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#dabi x you
neurthotic · 2 days
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can you please do dabi as a bf again but more explicit (nsfw)? tysm
DABI AS A BOYFRIEND II
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Not My Type: Dead As Fuck 2 - Motionless In White
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Dabi enjoys giving head as much as getting it, actually.  he likes the way you flinch and shudder when the burned skin on his face scrapes harshly against your sensitive inner thighs. he likes locking eyes with you across your heaving chest to watch you struggle to stay coherent, his slow grin against you exposing sharp teeth to your hopelessly overstimulated parts.
but this doesn’t stop him from plunging his fists into your hair when it’s your turn to get on your knees for him, gritting obscenities through clenched teeth and tensing tight as a bear trap as he tries to refrain from smashing his hips into your face hard enough to break your nose.  his knees cradle your head—sometimes his superheated hand cups the column of your throat to feel the bulge in it as he slides in and out.
the other thing. his body temperature skyrockets when he’s turned on, the fire inside him boiling to the surface to simmer behind his eyes and in his fingertips.  and in other places.  you better hope he doesn’t cum in your throat because it will leave burns all the way down.  (you have swallowed, once or twice, anyway—for once in his life, it left Dabi well and truly flustered, pupils so large they nearly turned his eyes black with the dopamine rush as he computed what had happened.  he probably abruptly called you a whore and then pulled you into his chest, his heartbeat slamming against your ear like a jackhammer, before getting you water and stroking your hair like he was hypnotized.)
a thousand wild horses couldn’t take this hc away from me: Dabi has a bizarre infatuation with pain.  the nerve damage leaves him with such a high tolerance that it registers as nearly orgasmic when it happens.  he’s constantly trying to get you to be rougher with him, eyes searing and delirious in the dim light as he murmurs in your ear.  “bite there again, pretty, make it bleed this time.”  “that slap won’t bruise. do it again.”  he contents himself with the darkest hickies you can suck into his damaged collarbone, but before he drifts off to sleep, or when he jerks off, the hazy images that imprint on his brain are more like you stabbing his abdomen with pocket knives or chewing his little finger off. it would be pretty hot if you killed him one day
steam hisses off of his overheated body and out of his mouth in copious white plumes when he finishes with a groan, muffled into the top of your head as he holds you. his wiry body spasms with aftershock.  if there aren’t tears streaming down your face from sheer overstimulation, and small, scuffed burn marks where his searing flesh ground too roughly against yours all over your body, he won’t be satisfied.  there’s almost never an ‘i love you,’ but this is his favorite feeling in the world— cooling down with you in his arms, listening to you try and catch your breath, your heaving chest pressed tight to his.  good luck trying to get up to pee. 
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[ sorry this ended up way long + i have no experience writing this stuff LMAO but i hope you enjoyed anon 🫶 thank u for the request! ]
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jomamaofficial · 3 days
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An Empty Vessel pt.3 (Dabi x Fem!Reader Dark Angst)
A/N: As promised, I have come with Part 3. I can’t lie, I did not expect to have so many parts to this series (me personally, I thought it would be a oneshot), but guys, seeing all the love y’alls are giving to this series is just AHHH. It fills my heart with joy <3. I urge you all to read the TWs and CWs because this series as a whole is just dark. As always, my Ask Box is open for any requests or just a conversation. Please remember to take care of yourselves, and enjoy. As always, I would love to see your thoughts in the comments :). TW: Substance abuse (alcohol, smoking), small mention of mass murder and a reunion with abusive lover. CW: swearing. Taglist: @marlenemckinnonsleftfoot @sukunasleftkneecap @istoleyourmanho3 @witherfag @porusuniverse @iluvoaldmen @genshinsimpforlif @shadowmoonlight0604 @simpsimpson2023 @crybab7 @kaeyastittysucker @jennieyeager @an-ever-angry-bi @gyarukitti Masterlist Word Count: 2207. Summary: Saira Uchiyama. His past had caught up to him in the form of a family– Touya Todoroki had no family but Dabi could not deny the existence of his. The existence of a family that had driven him to search for a name he had never even heard of. Dabi's fragile world unravelled; every single thread forced him to confront the consequences of his actions. Was it even her? The one he had beat and shut out of his life? Dabi’s mind hurt, because it finally intertwined with the realisation of the irreparable damage he had caused.
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Dabi has had his overcoat for a long time. 
It was the first thing that was ever made for him, and only him. 
He never had to share it. 
The material was light; he could move quickly without the weight dragging him down. 
The material was heat-resistant, so he didn’t have to worry about incinerating his clothes during a fight. 
His clothes allowed him to let go. Dabi could explore the forbidden fruits of his full potential because the material allowed heat to escape– because of the fabric’s ‘enhanced breathability’ or something. He never paid attention. But it worked, so he always had it on. 
Dabi made his way up to the roof, ignoring the small cries of his name from the distance. It wasn’t on purpose though– he couldn’t concentrate on anything else. His mind had to work hard to think about nothing. Because if his conscience took over, his chest would collapse. 
There wasn’t anything left inside of him anymore. That’s what he had recited every waking day of his life as Dabi. But God, he needed a cigarette– to fill that hollow feeling inside of him. 
A few long puffs always did the trick. Although it felt best when he was on the roof, legs hanging off the ledge. 
One of his favourite hobbies was to look at the city under the glistering stars. 
Yokohama never slept. The little toy cars had small people that were always going somewhere. Their blinking red lights mirrored the sea of stars on the bumpy road. At such a distance, where cars disappeared from one end to the other, that journey seemed so mindless. Yet still, everything felt like… like it was still in place. As if everything about this world was truly intentional. 
Dabi dragged a longer puff, throwing his head back, succumbing to the gentle breeze and his thoughts. 
But in the end, you couldn’t make out any face, let alone their identity. Everything became insignificant. All that mattered was the action. 
Dabi could distinguish between a walking figure and a jogging figure. Whether they were alone or with others. 
But in the end, everything else was insignificant when he was above them all. 
So far up, that if he fell– right now– he wouldn’t come back. 
Anyone could push him off.  
“There you are!” 
Dabi grimaced. His soothing bubble had been forcefully broken, and he was dragged back to reality. He had his suspicions on who it was. 
“I thought we could use a drink or two.”
His eyes glowered at the approaching figure. He could never be left alone. But when the bottle of scotch was handed to him, the interruption wasn’t too bad after all. Dabi jerked his head towards the empty space beside him. 
He could hear careful steps approaching, then cautious shuffling beside him. 
Had he stolen a glance in his peripheral vision, he could watch the gentle breeze tease her hair, sweeping it left and right. 
He felt a chaste glance on his face. 
There was a thin, yet strong wall between them. It was thin enough to talk through– although it left no room for subtlety. It was thin enough for them to warm each other. But if they tried to cross it, they’d have to break it down, and crush the other under the weight of the wall. 
There was a lingering sense of emptiness that filled the night sky. 
Empty smiles, empty vessels. 
She drew in a breath, but no words followed, as though she had forgotten how to speak.
“Today was…” she started, only to falter off into silence, her hands rubbing at her arms. 
Dabi had his overcoat for a very long time. 
It was the first thing that was ever made for him. And only him. 
He never had to share it. 
But it felt way too heavy today. And despite the gale tightening its frosty clutch, Dabi could feel his body heating up. 
“The plan was successful”, Dabi replied flatly, “that’s all we need to care about”. 
He pushed his discarded jacket towards her. She slipped it around her shoulders.
The League’s attack on downtown Esuha was broadcasted globally, and they had finally reached the headlines of every news article. 
