mentions of violence, stalking, breaking and entering, Reader is followed and nearly attacked by a stranger (nothing happens, heavily implied though), murder, brief descriptions of a corpse (it's Dabi's fault), Dabi is kind of an asshole towards Reader in his descriptions of her but that's to be expected I guess

“Kerosene and Butterflies” Masterlist

Your house used to be an akiya, one of the many abandoned homes in the rural parts of Japan. Upon graduating and moving out, you were able to snag a nice one for an affordable price, with a few investments in repairs here and there. And while your family wasn’t a hundred percent on board with the idea of you living so far away from the rest of them, they didn’t really stop you because, well, it all came out of your pocket. Why stop something if you’re not the one footing the bill, right?

It’s quiet, calm, and comes with some gorgeous scenery, especially in the fall season. Only a fifteen-minute walk to the nearest town, seven if you power walk. It’s the dream house you’ve always envisioned yourself living in when you finally grew up and moved out of your parents’ home.

But now you’re starting to see the downsides of living in such a secluded home: far away from the rest of civilization, not a single soul in sight. A perfect location for any wandering criminals looking for an easy break-in.

You haven’t slept much these last few nights. The little note is in your desk drawer, stuffed between two books and covered up with a towel. Part of you wanted to throw it out, to stuff it down the shredder, to burn it and toss the ashes somewhere in the forest—but eventually you caved and decided to keep it. Maybe hand it over to the police as evidence if any more were left behind.

But it’s been the only one for about a week or so. And since then, you’ve triple checked each lock on every door and window in this house, even scoped out the entire place from outside to make sure there weren’t any crevices or secret entrances anyone could use against you. And just as a precaution, you keep your old softball bat right next to your bed, brushing your fingers over the handle every night before you go to sleep.

Not like it’ll do much against an attacker, you barely have any arm strength to begin with. Still, it gives you something to cling onto.

And now the moon is high in the sky, and you still have to get ready for work tomorrow. Part of you wonders if you should stay in a hotel for a couple nights in the city, but you decide against it. You have to save up for bills anyway, there’s not enough cash between weekly grocery shopping and student loans to splurge on a hotel getaway. Besides, it’s not like anyone can get into this house anymore; you’ve latched both locks on the front door and shoved a bookcase in front of the kitchen window. The curtains are shut and the lights are off. No one’s getting in here now.

You wish you could remember anything about that night—anything unusual, like missing items or unusual scents. But you’d been so tired from your shift that you’d thought nothing of it, completely oblivious until you found that little note tucked away in your notebook.

The little black notebook you’re cradling against your chest, an uncapped pen trembling between your fingers.

Someone was in your house. Someone had found this book—had leafed through it and read your little entries. All the embarrassing words and thoughts that plagued your mind in the dead of night, and sometimes during the day, about a certain black-haired villain. Someone who had left a taunting note about it, leaving you rattled for days on end.

Oh god, I can’t believe someone saw all those notes and entries—they must think I’m a total weirdo! I thought no one could find it and read it, that’s why I kept writing—but oh my god what’s going to happen now? What if they come back and try looking through it again? What if—

Calm down, it’s okay, what’s the worst that could happen? So what if they read all your embarrassing writing? It’s not like they’re going to go to the police and tell them you have the hots for a villain. You’re not gonna get arrested for something like that.

You grit your teeth at the thought. You do not have the hots for him.

Go figure, you’re more hung up over the fact that someone’s read what you’ve written in your little diary rather than them actually breaking into your own fucking house.

Maybe you really are screwed up in the head.

As quickly as you can, you change into your pajamas and finish your nightly routine. You tuck yourself into bed, surrounded by the trio of plushies next to your pillow. As sad as it sounds, they give you a sense of comfort you haven’t felt since before you left home to come live here.

Maybe it was just a one-time thing. Maybe it was just some lowlife who thought he could scare you. Maybe he’s far away from this place by now, looking for another house to break into. Besides, it’s not like he took much, right? He’s probably traveling light in order not to get caught. He’s not gonna come back anytime soon.

It’s true, only a few snacks and candy bars from the counter were taken that night. You realized the next morning, after staying up the entire night holding the note in your hands. Not enough to put a dent in your food supply for the week, but enough for you to notice its absence.

