#Dabi's burns | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gardenofnoah · 1 year

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i’m coming up on a year of having this blog and i thought i’d do something with this drabble that i can’t stop thinking about so. yeah! thanks for reading my little stories and saying such nice things to me for a whole year <3 love u

summary: in his 40s, touya isn’t expecting anything outside of his normal, comfortable routine. you come along and give him far more than he ever wanted. oddly enough, he doesn’t think he minds.

tags: MDNI, i’ll call this a medium burn, mentions of drinking, reader uses she/her pronouns and is called a lady,etc, age gap (unspecified but like 10 years--both are consenting adults), very little angst (like, the least i’ve ever written. this is just cute, if you can believe that.), smut (dry humping, oral), this is very much a comfort fic to me idk. wc: 10.1k

much to his utter disdain, Touya sees you everywhere after your first encounter. and often.

you have this awful habit of just popping up. in the stool next to him at the bar, with such regularity that his friends now joke about it being your stool, and then around town—everywhere he goes. it’s a small town, sure—but he still finds it ridiculous. even more ridiculous—the fact that you might be growing on him, despite all his resistance.

he doesn’t know when he started expecting you to hop up on that stool every friday. has no idea when he memorized your drink order, or when he started ordering it for you preemptively. this goes on every friday for weeks—until you don’t show up.

and he’s irritated then, because it makes him sore—where else could you possibly be?

“where’s your girl?”

“don’t know,” he mutters. he catches the smirk on his friend’s face out of the corner of his eye. “and she’s not my fuckin’ girl.”

that makes him laugh, and Touya turns away in a huff, face burning.

“sure she’s not.”

it’s another two weeks before he sees you. not that he was counting.

when he sees you again, it’s a tuesday, and he’s just wrapped up at his neighbor’s house. he carries two loaves of bread in one arm, and his toolbox in the other. the old woman had chased him out of there early, telling him, “it’s a nice night. go out there and find you someone!”. he snorts, kicking a bit of asphalt down the pavement. that old bat acts worse than his mother.

there are a few vendors lined up along the road, so he lets himself take his time—strolling casually, eyes raking over the stalls. it is a nice evening—warm, but the breeze is cool as it rustles through his hair. he sees a white tip from the corner of his eye and it almost startles him. it doesn’t matter how much distance he puts between himself and Dabi—it still surprises him when he realizes that he is not the same. physically or otherwise.

lost in his thoughts, he finds himself nearly home when he sees you in his peripheral, taking something from the merchant of the produce stall across the street. he has half a mind to turn and walk the opposite way (away from his house) just to avoid this interaction—still wholly irritated over wasting the $7 on your stupid little drink, and that’s all—but you seem to have a weird sixth sense when it comes to him, and your head snaps up in his direction right before he can make a break for it. you give him that stupid smile that he has to look away from, waving at him happily before you take off in his direction.

he considers if he still has time to flee, but then you’re there in front of him.

“Touya!” you beam up at him, totally ignoring the scowl he levels you with, “what are you doing here?”

“i live here,” he grumbles, looking away from you again, “what are you doing here?”

“ah, i visit my family on tuesdays. whatcha got there?”

he pointedly looks down at the bread in his arms, and back up at you. you’re looking at it a little too intensely, eyebrows scrunched together like you’re trying to figure something out—and then the moment’s gone, and you’re smiling up at him again.

“want to share?” you ask, holding up your bag of produce to him.

he doesn’t, but he finds himself next to you anyway, sitting on a retaining wall while you chatter away—kicking your feet out and handing him slices of an orange between your own bites.

he learns more about you. early 30s (so not as young as he’d guessed, but still young enough to make him cringe), living alone like he is. you grew up in town, moved away for a while, and then came back. you don’t really like sweets but you do like fruit—hence the overflowing tote bag full of it—and you’re more inclined to reach for tea than coffee. you own the little flower shop a few blocks down. he thinks it suits you—and then he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the thought.

“i’m having an issue with the floor though, so part of the shop has been blocked off for a few weeks. not great for the foot traffic, but what can you do,” you shrug absentmindedly, more focused on digging another piece of fruit out of your bag. you settle on a peach, and it’s quiet between you for a beat. as if waiting for the silence, the thought that he’d been holding back for the better part of an hour finds its way out of his mouth.

“haven’t seen you at the bar,” he mutters, picking a stringy bit of peel off the orange piece he’s been holding.

“huh? oh, yeah. i had a wedding order that i was working on. it was so….much,” you shudder like you went off to war instead. “why, did you miss me?”

he looks away, eyes narrowed in a scowl. “just was a waste of a drink, s’all.”

he regrets it as soon as it leaves his mouth.

“a drink? my—oh. wait.”

your eyes go wide—he should’ve known you’d catch on to the meaning behind his words and he wants to die—

“forget it—“

“Touya,” you cut him off, and he can hear your shit eating grin, “were you hoping to see me?”

he’s sure he’s gone bright red and resists the urge to recede into himself like a snail into a shell. now he’s irritated, because did you think your drink just magically appeared in front of you every friday? he can feel the smugness radiating off of you—you want him to say it. he huffs, still looking away from you.

“just…was a waste of money,” he grits out, knowing fully that he hasn’t worried about money in quite some time, “figured you’d be there.”

you hum, and he still can’t look at you. refuses to, actually.

“sorry, Touya,” you tell him, and it sounds so genuine that he finds himself turning to you, just to check—to make sure you’re not fucking with him. “i’ll be sure to let you know the next time i won't be there.”

he rolls his eyes at the way you’re smiling softly at him, always like you know something he doesn’t. he mumbles out a clipped “whatever” and he hates the way he sounds like he did when he was 23. you don’t pay it any mind though, right back to talking his ear off.

“so do you live, like, really alone? or do you have a pet? you strike me as a gerbil guy.”

he huffs out a laugh at that, caught wholly off guard at the thought of being the gerbil guy (have you seen him?) and you smile at the sound, clearly pleased with yourself.

“no gerbil. a dog,” he finally takes a bite of the orange he’s been cradling in his palm for the better half of the last 20 minutes. your eyes don’t leave him.

“mm. chihuahua,” you say solemnly, and he whips his head around to look at you, expression all twisted and incredulous.

“a big fuckin’ dog, you brat.”

you laugh at his outburst, seeming to get some sort of pleasure out of riling him up.

“can i meet him?”

he looks at you then, and you’re really laying it on thick—wide eyes blinking up at him, bottom lip jutted out in a little pout. he can’t find it in himself to say no to you. with a sigh, he pushes himself up from the wall.

“c’mon then.”

it’s a short walk to his place and you’re vibrating behind him. shoving his key into the lock, he hears the familiar thumping of a tail, at about the same frequency as your incessant excitement at his back—he wonders just what he’s done to attract this level of energy.

“wait a minute—he’s going to jump at you—“

“oh, who cares. let me see him!”

he shakes his head, swinging open the door. he sees his big oaf of a dog rear up to jump, and then—

and then his jaw drops, because for what may very well be the first time, his dog is suddenly sitting.

you squeal and the dog isn’t much better off—practically wiggling away from his spot on the floor and whining at the sight of you, but still sitting.

“Touya!” you laugh, shoving past him to throw your arms around the dog’s neck, squeezing him tightly, “i know this dog!”

“you—huh?”

“i—“ your own laugh cuts you off, giggling while the dog fights your grip to lick you directly on the face, “i know him! did you get him at the shelter in town?”

“…yeah?”

“oh man! i used to volunteer—i was there when he was dropped off. i was with him all the time—taught him some manners—but then i took that job out of town for a little bit, so i didn’t get to see him after that.”

Touya, still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his dog is sitting, can’t bring himself to formulate a coherent reply.

“oh, i was so worried about him,” you say quietly, hugging the dog tighter, “i’m really glad you have him. what did you name him?”

that snaps him out of it, and he looks away, sheepish.

“i—uh. didn’t.”

you blink at him, processing, and then you frown.

“are you kidding me?”

he shrugs, looking at the dog— who, also for the first time, seems to be glaring at him with the same sentiment.

you sigh, shaking your head. “that won’t do,” you mutter, more to the dog than to him. “i think i called him Buck.”

as if on cue, Buck’s tail thumps against the floor.

“why?”

“not sure,” you say, scratching behind a fuzzy ear, “he just reminded me a little bit of a deer.”

Touya scoffs, completely in the dark as to how the two were even remotely similar.

“alright. Buck it is, then.”

you smile, patting the dog on the head as if he’d done anything worth rewarding. with a sigh you get to your feet, stretching a bit.

“i really do have to go see my family now,” you tell him, and he swears he hears a tiny bit of regret in your voice, “but thanks for letting me see Buck.”

he only nods, watching you bend down to kiss Buck square on his stupid blockhead.

“see you Friday?”

he swallows thickly, nodding again. your eyes are too bright.

“okay. see you, Touya.”

“hey,” he stops himself from reaching for you as you go to open the door, “i can…look at that floor for you. if y’want.”

every time he thinks he’s used to the way you just throw your emotions around like live grenades, he’s not—you smile at him so brightly he thinks you might just kill him.

you have a hunch that Touya is secretly a really good guy.

it’s almost endearing—how hard he tries to be so prickly—but it’s always all for naught, because he can’t help but go out of his way to do things for you.

you don’t know what to call the relationship—you gathered enough information from hushed whispers to his friends anytime he left his stool at the bar to know that he pointedly did not seek out the affections of women (“or men,” one of his friends said with a shrug, like they weren’t really sure). you weren’t clear on where that left you, so you were content to keep learning what you could about him—to stick around, as long as he tolerated you.

and he just barely does that, but you have a hunch it’s a farce. especially when take out cups full of freshly steeped tea start appearing on your counter in the shop, more days than not.

you lean against the wood top, sipping today's tea with both hands to warm yourself while you watch Touya work. autumn was in full swing now, and you had some difficulty keeping the shop to your preferred level of warmth, but it didn’t seem to bother him. your eyes linger on the hem of his old t-shirt, rising up in the back just a little when he reached for a different tool. it was obvious that time had softened him a bit, but he was still in shape. your vision followed the faded, looping scar that moved with the curl of his bicep as he worked each tool. it was hard not to stare.

it was even harder to get away with it.

“you’ll burn a hole in my head, brat.”

“just checking your work,” you tell him through a grin. trying very hard to feign nonchalance.

“oh yeah?” Touya looks at you over his shoulder, smirking at you. you feel it bodily. “what’s the verdict?”

“looks….” you pause, examining the array of tools and the sizable hole he’s created in the floor, “yeah. yep. like good work.”

he scoffs, shaking his head and turning back to the task at hand. you resist the urge to slam your head off the counter—settling for tapping in lightly as reprimand for your less than intelligent response.

you decide that the best way to get the embarrassment to dissipate is to do the thing that is quickly becoming your favorite activity: bothering him.

“pick a color.”

“what?”

“i said pick a color, grandpa.”

the sigh he lets out makes you laugh. “you fuckin’—fine. red. what’re you doing?”

you smile at him, and you watch him flush. it makes you giddy.

“nothing,” you drawl, sing-songy and incriminating, “don’t you worry your little heart about it.”

“you are the worry to my little heart,” he deadpans, not bothering to look up from the measurement he’s taking.

another thing you learn about Touya—he’s got a bit of a (dry) sense of humor. he seems to enjoy making you laugh.

there’s a lull in customers and you use it to your advantage—you go around to every bucket to ensure that each cut stem is submerged, and take out the wilted ones to dry. you don’t sell those ones—you just hang them up around the shop. you think it’s better not to waste them.

you also pull out some good looking red ones, as inconspicuous as you can—you gather a tulip, a few poppies, a peony, and a big, variegated chrysanthemum for the center.

you hold the makeshift bouquet behind your back as you approach Touya—padding over to him quietly until you’re close enough to lean into his space.