‘Bloodshed Strikes Downtown Esuha as Villains Unleashed Devastating Attacks’
After years of failed plans, the League of Villains had finally succeeded. 
No man, no woman, no child was left. But it was all worth it. 
Wasn’t it? 
Their plan was the highlight of every media discussion.
Dabi took a larger sip of his drink, bathing under the serene wave which washed over his inhibitions. 
And the wall between them felt thinner and weaker. 
“D’ya think your mom would ever sacrifice herself for you?” 
The vivid images of fresh blood and visceral screams haunted their mind.  
“What did that woman say again?” Dabi asked, his voice cracking, “‘take me, but please, leave my baby alone’... That’s what she said right?” 
Both of their eyes lowered. The alcohol and the little food he had consumed was kicking against his stomach lining, irritating his abdominal grafts. 
“‘She has a long life ahead of her. Please, please, don’t kill her please’”, Dabi heard a sniffle. “That’s what she said before we…”  
He felt sick. 
“That’s what we do, doll.”
He met the pain in her eyes. They were a mirror. 
Dabi clenched his jaw before looking away. 
She did too.
Dabi began biting his fingernails, and her hands fidgeted with the glass. 
And then they looked at each other again, somehow closer than they were in the beginning. 
“I don’t know if my mom would ever do that for me… But, I-hm…”
A dry chuckle followed in a feeble attempt to humour the situation. 
But Dabi finished her unspoken sentence. 
“But you would, right? For your child,” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows and squinted, trying to make out some of the writing on the tall buildings afar. 
“Any mom would do that for her child.” 
“Didn’t you just say th-”
“Any good mom would”. 
No one spoke. But they shared a knowing look, before averting them back to the vastness of Yokohama. 
“But to be honest…” She took another sip of her drink. “If I had a baby, I’d never live in Musutafu.” 
Dabi let out a snort, thus earning a playful shove in return. 
“Oh yeah? Then where would you live, fucking Minato City?”
It was her turn to snort. 
“You think I’d live in a rich neighbourhood to avoid being a target of criminals and villains?” She scoffed, slurring out her words. “I know I’m the newbie but you have to give me some credit, Dabi.”
He rolled his eyes, yet they still urged her to continue. 
She thought for a moment, her gaze wandering off into the distance, before she continued again. 
“There’s this place, just outside of here. It’s called Yosai. It’s this remote residential area. And, um. It takes around 30 minutes minimum, to find any markets, or- or any offices or clubs, and you know, all that stuff. I think, for most people, it’s like- really boring. And that’s why it’s so isolated. No one even thinks of going there because there’s literally nothing. There’s a park, and a local school– I think, but there’s no one. Nothing. There’s these houses- a lot of them! A bunch of houses with no one to live in them”. 
It was weird, to be talking, uninterrupted, for this long. 
“I guess”, she shrugged a bit, blinking a few times. “Recently, people have started building roads and stuff for cars now. So they can actually do something. But yeah. Zero reported crimes and it’s been there for a few decades. So yeah, if I had a family, I’d go there”. 
She looked intently at Dabi, who didn’t say anything. 
But he moved closer, leaning forward, sitting upright. He scanned her jittering hands before searching in his pant pocket. He raised his eyebrows at the cigarette in his hands. She nodded. So he lit it, pressed the ends to his lips and inhaled before giving it to her. 
He watched her lips touch the cigarette. Where his lips were. 
“There’s actually this property under her maiden name- my mom’s. There’s still some legal stuff I need to sort out before it actually becomes mine. It’s like this, it’s so stupid, because it’s like obviously none of us use that maiden name anymore. But because of that they can’t give it to us. I don’t even know… But I guess it’s nothing too difficult”. 
“Ah”. That was all he could say. But when he peered into her expectant eyes, there was a sudden need to elaborate. Anything better than ‘ah’ at least.
Dabi felt dizzy. 
“Umm… What's your mom’s maiden name?” 
When his delayed voice finally caught up to him, Dabi winced. “Fuck”, he muttered. It was a stupid question, but he wanted to make sure that she knew he was listening. 
“It’s Uchiyama.” 
They were closer, breaths intertwining with each other under the watchful eye of the moon. 
-
There weren’t any buses that travelled from Musutafu to Yosai. Dabi made his journey by foot. 
Thus, during this four day journey, Dabi became well acquainted with people.
And he noticed that a lot of people in Japan had blue eyes. After the emergence of quirks, blue became a common colour for many. The truly rare ones were pink, or purple now.  
But Dabi’s eyes… they were different. 
His eyes. 
They were handpicked from the colours in the cerulean depths of the stormy sea. Whispers of secrets remained untold– that’s why no one could have the eyes that he had. 
Never. 
They were gleaming– echoing the beauty of the lights in the North. Depending on how you looked at them, they were teal, or sapphire. One thing was indisputable– the arctic chill they’d give when he’d pierce into your soul was breathtaking. 
His eyes. 
They were simply breath-taking. 
So when he towered over a small frame, gaze lowered, he could not explain the way his heart forgot to beat when he stared into a perfect replica of his eyes. 
With each beat, lost time unfolded in front of him. 
And he noticed the slight difference in the silent expanse that he had gazed into. 
There was an innocent reflection of the North Star twinkling in their genuine, rolling waves. Dabi’s eyes were an abandoned lighthouse. 
But, what alarmed him the most, was when those flawless replications turned frozen. Dark. 
Petrified. 
Dabi's heart ached as those eyes formed fog and mist, obstructing him from reaching the truth that was hidden beyond the plane of sight. 
His knees surrendered under the accumulating guilt of his past. And so his tears fell, trying to escape the grief and strain his weak body had repressed for so long. 
“Honey, are you okay? Who’s at the door?”
Icy tendrils spiked through him, and his breath was captured without a fight. In the wake of realisation, his body signalled all the alarms they could, telling him– no, begging him to run, but, his blood had turned to ice, and he succumbed in the paralysing grip of his inevitable fate. 
“Sana, are you okay…” 
He heard the voice taper away, followed by a sharp clink of a metal spoon. His laden head fixed itself downwards in shame, guilt, fear…  
“Dabi…?” Those words drifted out in a hushed tone. As if they were trying to protect the young girl, who now hid behind her mother. 
He braced himself for the hardest task he would ever have to face.
And in that split second, his breath had returned, and he let out a short exhale when he finally saw that face materialise from his past. 
Y/N. 
It was you. Saira Uchiyama. 
After 6 years, 8 months, and 19 days of navigating through the circular journey of denial, anger, bargaining, and depression, Dabi finally had the chance to reach the beacon of acceptance. 
His shoulders slumped, as short breaths hiccuped through the dark caverns of his chest. 
He had finally found you. 
And he had finally found the end to his coveted quench, which yearned for a solace, only to be found in your longing embrace. 
Softly, a bewildered whisper escaped his lips, barely denting the silence around them.
“Doll…?” 
Dabi watched as the maturer skin scrunched together, deep lines frowned at him. As the tenderness in your heart had to be locked away inside an untouchable crevice in your body. 
You pushed your daughter behind you, blocking Dabi’s protesting hands before they touched her.
“Sweetie, I need you to go upstairs okay”, you ordered sternly. 
“Mommy, he’s scaring m-” 
“Sana. You need to go upstairs. Lock the door and close your windows.” 
Sana.  
Her name was a painful reminder of the blank pages he had failed to fill as her father. How could he have written anything? 
He didn’t even know what the title was. 
“Never fucking come near my family again”. 
Those blank pages began to rip. 
“You disgusting freak”. 