If it happens again, you could always contact the police. Maybe they could get a hero or two to patrol the area, to make sure he’s really gone. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Sure enough, the thought’s enough to send you to sleep, with a hand curled around the handle of the softball bat, and another wrapped around the little stuffed toys on your bed.

“I have some terrible news…the pocky I was planning on sending you mysteriously disappeared.”

“Shocker.” The sound of Fay’s laughter crackles over the phone’s speaker. Part of you wants to laugh along with her, but the growing pit in your stomach tells you it’s not a good idea just yet. “Did your brother come over and steal it again?”

“No…actually, his is gone, too.”

“Wait, seriously? What happened to it? Because I know you suddenly didn’t get a craving for pocky in the middle of the night.”

You shrug your shoulders, even though you know she can’t see you. Even if she’s miles away overseas, just talking to her again makes you feel a little bit safer. Like nothing can hurt you if she’s on the phone with you.

No scary people lurking outside your home tonight.

“I…I think someone broke in and stole it.”

“What?!” It’s hard not to flinch at her shrill yelp. Why did you put her on speakerphone again? “Someone broke into your house?! Are you okay? They didn’t take anything valuable, did they? No money or electronics? You still have all your personal stuff, right?”

“Yeah, Fay, don’t worry about it. Everything’s in order. Looks like they just helped themselves to that stash of candy I was saving for you guys. But…that’s all they took.”

Fuck, even when you say it out loud it sounds ridiculous. What kind of thief breaks into someone’s secluded house just to steal a fistful of candy? Not a very smart one, if they ignored the whole gaming system you have set up in the living room. You could easily make a few hundred bucks off of that…so why didn’t they think to take it when they had the chance?

Fay hums on the other end of the line; you can just picture her tapping her finger against her chin, lost in thought as she stares into space. “…That’s weird. And you’re sure they didn’t take anything else?”

“Positive.” You checked each room twice, then triple checked them just to be safe. Everything’s in order, aside from the supply of candy in the kitchen. “But…it happened about a week ago. Nothing else since then, so…I’m guessing that’s a good sign?”

“Well, did you call the police at least? Or put in a report? Maybe you can have a couple heroes scope out the place if you’re nervous.”

“Yeah, I thought about that too… If it happens again I’ll let them know. But honestly I think it was just a one-time thing. It’s been pretty quiet since it happened, anyway.”

You don’t even bother telling her about the note; you know if you do, she’ll be screaming in your ear about how dangerous it is over here, that you should just move back home to be with the rest of your family and friends. Safe and sound, where they can keep a close eye on you.

Not like there aren’t villains and lowlife criminals where she lives, but still… You can kinda see her point. Nothing like this had ever happened back when you lived with your family.

Besides, telling her about the note will only lead to telling her about the journal—about Dabi, and you’re never going to go there with her. You trust each other with a lot, but this is a secret you’re willing to take to your grave.

Nice way of putting it, but whatever.

Can you even imagine how fucking awkward that would be? Yeah, I ran into one of Japan’s most wanted villains at my job and now I’m fucking obsessed with him. I can’t stop thinking about him and honestly he’s the reason I started writing in that old journal again. Oh, and whoever broke into my house also found that journal and read through all those stupid little entries I wrote about him. And they left me a little note taunting me about it. Fucking amazing, right?

She already knows you’re weird, but admitting something like that to her would guarantee her checking you into some kind of hospital. Or back home with your family. Honestly at this point, you don’t know which one would be worse.

Thankfully she drops the subject; you can tell the time difference is getting to her (it’s almost her bedtime, and the day’s just beginning for me). But talking with her always puts you in a good mood, and when you say your goodbyes and hang up, your chest already feels a thousand times lighter. If you have one regret upon moving overseas, it’s not being able to bring Fay along for the ride.

But now the house is quieter without her voice echoing through the rooms. Today’s housecleaning day, and thankfully it’s nice enough outside to have the windows open. The fresh air always makes you feel better. And besides, it’s broad daylight—what kind of thief would try to break in now?

So you change into an old shirt and pair of shorts, push open the windows, and set to work. First comes the laundry—you’re lucky enough to have a working washing machine and dryer in the powder room downstairs. Once the first load of clothes is shoved into the washer, you head upstairs with a bucket of rags in one hand and a mop in another.

The first casualty is your bedroom; you’ll work your way downstairs and clean as much as you can, until the smell of lemon makes your stomach twist.