“whatcha thinking about?”

he spares you a pointed glance over his shoulder. “pest control.”

“har har,” you plop down right next to him, grinning at the way he bristles. of course it’s all for show—he doesn’t move an inch.

“made you something.”

“hm?”

you bring the bouquet out from behind your back, brandishing it in front of him dramatically. “tada!”

his eyes go wide—you see it take a minute for him to process that you’re giving him a gift. he sets his tools down and reaches for it, tentatively, like you’re going to fake him out at the last second. you meet him halfway, setting it in his hands.

“well?” you ask after a minute, “what do you think? i do pretty well, right?”

he’s quiet—turning the flowers over and back again, like he’s committing all of the little petals to memory. “what are they?”

you tell him about each flower—where they grow naturally, what conditions they like to live in, how to take care of them. he listens intently, never looking away from them.

“you don’t have to keep them,” you tell him after another moment of silence, “it was just a silly thing.”

“no,” he says, firmly. he looks at you out of the corner of his eye and lets out a breath, looking back down at the flowers. “s’nice. thanks.”

you have to physically stop yourself from jumping up and cheering.

“you’re welcome, old man,” you murmur, nudging his shoulder with your own.

he groans, grumbling a lighthearted “get away from me” as he shoves you back playfully. you let out some sort of dramatic squeal as you topple over, and you don’t miss the tiny smile that stretches across his face as he sets the flowers down next to him and gets back to work.

customers come in and out throughout the afternoon—most not paying any mind to Touya as he works. there are a few customers that eye him hesitantly—and there are one or two that stare pointedly at the scars that split his face. it feels like second nature to drop the customer service persona then—and to do things like drop their change on the counter and revel in the way they scramble to catch it before it rolls off onto the floor.

“have the best day,” you say to one particularly rude customer, all but shooing her out of the door.

Touya huffs out a laugh when you walk back toward him. “didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

you cock an eyebrow at him. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“surprised you didn’t kick out her kneecaps on the way out.”

“yeah, well,” you huff, waving a hand at the thought of someone so dreadfully rude, “she would’ve deserved it.”

“why’s that?”

you meet his eyes, then, and for the first time since you met him you think about the fact that they’ve seen terrible things. you knew of Touya, of course—all of Japan did. you knew he’d been through something awful and did things that you couldn’t imagine the man in front of you doing now. you know that he would not be surprised if you told him the reason why you felt she deserved it. you wonder if it bothers him the way it bothers you, or if time has hardened him to his own mistreatment.

“don’t worry about it,” you tell him, walking back behind the counter.

you haven’t seen much of Touya for the last few weeks.

you’d gotten another big order—what would probably be one of the last before winter really set in— so you were busy. he’d stop by sometimes with the excuse of checking the floor (and always with a tea for you in hand), but you learn that he’s uncomfortable with lingering, and he’s usually gone as quickly as he came.

you don’t mind—it’s nice to know he’s thinking of you. you’ve just been wondering if it’s in the way you want him to—and a lot more than you should be, lately.

you concede to having a little crush on him. who wouldn’t? he’s incredibly sweet in his own way and very nice to look at and you suppose anyone would if they’d gotten the opportunity to get to know him over the several months that you have. so what if you’re thinking about where he’s at or if he’s eaten lunch or if he’s at the bar without you, more often than not? it’s just a little secret you keep to yourself.

you try not to think about how it’s one that would make him never speak to you again if he found out about it.

you let out a groan, looking down at the half-formed bundle of alstroemeria and eucalyptus in your hands. you’d been staring at it for 20 minutes now and the motivation to continue just wasn’t coming. you suppose it was as good of a time as any to take a break.

standing up from the floor and stretching your arms above your head, your spine rewards you with a few satisfying pops as you get yourself moving again. your eyes scan the shop, surveying the damage—most of it caused by you in the last few weeks, with scraps of paper wrap and loose stems strewn about. the shop could definitely use a deep cleaning, but little things like that were just part of routine upkeep, so you don’t mind. it’s only when you roll out your neck that you spot it: a tiny, but noticeable, brown stain on the ceiling that certainly wasn’t there before. you lift your phone above your head to snap a picture of it.

sent 5:57pm>>> hi. do you think this is a big deal

received 5:59pm>>> looks like water damage

received 5:59pm>>> when did that happen?

sent 6:00 pm>>> not sure. just saw it

sent 6:00 pm>>> if i just pretend it’s not there will it go away?

received 6:01 pm>>> that ever worked for you before?

sent 6:04 pm>>> i don’t like your tone

received 6:06 pm>>> cry about it. i’ll be over to look at it tomorrow

you smile at his brashness, setting your phone down on the counter. it really was very hard to not be enamored by him. you shake your head, trying to get rid of the thought like a wrong answer in a magic 8 ball. you have no such luck, but you realize what time it is and feel relieved. It’s tuesday—you can finally start getting ready to see your family.

you clean up and pull on the spare coat you have in the shop storage room, locking the shop door behind you as you leave. your grandparents don’t live far—just a mile or so down the road, and it’s not too cold to walk yet, so you don’t mind the trek.

you have a standing weekly visit at your grandparents’ place. they’re just about the only family you have left, and they’re slowing down a bit. it’s meaningful to you to spend time with them when you can—even if your grandmother insists on filling it with her insistence that you find a boyfriend.

you know she means well, so you tolerate it. your grandparents’ love story is one for the ages—high school sweethearts, together and in love ever since. the dynamic is an amusing one—your grandmother, ever the chatterbox, and your grandfather, only ever amused and endeared by his wife’s inherent ability to take up space. you have always really admired their relationship, but a small part of you believed for a long time that there was something wrong with you for not being able to have the same thing. now that you’re older, you don’t feel that way—but that doesn’t make being on the receiving end of the badgering any easier.

like you’ve summoned her with your thoughts, she’s on the front stoop when you approach the house—hand already on her hip like she’s winding up to start her lecture.

“i was starting to think you wouldn’t come!”

“am i late?” you ask genuinely, pulling your phone out to check the time. 6:26pm—you’re early.

“you might as well be!” she quips, pulling you into a hug. you can smell dinner cooking through the open window behind her. you close your eyes, content to be held in the moment. you miss this feeling of home every time you leave—

“alright you old bat, s’fixed. you gotta quit dumping cooking oil down the—oh.”

your eyes snap open at the familiar voice and you find blue eyes staring back at you, shocked as you’ve ever seen them. you blink, still mid-embrace and trying to comprehend why Touya is standing in your grandmother’s doorway. or why he’s a little sweaty and dirty and wearing that tight old t-shirt. if he’s always worn a bandana to keep the hair out of his eyes, or if that’s a new thing and either way, why haven’t you seen it? it takes another long minute before you remember how to get words to come out of your mouth.

“i–uh. hi...hi Touya.” you stutter a little, and your grandmother notices that you’ve gone completely rigid in her arms. she pulls away to look at you, and then at Touya, and back to you—

and your stomach drops when you see the most shit eating grin spread across her face.

you give her your best you wouldn’t dare look.

she just smiles at you sweetly as if to say: i absolutely would.

“do you have dinner plans, Mr. Todoroki?”

he blinks. “i–uh–”

“no? excellent. go wash up! you can join us.”

she starts back up to the door with more pep in her step than you’ve seen in a long time, patting Touya’s shoulder before shoving him unceremoniously to the side with surprising strength and walking back into the house.

you’re left out there together, both clearly still trying to play catch up. true to your nature, you’re the first to break the silence.

“i see you’ve met my grandmother,” you say with a laugh, starting up the steps. he shakes himself in time to open the door for you.

“you’re related to that dinosaur?”

you pin him with your best glare. “that’s not nice. she came after the dinosaurs.”

he follows in after you, the smallest smirk on his face. that you caused it makes your chest feel light.

dinner is relatively tame. to your genuine surprise, your grandmother sticks to easy topics, save for one comment about how you’re “getting up there” and should start thinking about children.

“oh my god, Mam,” you squeeze the bridge of your nose, exasperated. you look to Touya for help—who is clearly very amused and not interested in saving you from this.

“i’m just saying,” you grandmother waves a dismissive hand at you, “now who wants dessert?”

you leave the house a few hours later—with Touya in tow, because he refused to let you walk home in the dark by yourself. you certainly don’t mind the company.

“i can’t believe i didn’t put it together that you knew my grandparents,” you say, shaking your head. no wonder those bread loaves, months ago now, had looked so familiar.

“been helpin’ them out with maintenance stuff around the house,” he mutters, the hands in his pockets the only indication that he feels the evening chill, “they’re good people.”

the way that he talks about them makes you feel warm. “i’m really happy to hear that,” you sigh. you bump into him, and he stays close. “i’m sorry you have to put up with all of my grandmother’s antics though.”

he huffs a laugh, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “s’not so bad. except maybe when she’s trying to arrange a marriage for me with half the town.”

“oh god,” you turn to him in absolute horror, “she does that to you, too? i thought it was just because i’m her grandkid. she really wants to have great grandkids.”

he laughs when you shudder. “what, you’re not gonna give ‘em to her?”

you make a face at that. “no. kids are great, just…not really something i ever wanted.”

you think you see him physically deflate with something akin to relief out of the corner of your eye. you smile and try not to read into it.

the wind picks up and you shiver. Touya blinks down at you.

“you didn’t think to wear a thicker coat?”

you roll your eyes pointedly at him. “no, dad, i didn’t.”

he scowls at you, clearly not entertained, but then he’s shrugging off his own jacket and draping it over your shoulders.

“what are you doing? it’s too cold!”

“s’fine,” he mutters, brushing up against you with each step, “can’t really feel it.”

you go quiet while you consider this, eyes drifting to the textured skin that wraps around his bicep. there’s an ache in your chest that flares up whenever you think about Touya, small and proud and burned within an inch of his life. you wonder if he still feels it, 30 some odd years later. you want to reach for him, but you think better of it.

“do they hurt still?” you ask quietly, after a moment.

“sometimes.”

you get the sense that he wouldn’t mind if you asked more, but you’re not sure what to say. you don’t think it would be fair to ask him to relive any of it to satisfy your own curiosity. there’s just one thing you’d still like to know.

“are you angry?”

he gives you a small smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes when he looks down at you. his gaze is searching, like he’s looking for your fear—fear of him, of what he’s done. you know he won’t find any.

“no.”

the rest of the walk home is shrouded in comfortable silence, save for the crunch of shoes against pavement. all too quickly you’re at the door to the shop again.

you dig for the keys for your apartment on the second floor while Touya leans against the door frame, watching you.

you feel the metal dig into your palm when you close your fist around them. you look back up at him, and it’s almost startling how soft he looks right now. unguarded.

“can i hug you?” you ask, startling yourself a little. he’s so clearly not a touchy guy, but you hope he’ll indulge you—just this once.

his eyes widen for a fraction of a second, and then his face smooths back into his practiced stoicism. he rolls his eyes, but steps forward anyway. you feel like you just won the lottery.

“make it quick, brat.”

you nearly tackle him in your excitement and you hear him grumble next to your ear. you feel an arm loop around your shoulders, and you are suddenly very aware that your little crush is far larger than you thought. you file it away for later, because the beat of his heart against your ear feels far more important right now. everything about him is warm—you stifle a sigh at the immediate comfort that rolls over you like a wave.

“now go inside before y’get sick.”

you resist the urge to pout. you stay there for another beat—and he doesn’t move either.

you untangle yourself from him with a sigh. if you didn’t know any better, you’d interpret the look on his face as something close to disappointment. you start shrug your shoulders out of his jacket to hand it back to him, but he stops you.