The blank pages had burned to ashes, and Dabi was left outside on the suburban patio of a perfect neighbourhood. 
Maybe, if he found a place to wash his face, he could blend in with the garbage. 
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dabislittlemouse · 2 days
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Why do I think yandere!Dabi would use candle wax to "punish" a darling? Just one day, Dabi seems mad for no reason, blindfolds his darling, makes all kinds of threats, then when they finally feel something? Sike! It's just hot (barely painful) wax. He just felt like messing with his darling because they're "cute when they're scared."
A yandere Dabi who feeds off your fear and adrenaline, always keeping you on your toes, always unpredictable, his moods changing and making you think more than twice before speaking in case you got him mad, and always so creative with new ways to punish you and claim you all over again. Loving the way your body reacts as the hot crimson colored wax rolls down your tender skin, the sounds that escape out of your mouth get him rock hard, the sight of your naked body with the dried wax printed on it making you look like a real piece of art, you’re his muse and he is the artist.
Piece by piece, Dabi can build you up and break you down and recreate you again, just as he sees fit, you’ve never looked prettier when you’re so broken and vulnerable beneath him♡
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dabisqueen · 4 months
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Pornstar!Dabi (Touya Todoroki) x female reader
⇢ word count: roughly 7K
⇢ plot: as a broke student, you sign up for an assistant job at a movie set. It turns out the job is more than you bargained for.
⇢ warnings: 18+, minors DNI, swearing, size kink, pierced big-cock Touya, fingering, cunnilingus (f receiving), multiple orgasms, loss of virginity, overstimulation, exhibitionism (sex in front of other people (movie set)), creampie, sweet aftercare
⇢ personal note: thank you @/blankexpressions-and-falsefires for bring my beta again! As for what you're all about to read – I have no regrets. Virgin kink goes brrr
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"College has always been so crucial, such an essential part of what measures a person’s worth and determines their future."
They say college life is quite challenging. That it can help you come to realize your potential, that you learn more about yourself while in it. That the challenges you experience in university help you grow into a mature person in society.
You have several challenges to face. There's the problem that you focus entirely too much on your studies. In some ways, it’s to secure your future and to compensate for your lack of private life. In other ways, it makes you, because of inexperience, too naive for your own good. Or, as your friends have called it: too innocent. You've never had anyone touch you, never been with anyone in that way. Thus, you never get the hint when someone hits on you or finds you attractive. You have excellent grades – but unlike many of your peers, you’re still a virgin. 
Another challenge you are facing is that you aren't wealthy. One semester into your studies, you are closer to the end than you expected. Leaving your landlord's buro, you take a few steps before coming to a halt and close your eyes as if to gain some semblance of composure. You're broke and desperately need money to cover your rent and living expenses. The bank isn't going to give you another loan, and you find yourself on the verge of having to leave college without a family to support your education.
They say you have to fail first to be successful in the future. But you are beyond failing – you are simply screwed. 
You are very aware of your financial predicament. And you loathe having to live day to day on just pennies. To put it short—you are sick of being a broke-ass, loser virgin.
You sigh. 
Giving up is not a choice. So you do the next best thing: grab life by the horns and start looking for a job. Searching under your bed, clothing pockets, and between couch cushions, you scrounge up enough money to get a local newspaper. In its classified ads, only a few offers deem themselves feasible with your busy school schedule: a late-night shift at a local diner, pizza delivery, or a job doing telemarketing. None of those sound too appealing, but there might not be a choice. Then, your gaze stops at an offer that sounds too good. A movie company is looking for a production assistant on a film set; you don't need prior experience, work hours are during the weekends, and pay is double what the other jobs offer.
You don’t think before hastily grabbing your phone, punching in the number, and waiting while the dial tone rings.
After a distinct click over the other line, a man hisses, "Shimura?"
"Uhm, hi. I- I am calling about the assistant job offer. I was wondering—"
"You're hired. Tomorrow at 5 pm," the man at the other end interrupts in an annoyed tone.
He rattles off the address as you fumble around for a pen, hastily writing it down when you find it.
Before you can reply, he finishes with Don't be late and hangs up unceremoniously.
You exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath since he started speaking.
What the hell just happened? 
***
The path to the location is littered with brown leaves, and you struggle to keep from slipping as you walk toward the building. The address given to you is an old warehouse on the edge of town. Its monotonous, featureless walls covered in graffiti make it feel abandoned. There are no visible signs that anything is happening inside at all.
As you walk across the parking lot, you start to see small indications of life: fancy cars—far too fancy for this area- and sensual music permeating through the corrugated steel walls. 
You weren’t sure how to dress for a job you knew nothing about, so you opted for blue jeans, a white blouse, and pointy shoes with heels. Your hair is tied into a neat ponytail, and simple smokey eyes complete the look. 
You aim for a large steel door that the cars are all parked close to. As you lift your head, you take in the old brick building you are standing in front of, lined with large casement metal windows. 
There is a single doorbell, no name on it, and you hesitate before inhaling and pressing it with the tip of your finger.
You hear a clicking sound, and then the heavy door swings inwards. 
Alright, here goes nothing.
***
The set is surprisingly professional—like a luxurious bedroom sliced in half. A row of chairs faces the set on a concrete floor behind multiple cameras and some sound equipment, with the crew standing around talking.
The producer, Tenko, as he introduces himself to you–with tufts of pale hair and seemingly chronic dry lips in dire need of some chapstick – explains that your job will consist of helping around the set, distributing beverages, and handing out the script. Simple work you could do. After introducing you to the crew, he hands you a stack of papers, instructing you to pass them out.
Then you see her—the actress. She is gorgeous, dressed in an ivory-colored silk robe. Her hair is the color of the sun. Her skin is flawless and tanned, and her body is perfect- although almost definitely sculpted by a professional surgeon.
"Where the fuck is he?" You hear Tenko grumble, pulling a phone from his pocket, thumb tapping against the screen.
A flurry of activity breaks your concentration. A door flies open, and a man strides through—the leading actor, you gather, from how everyone else suddenly perks up.
"Fucking finally," the pale-haired director groans, tucking his cell back into the pocket of his jacket.
The man's hair is coal-colored, falling in messy strands into his face. His eyes remind you of the bright ocean, almost glowing in the dim light of the set. His sharp lips pull into a wide grin, his canines peeking out. He is casually dressed, wearing a pair of dark, ripped jeans and a white t-shirt, allowing you to notice just how well-toned his arms are. He is handsome, with delicate yet masculine features and sharp angles set in his face. His eyes are heavy-lidded, and his thin lips form a troublesome grin when his eyes meet yours. 
Shit. 
He holds your gaze before dragging his sinfully blue eyes over your figure and looking away again. Your heart skips a beat because even in the low light, you can see that the actor is incredibly hot. Totally your type. You can't help but stare at him, watching how he moves, the way his muscles ripple under the thin fabric of his shirt, the way his thighs bulge in his tight pants. 
Speaking of bulge. 
It's the biggest one you've ever seen, and the sight of it sends a pang straight to your core. Your cheeks heat up automatically. 
Stop it!
You curse inwardly a few times for thinking lewd thoughts on a professional movie set.
But—you can't help it. He just looks too handsome. It stirs something inside of you you've never felt before. You sigh, knowing that this man has already made his way into your dreams, but in the end, they’ll stay just that— dreams. 
Someone like him would never want to lay a hand on you.
As he approaches the stage, the man stops dead in his tracks, staring at the actress with a bored expression. 
“Not her again.” You hear him groan.
The actress snaps her head around, a stunned expression on her face. “Pardon me?”