The hours tick by slowly, and eventually you lose yourself in your housework, humming along to the thousands of songs on shuffle blasting through your headphones. Sweep the floor, mop the floor, polish the windows—oh, don’t forget to switch the laundry. One load down, two more to go.

And it’s…nice. Not that you enjoy doing housework, but it’s almost relaxing to keep your hands busy with something else for a change. Keeps your mind off other things, lets you focus on the gorgeous weather outside and the fact that it’s you day off from work. Sometimes it’s nice to just enjoy the simple things like that.

Don’t even mention the events of last week. All that’s over with now, gone with the wind. And thank goodness for that.

The sun is nearly gone by the time you finish, and you’re fucking exhausted. But at least the laundry’s done and folded, the upstairs is spotless (save for the storage room, that’s a project for another day), and the entire house has a faint lemon scent to it. Not overpowering, but just enough to remind you of home.

Still, even with how tired you are, the last thing you wanna do is dirty up the kitchen and make yourself some dinner. Maybe you should treat yourself to that cute little ramen shop in town…

The more you think about it, the more enticing the idea sounds. Your stomach is already growling, but you manage to change into a fresh pair of clothes and fix up your hair a bit before heading out the door. Heavy lanyard hanging from your wrist as you lock up and head into town.

Just a quick bite to eat, and then it’s bedtime. In and out, twenty minutes’ adventure. What could go wrong?

He didn’t expect to see her out and about this early in the day.

Granted it’s nearly half past nine, a dark veil over the streets of the city. But it still makes Dabi stop in his tracks, huddle further into the alleyway when he sees her sitting at the counter of a ramen shop. Eagerly slurping up noodles from the bowl in front of her, scrolling aimlessly through her phone. Completely unaware of her surroundings.

As per usual, the little idiot.

Well, he can’t be too mean to her; she has been a bit skittish the last week or so. Probably found his note in that little book of hers, and now she’s more careful about wandering too far from her little house in the woods. She hasn’t left it much other than to go to work, and unknown to her, he’s only a few steps away from that downtrodden path. Making sure she gets home safe.

At least, that’s what a hero would think, and he’s the furthest thing from one. Nah, he just doesn’t want anything to happen to that little stash of food she’s got in the kitchen. Thanks to her generosity the League was able to fill their bellies for a few nights. Only downside is that Toga is consistently begging him to get more of those candy bars, maybe even some more pocky. She seemed to like that the most.

He’s just thankful she hasn’t decided to follow him out here. No telling what the little psycho will do if she sees the cute owner of that tiny house.

…Cute?

He grimaces at the word. Not even close. Just fascinating to him. He wants to know what’s going on in that stupid little head of hers—how much of it is filled with air and empty space if she has the balls to go and write little love letters to a villain like him.

He’s been to her house three times since then; two for recon (making sure no one else is scoping out the area), and one to explore that huge master bedroom of hers. She’d been at work, not scheduled to come home until hours later, so he made himself comfy at her desk and flipped through her little journal.

She’s got a bad habit of writing about him. Not any other villains, not even any heroes. The only name scrawled down in those pages is Dabi.

He hadn’t seen her up close since that first night at the store; and now she’s just ten feet away from him, chowing down on some ramen like she hasn’t eaten all week.

Bet she’s eaten more than any of us have, if her loaded kitchen’s anything to go by. The thought makes his stomach twist and his fists tighten at his sides.

But he has to keep his distance—for now, at least. Don’t wanna scare her off just yet.

Dabi pulls his hood up and over his head, careful not to make any sudden noise from the alleyway. She’s sitting there with two other guys, all three of them too engrossed in their meals to pay attention to each other. Looks like she won’t be leaving anytime soon, so he might as well get comfy.

Not like he has much to do tonight anyways. He’s been hanging out here since the sun went down, waiting for a possible new addition to the League. But he hasn’t shown his face yet, and Dabi’s waited long enough. Can’t waste time on nobodies not committed to the cause.

Of course now he’s got a reason to stick around a bit longer—one that’s slurping up noodles so loud he’s surprised she hasn’t woken the entire neighborhood.

He lights a cigarette, careful to shield the spark of blue from any prying eyes. Only a few people roam the streets this late at night, eager to get home and tuck themselves in bed for the night. A tipsy couple getting a little too handsy on their way to their hotel room. A group of teens chattering away like they’re the only ones in the world. Far too many businessmen checking their watches, probably planning on apologizing to their wives for not making it home on time.