“just, ah—” he starts, looking away from you, “give it back to me tomorrow. when i fix your fuckin’ mess.”

you raise an eyebrow, posturing to argue, but something in his expression tells you not to.

“okay,” you say finally, quiet between you, “be careful going home. goodnight, Touya.”

he lingers for a moment more before letting out a little grunt and turning on his heel. your eyes trail over the expanse of his shoulders as he grows fainter down the road until he disappears into the dark.

you drag yourself up the stairs, suddenly feeling exhausted. you stumble through the dark of your apartment until your knees knock into your bed frame. you fall into bed face first, not bothering to change or even get under the covers. still wrapped in the jacket that smells like him.

you dream of fire that warms but doesn’t burn.

“good morning, Mr. Todoroki.”

Touya nearly comes out of his skin, hissing as he hits his head off of the counter he’s crouched under. it would be impressive, how stealthy the old bat was, if it wasn’t so god damned annoying.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to call me that?” he grumbles, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head as he gets to his feet. she only chuckles.

“you’ll have to forgive me for not addressing you with the same familiarity that my granddaughter does.”

he whips his head around to look at her—which he finds to be a mistake, because she’s just looking at him with that knowing old lady smirk that makes his skin itch.

“don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he mutters, stooping down to lodge himself as far under the counter as he needs to to avoid the rest of this conversation.

“oh, please. do i look like i was born yesterday?”

he pauses, mid crouch, to look back at her over his shoulder. she clicks her tongue at him. “don’t answer that.”

“i think it would be nice for you both to have…companionship,” she settles on the last word like it’s not really what she wanted to say, and it reminds him far too much of his mother. usually he’d shut this conversation down, but for a reason unknown to him, he doesn’t.

“don’t y’think i’m a little too old for her?” he asks, half-joking. he’d be a liar to say that he hadn’t thought about it at length.

she waves a dismissive hand at him, rolling her eyes. “oh please—you wouldn’t know too old if it hit you upside the head.”

he hides another smirk from her—which she seems to expect anyway, shaking her head with a sigh.

“you’re both babies still,” she says quietly, with all of the wisdom and yearning of someone who has lived as long as she has, “you have nothing but time. just don’t waste it.”

Touya’s not sure when the shift happened, but he’s acutely aware that it has happened.

he’s doesn’t know when he started allowing you to touch him. he’s usually uncomfortable with that sort of thing—it tends to aggravate his skin and it does well to make him feel queasy. but you lay your arm over his to show him something about your flowers on your phone, and he doesn’t feel any urge to reel back from you. he wants to be surprised at his lack of reaction, but he supposes he’s not—proximity to him has always been something you’ve insisted on, physical or otherwise.

the bar is crowded tonight, which leaves him feeling uneasy. the noise level grates at his nerves and he finds himself having to lean into you just to hear what you’re saying. it sours his mood immensely.

he’s scowling into his beer when he feels you crowd his space. his head snaps up, ready to gripe at you, and he finds you’re turned away from him. he looks around you and sees that your space has been crowded—by some rowdy little punk he’s never seen before.

immediately and on some sort of primal instinct, Touya wraps an arm around you, yanking you into his side. you brace yourself with a hand on his chest to avoid flat out headbutting his chin.

“hey,” he snarls over your head, eyes like daggers at the offender, “watch where you’re fuckin’ going.”

the man turns around, posturing to defend himself, but one look at Touya has his eyes widening in the same expression of fear that he sees on everyone else’s face. usually the reaction sits in his stomach like a rock, but this time, he revels in it. “and while you’re at it, you can apologize to her.”

his looks down at the ground immediately, unwilling to spend another minute under scrutiny.

“sorry about that,” he mutters dejectedly. Touya feels your grip tighten around the hem of his shirt, but to his surprise, you say nothing.

“get the fuck out of here,” he barks, and he holds back a laugh as the man does just that—completely forgetting about the drink he ordered.

shaking his head, he lets you go—expecting you to scramble away from him and back to your stool. he feels himself cringe—he probably embarrassed you.

he’s worried when he realizes you’re still tethered to him by the fabric of his shirt.

“hey,” he murmurs, trying to push you back gently to look at your face, “you alright, kid? you’re not hurt, are you?”

you let go of him, albeit reluctantly. you only move back far enough to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. he can only think of how close you are.

“Touya,” you rasp, cheeks flushed and looking at him through half-hooded eyes, “that was, um—really hot.”

he blinks at you, a little dumbfounded. his eyes rake over your face, trying to find the punchline somewhere. wholly anticipating you to snap out of it and laugh at him—to tell him what a fool he is for falling for such a cruel joke.

but your expression never changes, and he realizes at once that it’s one of desire.

a shudder wracks up his spine. he pulls you toward him again, splaying his fingers across your back to feel the way it arches into him. he dips his head down, lips next to your ear. fighting a smirk at the way you shiver in his hold.

“come back to mine?”

you nod emphatically, and he’d tease you about it if he wasn’t feeling the same level of urgency. he throws a couple bills on the bar top and all but hauls you out the door. he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s half out of his mind right now and can’t find it within himself to think it over before he does something he might regret.

his own desire is nearly stifling, and he finds he can’t go another minute without something to satiate him, if only for a moment. he pulls you into the alley next to the bar, crowding you against the brick.

“you drunk?” he asks suddenly—slivers of rationality making it through the haze of such thick lust. you laugh a little, breathy and overwhelmed. he can see the puff of steam from your exhale between you in the cold.

“not at all,” you murmur, reaching for him. you wrap a finger around one of his belt loops and pull him toward you—he knows with an unsettling certainty that he’d do whatever you asked him to right now. the knowledge burns him from the inside.

“tell me to stop,” his lips are only a breath away from yours, and yet he almost wishes you would tell him to stop, because he’s not sure what comes after this. he’s alarmed by the weight of his own need, and he has a hunch that whatever happens next may not be enough to quell it.

he has the sudden and sobering thought that he may never get his fill of you.

“no,” you breathe, and it’s all he needs to bridge the distance. he’s instantly overwhelmed by the soft warmth of your mouth, and lets out a quiet groan when he feels your tongue swipe at the seam of his. he opens his mouth to taste more of you, and he truly cannot get enough. you pull his tongue into your mouth, sucking on it gently, and he is nearly frantic when he pulls away from you. he feels absolutely debauched and a little humiliated—in his 40-some odd years, he’s never known himself to get so worked up over some kissing.

“we need to go right now,” he rasps, panting against your mouth. he feels your smile against him and wants to swallow you whole.

“lead the way, old man.”

he barely registers making it through the door—has no idea how he managed to unlock it, let alone open it—before he has you pressed up against it. to touch you like this feels foreign, and he wants to feel everything. after a moment, he gets impatient with himself. he grabs you around the backs of your thighs, hauling you up and carrying you to his bedroom. he has half a mind to thank Buck later, for not bounding between the two of you and ripping him from whatever trance you have him suspended in right now.

he drops you onto the bed unceremoniously and is quick to follow, mouth chasing yours on the way down. you pull your shirt off and he helps you with your pants—he can’t help but pull back to marvel at you.

your demeanor changes immediately.

you're entirely too tense, breath hitching and your grip on his arms uncomfortably tight. he pulls back to look at you and you flinch.

“jesus—the fuck are you so jumpy for?”

"i don't know!" you cross your arms over your chest with a huff, red when you look away from him. "maybe i just don't do this as often as you, okay?"

he snorts, rolling his eyes. "i don't do this often."

it’s not exactly the truth—because the truth is that he doesn't do this at all—but he's still got his pride. he’d been touched before, but mostly in his 20s and only when he was just shy of belligerent. only when he could go numb with the certainty that it would be over quickly and that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

no one could hold a flame to you, though—sprawled out underneath him, chest heaving and eyes hooded with unbridled desire. something about it makes him want to reach into the ether and stop time with his bare hands. he wants to savor every bead of sweat that rolls down the curve of your breast, every touch that makes your pupils dilate—the primal need to know takes over everything else.

“i just…” you start, lip jutting out with the tiniest pout. he feels insane. “i feel nervous.”

something inside him twists at your admission, and he finds himself wanting to comfort you. it’s a completely unfamiliar feeling, but he leans into it.

"relax," he murmurs, unwinding your arms and replacing them with his full body weight, directly on top of you. you squeak, and he presses his smile into the crook of your neck. "don't have to do anything you're not ready for."

he feels you slump underneath him—however minutely—and it feels like a reward. and then your hips kick into his, and his brain short circuits.

he pushes back onto his forearms to look at you, and he's endeared by the flush that creeps up your neck as you avoid his gaze. he finds it cute, how quickly you lay your ego down for him. that in itself is another reward, and one he doesn't take lightly.

you might be a little embarrassed under his stare, but that doesn't stop the roll of your hips. yours is a slow grind up into him and he meets you with one of his own, firm and demanding. your mouth drops open and the way you shudder under him pulls a groan from him.

"feel good?" he rasps, sneaking a hand around the back of your neck and holding you there, nosing against your cheek until you turn to him.

"yes."

it's borderline pornographic when it leaves you and his hips stutter—he feels it buzzing underneath his skin as it pushes him closer to a place wholly unfamiliar.

through his jeans, he's sure you can feel him—hot and aching against the flimsy material of your panties. he huffs a laugh against your lips—suddenly acutely aware of the possibility that he may cum in his pants like a fucking teenager.

you seem to be aware of that, too.

you kiss him hard and he nearly whines, and then he actually does when you tangle your fingers in his hair and pull. he reels back from you to catch his breath and you don't let him go very far.

"you feel so good," murmured into his mouth, it's nearly his undoing.

"you gotta stop," it sounds a lot like a plea when it leaves him, "i can't—i'm gonna—”

you hook a leg around his waist, keeping him pressed to you. he knows at once that he is well and truly fucked in a fundamental and totally unrelated way.

"no," you drawl, and it's almost a coo in his ear, "i don't think i will."

he doesn't know when you took the upper hand and he doesn't even care. he's lost in the movement of your hips and he knows that there's a mess between you both—he hears the tacky click of damp fabric meeting with every grind into you.

"you're—fuckin' wet," he grits out, and he's so close. the knowledge of your arousal has him curling in on himself.

you chuckle, like he's stating something so obvious. "how could i not be?"

he rewards you with a particularly sinful thrust, and you keen underneath him.

"please," you arch into him, "want you to cum."

and he does just that—all the breath is battered out of him with the force of it. his cock throbs with every wave of release in his jeans and he keeps himself pressed snuggly to you, hips thrusting with no particular rhythm as he rides out the last of it. he keeps his face pressed into your neck and lets out a long, broken groan. he stays there—full body weight collapsed on top of you again—and it's a moment before he comes back to his senses enough to feel your fingers scratch over his scalp.

"fucking hell," he presses a kiss to your throat and you giggle. it warms something inside of him that's hard to shake once it starts. he has the sneaking suspicion—in this fleeting moment of vulnerability—that it started well before now.

he gathers his wits and pushes back from you. he sees the look on your face and finds that he couldn't go any farther than an arm's length away, even if he tried.

adoration. it could only be that—you look at him like he hung the stars in the sky, and it twists in his gut. he doesn't understand—he's done so many wrong things. you look at him like they don't hang above his head—like you can't see them there.

what a sweet little thing that's found their way into his bed. and deeper than that, it seems.

"want to taste you," he murmurs, leaning back down to drag his lips over the curve of your jaw. you draw in a shuddering breath, nodding, and it fans his ego immensely.

he takes his time, then—there's intention behind every warm press of his mouth to every inch of your skin. he takes note of the way your breath hitches, and of what makes you squirm. you tip your head back with a moan when he catches a bead of sweat between the valley of your breasts with his tongue.

you breathe out a whisper of his name when he latches on to the skin that stretches over your ribs, and he feels his own arousal swell again—sloshing around in his gut, thick and needing. he finds himself grinding his hips into the mattress below him—lazy, really. just enough to dull the ache.