"The script calls for an innocent girl." The actor deadpans. "No one's gonna believe that with you in the female role."
The actress jumps to her feet. “How dare you talk about me like that!”
Tenko hisses, “Didn't you read the script? You would have known you film with her today, Touya—"
“I told you not to use my real name on set,” he says with a blase, somewhat impatient gaze.
“And I told you not to let out your frustration on the set, Dabi.” The director retorts.
“Frustration caused by your actions.” Dabi deadpans.
You hold your breath as your eyes dart from the director to Dabi and back to the actress. The rest of the crew acts like this is an everyday commotion on the set. 
“This is not a request— I'm not doing the scene with her, " Dabi says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
The actress jumps from her chair, visibly outraged, as her cheeks flare red with anger. “You're such a dick!”
“Yeah, you're right. But I’m the best dick in the industry.” He turns around, a sardonic finality in his tone.
You stare at the scene before you, the forgotten papers clutched tightly to your chest. The blonde woman stares at the dark-haired man, infuriated. 
“So, it's either me—or her.” Dabi addresses Tenko, who isn't even trying to de-escalate the situation. “That's my final say.”
“I can't believe you're doing this to me!" The woman wails exaggeratedly.
"Sweetheart, we need someone who conveys innocence. Not some chick as fake-looking as you," Dabi purrs with false care. “Go carry your plastic off the stage already.”
Tenko scratches his neck in annoyance. He watches as the actress slings an array of profanities at Dabi before storming off with quick strides toward the door, slamming it shut behind her.
The dark-haired man stands at ease, reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a cigarette, lighting it, and taking a deep drag. “Thank god she's gone. What were you thinking, Tenko?”
“Dabi, she's the most requested—” 
“I don't give a fuck.” he runs a free hand through his dark bangs. “She sucks.”
You listen to them bicker, getting more confused by the second. 
“So—what do you expect me to do now?” Tenko's scratching increases as he starts pacing up and down the set. “Production costs will double if we cut and pick things up on a different day. Not to mention the cost of finding a new replacement.”
He jumps off his chair, pacing around the set. Then he grumbles, “We’ll take a ten-minute break. I need to come up with a solution or else—”
“We need someone Pretty, no makeup, normal clothes.” Dabi suggests, "That won't be too expensive. Someone who looks undefiled, innocent.” Dabi's gaze wanders across the room. “Like a student or something.”
Then he sees you, and a smirk tugs at his lips. His stunning sapphire eyes look you up and down. You swallow hard, your shaking hands almost crumpling the papers in their tight grip.
"Like her." Teal eyes narrow as they focus on you. 
You blink back at him dumbly, the room around you completely silent.
"Me?" You answer, his words catching you off guard.
"Yep. You." Dabi's smirk returns, a playfulness in his eyes. 
The director stares at you with the same baffled expression written on your face. "Her?"
"Yep. Her." His grin widens.
"B-But, I can't!" You counter. " I'm a simple student, not an actress—"
"That's exactly what we need." The twinkle in his eyes is still there, "And you have a pussy, don't you?"
"Yes, I—” You catch yourself, your cheeks flaring hot. “W- What does that even have to do with this movie?"
Suddenly, the room goes alive with murmurs and whispers.
Dabi quirks a brow. "You're telling me you don't know?"
"Don't know what?" You helplessly look around.
The dark-haired man turns to his director, "You didn't tell her?!"
Tenko mumbles something about how you would have found out eventually. 
Dabi steps toward you and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Doll, this is an adult film set."
"A what?" You dumbly blink at him.
"An adult film set. You know, where people fuck." He leans forward, deep azures sparkling salaciously. "You know how fucking works, don't you?"
"Yes, I mean—in theory?" A heat washes over your face and flushes down your entire body.
"Yes or no. What is it?" Dabi asks teasingly, raising an eyebrow.
The heat in your face has reached the tip of your ears as you stammer. "It's none of your business."
He steps even closer. "C’mon, sweetheart, tell us."
He smirks, eyes narrowing as he leans closer. He looks at your lips, then back at your eyes. You can smell him with how close he is leaning in. His deep, masculine scent surrounds you, sending a jolt of heat straight through your core. Even though your mind wants to scream at him, to tell him off, you hear a timid voice whisper, "I’ve used my fingers? Maybe some toys?"
It is your voice.
"You're telling me you've never done it with another person?" This time, it is Dabi’s turn to sound baffled as he leans back, taking you in. "That you're a virgin."
"I-I…" You stammer, swallowing dryly.
Looking over his shoulders, he calls over to his director, "It'll break records if we film this. You're aware of that, right?"
"I am." Tenko snaps, scratching at his neck irritably, "You don't need to tell me."
"Ok, then it's a deal.” He nods towards you. “I want her—or I'm leaving."
"You little piece of—" Tenko growls. "That's extortion."
"You won't regret it," Dabi says, shrugging nonchalantly.
"Shouldn’t I have a say on this too?" You ask, but both men ignore your words.
"Ok, it's a deal," Tenko murmurs. "How much do we pay her?"
Dabi turns his gaze back to you. "You need money, right? Or else you wouldn't be here.”
"That’s none of your business."
"C'mon, sweetheart, This is your chance."
“Yes, I mean… " a sound of annoyance bubbles up your throat. "I can't afford my rent anymore, and my landlord will kick me out if I don't pay up soon."
“I sense an opportunity here," Dabi smirks. "Tenko, how much will you pay her if she agrees to do this with me?"
"How much do you want?" Tenko asks you.
“I-I don't know. I've never thought about it." You shyly add.
"Pay her rent plus an allowance," Dabi suggests. "Tenko, you know she's worth it."
"That’s too m—" You swallow hard.
Tenko mumbles disgruntledly: "OK, I'll do it.” 
“You what?" His words leave you stunned.
Dabi interrupts quickly. "What he's saying, sweetheart, is that he'll pay for your rent - if you let me fuck you.”
His lewd words and the deep blue pools of his stunning eyes send a flutter through your stomach. 
“In front of all these people?!" 
“That's what porn is all about, doll.” Dabi chuckles, studying your reaction.
You swallow hard.
"So? What's it gonna be?" He cocks his head, waiting. 
You have always prioritized safety, so common sense tells you to stick to your usual way of life. However, look where common sense has led you: You're almost broke and may need to drop out of college. 
This could be a bad decision. But, it's time to throw safety to the sea.
"OK, I'll do it," you proclaim, and a round of applause and cheers erupt on the set while Dabi nods appreciatively.
“Congratulations, you're hired. Now, get ready before I change my mind.” Tenko waves a hand. “We still have a movie to film here.”
Your heart starts to race, a crushing weight bearing down on your chest. But you know that you have no choice. It's either a free porn loan—or being a forced college dropout. Taking a deep breath, you ball your hands into fists, trying to ignore the signs of panic your body is giving you.
"Okay, everyone, resume positions. And hand her the script.” Tenko moves to his chair, sitting down in it. “Let's do the first take." 
"Hold on," Dabi says. "Why not do it a bit differently this time? No script, no acting— just raw footage. The whole thing.”
“You mean a one-shot film?” Tenko looks surprised. “I suppose that would work. Especially with a new actress.”
“Are you okay with that, doll?” Dabi smiles at you, and there's a warmth in his voice that wasn't there before.
“Do I have a choice?” you sigh.
“Not really.” He winks.
"Are you two lovebirds done flirting over there? " Tenko asks, " Because we're ready to film.”
“We weren't flir—” you protest, but Dabi bridges the distance between you.