All of them walk by him, too lost in their own troubles to notice a villain lurking a little too close to the streets. Guess nothing’s unusual about a guy leaning in an alleyway for a quick smoke.

He glances back up at the girl, just in time to see her finish off the bowl of ramen. She bids farewell to the owner, and from the smiles they give each other, it’s safe to say they have a bit of history together. He barely has time to sneak further into the shadows of the alleyway before she’s walking past him, that damn lanyard nearly hitting him in the knee.

She’s on the move now. He stomps out his cigarette and shoves his hands in his pockets. Wonder where she’ll head off to next?

She doesn’t veer off towards the path that’ll take her home. Instead she keeps walking aimlessly through the streets, drinking in the bright lights of the city, not even caring if someone nearly walks right into her. It’s getting harder to stick to the shadows, but at least the people around us give him enough cover. She hasn’t seemed to notice him following her.

Not yet, at least. And when she does…

It’s hard not to smile at the thought.

She’s lost in her own little world, admiring the sights like a fucking tourist. Like she doesn’t live in this damn city—oh that’s right, she doesn’t. She’s living out in those woods, secluded and tucked away in the shadows. Part of him wonders if she hates it, living on her own like that. If she was forced to or had nowhere else to go but an old cottage with a sunken roof and a coat of moss.

Must be so lonely in that big house, with no one to keep you company.

Eh, not that it matters to me anyway. She’s just a way to pass the time. To keep his hands busy until he gets bored of her. Or she gets bored of him.

Wonder if she’s written any love notes for me lately?

Suddenly she bumps into a random person in the crowd ahead; she shakes her head and offers an awkward smile, a thousand apologies spilling from her pretty lips. And then she’s off again, lost in the sea of city folk.

The man doesn’t move, frozen still on the edge of the sidewalk. The bastard’s a bit grimy, with an unkempt beard and bloodshot eyes. Apparently someone doesn’t care a whole lot about appearances.

Not that Dabi has much room to talk, looking like the patchwork freak he is.

But then the stranger glances over his shoulder, eyes searching deep into the crowd…and something stirs in the pit of Dabi’s chest. Something hot and sharp that sends alarm bells ringing through his head.

What the fuck is his problem?

The man’s shoulders stiffen, jaw clenching tightly—and suddenly he’s walking straight into the crowd, his eyes trained on her back.

And she’s none the wiser, poor, stupid little girl.

Dabi doesn't know what kicks him into gear; what has his feet moving on their own, every step sending a jolt of adrenaline rushing through his body. Once or twice he actually shoves someone out of the way, earning a couple dirty looks—or averted eyes, if they’re smart. But he doesn’t pay them any mind; all he can think about is getting to her before he does.

What the fuck has gotten into him? Since when does her safety and well-being concern him?

He should turn around. Pretend he didn’t see anything and walk the fuck away. Maybe head back to the shitty excuse the League calls a base, it’s a pretty boring night anyway.

Turn around. She’s not worth it.

Not worth it, not fucking worth it.

Like he hasn’t heard those words before.

She’s blissfully unaware of the audience she has, as she follows the familiar path towards the forest that’ll take her home. The stranger is close behind, footsteps too loud and clumsy. She’ll know she’s being followed the minute he hits the dirt.

Dabi has to be quick. While she’s occupied with heading home, he picks up the pace and meets the stranger halfway. Curling one arm around his shoulders, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle his screams, as he yanks him into the nearest alley. His other hand lifts up to the stranger’s face, a spark of blue coming to life at his fingertips.

“Not really in the mood to play tonight,” his voice drawls out, making sure to keep his back turned to the forest, “so if you start running now I promise not to hunt you down.”

He’s not worth his time; just some lowly trash who thought he could score big tonight. And Dabi can see it in his face, with the way he glares up at him, stringy hair hanging in his face, mouth curled into a sneer…

Wait, is he smiling at me?

“Didn’t think you were following me,” he sputters out once he moves his scarred hand from his face. “I thought you wanted to meet up near that ramen place?”

Dabi’s hand freezes in the air. This is the guy he’s been waiting for? He shoves him to his feet, stuffing his hands in his pocket.

“You’re late.”