"hold on," you croak, and he looks up at you, "you’re too dressed."

he looks down at himself and realizes that you’re right—he’s still fully clothed. he huffs out a laugh, shaking his head at his own one track mind, and sits up to take care of it.

he grabs the back of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head in a fluid motion. he feels your gaze on him and feels a little bashful. he’s even quicker with the jeans—soiled and gross as they are now—shoving them down his hips and kicking them from his ankles until his clad in only his (also gross) boxers and leaning over you again.

you reach for him, brushing your fingertips over the scar across his chest. he half expects you to pull away—to recoil from him like you should—but you don’t.

“need you, Touya.”

he could just die.

"s'that right?" he bends down to press another hot kiss to the skin that stretches between your hips. he fixates on the softness of it, and has to stop himself from nuzzling into it. he'd love to draw this out—to really get you pleading for him like he hopes you would, writhing and so wet underneath him. but his own patience nears its end, so he decides to be merciful. he shuffles down until he's eye level with the damp spot in your panties that makes him curse under his breath.

"look at you," he breathes, dragging a finger through the mess. you let out a whine, arching to chase what little stimulation he's giving you. "poor thing. y'really do need it."

he doesn't wait for your response before his hooking a finger through the fabric and dragging it off of you. a string of your arousal stretches and snaps with it, and he commits the sight to memory.

he wastes no time—he sticks his tongue out flat and drags it through your folds, groaning at the slick that coats it.

"oh fuck," you wheeze, reaching down to thread your fingers through his hair to keep him there.

as if you'd ever need to do that.

he can't get enough of you. so swollen and sweet against his tongue, he's nearly out of his mind with the need for more of it. he dips the tip of his tongue inside you and feels you squeeze around it, and it's unbearable how badly he wants more of you.

"Touya," you groan out, eyes squeezed shut tight as he pulls your clit into his mouth and sucks, "please—please don't stop—"

he thinks you're fucking insane for ever believing he would. he pulses his tongue against your clit and revels in the way your back arches as you wail—he reaches up to pinch a pebbled nipple between his heated fingers just to feel you.

"oh fuck, fuck fuck—" the words tumble out of your mouth, slurred and nearly incoherent as he flattens out his tongue and lets you chase your pleasure.

in the throes of it, you reach down to tangle your fingers between his own. he's not sure if you even know that you've done it, but the knowledge that you seek him out for such an innocent display comfort has his heart fluttering in his chest. he gives your nipple a particularly harsh tug with his other hand.

"oh i'm gonna cum—" you cry, hips stuttering with every drag of your sex over his tongue, "please, Touya, i'm gonna—"

he squeezes your fingers when you do, and you let out a sob that goes straight to his cock. he feels you tense up—every muscle rigid for only a moment—and then you let it go, and he's mesmerized. it moves through you violently, like waves crashing into the shore during a storm. he keeps your clit between his lips as you thrash, letting you buck against his face, dragging it out for as long as he can.

he waits until he hears your breathing return to a semi-normal pace before he cleans you up—with his tongue, light and gentle through your folds, not wanting to waste any of the mess you reward him with. he forgets himself and slips his tongue inside of you—drinking up all of your slick. basking in the way you flutter around him and the sweet slide of you down his throat. he only comes back to himself when you start to tremble, whining at the overstimulation.

he rests his head on the inside of your thigh and closes his eyes, breathing you in. never in his life has he ever felt so satiated by something—it confuses him, to get so much pleasure from you without you ever even touching him. he feels you squeeze his fingers and realizes he's still holding your hand.

"you with me, kid?"

you sigh, stretching your free leg out. "think so, old man."

he untangles your fingers to rub at your leg, reaching down to knead at the muscles in your calf. you sigh, light and content, and it makes him smile. it's quiet between you then, and he's grateful that you don't feel the need to fill it. he pulls your leg over his shoulder, moving to massage the outside of your thigh.

"good to me," you sigh sleepily, and he knows you're only a second from falling asleep.

he doesn't answer—his throat suddenly feels too thick and he doesn't think he can—he just keeps rubbing your muscles gently until your breathing evens out.

he finds that he doesn't mind being trapped between your legs like this. when he thinks he might even be able to fall asleep, he realizes for the second time that he's in far deeper than he thought he'd be.

he lets his eyes flutter closed and has a hard time thinking of anything wrong with that.

there’s another shift, after that. the only person that seems to be oblivious to it is you.

it’s not that you haven’t noticed, because of course you have. Touya becomes uncharacteristically touchy, literally overnight. you bask in it when you can, because you know it’s fleeting.

that’s where you split off from, well—everyone else.

“c’mon kid, you can’t honestly think that.”

you huff, glaring into your drink. Touya’s friends had jumped at the opportunity to heckle you the minute he stood up to go to the restroom. you find it endearing, the way they act like little old ladies, gossiping amongst themselves.

“we’re not together,” you repeat, albeit bitterly, “it’s not like that for him.”

the friend closest to you barks out a laugh, and you pin him with your meanest stare. it only makes him laugh harder. he’s wiping tears from his eyes when Touya comes back, filling the space between you.

it hurts tremendously to know that this is temporary, and you feel ridiculous for feeling that way. it’s not like it comes as a surprise—you knew very well that Touya wasn’t one for romance or love. you thought you could live with that, especially with the sex being as good as it is—but it was just so easy to believe the opposite was true, because he really was good to you. if you allowed yourself to forget, it was nothing at all to pretend he was because he wanted this, too.

still—like a magnet, you’re drawn to him. you hop down from your stool to stand beside his, and rest your head on his shoulder.

“you hungry?,” he turns to murmur into your hair, “i’ll get you fries or somethin’.”

“wow, fries” you scoff, rolling your eyes, “how chivalrous.”

you feel him grin. “wasn’t raised in a barn.”

it’s a bad joke. it lodges itself in your skin and makes you ache for him. you try not to dwell on it.

“you could’ve fooled me.”

he rolls his eyes back at you with a little tch, but it’s lighthearted. he slings his arm around your neck and pulls you closer until you’re pressed into the warmth of his side, and presses a kiss to your temple.

“you know, most men would give up their seats for pretty women.” you tease, leaning into his touch.

“let me know if you see one, then.”

“hey!”

he laughs, brushing his lips against your forehead again before leaning back, patting his thigh.

“c’mon then, pretty lady.”

you feel warm as you climb up into his lap, and when you settle in, it’s like a key inside of a lock. you pointedly ignore the knowing glance from the man to your right, choosing instead to feel every inch that connects you to Touya. it feels like a reward, to mold to him this well—like something you’re owed after trimming off every one of his prickly little thorns for as long as you have. you want to tell him so, but you know he’d clam up or shove you off of him. you keep your feelings where they simmer under your skin and focus on the way his hand trails over the curve of your hip—back and forth, like he means to soothe, but his warmth feels like a brand. you close your eyes and imagine a reality in which he does it because he loves you.

“you alright?”

it sounds odd, coming from him—like he’s not used to asking the question. you suppose he’s not—he’s never had anyone to check up on. he reaches to brush a strand of hair from your face, and his fingers linger over your brow bone.

you’d been quiet since you left the bar—you’d followed him back to his house with an uncharacteristically little amount of banter. you’d been pliant as he pulled you down on the bed with him—nearly boneless and without so much as a teasing bite on the way down.

despite yourself, you feel your eyes start to burn. you let out a clipped curse, blinking rapidly and looking pointedly away from him—hoping he wouldn’t press you about it.

he does.

“hey, hey,” he says softly, reaching to grab your chin with warm, calloused fingers and turning you to face him, “what’s goin’ on?”

his blatant concern makes it worse—drives the knife a little deeper into your side—because it’s so starkly different (and far more intimate) from the Touya you started with. it only serves as a reminder of your original suspicion having long been confirmed—that he cares for you because he’s good. not because he loves you. not because he feels this unbearable, aching need that you do. you know there’s no escaping him now—he’s seeded himself somewhere deep in your chest and taken root. when his thumb brushes down over the curve of your jaw, you know that there’s no stopping the words that are about to come out of your mouth.

“i love you,” the tears crest and fall, and you ache when he brushes them away before they can slip down your temples, “i’m really sorry.”

you’re a little surprised when you see his eyebrows knit together slightly in an emotion that’s definitely not the overt and immediate dismay you thought it would be, but you close your eyes before you can see anything else—before you can watch him pull away from you, genuinely and for the last time.

you go rigid when you feel his forehead knock into yours, gently and only for an instant.

“s’that such a bad thing?”

your eyes snap open, and you think the sight might kill you—he’s open and giving you everything with a willingness that makes your breath stutter in your chest. he has his head propped up on his hand to look at you, and it’s almost enough to disarm you completely.

“don’t be cruel if you’re going to leave,” you hear yourself plead, despite what you’re seeing. he only snorts.

“and what makes you so sure i’ll do that?”

“i know that you don’t do this shit.”

he smiles at that—a little thing that stretches across his face slow. it amuses him to hear you swear.

“you’re right,” he murmurs, reaching to brush his fingers over your jaw again. holding you there so gently that it aches. “i don’t. s’different now, though.”

you blink at him through the sting in your eyes, more confused than anything. he lets out a slow sigh, but it’s not in frustration.

“you’re stuck to me now,” he says with such a fondness that you feel the words stick themselves to your bones, “m’not going anywhere.”

“i’m not trapping you here, Touya—“

“you’re not,” he agrees, with more patience than he’s ever afforded you. something starts to click in your mind, but for some reason, you find yourself fighting it.

“you don’t—you’re not—“

“hey,” he cuts you off with a flick to your forehead, “listen to what i’m tellin’ you.”

“it’s…hard. for me.” he says after thinking for a moment, eyebrows furrowed again like he’s trying to make up the words from scratch. “i‘m used to bein’ alone. never really thought about anybody else.”

you’re silent then, mostly stunned, because you don’t think he’s ever said so many words to you. not like this.

“i’m outta my depth here, kid,” it’s nearly whispered and it feels sacred, like a confession between you. you’re suddenly very aware that he’s giving you something that he’s parting with for the first time in his life. “but i can’t think about ya anywhere but here now. makes me feel a little sick.”

you reach for him then—tentative fingertips brushing over the rapid fluttering of his heart. he gathers them in his hand and holds you there.

“i might not be any good at this. but i’d like to try.”

his words hit your ears one at a time, like coins slotted into a carnival game—they reach your mind with a heavy clink and only when the last one drops in do you really hear him. he’s no casanova, but you understand the sentiment under his words as if he’d spoken it aloud.

you close your eyes and draw in one more shuddering breath, and it knocks loose the last of your reservations. you turn on your side, facing him fully, meeting the blue of his eyes with a slow smile that makes them narrow at you in suspicion.

“jeez. you didn’t have to go all soft on me.”

he scoffs, shaking his head. “glad to have you back, you fuckin’ brat.”

you laugh and he chases the sound, leaning forward until your foreheads knock together again. this time, he stays put.

“tell me again,” he murmurs, and your heart balloons inside your chest.

“i love you.”

epilogue—1 year later

Touya trudges up the steps to your apartment after finishing up at your grandparents’. you’d think he’d agreed to remodel the whole house, with how often they call him over now.

he had a hunch that he wasn’t really there just to make repairs, and he didn’t mind. he knew how much your family meant to you, and he’d be lying if he said they weren’t growing on him, too.