"So, sweetheart?" He leans in, his face hovering close, sharing a breath with you. "How are you feeling about being fucked on camera?"
“Nervous.” you bite your lips, your face starting to burn.
"Doll, don't be; just focus on me," he soothes, stroking your cheek. “Forget about everyone else; I'll take care of you.”
He takes your hand and pulls you towards the bedroom set.
“Quiet!” Tenko raises a hand, and complete silence falls over the set as the crew prepares to film you both. 
Tenko calls out a set of commands, which different crew members around the room answer.
“Sound?”
“Set.”
“Camera?”
“Set.”
“Roll sound.”
“Sound rolling.”
“Roll camera.” 
“Camera Speed.” 
“Marker.”
A man with a clapper board enters the scene and calls, "Scene one. Take—uhm— whatever." 
Dabi nods, and that is the cue. The lights dim, and the cameras vanish into the darkness; only the red lights betray their existence. 
You glance around, your stomach in knots, as you realize that this is no game, that this is it. The only thing visibly lit was the bed standing a few feet away. The crew's faces are barely visible as everyone watches you, the man behind the camera tilting it, filming you from bottom to top.
“Hey baby, you alright?” You hear Dabi's voice.
“N-No, not really.” You stammer, your hands trembling, your breathing picking up, as your eyes frantically dart around the dark set. “I don't know if I can do this.”
“Sweetheart, look at me.” You feel a finger hook under your chin when Dabi tilts your head to meet his gaze. It's intense, the turquoise of his irises gleaming almost unnaturally. 
You feel your heart sink into your stomach as his thumb caresses your skin. When he closes the already minimal distance between you, your eyes flutter close in reflex. His lips are sensually warm and addicting against your cheek, and your heart starts thrashing wildly inside your chest in response. Something changes between you, an intimacy blooming as the voices of the people mute.
It's all you need to distract your mind, to make your body heat up. Not with anxiety—
—but in anticipation. 
“Are you ready to give me your virginity?” His low voice rumbles close to your ear.
You nod, like in a haze, every caress of his lips causes your skin to tingle, to burn with passion. He shifts, and you feel him faintly brush your lips, and a zap of electricity courses through your veins. Then, your lips are united in his first tentative kiss. They are so soft, and the way he kisses you is so delicate, almost tender— deliberately slow.
You relax, giving in to how wonderful this feels. His tongue slowly traces the shape of your lips, and you feel your brain short-circuiting. Angling your head to the side, you part your lips, begging him to enter. Dabi reacts instantly, his tongue slipping your mouth, delving deeper, tasting you, consuming you.
You groan—how could a man taste so good?
It makes your knees buckle, and you start panting into his mouth, your instincts taking over, your body reacting to his touch. A desire, a passion, awakens like a wild animal roaring, and you feel a wave of arousal pool in your panties. You can't help it, and you slide your hand underneath his shirt, your other hand circling his neck. You can feel him smirking into the kiss, but the sound carries off into a groan when you rake your nails down the small of his back. 
As he breaks away, a warmth lingers between you and him while he admires your wet, pink, swollen lips, "A little eager for your first time, huh?"
The kiss leaves you dizzy, and you can't seem to form an answer, too stricken by his closeness and intoxicating scent.
The moment passes, and then his lips smash against yours so fast you don't even have time to react. He presses his hips against yours, his clothed hardness grazing against your heat, letting you feel just how hard you’ve made him.
Holy shit.
He's not gentle anymore; he's rough and demanding now. He is taking you, enjoying the shaky gasps that leave your lips. Dabi’s hands trail down your side to find your ass cheeks. He lifts you by the thighs onto his waist skillfully, never breaking the kiss. Carrying you easily toward the bed he releases his hold and you topple onto it, panting heavily.
The lights around you heat the air, and you notice one camera panning across the set while the other tracks toward you on a dolly. Just as your heart starts picking up an anxious speed again, you see a movement to the side. Dabi yanks his shirt above his head, the muscles in his stomach flexing with every movement.
The second the fabric touches the floor, he's on you with his lips pressed to yours and his tongue in your mouth. You feel yourself getting lost in the moment of passion and all you can see is him. Your stomach somersaults and the world around you ceases to exist; it is just you and him— the people around you and the cameras wholly forgotten. The world, right now, only revolves around the two of you.
“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes into your mouth, hazy eyes glowing with arousal. "How do you taste so fucking good?”
You feel his hand sneak underneath your shirt to slowly pull it off over your head. Next, he skillfully removes the rest of your clothes off until you are lying below him, sex and breasts cupped by delicate cotton underwear. 
“Look at that,” he muses. “So innocent.”
Sliding his hand behind your back, he unhooks the bra with an expert pinch of his fingers. Your breasts spill out as he slides the straps off your shoulders, tossing it aside. Then his gaze lingers on your soft, round tits.
“Damn,” he cups them and squeezes them gently, “Where have you been hiding, girl? You're perfect.”
He slides his fingers over your nipples and a low moan tears from your throat. Dabi lets out a low rumble as his hands continue to work your breasts, rubbing and plucking at your stiffening nipples. There’s a deep throb low in your body, pulsing between your thighs, and you're startled at the way you’re reacting. You are so turned on—his touch only adds to your body’s cravings, and as his large palms glide over your breasts; it pulls the breath from your lungs as it simultaneously fuels your desire. His thumbs drag over your nipples again, rolling it between his fingers before leaning down to lick at your pebbled nub. He makes you feel breathless with excitement the more he focuses on toying with your breasts, rolling the tips back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. 
It makes you crazy with need until you're aching, shivering throughout your entire body. You're gasping for breath the entire time Dabi has his lips wrapped around your erect nub, sucking it to send a tingling sensation straight through to your core. Then he's biting just hard enough to make you squeal before soothing the puckered nub with a flick of his tongue.
“You’ve got the most amazing tits,’ Dabi murmurs against your skin. “So soft and full. So natural.”
While he switches from pliant nipple to pliant nipple, you feel a stray hand hook its fingers under the seams of your panties. He releases your nipple with a pop and peppers kisses down to your tummy while he adeptly pulls the little piece of fabric down and off your legs. You're now utterly naked below him while Dabi continues revering your body with wet kisses and nibbles, moving downward until you feel his warm breath on your pubic mound. He spreads your trembling legs, his eyes glazing over your pussy, pupils expanding and then retracting into pin slits.
"Look at that pretty pussy." His breath is hot against your soaked folds. "And so fucking wet—you're dripping."
A shameful sound spills from your lips at his words, and you writhe in his hold. But his hands keep you in place. 
"You're seriously telling me,” he slides his fingers up and down your glistening folds, “No one's been here before?"
You squirm below him as a camera zooms in on where Dabi’s eyes are affixed– between your thighs.
“Cause you have the prettiest pussy I've ever seen.” He snickers. “And I've seen a lot.” 
His warm, calloused fingers slide up and down your slippery folds, his hot breath fanning over your sex. Then he spreads apart your sweet lips; it makes you shudder in anticipation, and Dabi chuckles.
“I can see you twitching for me.” A finger sinks in, making you arch your back the deeper it goes. 
The camera behind him zooms in on your blushing face, and you cover it with trembling hands. 
"Nu-uh, no hiding. Look at me." He slaps your clit lightly—making you jolt. "Let us see your pretty face."
You whimper softly, because you've touched yourself before—
—but this just feels so much more intense.
“Dabi—” you choke out, flinching in pleasure when he slides a hand underneath your ass, 
raising your hips to have more access to you. 
“Relax, baby, I'll take care of you.” A growl tears from his throat, and then he drags his tongue over your gleaming folds, tasting you. 