“Yeah, sorry about that.” The man runs a hand through his greasy hair; Dabi barely manages to hide his grimace. “Something came up, and then I ran into…”

His gaze darts towards the trees, his tongue dragging along his lips. Dabi takes a step forward, the sound of his heavy boots echoing through the alley. The man clears his throat before meeting his eyes once more. Credit to him, he doesn’t flinch away when he sees Dabi’s face head-on.

Probably can’t see the severity of his scars in this light.

“Hey, you didn’t happen to see a girl come by this way, did you?”

“Stay away from her.”

The man’s face falls, and Dabi swears he can see his body tremble just a bit. “Oh, is she yours? Lucky man! Gotta say, pretty little thing like that shouldn’t be walking around in the dark… Quite a few dangerous fuckers out there wouldn’t mind getting their hands on a woman like that.”

Dabi can feel his blood boiling with every word that leaves the man’s lips. It’s not like he hasn’t come across men like this before; he has, and every single time they’ve left him with a twisting stomach and a burning throat. Eager to hunt down the weak, to prey on them till there’s nothing left—but when they’re confronted about it, they turn the other cheek and play that sweet innocent smile. Quite a few heroes do it to keep order in the public eye, so it’s no surprise a common citizen would stoop so low to save their skin.

But it’s the way he keeps staring at the trees, like he’s hoping she comes back out into the dim streetlight, that makes Dabi’s hands curl into fists inside his pockets. Call it a gut feeling, but something tells him he’s not worthy enough of being admitted into the League. Like hell is this bastard going anywhere near Toga if that’s how he looks at a girl.

Breaks my fucking heart.

But he can’t kill him yet. Gotta give him a chance to prove himself before anything else happens. Something about false hope, makes it a little more fun in the end. Even though he already knows the verdict on the matter.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

The sound of glass shattering jolts you out of your slumber. Your eyes snap open, your heart lurches in your throat—and when you hear the creak of the stairs, you almost scream right then and there.

Almost.

You have barely a minute to think. Mind still frazzled with sleep, fingers still numb and head splitting with a throbbing ache. You completely forget the bat resting beside your bed and drop to your knees. Thank god you never put anything under here.

You crawl underneath the bed and slap both hands over your mouth. Your phone is resting on the bedside table, you didn’t even think to grab it. All you can think about are the impending footsteps—and the fact they come to a stop right outside your door.

Oh my fucking god, why didn’t I ever put a proper bed skirt in when I moved in here?! At least then I could be better hidden, anyone can see me if they’re looking hard enough! It’s so dark in here, but I’m almost positive anyone can see me—

Someone raps their knuckles on the door. It takes every bit of strength in your body not to squeak at the noise.

They’re outside. Oh god, they’re right outside the fucking door, shit—

Another knock. You squeeze your eyes shut, teeth sinking into the skin of your palm.

Then, silence.

You don’t know how much time passes. Seconds, hours, it all blends together. Your face hurts from being scrunched up for so long, but the minute you relax your muscles you think you hear a noise—and you clench your eyes shut all over again.

There’s someone in my house. They must’ve broke through one of the windows downstairs, but how? I thought I had them all blocked off and shut!

Is it the same person who came to my house before? The same one that left me a note? Or is it someone completely different?

What’s stopping them from busting down the door and killing me right here and now? Why are they just standing out there like a fucking creep?

Eventually, the footsteps can be heard again. But there’s a creak on the staircase, a telltale sign the intruder’s retreating for now. Something heavy falls somewhere downstairs, probably one of the bookcases against the windows, the sound rumbling throughout the entire house. Your nails sink into the skin of your cheeks; part of you wonders if the intruder is tearing up your home in hopes you’ll come out to investigate the noise.

No fucking way. Your ass is staying right here, glued to the floor beneath this bed.

But then it suddenly stops, and it’s quiet again. Only for a moment, before you hear the sound of glass being kicked around, of the door downstairs opening with a harsh swing.

You don’t find the courage to breathe until you hear the door shut with a heavy slam, the walls rattling all around you.

Still, you wait a few more minutes before moving from your spot. As quietly as possible, wincing every time the floorboards squeak beneath your weight. Keeping your eyes on the door ahead, you reach up and feel around the bedside table for your phone—finally finding it and glancing at the time.

Four thirty-six in the morning. Half an hour before sunrise.

I think I’m going to be sick.