“you bring our girl over here to see us,” the old bat called after him as he walked out the door, “don’t let her work herself to death.”

he was quick to agree, because his concerns were similar—you’d gotten busy as the weather started to warm with the first hint of spring, and you did not appear to be particularly skilled at taking breaks or prioritizing yourself. predictable, but no less annoying.

walking up the steps to the home you now share, he looks down at the squirming thing in his arms and lets out a sigh.

it didn’t take much convincing for him to agree to move in. he got to see you everyday (which allowed him to ensure you were, at the very least, feeding yourself) and Buck was over the moon at living in a new space if that meant he could be with you all the time. he couldn’t find a reason to say no (and he really, really didn’t want to), so it was easy to say yes. the smile you gave him when he agreed is imprinted on his heart.

“babe? you here?”

you call to him in response from the kitchen, not looking up at him when he walks in—you’re hunched over the counter in front of your laptop, going through orders while Buck lays at your feet. he makes no move to greet Touya—in fact, the only acknowledgement Buck spares him is a few thuds of his tail against the tile. Touya narrows his eyes at him. traitor.

“hi,” you murmur, turning your body like you’re going to look at him—except you don’t actually look away from the computer.

“hi,” he grins, not moving in to kiss you like he usually does. waiting for you to turn to him.

“what did Mam need—oh.”

you’re finally looking at him—except you’re not really looking at him at all, because your eyes are focused on the shivering thing in his arms.

you look at it, and to him, and then back to it. you’re quiet for a beat, clearly trying to process, and then the thing nearly jumps out of his arms when you throw your head back and laugh.

“what the hell is that—” you say through a wheeze, wiping your eyes on your sleeve, “Touya—oh my god—where did you get that?”

you close the proximity between you—finally, he thinks—and he bends to kiss your temple when you take the chihuahua from his arms. instantly Buck is on his feet, sniffing the air but otherwise content just to look at the dog in your arms. Touya feels relief at the non-reaction—you really had taught his dog some manners.

“the fuckin’ thing was rooting around in the trash,” he mutters, slinging an arm around your shoulders, “figured you’d be mad at me if i left ‘im there.”

you roll your eyes and he knows you know it’s a lie—he wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he’d left the dog there.

“are we keeping him?” you ask absentmindedly, scratching his tiny head. it works to subdue him—the shaking stops (mostly) and he lets out a little huff before relaxing in your hold. it makes you smile, and Touya thinks he’d fill this whole fucking house with chihuahuas if it meant he could see it again.

“do y’want to?”

you let out a stray chuckle, finally looking up at him. “i guess he’d fit, won’t he?”

he feels the grin stretch across his face. “i don’t know. it’d be a tight squeeze.”

you snort, reaching with your free hand to poke at his ribs. “you have to name him, you know.”

“fuck,” he groans dramatically, pulling another giggle from you, “fine. what about…” he trails off, wracking his brain and looking around the kitchen, praying for even a semblance of inspiration. he sees your half-eaten lunch on the counter, and he thinks about the moldy cold cut he’d had to wrestle out of the little shit’s surprising tight grip—

“lunch meat.”

“...i’m sorry?”

“his name is lunch meat.”

you laugh at that, and the sound reverberates off every cell in his body.

“it’s a good thing we’re not having kids,” you say through a giggle, “they’d have the worst names.”

he grins at you and you just shake your head, cooing to the tiny dog in your arms. Touya peels himself from you, settling against the counter just to watch. the other surprise—the one he’d actually planned—involved a fancy dinner in the next town over, because it is your anniversary, after all—but right now it feels like he has nothing but time, and to do anything but stand here and feel every second with you would feel like a waste.

this fic belongs to me (@gardenofnoah). i do not allow anyone to repost, edit, or reproduce this work.

#am i....a sap?#i love him. oh my god do i love him #my baby deserves a good fucking ending #glares at horikoshi #todoroki touya x you #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader #touya fluff #touya x reader #fic: when fire doesn't burn

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arvandus · 10 months

Text

Touch Pt. 14 - Forgiveness

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

**18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI**

OVERALL FIC WARNINGS: Soft!Dabi, F!Reader with a fictional backstory, fanon version of past events (I started this before the canon stuff dropped), manga spoilers, canon deviation, drug abuse/withdrawal (with inaccuracies since it’s outside of my experience and relies on research and imagination), violence, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, hurt/comfort, pining, slow burn, eventual emotionally charged SMUT, all characters will be written with complexity (i.e., no one-dimensional/hateful representations). *please pay attention to specific warning tags within each chapter!*

CHAPTER WARNINGS: The usual drug warnings (withdrawal, pain management, etc.); 18+ hints but nothing explicit

Chapter Song: Twenty Twelve by Matt Maeson

Part 1 Part 13

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Chapter 14: Forgiveness

You were waiting for him in his room, medical bag ready, dry clothes set out at the end of his bed. Dabi came through the portal, soaked to the bone. His black hair was plastered to his face, his clothes dripping puddles on the hard floor. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, and you were torn between smacking him or hugging him. But then his eyes met yours. His usual walls were gone, and for the first time since that one night, you saw him. You saw his pain, dark and endless, eyelids tired and heavy. He wore his suffering plainly on his face, his trademark half-grin gone, leaving behind a man clearly broken.

You rushed to him, closing the gap between you in three short strides, your arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. You buried your face in his hoodie, letting the soaked fabric hide the tears in your eyes as you inhaled the scent of him, a smokey dark odor laced with touches of petrichor from the rain. Dabi grunted in pain at the force of your greeting, and you quickly released him.

“Sorry...” you muttered, your voice wavering slightly.

“It’s okay,” he replied, his voice hoarse.

You stared at him for a moment, your hands cupping his cheeks. They were unusually cold to the touch, as if the fire within him had been tempered, dulled beneath the weight of something heavy. You let your quirk trickle in, and the darkness lifted slightly.

“You idiot,” you whispered as you stared into his blue eyes. Then you wrapped your arms around him again, much more gently than the first time.

Dabi’s body stiffened at first, but he didn’t push you away. After a few heartbeats, his arms began to come up to reciprocate, but they faltered, frozen in mid-air as if he were afraid to touch you.

“I swear to God,” you muttered into his wet hoodie, “if you don’t hug me back, then I might have to punch you.”

A dry, half-hearted scoff pushed past his lips. “You’re getting all wet.”

“I don’t care.”

You felt his chest expand with an inhaled breath. Then he closed the small distance between his arms and your body. His hands wrapped around the curve of you, fingers splayed wide to cage you in his hold, as if he feared you’d slip away. The wet cold hit your body instantly, but you didn’t care. His arms felt hard, strong. It reinforced his presence, helped the fear in your chest flake and fall away.

I just need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you’re really here and that you’re safe.

The words danced on your tongue, but your lips refused to open and let loose the confession. So, you swallowed them instead, pulling away after a moment.

Dabi was right, of course... your shirt and pants now had a dark imprint of water on the front of them. It would take time for it to dry, but you suspected you had plenty of time ahead of you. There was a lot to do, and even more to say.

“You must be freezing,” you commented. You grabbed the pile of dry clothes and handed it to him. “Go. Change. Now.”

Dabi stared at you for a long moment. The pain he’d first entered the room with was now dulled, replaced by an almost unreadable neutrality that only he could master. Without a word, he took the items, went into his bathroom and closed the door.

As soon as you heard the click of the latch, you let out a long, heavy breath, your cheeks puffed. Your hands were shaking, and you fidgeted with yourself as you waited, a ball of nervous energy ping-ponging inside you with nowhere to go. So, you settled on busying yourself with preparing the medical supplies to change Dabi’s bandages. You were scared to see what it looked like... did he use his flames today and reopen his wounds? Did he kill someone?

A thousand conflicting emotions rattled within you. Relief, gratitude, anger, hurt... It made it feel as if your world was spinning, a sickening tilt-a-whirl and you didn’t know where it was going to land by the time Dabi stepped out of that bathroom. Would you yell at him? Cry?

.... Leave?

You wanted to do all of those things and none of them. Yes, he’d left you, ran off to pursue only God knows what, but you assumed it had something to do with his drugs. He ignored your calls and messages all day, with no explanation. The hot and cold you seemed to be continually dealing with was giving you whiplash, and you could feel yourself finally reaching your limit of tolerance. And you were a very tolerant person.

But he did eventually answer. And he was honest. He didn’t try to lie or conceal. He knew what he’d done, and while he hadn’t apologized for it (yet), you had a feeling that regret and guilt were at least a couple of the emotions you’d seen in his eyes earlier before he’d found the mental strength to protect himself from your perceptive gaze.

Dabi came out of the bathroom topless, the white shirt in his hand, which was just as well. You didn’t have to tell him to sit; he already knew the routine. You went into the bathroom quickly to wash your hands, your eyes taking note of the wet clothes on the floor. He hadn’t bothered to hang them up, and you knew at some point they would start to mildew.

You ignored it, the quiet anger still present in your veins. You weren’t here to baby him. He could deal with that himself when he was feeling up for it.

You came back out, hands clean, and you stared at him for a moment from across the room. He sat quietly on the edge of the bed, shoulders slumped forward, his elbows on his knees. He hadn’t even bothered to towel-dry his hair, and it stuck to his face and neck, the occasional curl poking out as it began to slowly air dry. You idly wondered if he could dry his own hair by increasing his body temperature on his scalp...

His back was bare, the bandage gone. The healing wound was exposed, the flesh pink and shining.

“What happened to the bandages?” You asked as you crawled onto the bed behind him.

“It came off in the bathroom,” he replied.

You once again reviewed your supplies next to you before starting. “How’s it feeling?”

“Itchy.”

It was better than hurting, but you still didn’t want him trying to scratch at it. You placed your hands on his back.

Dabi pulled away instantly, shifting forward. “Don’t.”

You sat there, dumbfounded. “...What?”

His head hung low. “Don’t use your quirk.”

You stared at the downward curve of his neck. “Why not?”

“It’s not that bad. I can deal with it.”

Your jaw stiffened but you acquiesced. You began to clean and dress the wound. His body flinched once when you cleaned an infected section of tissue, but it was brief, and he once again settled into stillness.

“So...” you began. “You know I’m going to ask. What happened? Why did you leave this morning?”

The silence stretched for so long, you weren’t entirely sure if he would answer. But you weren’t going to let this go.

“Dabi...” you started, your tone tired.

“A connection of mine hooked me up with a dealer.”

The words weren’t a surprise, but they cut deeper than you’d expected.

“And?”

This silence stretched even longer, and you wondered what he was thinking. Was he figuring out how to tell you the truth? Or was he figuring out how to lie?

You prayed he would give you the truth. And if he wasn’t able to give that to you in his next answer, then you weren’t sure if there would be a friendship left to salvage, regardless of how you felt about him.

“I was only able to get a few pills,” he finally confessed bitterly. His disappointment was so palpable, that you couldn’t help but believe him.

The stone in your chest lifted and you let out the breath you’d been holding.

“How many?”

“Five.”

“That’s it?”

“The guy was an extortionist.”

“Did you take any?”

Another drawn-out pause, like a child wanting to hide the truth to avoid punishment.

“Two.” He finally answered, his voice barely above a whisper, the deep tone almost drowned out by the pounding rain outside.

You held back the sigh you wanted to unleash, knowing he would hear it as judgment. He didn’t need judgment right now. He was being honest with you, which was exactly what you wanted. He was trusting you, which meant there was effort. And effort meant there was hope.

“Were they the same ones you had before?”

“Yeah. But half as strong.”

You remembered how much the original pills were, the way your eyes had bulged. You were eternally grateful he wasn’t able to get access to those again.

“Are they still in your system?”

“No.” There was a small tinge of bitterness in his answer, and you could tell by the way he was sitting, muscles tensed and leg bobbing, that he was once again telling the truth.