You cry out, your body shuddering. Over and over, Dabi licks you with deep, claiming strokes, using his tongue to explore every bit of you. 
“Damn, you taste better than anything I've ever tasted.” He pushes his wet muscle into your core, frantic to have more of you. 
“Oh my God. Dabi!” Your toes curl, and your thighs tighten around him. You're both – startled and aroused at his eagerness. Any worries you have are melting away as he drags his tongue over you again and again, making you squirm with need.
A moan escapes your lips– loud, uncontrolled– when his tongue flicks over your folds. When he grazes your little button, you jolt as if you've been stung. 
He hums appreciatively and buries his face into your warmth, seeking out that sweet nub. Your body jerks as he moves his tongue over it, repeating the action when he does it again. You give a little wail, and your hands curl into the fabric the longer he teases. He eagerly works that spot, and you cry out with little choked gasps.
As his tongue circles your clitoris, your sensations spiral out of control. You can feel the tension increasing in your body with a growing urgency to be released. 
“Dabi,” you pant with every flick of his tongue. But he doesn't respond, does not hear– or pretends not to. He buries his face in your folds, hands holding you down by your hips.
With every quiver that moves through your body, with every shiver of response, every tensing of your muscles, you draw closer to the edge.
You writhe against Dabi, with his face between your thighs, lapping at your juices. All the while, he continues to work your little clit with his tongue in slow, steady strokes. 
Suddenly, the feeling that you’re about to cum overwhelms you. Your pussy clenches, dripping with your juices, and your clit is ready to burst.  
Your hips jerk against him, and then a release explodes in your mind, your thoughts crashing all around you. You come with a slight scream that morphs into a moan, but Dabi does not stop his ministrations—
—no.
He continues to lick and suck as you come and come and come.
It's too much; you feel like exploding. You’re a moaning mess, fingers slipping between Dabi’s strands, pushing and pulling at his roots unsure if you can take it if he keeps going like that. 
Your entire body is on fire. The orgasm continues to surge through you– more intense than anything you’ve experienced by yourself– with Dabi gently sucking and licking at your clit. You are delirious, feel like you are floating with no way to find your path back to earth. 
“Dabi, please—” you choke out.
Dabi’s mouth detaches from your overstimulated nub and straightens up, licking your cum’s sweetness off his lips. Crawling on top of you, he gazes into your eyes. “Doll, tell me—what do you want me to do?”
You see his jeans straining from the bulk of his erection and swallow, your body responding with a flood of hormones. 
“Please fuck me,” you whisper, thinking in ways you never have before.
You want to beg him to be gentle, but you can’t seem to form the words when you see him unbuckle his belt before unzipping his jeans, his eyes carefully watching your expression as he does. His cock springs to life, and you swallow thickly. It's enormous—and pierced. 
You feel a momentary pang of doubt, questioning if that monster will even fit inside you. The previous excitement and adrenaline pumping through your veins gradually turn to panic. Your breathing picks up as you stare at his cock, wide-eyed. 
“You look worried,” Dabi says, stroking it with one hand. His raised eyebrows and amused grin tell you he's used to this type of reaction. 
“Are you sure…” you nod towards his cock.
“Trust me,” he says. “I’ll make sure you feel good. It’ll be the greatest thing you'll ever experience.”
Your entire body yearns for his touch, and there’s no way you're saying no now. He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves to hold himself in hand to align his cock with your entrance.  
"Do you want me to fuck you?’ Dabi asks as he drags the head of the tip up and down your slit. 
“‘S not gonna fit,” you whine with a worried expression.
“Don't be scared,” Dabi says, "I know what I'm doing. So, you'll be a good girl and take it all, right?”
“I'm not sure,” you whisper.
“I know you can...” His eyes stare at you with a desire so intense that you almost feel intimidated. 
He’s spreading you wide open, hands on your knees, before he moves one to hold himself and align his cock to your entrance. The pressure between your legs increases as Dabi nudges the pierced tip of his cock against you.
“Get ready,” he whispers.
A mix of a gasp and a cry leaves your lips as Dabi strains against you, feeling like he’s trying to shove a massive pole inside of you. You squeeze your eyes shut as tears gather in your lashes, and Dabi holds back, kissing you, waiting for you to relax.
“Easy,” he says softly, “I’ve got you.” 
The softness of his tone relaxes you and the tension in your shoulders lessens. Then, somehow, something gives way, and he enters you. You gasp, your body opening up to accommodate the massive dick that is now sliding inside of you. 
"Oh my god—” You throw your head back, hands clawing at his shoulders in a weak attempt to push him away.
“Fuck, you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses, eyebrows furrowing before he hits resistance and then pushes forward.
There’s a sharp pain slicing through your core, and you don't know if it's from the stretch or a tear. Probably both. It hurts, and you squeeze your eyes shut, forcing tears down your cheek. Dabi continues to push his hips forward, only stopping once he’s entirely inside, heavy balls pressed against the crease of your ass. The cameras zoom in on the bulge in your womb, where his dick sits buried deep inside of you. But you don't notice them, your brain too consumed by him filling you up, his whole weight resting against you. 
“You ok?” Breathing heavily, he drags his eyes back and forth over your face. 
“Gimme a sec.” Your lips press into a thin line as the pain from the stretch slowly turns into a dull throb. After a moment, you nod...
"I'm gonna start moving now," Dabi says— and then does precisely that. 
Just as you start to feel your body relaxing, he withdraws, only to plunge himself in again. The sudden shock of the movement is incredible. You feel every ridge, every single thick vein. It feels fantastic, and as he slowly slides back in, you can appreciate every inch of his cock. He starts an even rhythm, rocking inside you gently. 
“Shit, just squeezed me so fucking tight,” he moans in response. "I’m warning you, don't make me lose my composure. You don’t want to see me act up.”
Your mind feels detached from your body; you don't hear him, don't even notice the camera zooming in, focusing on how your face scrunches and your lips quiver because of how good he makes you feel. 
He grabs you by the waist and brings you closer to him. Raising both legs in the air, he pushes them forward until your body is folded in half.
“Oh—shit—” You choke out, the walls of your sex stretching to accommodate him. 
“I’m gonna make you cum,” Dabi is panting hard as he starts driving his cock rapidly in and out of you. “You won't be able to walk for days.”
“I-I can’t—” your jaw slackens as you tighten around his dick again, the ability to form comprehensive answers having left you the moment he breached your walls.
He rams himself deeper while his fingers slip between your strands, guiding your face upward, your mouths colliding in a frantic kiss. 
It starts as a slow burn that gradually builds into a white, blistering heat. A feeling begins coursing through you, making you lose control of your body. You tense and arch your back, your head digging back into the pillow, voice caught in your throat. And just when you think you can't take it anymore, all that tension releases, and you cry out loud, a turbulent wave of pleasure hitting you like a storm. All your nerve endings are seemingly set ablaze while Dabi fucks you through your orgasm. 
His eyes are wide with wonder, hearing and feeling you come undone around him. The way your eyes are shut tightly in pleasure, your entire body trembling and shaking in ecstasy, is the best thing he's ever seen. It makes his chest swell with pride. Still, it feels like it's not enough, though, and he needs more. He wants to own you, possess you, make you his.
Dabi snaps. 
With a suppressed growl, Dabi grabs you by your hips and flips you over onto your stomach. He's not letting you catch your breath before he propels his cock back inside you again. His hand slides from the dip in your spine to the spot between your shoulder blades, pressing down until your face is buried in the sheets. At this angle, he reaches even deeper than before, his piercings rubbing your G-spot just right. Your hands tightly fist the soft duvet with every drive of his hips, knocking the air from your lungs.