So you wait it out. Hunched beneath your bed with your phone in one hand and your bat in the other. Until sunlight streams through the curtains, bathing the room in a warm orange glow. Only then do you swallow your fear and open the door with a trembling hand.

There’s…nothing outside in the hallway. Just the usual wooden floor you’ve come to know over the last couple of years. The same one that’s always a pain to wash on housecleaning day.

The sun is your best friend, filling the house with a gorgeous golden aura. Shining through every window, nearly blinding you as you slowly make your way down the stairs. You don’t know what sick part of your brain makes you think you’re safe in the sunlight; for all you know, the intruder is still lurking outside your home, waiting for you to let your guard down.

Maybe it’s the same part of your brain that thinks you’re okay as long as you have the covers pulled up over your head at night. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

At first glance, the entire downstairs seems normal. The front door remains shut, like it was never opened in the first place. The bookshelf is still in front of the large window in the kitchen where you left it. It’s the one in the living room that’s been shattered completely, shards of glass sprinkled on the floor, glimmering in the morning sun. A soft breeze flutters through the living room; you wrap your arms around yourself and turn away, already thinking about how much it’ll cost to get that fixed.

And then you see it—resting right there on the kitchen table, in the midst of all your shopping lists, bill payments, and letters to your family and friends back home.

A single rose with gorgeous red petals, its stem plucked of any dangerous thorns. Something that definitely wasn’t there last night when you went to bed.

Your hand is trembling as you reach out to grab it. There’s nothing else, just a lone flower with blood red petals—and the lingering scent of smoke and ash.

But something else on the table catches your eye. A piece of crumpled paper, clearly ripped from the notepad you keep on the kitchen counter for lists and reminders throughout the day. You’re shaking so hard you can barely get a grip on it, nearly tearing it in half when you try to open it up.

Sorry about the mess out back, doll. He won’t be bothering you anytime soon. Hope you can forgive me if I scared you.

You know it the second you see it: the handwriting is the same exact kind as the note from your journal. The same messy scrawl, the same swirl on the tail of the y, the same pet name doll.

Doll, doll—shit, it’s the same guy from before!

Wait a minute…what does he mean, ‘the mess out back’?

The longer you stay there, the stronger the scent of smoke gets. At first it was just a whiff, but now it’s hitting you square in the face, so strong you have to lift your sleeve over your nose.

Where is it coming from?

But you know the answer even before your feet begin to move. As slowly as you can, you start to walk towards the broken window. Trying to ignore the churn in your stomach as the smell of smoke gets stronger and stronger.

The early morning sun spills over the trees, creeping up the deck that stretches around the perimeter of the house. Broken glass glitters across the floor, twinkling like diamonds; your hands are trembling as you reach the railing of the deck, leaning over to peek around the corner—

The smell hits you almost instantly, even before your eyes land on it. Something large and charred and smoking horribly, reminding you of all the barbeque picnics your family would have over the summer. But it’s a gruesome smell, far too pungent to be a piece of food or part of a tree.

And too fucking big to be an animal.

Fuck, fuck, fuck it’s a human, it’s gotta be a human, holy fucking shit is that someone’s corpse out there on my lawn—

Someone screams in the distance—no, that’s just you, and you realize a little too late as you slap both hands over your mouth. You can’t tear your eyes away from the scene—your eyes nearly popping out of your skull when you make out a few bits of ragged fabric and the shape of a hand, scorched down to the bone.

The rose falls to the floor as you bolt back up the stairs, nearly tripping over your own feet at least twice, and slamming your bedroom door shut behind you. Locking it tight and crawling back into bed, throwing as many blankets over your head as you can. Keeping your bat close and holding your phone against your chest.

It takes a solid five minutes before you can punch in any numbers, your voice dying in your throat with every word you speak.

It’s okay, the police are on their way. Maybe they’ll bring a hero or two to help them out—it’s alright, everything will be fine once they show up.

Your head is spinning like crazy (it’s too early in the morning for this shit). The break-in, the corpse, the note, the rose—what the fuck does it all mean? Somehow it’s all connected, there’s no fucking way all of this could be just a series of coincidences, but you know you’re still missing the bigger picture.

Who’s following you around, leaving you little notes and shit, and why did they leave a burning corpse outside your door like that? Hard to believe it, but you’re actually looking forward to going to work tonight. Anything to get you out of this house for a bit.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #kerosene and butterflies #tw: stalking #restricted fics

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