“Where are the rest?”

That question seemed to really trigger something. Dabi’s entire body tightened like a rod, and he fell silent.

You waited. And waited. Finally, you got tired of waiting.

“Dabi, I need to know if you have any more on you. I’m not giving you anything until I know that you don’t have them stashed away somewhere.”

His ribcage expanded as he inhaled deeply and slowly let it out. “They’re gone.”

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean they’re gone. I don’t have them anymore.”

You finished his bandage and moved from your spot behind him to begin putting your things away in your bag. Was he lying now? Trying to hide them from you? Is that why he was so tense? It wasn’t like he lost them. Drug addicts didn’t lose drugs. Your heart began to sink again.

“Where did they go?” You probed.

More silence.

“Dabi, please...”

“I-threw-them-in-the-harbor.” Dabi’s words were fast, pushed out much too quickly on a shallow breath.

You halted in your administrations and looked up at him in disbelief. You could see his profile now, see the way his eyes were burning holes into the floorboards. That was when you noticed it – his knuckles were raw and scraped, splinters buried deep into pale skin crusted with blood. His fingers were interlocked, tensing and releasing.

You closed the distance between you and knelt in front of him, prying one of his hands free. Your fingers traced along the edges of his knuckles, careful not to touch the damaged skin.

“And this?” you asked. “How does this fit in?”

Dabi stared at your slowly moving thumb but didn’t pull away.

“I punched a post.” Then as an afterthought he added, “A lot.”

A half smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“Did you win?”

Dabi’s eyes finally glanced up and met yours and he couldn’t suppress the short dry laugh that escaped his half-smirked lips. “No.”

You looked back down at his knuckles. “Does it hurt?”

“Fuck yeah it does.”

His humor was cut short by a sudden pain that made him clench his jaw shut and put his hand on the back of his neck as he doubled over. Your fingers were unintentionally crushed in his suddenly too-tight grip, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from pulling away as you waited with him for it to pass. A half a minute later, and his breaths steadied, and he seemed a little weaker, a little... smaller.

“When did you take the last pill?” you asked.

“I dunno. Late afternoon when the sun was still out.”

That was hours ago. And judging by how Dabi was obviously feeling right now, there really wasn’t much left in his system if at all.

So, your pills should be safe now.

You pulled out a small little ziplock bag from your pants pocket, and Dabi’s eyes locked on it instantly.

“Are those...?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I knew I’d probably need to give you some tonight, so I set these aside so I don’t have to go dig through my hiding spot again.” You halted though, pulling the small bag against your chest. “But Dabi... I need you to swear to me. Swear that you don’t have any more pills on you.”

Dabi stared at you. “I swear.”

You stared back at him, long and hard.

Dabi gave a tired sigh. “If I was gonna hide ‘em,, I wouldn’t have told you about them in the first place. You can check all my pockets if it’ll make you feel better.”

Well, he certainly had a point there. And if he really wanted to hide them, he would have taken them and hidden them somewhere in the bathroom while he had changed. Sifting through his pockets wouldn’t make any difference.

But based on his words and the obvious pain he was in, you were satisfied. You pulled out a water bottle. “You have to drink this first.”

There was no complaint, no snarky comment. Dabi took the water bottle and downed it, squeezing the plastic until it was empty.

“...and you know I’m going to make you eat something too.”

That much Dabi did protest.

“I ate earlier.”

“Oh?” you tested. “How much earlier?”

He didn’t answer, and his jaw jutted out stubbornly in a small pout.

“That’s what I thought,” you teased. “Do you want crackers or sweet bread?”

Dabi swallowed as if testing his throat for what he could handle. “Bread.”

You smiled. That was the better choice anyway. You pulled out the prepackaged snack from your bag and handed it to him. He opened it and begrudgingly bit off a chunk and chewed. Once at least half of it was gone, you handed him the pills. He swallowed them gratefully, and then continued to eat the bread.

“Okay, do you want to start with your knuckles or your scars?” you asked.

Dabi finished his bread and set the wrapper aside. “Just my hands. Leave the scars.”

This time it was your turn to be confused. You stared at him in incredulity.

“What? Why?”

He was avoiding your eyes again and it annoyed you. “I don’t want you using your quirk on me.”

This again?? You’d already been through this with him before; why was it coming up now?

You huffed. “That’s ridiculous. We both know the pills aren’t enough. I have to use my quirk.”

Dabi’s hands clenched, fingers digging into the sheets. “No, you don’t.”

You stared at him again, and you could feel the anger bubbling like a geyser. The thinnest of willpower kept it from erupting. He was pushing you away. Again. And this time, you almost wanted to let him. It was three steps forward, two steps back and you were tired of dancing to this tired song.

But you were stubborn too. And you didn’t like the emptiness you felt at the thought of letting him win, of letting him break whatever this was that you had built.

“Why not?” your voice raised slightly, and your throat tightened to keep yourself from truly shouting at him.

But Dabi must have been fighting a similar battle within himself, and he lost it before you did, his blue eyes igniting briefly. “BECAUSE IT’S NOT WORTH HURTING YOURSELF OVER.”

Every fiber in your body froze, your hot words dying instantly on your tongue.

Dabi scowled and averted his eyes. “Because I’m not worth hurting yourself over.”

And just like that, the tension you’d been feeling evaporated. You finally understood.

“This is about last night...” you breathed, “about me over-using my quirk.”

You hadn’t expected this. You hadn’t expected him to take that on himself, to hold himself responsible for what happened. You’d assumed he’d helped you as a way to return the favor of you helping him before. But it had never occurred to you that seeing you like that had bothered him to this degree.

“If you hadn’t treated me first,” Dabi continued, “you wouldn’t have pushed yourself over the edge for Compress.”

Your expression smoothed. “You don’t know that,” you replied. “Compress was severely injured. It probably would have drained me regardless. That level of pain is... well, it’s beyond what I’m capable of.”

Dabi’s jaw clenched as if he wanted to say more, counter arguments piling behind his teeth, eager to be let loose. Instead, he swallowed them in favor of something different.

“It doesn’t matter,” he replied. “I don’t want it.”

You knew it was a lie. You saw how he melted beneath your hands every time, his body becoming loose and relaxed, his breaths deep and steady. Not like now, where it was bound like a rusted coil ready to break.

Silence stretched long and thick between you as you thought about his words, his actions. The pieces connected into another question.

“Was that why you left this morning?” you asked. “To try to make it so you won’t need my quirk anymore?”

Dabi’s eyes locked with yours and widened slightly as he suddenly fell silent. He hadn’t wanted you to know that, you realized. But you’d pieced it together on your own, and now he was caught. Your gaze on him suddenly felt invasive, seeing more than he had wanted. That combined with realizing how important you were to him made heat flood your skin. You averted your eyes to busy yourself with taking out rubbing alcohol, cotton balls, tweezers, and gauze.

“You know this is temporary, right? “ you said. “It won’t be like this forever. I’m just waiting to hear back from my friend. Once he lets me know your pills are ready, we’ll get them and I won’t have to use my quirk anymore.”

Stubborn silence was his only response and it left you unsatisfied. How could you possibly convince him to let this go? To let you continue to help him? You continued talking, pleading your case as you began cleaning the wounds on Dabi’s hands.

“Here’s what will happen tonight if you don’t let me help. I won’t use my quirk, so I won’t have to deal with my sensory overload. That’s true. But you, on the other hand, will be suffering through the ins and outs of your nerve pain, my pills never quite working the way you need them to. You won’t be able to sleep. You won’t want to eat. And when my pills start to wear off, you’re going to start to feel the withdrawal twice as hard when my quirk isn’t there to soften the blow. The body aches, the headaches, the stomach pains. And that’s just the physical stuff.”

You let your last sentence hang for a moment, the unspoken implication of his inner battles heavy in the air. You prepped the cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and began dabbing at the dried blood and torn skin of Dabi’s knuckles. His hand twitched, but he was silent.

“You’re going to be craving a quick fix all night,” you continued. “And you’re either going to be tempted to come get me in the wee hours of the night, or you’re going to be tempted to go back out there and find it yourself. And maybe you will, and you’ll fix your problem yourself. Or maybe you won’t. Maybe you’ll find something worse and end up hurting yourself. Or you’ll get caught.”

You began plucking the splinters out of Dabi’s hand. He was still as a statue now as you worked, not even the slightest flinch as you yanked out splinter after splinter. His lips were sealed shut into a thin line as he listened in silence.

“And all I’ll be doing the entire time is wondering if you’re okay. I won’t be able to sleep. I’ll be sitting up all night, waiting to hear your footsteps walk by my room or hear your knock on my door. And if you leave again, like you did today without coming to me first, and you don’t answer your phone when I call – because you know I will - I’m going to worry all over again, wondering if you’re ever coming back. Wondering if you’ve ODed somewhere, or got caught by heroes, or who knows what else.”

‘Wondering if you broke your promise.’

That last part you kept to yourself, but your eyes began to burn with tears at the thought. You tried your best to blink them away, but they stuck to your lashes like dew drops. You kept your gaze trained on his knuckles.

“Or,” you continued, “you can let me treat you tonight. I’ll be a little sensitive and go bury myself under the covers after I’m done. Sure, there’s the risk that someone else might need my help, but it’s not guaranteed. And if I did end up having to overexert myself again, I know you’d be able to be there for me to help me through it, just like you did last night.

“You won’t have to suffer through your pain anymore, and you won’t have to risk your safety going out there again looking for something that may or may not give you what you need. And,” – your annoyance began to seep into your voice – “most importantly, both of us can finally get some semblance of a fucking proper night’s sleep.”

Your eyes lifted and met his in challenge. “So, I’m going to ask you one more time. Will you let me treat you?”

Dabi stared at you, his blue eyes sharper, more pensive. After a moment, his head tilted slightly, and a single eyebrow arched up slowly beneath his curling bangs.

“Wow,” he finally commented as a slow grin graced his lips. “You said the f-word.”

You stared at him for a moment, stunned. Really??

You realized he was trying to lighten the mood, tease you a little to take some of the pressure off him, but you weren’t having it. You mercilessly yanked hard on an especially deep splinter, and Dabi flinched, his face wincing slightly.

“Don’t avoid my question,” you scolded.

“I’m not avoiding it. I’m thinking.”

“Well think faster.”

Dabi pursed his lips. “You’re angry.” Yank. “Ow.”

“Don’t be a baby. And I’m not angry.”

“You sure about that, doll?”

You stared him down and wrenched out another large splinter.

“Ow! Okay, that one actually fucking hurt.”

Dabi started to pull his hand away, but you yanked it back towards you.

“Suck it up, Buttercup. You’re the one that won’t let me use my quirk. Besides, it’ll hurt worse if it gets infected.”

“You know I could probably just incinerate these outta me, right?”

“And deprive me of this joyful experience?” you replied as you continued plucking. “Don’t even think about it. This is like popping bubble wrap with the added benefit of making you suffer the consequences of your actions.”

A slow grin spread across Dabi’s haggard face . “I think that’s the evilest thing I’ve ever heard you say. And you say you’re not angry...”

“I’m a lot of things, Dabi. I’m relieved, I’m tired, and yeah... maybe I am a little angry. But most importantly, I’m hurt.”

Dabi’s dry humor slipped away into a solemn silence.

“I know,” he said finally.

You sighed heavily and paused in your task to sit back on your heels. “I just... I wish you had trusted me, instead of pushing me away again. I would have understood, you know.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Dabi replied with an annoyed scoff as he leaned back onto the bed with his hands. “You would have tried to stop me, and you know it.”

“I said I would have understood. I didn’t say I wouldn’t try to stop you. Of course, I’d try to stop you, Dabi. Because that’s what friends do, right?” You rubbed at the space between your eyes with your thumb and forefinger. “Or at the very least, I would have gone with you, just to make sure the pills were real and to help you manage them.”