Dabi seems delirious, pistoning in and out of you now. Reaching forward, he gathers your hair around his fist, tugging it to keep you in place, forcing your head up from the sheets. You sob out his name, your chin and cheeks covered with your drool and tears. 
But Dabi is drowning too deep in pleasure to notice. 
"I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll never think of anyone but me in your fantasies," Dabi growls while your elbows shake under the pressure of his forceful thrusts.
Slowly, your mind is falling apart with the pleasure pulsing through your body. Dabi starts drilling his big cock into your even faster now. You tremble below him, thighs quivering when you feel another orgasm building up. 
“You gonna cum for me again, princess?” Dabi groans, “I can feel your pussy clenching around me.”
You nod, too exhausted to form any words. Dabi tightens his hold on your hip, fingers digging into your plush skin, holding you still. 
“I’m gonna cum with you,” he tells you. “I’m gonna fill up your tight hole, gonna breed you so good—fuck!”
"Please—" you whimper pathetically, finding yourself trapped in his lewd promises. 
And then you lose it, feeling like the world is disappearing underneath your feet. Pleasure rips through you, leaving you with no strength. It’s an intense tingling pleasure that starts in your core and spreads through your whole body, from your fingertips down to your toes. It's all-consuming and euphoric, your body not knowing what to do with that much sensation at once. 
You feel your body falling off a cliff into a pile of tingling ecstasy as you cum again with a broken whimper escaping your lips. The orgasm is even more potent than the last ones, like a massive burst of pleasure; all that tension explodes and shoots up the back of your legs and everywhere else. You moan and shudder, your pussy clamping around his cock. 
“That’s it,” Dabi lets out a long, shuddering groan. “Just like that.”
You forget to breathe while Dabi keeps fucking your harder and harder, feral with desire, shoving his cock as deep inside you as he can.
“Oh fuck—” You gasp out, arching your back, fingers twisting against the sheets.
No sooner have the words slipped from your lips that you feel your whole body lock tight again—and then unravel. You forget to breathe as an unending cascade of euphoria detonates deep inside of you. You come undone, shaking uncontrollably as juices gush from your pussy, dripping down Dabis balls, drenching the sheets below. 
Dabi groans, his eyes screwing shut, head dropping back. With one final possessive thrust of his hips, he cums, shooting his seed deep inside you. You feel his cock twitch as he moans heavily, eyebrows sewn together. His body is shuddering, his hips hitching while he rides out his orgasm.
You’re faintly aware of your surroundings, buried too deeply in your bliss. Unable to take any more pleasure, you slump backward. Dabi slides his softening cock from you with an obscene wet sound before dropping down onto the bed beside you, taking you with him.
“Fuck…” he breathed out, caressing your skin. “That felt so—”
‘And—cut!’ You hear a voice call, speaking its way into the mush that is your brain, slapping you back to reality.
You open your eyes and look around in shock, having completely forgotten where you are. The lights switch on, almost blindingly bright. People start hustling about the set, and cameras mere inches away from you now pull back into their waiting positions. 
“That was perfect,” you hear Tenko say through the noise filling the set now.
Your breath catches in your throat, an unsettling feeling beginning to well inside you. Your heart starts pounding at an increasingly rapid pace while you feel panic stretch its icy fingers up your spine.
You feel a warm hand cradling your face, angling it to the side. It’s Dabi. He places his mouth over yours without further ado. 
“You are perfect.” Dabi coos into the kiss, and it happens again— butterflies erupt in your gut, the world around you fading until there's only you and him.
Instinctively, you let go, feeling the tension slowly dissipate and your heart calming down. Dabi smiles as he breaks away from you, and you feel it— a lingering warmth, an unseen connection that spins fragile threads between you both.
A man approaches to help you get out of bed, but Dabi, whose face is still dewy with sweat, moves between you both. He takes the bathrobe from the guy and wraps it around your shivering body before getting dressed himself.
Helping you off the bed, he drapes an arm around your shoulder and leads you past the celebrating crew members from the set until you’re backstage. 
Once in the changing room, he closes the door behind him and leans against it. 
“That was something…” he muses. “You’re a natural. Would you ever consider doing this again with me?’ 
You're caught off-guard, his face radiating a tenderness that fills your heart with something joyful. A warmth spreads across your face, your hands gripping the soft belt of your robe as you nip at your lower lip. “I-I don't know.”
“You should,” Dabi kicks off the door frame and saunters over you with a sinful, obscene sway of his hips. His hand finds yours, fingers interlacing in a silent agreement, pulling you into a tight embrace. “Think about it…”
He lets the words hang in the air for a second. When he pulls away, his arms wrap around your neck, lower half still pressed against you as if you’re not a stranger. He looks down at you like the two of you have been dating for years.
“So, I was wondering… what are you doing later on?” Dabi kisses the tip of your nose. “Do you want to grab a bite to eat and get some drinks?”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” A new desire for him grows inside of you. You smile back at him, reaching up to gently play with his dark hair.
“Maybe?” His lips curl into a devious smirk.
“Is this even allowed?” Chest to chest, your heartbeat slowly catches up to his, as if your bodies react simultaneously to each other's warm touch.
“Maybe?” Dabi repeats, his thumb gently brushing along your lips.
When you look into his eyes, a tenderness softens the rough edges of his sharp features. It makes you wonder, he’s been so sweet and caring after everything that happened today– you actually believe he’s a genuinely sincere and nice guy. You feel your heart quiet when you’re with him, as if you have found peace. 
“Well…” you consider, “I've just thrown all my morals into the wind. So, might as well go on a date with a pornstar, right?”
“You won't regret it.” Dabis laughs softly. “Even though you might not be able to move after I'm done with you—”
“Is that so…” You are torn between scolding him or laughing because he's so cute. “Ok, big boy, whatever you say.”
3K notes · View notes
classyrbf · 4 months
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BABY DADDY DABI!