Something flashed in Dabi’s eyes, and he bristled. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Why not??”

“Because it wouldn’t help.”

“You don’t know that-”

“Like hell I don’t. You don’t know the first thing about drug dealing. This isn’t some special friend you get to bat your pretty lashes at and then get everything you want. You’d just be in the way.”

“Excuse me? I do not bat my lashes, thank you very much. Those supplies are bought and paid for.”

“Yeah, with Shigaraki’s allowance. You’re not sitting there negotiating with the stolen bills in your pocket, wondering if your ‘friend’ is trying to swindle you.”

You pursed your lips; he had a point. Still... you were stubborn.

“Well,” you pressed, “I wouldn’t have to do the dealing part, I’d just —"

“No.”

“But Dabi-“

“Stop.”

“If you’d just-“

“Don’t you get it??” Dabi growled, his blue eyes like daggers. Heat began to roll off him, curls of steam lifting from his damp hair. “I didn’t fucking want you there.”

The words were harsh and blunt, and struck you with quick precision. You stared at him, stunned into silence as your heart pounded heavy in your chest. It was the harshest he’d ever been with you, and you could already feel the tears stinging the corners of your eyes as his words implied more than they said.

I didn’t fucking want you there.

....

I didn’t fucking want you.

....

I don’t want you.

His words and his tone had been so jagged that they stuck in your throat like a stone that you couldn’t swallow, and each time you tried, your eyes seemed to brim more and more. You tried to blink them away, to avert your gaze to neutralize your hurt feelings, but it didn’t work. A single tear escaped down your cheek, and you quickly swiped at it as if it’d keep Dabi from seeing it.

But of course, he did. How could he not, when you were inches away from him?

His eyes widened slightly, and the heat in the air vanished instantly. “Shit...” he muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair.

It was not the reaction you were hoping for. Shame and embarrassment filled you, wrapped in a hot blanket of anger.

You took a breath to steady yourself. “Wow...” you muttered.

You began to move away from him, to give yourself space for your wounded ego, but Dabi’s hand shot out and wrapped around your wrist, keeping you close.

“Wait,” he started. “Don’t go.”

Something in his voice made your body halt, the touch of his hand on your skin drawing you back to where you had been crouched in front of him. Once he was certain you wouldn’t abandon him, he relinquished your wrist.

“I didn’t mean....” Dabi’s words died on his tongue as he stared at you, searching for your eyes to meet his. But you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. You were too angry, your feelings too raw.

It bothered him. Dabi said your name, beckoning you. “...look at me.”.

You shook your head as you stared a small burn spot on his bedding.

Dabi let out a sigh and ran his fingers through his hair again. “Look. I didn’t mean that. At least not the way it sounded.”

“It sounded like you were being an asshole,” you replied.

Dabi clamped his jaw shut, the muscle twitching slightly.

“Yeah,” he finally replied. “I know. I do that sometimes. I just...”

Dabi fell silent for a long moment, as if gathering his words carefully. You wondered how often he had to do that. You guessed not very much, since he always said what was on his mind without much thought.

After a moment he continued, his words stilted and slow.

“What I meant... is that... you could get caught in the middle... if something went wrong.”

His words were clumsy, but you listened anyway, allowing their meaning to sink in past your guarded heart.

He didn’t want you caught in the middle.

He didn’t want you to get hurt.

He wanted to keep you safe.

Of course. That’s what he’d been saying all along. It was why he left this morning in the first place, and it was why he didn’t want you to use your quirk.

The tension in your body melted away, leaving behind a warmth in your chest that you were afraid to touch. You finally looked up at Dabi, your eyes connecting with his. Once he was satisfied with what he found there, he looked away.

Another long silence passed as you waited for Dabi to gather his thoughts and organize them into words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter.

“This isn’t easy,” he confessed. “I feel like I’m constantly treading water, on the verge of drowning. And I can’t-”

His word were cut short by a flinch and a grimace as a flash of nerve pain forced him into silence. You held his hand on instinct, and he squeezed your fingers in his palm. Eventually, the pain dissipated, and you waited quietly for him to continue, your hands still connected.

Dabi’s next words were barely above a whisper, but the weight of them made them feel loud. “I... I don’t want to pull you under with me.”

His eyes wouldn’t look at you. They never did when he was sharing something he deemed personal. It was as if the confessions he spilled to the floor were meant to be forgotten instead being held safely in someone else’s hands. Safer to abandon rather than trust another person to cherish.

You wondered how many times he’d said important things when he was young only to have them dropped and abandoned by those he loved.

Your fingers reached out and tightened around his. “I promise you won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“This is my choice, Dabi. I can stop whenever I want. I know my limits.”

His brow furrowed in frustration. “Do you? Like you knew your limits last night?”

You froze. He had you there.

“I... I didn’t have a choice.”

“Maybe not last night with Compress. But you do have a choice with me.”

Another silent pause. You opened your mouth to speak, but you were interrupted by a knock at the door. Both you and Dabi turned to look at it.

“I wonder who that is,” you mused. “Should I answer it?”

Dabi shrugged, glad to have the topic temporarily dropped. “I guess.”

You went to the door and opened it to see Toga on the other side. Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her skirt.

“Hi sis,” she said. “I was wondering... do you have...?”

Your eyes widened in realization. “Oh! Yeah, hang on let me get it for you.”

Toga stayed at the doorway and poked her head in briefly. “Hey Dabi!” she waved.

Dabi grunted in response. You raised an amused eyebrow at him; he was so different around everyone else compared to you....

You rummaged through your medical bag before finding what you were looking for. The packaging and circular shape caught Dabi’s eye instantly, piquing his interest.

You handed the birth control to Toga and she took it, hiding it in her crossed arms. “Thanks,” she said.

You closed the door as she left and turned to find Dabi giving you the strangest of looks.

“Was that what I think it was?” Dabi asked.

“It was,” you replied as you walked back to where he sat.

Dabi scrunched up his nose. “Seriously? She’s having sex? Gross.”

You gave Dabi a light shove. “No, doofus. She uses them for protection.”

“From having a baby. So, she’s having sex. God, she’s like, what... fifteen?”

“Seventeen, actually. Will be eighteen in August,” you corrected. You cocked your head at him, your brow furrowed. “You really don’t know...?”

“What?”

You sat back down and returned to pulling the last remaining splinters from his knuckles, your administrations much gentler this time.

“Well,” you continued, “I mean... she’s a young pretty girl, living in the underground, surrounded by, well... villains.”

Realization rose like the morning sun in his bright blue eyes.

“You’re talking about rape.” Dabi stated bluntly.

You stared him dead in the eye. “I am. And all the consequences that could come with that. She’s not exactly someone who could walk into a clinic, is she?”

Dabi looked away. “I guess not.”

“I guess that’s not something you guys usually have to worry about, is it?”

“Getting pregnant? No. Not really.” A heavy silence filled the space before Dabi spoke again, his eyes downcast on his shorts, scarred knees poking out the bottoms. His fingers found a rogue bead of lint and he rolled it between his fingers. “Are you on them too?”

Now it was your turn to look surprised, and your skin felt suddenly hot even though it shouldn’t. “Of course, I am. I probably need to be on it more than Toga, to be honest. At least she can defend herself.”

Dabi’s eyes darkened slightly and the piece of lint smoked briefly between his fingers. When he opened them all that was left was a small spot of ash.

“You never should have joined the League,” he said quietly.

You gave a soft smile. “You worried about me, Dabi?”

His eyes met yours. “....What if I was?” he replied.

Your heart skipped, and you busied yourself by wrapping his hand in gauze. “Well, I’d say that I’m safer here with the League than I ever would be out there on my own. Besides,” you teased, “I have you to protect me.”

You had expected Dabi to smirk and give a flirty retort, or joke about his injury. But instead, for the first time, you saw color rise to his cheeks. He averted his eyes quickly, his brow furrowed.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, as you tied off the gauze.

Dabi’s hand went up to rub at the nape of his neck. “Why aren’t you still angry with me?”

You raised your eyebrow. “Who said I’m not?”

“You know what I mean.”

You thought quietly before answering. “Well... let’s be honest. You’re a drug addict. And you did what a lot of drug addicts do. You relapsed.”

Dabi’s jaw clenched. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“Really? Are you sure about that?” You tilted your head as you wrapped up the other hand. “It seems pretty important to me...”

“At some point I’m going to run out of second chances.”

“If you were trying to lie and conceal, then I might agree with you,” you replied as you tied the bandage off. “But so far, you’ve been honest with me, and, for whatever reason, you got rid of your pills.”

Dabi visibly stiffened again, and you put your hand up to halt his defenses.

“Look, I’m not going to ask why,” you continued. “ I hope one day you’ll tell me when you’re ready. But for now, it’s enough for me to know that you’re making an effort. I just....” you hesitated before continuing. “I just don’t want to be the reason you relapse, Dabi. It’s not worth it.”

“It wasn’t just for you,” he confessed. “I went because I wanted them.” You could hear the longing in his voice. “Fuck, I still do.”

You placed a hand on his knee and waited, keeping your silence. You suspected there was more he needed to say; you could see it in the way he licked his lips, as if it would help the next words come out easier, in the way his eyes stayed low.

“I’m tired, doll. I’m tired of this room, and I’m tired of this body. I feel like I’m gonna go insane if I have to stay in here another day.”

Dabi rubbed his face with a downward swipe his hand, and you could see the pull of exhaustion in every inch of him. You could feel it mirrored in your own body, in the dull, throbbing ache of your neck and shoulders, the tiredness that never left.

“Just because you want it doesn’t make you a bad person, Dabi.”

Dabi gave a sardonic laugh as his eyes remained downcast. “Maybe not. But it does make me weak.”

You frowned and cupped Dabi’s cheek until he was looking you dead in the eyes. “Dabi, you relapsed. You. Relapsed. That’s not a failure of your character, you understand me? That’s addiction. That’s your brain and body hurting and wanting to fix it the easiest way possible.”

He gave another dry laugh and took your hand from his cheek. “I know, doll. I’ve been through this before.”

“Yeah, but before you were doing it all on your own. At least now you have me.”

Dabi smirked. “You gonna save me, doll?”

“That’s a bit much,” you teased. “I’m just trying to keep you alive for now.”

Dabi laughed. “I guess I did set the bar pretty low, didn’t I?”

You laughed in return.

Your shared lighthearted moment was interrupted by another flash of pain through Dabi’s body. He cradled his arm and doubled over with a low, tired moan. After a moment it subsided and he sat up again, his face once again strained.

“Are the pills helping?” you asked.

“A little,” he replied. “Better than earlier.”

You pursed your lips as you watched how he continued to cradle his arm.

“You know….” You started. “I was thinking…”

Dabi stared at you suspiciously, eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Well, for your nerve pain... is it everywhere? Or are there specific parts that hurt more than others?”

“Hm.” Dabi thought. “It... changes, I guess. But there are some spots that keep coming back.”

“I thought so...” you muttered. “Not all of your damaged nerves are going to hurt. I’m sure most of them don’t feel anything at all. It’s the ones that tried to heal and grew back wrong that make you feel pain the way you do.”

You took his hand in yours, turning it over back and forth as if expecting to find care instructions there.

“I wonder if I can isolate where the damaged nerves are. That way I won’t have to use my quirk as much when I treat you, and you won’t have to worry about me pushing myself too far.” You grinned. “Consider it a compromise.”

Dabi hesitated, his resolve fracturing. It did sound enticing. Especially as another zing of pain laced itself across his back.

“...Fine,” he replied. You reached your hand towards him but he caught it in his grip. “But if it starts to be too much, you stop.”

Your eyes were already scoping over him, assessing. “Yeah, yeah...” you said offhandedly.

He gave your fingers a gentle squeeze , enough to regain your attention, your eyes locking with his. “I mean it.”

You held your gaze with him. “I promise.”

“No lying?”

You couldn’t help but smile as you remembered that familiar phrase you both shared. “No lying,” you replied.

You returned to scanning the map of scars across his skin, your fingers lightly brushing across the staples.

“Where do you usually feel the pain?” you asked.

“In my right leg. The back of the thigh.”

You placed your hands there and let your quirk trickle forth.

“And... my back. Between my shoulder blades.”

You stood and leaned over him to place your hands on his shoulder blades, your quirk seeping from each hand until it connected in the middle along his spine and up into the base of his neck. His body responded instantly, shoulders drooping in relaxation.

“Where else?” you asked.

There was a pause before he responded. “My left arm.”

Inch by inch, you healed all of the places he could remember the needles of pain originating before spreading like wildfire across his skin. And once he’d named every spot from memory, you waited with him silently, until he grunted and buckled against a new wave of pain, a forgotten set of nerves, before naming its location.

“You’re interesting...” you commented as you worked, the low hum of the environment around you sharpening.

“Yeah, I know.”

You lightly flicked Dabi’s forehead. “Smart ass.”

“So abusive today. Don’t hurt me, I’m fragile.”

You rolled your eyes. “What I mean, is that in most cases for burn victims, having nerve pain for third degree burns is rare. Like, really rare. Most of the time, the nerve receptors are completely burned away and the person feels nothing.”

“They weren’t always like this.” Dabi replied as he looked over the scars on his arm.

“I’m guessing that you’ve been damaging yourself slowly over the years, and each time your body tries to heal. Do that enough times over and over, and...” you gestured at him.

“So, what you’re saying is use more fire so that I can completely burn these fuckers away and finally not feel anything. Way ahead of ya, sweetheart...”

“Yeah, except for the whole killing yourself part...”

“Another way to make sure I don’t feel anymore,” he joked.

You pursed your lips into a pout. “Nope, not allowed. Vetoed.”

“You the boss of me now?”

“Remember, the goal is to keep you alive. Low bar, Dabi. Really low bar.”

“But I’m really good at limbo. Flexible. Lots of training.”

“The bar is laying on the floor.”

Dabi humphed. “Cheater…”

You couldn’t help but laugh and Dabi’s grinned. But your laugh was short-lived, lacking its usual luster. You normally didn’t mind dark humor, but this time it was hitting a little too close to home. You hated the idea of Dabi dying and you refused to engage in the thought.

Your eyes got that familiar burning feeling again, and you forced yourself to focus on his skin once again. Once you’d treated all he could identify, you traced your fingers across all of his scars that you could reach, asking if he could feel your touch on them. As you expected, a majority of the nerves were entirely dead from his quirk abuse. It was a select few, five or six hot spots, that had been the cause of all of his troubles.

After you’d checked every visible inch, you sat back on your heels and looked him over. “I think that covers it. What do you think? I mean, I guess we won’t really know until a good twenty to thirty minutes pass...”

Dabi stretched his limbs and moved his head side to side. “Seems fine,” he replied. Then he looked you over, his gaze scrutinizing. “How about you?”

You paused and reflected on yourself. “A little sensitive, but not as bad as before.”

Dabi held out his hand and snapped his fingers at you. The sound reverberated in your skull, like a knock that was too loud, but it didn’t make you cower. Instead, you batted his hands away.

“Knock it off!” you chided.

“Just checking,” he grinned.

Your face brightened with a glowing smile. “I think... I think it worked!”

“Yeah, yeah no need to gloat, smart-ass,” he replied.

“Oh, it’s definitely time to gloat. I win. I win, I win, I win,” you teased. You danced in front of him, your hips swinging side to side and your arms pumping in a silly dance. Dabi grinned at you making a fool of yourself.

One moment you were teasing him, and the next, his arm was around you, and your back was down against the mattress, as air left your lungs in a high-pitched squeak.

“Ah! Dabi!” you yelped.

He had you pinned beneath him, your wrists held in his hands on either side of your head. His hold on you was firm yet gentle, and your sensitive nerves hummed beneath his touch.

“Now I win.” He grinned down at you. “Not so cocky now, are ya?”

All your usual quips dried up on your tongue as your heart pounded in your chest. You were frozen, suddenly painfully aware of how Dabi’s leg was positioned between your own legs, his knee inches from your groin where you instantly felt heat begin to pool.

Dabi froze as well, his grin slowly fading from his lips as his eyes traced over your features. You watched as his pupils dilated and his lips parted slightly. Slowly, his hands moved from your wrists to your palms, his fingers intertwining with yours, making the skin of your palms sing.

You instinctively curled your fingers as shameless hope blossomed in your chest that he might do something – anything. The longing hurt too much, and the way he was looking at you, the way he was touching you...

Your voice was a soft plea. “Dabi...”

The loud, muffled trill of your ring tone erupted from your back pocket, and you jumped, nearly colliding your forehead into Dabi’s nose. Fortunately, Dabi’s reflexes were faster, and he backed off of you swiftly, his hands abandoning yours as if they’d never been there in the first place.

“Shit!” you cursed. You took your phone out of your pocket, your fingers fumbling. You were going to put it on silent, to ignore the call and send it to voicemail. But your eyes widened when you saw the name. “I have to answer this.”

Dabi was already off the bed, pulling his white tee on over his head. You hit the green button, your eyes following him as he retreated briefly to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” replied a familiar voice.

“Yatsumoto,” you whispered. “Why are you calling me so late?”

“You know those pills that I told you would take another week?”

Your heart somersaulted. “Yeah?”

“Well, you got lucky. Really lucky. I made some new connections, and it turns out they’ll be here tomorrow.”

“What?? How?”

“I’m just that good,” he teased.

“Holy shit,” you breathed.

Dabi came out of the bathroom and grabbed his bottle of liquor that still sat on his desk, pouring himself a glass. You smacked his arm with the back of your hand and then waved your palm outward in a classic ‘what are you doing?’ gesture. Dabi imitated it back at you with both hands, in a very obvious ‘what??’. You rolled your eyes at him and turned your back on him.

“So, what time can I head over?” you continued.

“I’ll be picking them up in the morning, so come in the afternoon after 2pm and you should be safe.” Yatsumoto replied.

“Okay, I’ll be there.”

“Will your friend be there again? The big guy?”

Obviously not; Toga had no more of that guy’s blood left. You turned and looked at Dabi. Maybe...

“No,” you replied.

You turned around just in time to see Dabi down his glass and refill it half an inch. You walked over and snatched the bottle from his hand. He stared you dead in the eye and drank what was in the glass, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I’ll be coming with someone new,” you continued as you stared Dabi down, your eyes glaring daggers at him.

Dabi raised an eyebrow at you.

“Okay, sounds good. Make sure whoever it is looks less suspicious than the last guy. The concierge was asking questions after your last visit.”

Your skin prickled at that. “Should I be worried?”

There was a loaded pause, then Yatsumoto replied, “No. It’s been handled.”

It sent a chill down your spine. Yatsumoto was a good friend of yours; but he also had a lucrative illegal business to protect.

“Okay. Two o’ clock,” you confirmed. “I’ll see you then.”

“See ya.”

Once you hung up, you took a quick swig of the bottle, wincing as the liquid burned on its way down.

Dabi laughed. “If you wanted some, you coulda just asked.”

“This is mine now,” you scolded, “since you don’t seem to have a modicum of self-control. And that swig was a gift to me for having to put up with your ridiculous behavior.”

Dabi grinned in amusement. “It’s just a couple drinks, doll. To help me sleep. Besides, I can just grab more from the bar downstairs.”

“Do it and you won’t get to come with me tomorrow.”

“Oh? And where are we going?”

“To pick up your pills. They’re ready.”

Dabi’s grin vanished. “That’s not fucking funny.”

“I’m not joking, Dabi. You know I’d never do that.” you replied as you put the cap back onto the bottle. “That’s what that call was about.”

“You said they wouldn’t be ready for at least another week.”

There was almost a bitterness to Dabi’s words, a note of betrayal, and you realized why. If he’d known that this would happen, he never would have left this morning.

You wondered how different things would have been had he stayed.

“That’s what I was told,” you replied, “but apparently he was able to pull some strings.”

Dabi was quiet for a moment before speaking again, his words tinged with hope. “Can we get them now?”

You looked at him in sympathy. “He doesn’t have them yet. He’ll be getting them tomorrow. We’ll go get them in the afternoon. Besides, you’ve already taken my pills. Even if we could get them tonight, you know you wouldn’t be able to take any.”

Dabi’s brow furrowed in frustration and he looked away from you, his palms on his desk. You walked over to him, and the space around him felt hot, electric. You weren’t sure if you were sensing the heat of his quirk, or something else, something that only existed when the two of you were close together...

You recalled how he’d pinned you down earlier, how he’d held your hands... whatever it was, the moment had passed; you knew it wouldn’t be revisited tonight. Even so, the memory of it flavored the air, an undercurrent that you both continued to breathe in without explicitly acknowledging.

You placed your hand on Dabi’s shoulder, and his eyes glanced downward in your direction.

“Get some rest, Dabi. Your body needs it, and it’ll make the time pass quicker.”

He finally lifted his head just enough to look at you, his eyes meeting yours through dark bangs that had now dried from the rain. It was hard to breathe when he looked at you like that; it was as if his eyes somehow inhaled all of the oxygen in the room, leaving you breathless. It was a gaze filled with questions, and dark, secret things that had yet to be unearthed. You could feel yourself being swallowed by it, and for a moment it terrified you.

Dabi opened his mouth to speak, but panic raced up your spine and you stepped back, your hand leaving his arm as your eyes left his, breaking your connection. Every inch of your body felt hot and your heart was pounding, ready to flee.

“Good night, Dabi,” you said softly.

You gathered your things and left the room. As you closed the door behind you, you thought you heard the faintest whisper of a ‘good night’, but you weren’t entirely sure if it was real or your wishful thinking.

Once you’d gotten back safely to your room, you changed into your pajamas and crawled beneath the covers, your mind racing. You weren’t entirely sure why you ran away like that... You’d always thought that you’d be over the moon if Dabi ever reciprocated even a hint of interest in you, and now, after tonight’s events, you had no doubt in your mind that he was interested. But the possibility of it becoming a reality suddenly brought up new fears you hadn’t anticipated. What if the darkness in his eyes, that deep hungry need, stopped only at desire? Or what if everything changed once he got back on his pills? What would happen when he no longer needed you? Maybe he was confusing the ache of loneliness for something else, something you’d told yourself he’d never feel for you. After all, you were two very different people, walking very different paths. You’d always accepted the possibility that your time together would be temporary, regardless of what promises were made in the dark on cold bathroom floors.

Perhaps it was better to wait, to let the impending tides of change happen and see how the sediments of your relationship settle. After all, you’d gotten comfortable with how things were between you, even with the ebb and flow of togetherness and separation that seemed to be a hallmark of being a part of Dabi’s life. And that made the possibility of change, in any capacity, terrifying.

In the darkness, you stared at the open palm of your hand, tracing its lines with your fingers, recalling the feel of Dabi’s skin against them. And when you closed your eyes in the darkness, it was his burning gaze that looked back at you, speaking the single word that you hadn’t let him say out loud.

Stay. ----------------------------------- Chapter 15

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#dabi x reader #touya x reader #soft!dabi #dabi #touya todoroki #slow burn #pining #tw:alcohol #tw:drug addiction #tw:drug withdrawal #angst with a happy ending #hurt/comfort #Touch #Touch chapter 14

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