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SYNOPSIS...headcanons about what baby daddy dabi would be like to you and your child
WARNINGS...dabi x fem!reader, none really, dabi being a little sexual towards you, not proofread
OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated
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baby daddy dabi!who has the best relationship with his little girl. people always think he’d be a deadbeat father but he truly wants to be a good dad unlike his own
baby daddy dabi!who randomly visits your once shared apartment without even telling you. you get scared shitless when the door randomly opens but sees it’s just him, a smug smirk on his face
baby daddy dabi!who completely turned your daughter into a daddy’s girl. your daughter loves her father, always asking when he’ll be coming home next
baby daddy dabi!who calls his little girl ‘princess’ and ‘shithead’ interchangeably. giving her little small kisses on the cheek while she sits in his lap and shows him the new dolls you got her
baby daddy dabi!who puts your daughter to sleep and comes bothering you, slipping into your bed and holding your waist just whispering “let us be a family again”
baby daddy dabi!who spoils his little girl. she wants a new doll? dabi’s got her. she wants ice cream? dabi is telling her to pick out her favorite flavor. she wants those cute sparkly shoes? dabi’s already got the money in his hand
baby daddy dabi!who is still very touchy with you, hugging you from behind and running his fingertips over any place on you. he can’t help it, you’re still so attractive to him even if you two have been separated for a while
baby daddy dabi!who tricks your daughter into asking you if he can stay the night. “mommy can daddy stay please? it’s really cold out and he said he’ll sleep on the couch.” all while she’s hold his scarred hand in her little one, just standing in your doorway looking at with the sweetest eyes until you give in
baby daddy dabi!who ends up falling asleep on your couch, his daughter laying on top of him with her favorite stuffed animal and face smushed up against his chest. you can’t deny how much they look alike in this very moment
baby daddy dabi!who brings your daughter to school every morning before coming back to your place. why? you had no clue. he claims it’s good for co-parenting. you knew he was lying out of his ass, he just wanted to be around you
baby daddy dabi!who jokes with you about making another kid, but deep down he is not joking like at all. you’re such a good mom to your little girl he just can’t get enough of you
baby daddy dabi!who always finds a way to compliment you saying something like, “now I know where our daughter gets her good style from” just to butter you up. and it works cause your smiling like a kid in a candy store
2K notes · View notes
andypantsx3 · 6 months
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DEAD RECKONING : TODOROKI TOUYA x READER
SUMMARY: A makeup artist at a haunted maze, all you want to do is make it to the end of the season with a little extra cash in your pocket and no murder convictions on your record. Scare actor Todoroki Touya makes that last part a challenge. (7.8k) CONTENT & WARNINGS: no quirks au, halloween, enemies to lovers, fem + afab reader, slight scumbag touya, haunted maze workers, smut, semi-public sex, smoking, heavy swearing, touya likes having his hair pulled + girls who are a little mean to him, sort of good girl vs bad boy vibes, 18+ minors please dni NOTES: Happy Halloween from me!! This fic is part of the Willow's Haunted House collab. Dedicated to cat-slippered and ofmermaidstories, for workshopping what eventually became this fic with me about a thousand years ago. I’m sorry I turned Bakugou into Dabi. And I’m sorry for dedicating the now Dabi fic to you. But not sorry enough to not have done it. Love you. :)
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If there was one thing you hated about Halloween, it was Todoroki Touya.
Shockingly, this was not a commonly-held sentiment, which was the only reason there even was a recurrence of Todoroki Touya darkening your Halloween seasons in the first place.
For the last three years, you’d spent your fall semester working as a makeup artist at the Musutafu haunted maze alongside a slew of other college and local kids looking to make a little extra cash. The hours were fairly flexible, and the wage covered your textbooks, with a little left over to keep you in the occasional coffee between lectures.
But your wages did not nearly cover the amount of psychic damage you had been dealt, managing Todoroki Touya’s obnoxious, sarcastic, chain-smoking ass day after day for seasons on end.
On lucky days, someone else was on Touya duty. But on unlucky ones, you found him sprawling in the plastic makeup chair opposite you, those intense blue eyes tracking you with no small amount of pleasure, like he was this afternoon.
You stopped in the doorway, a curse slipping out of you. You’d been hoping that you’d get lucky today, as the day was otherwise an excellent one. You’d invited a group of friends to do the maze with you after you got off shift, and you had been looking forward to it all week.
But it figured Touya could never let you have too good of a time.
“Missed you too, sweetheart,” he drawled over the noise of displeasure that escaped you. He was at least already dressed in costume, so he wouldn’t go smearing his makeup as he pulled it on, a tumble of stitches and frayed edges that had once been a dark-blue duster, but now just mostly gaped open to show the hard planes of his chest.
“I’m so sure,” you told him, averting your eyes from his pecs. You sighed, resigning yourself to his presence, and made your way in, dumping your bag on the staff room couch.
“This is a very hostile work environment you’re creating,” Touya rasped, his grin sharp. Years of chain-smoking outside the maze had left his voice even lower and raspier than when you’d first met him three years ago.
“Don’t worry, it can always get more hostile,” you told him, affecting your own sweet grin as you moved over to the vanity, digging through all the makeup and prosthetics for the ones he’d need.
Touya himself was severely scarred, which was likely why he’d applied to work at the haunted maze in the first place. You’d never asked him about his scars, but you’d heard enough gossip from the other maze workers to know that they were the product of a childhood accident, involving the burning down of his father’s—the then-and-current mayor’s—house.
He’d accentuated them with a shit load of facial piercings, and was sort of off-putting to look at the first time you caught a glimpse of him. The issue was that, once your eyes made sense of what they were seeing, he was infuriatingly handsome.
You’d heard he’d initially been unleashed on the maze with no makeup or prosthetics, and within the first evening was causing line backups, with all the parties of teen girls who were taking a little too much time lingering around his section of the maze.
So now he was subjected to prosthetics to make him uglier, a fact that he seemed to absolutely relish.
You dug out the monster prosthetic pack that gave him jutting forehead ridges. “Let’s make the outside reflect the inside, shall we,” you told him as you flapped the rubbery pieces at him, smirking your own little smirk.
Touya’s answering grin was wicked, and he relaxed back in his seat, sprawling his legs out wide in that infuriating way men had. “Think my outside is too pretty then, huh?” he asked, sapphire eyes flickering over you.
Your face went hot in a weird combination of anger and embarrassment. “I try not to think of your outside,” you told him pertly, making sure to slap the forehead piece onto him hard enough to make a splat noise.
His mouth twitched again but he let you go to work, gluing the pieces down against his face, careful not to press them to the seams of any of his scars. He was tall enough even lounging in his seat that you only had to lean over a little to focus clearly on his face, all long legs and rangy muscle.
This close, he always smelled like cigarette smoke, with an undercurrent of something rich and dark, like cinnamon or chocolate. You could never put your finger on it, but you were not about to go sniffing him at any length to figure it out, even if it was annoyingly appealing.
He’d probably love that, and would absolutely never let you live it down.
Touya’s eyes tracked you closely as you worked, but otherwise his expression was still, and you thought not for the first time that it really was too bad he was so obnoxious. He was actually quite handsome, with a soft, sensuous mouth, a blade-straight nose, and vivid blue eyes that all but glowed like the embers of a crackling fire when he was provoking you.
It was a shame he wasted all his beauty being the most annoying man on earth.
You’d heard from the other maze workers that he was relatively well-known around the area, having spent his teen years doing petty criminal shit to destabilize his father’s reelection campaigns, netting himself several jail stays and a record a mile long. He’d settled somewhat since he’d gotten a job at a piercing parlor downtown and several side gigs like the maze, but people weren’t fully convinced he’d abandoned his old ways, and he still clearly relished any opportunity to discomfort and destabilize anyone who got on his bad side.
Apparently including you.
“Don’t hurt yourself thinking too hard, sweetheart,” Touya said, those cerulean eyes blinking up at you.
You realized you’d paused over him, midway through blending his prosthetic forehead in, and another annoying little smirk rode his mouth.
You took care to roll your eyes at him, gesturing at him with your brush. “I know several places I can stick this if you’re not careful.”
Touya’s smirk melted into an unholy grin. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” he rasped, eyes glittering up at you.
You went back to work on him with a little more force than necessary, blending hard enough that you saw his broad shoulders shift in an effort to keep his neck braced. “I doubt any time with you could be classed as good,” you said pertly, giving a final few brushes before stepping back, satisfied with your work.
The forehead made him look unhinged as he offered another smirk, leaning forward. “True—the feedback I usually get is ‘incredible’, ‘mind-blowing’, ‘earth-shattering’, ‘toe-curling’, ‘scream-inducing’—”
“Oh I’ll scream if you keep talking,” you said hotly, even as your cheeks warmed. Even with the stupid fucking forehead he was annoyingly handsome. You needed him a thousand million miles away from you before you herniated something, jumping back and forth between annoyance and attraction.
Maybe it was time to stop signing up to work here.
“Now get out of my room, I have other people waiting,” you commanded, thankful when you heard the scuff of a boot at the door confirming another maze worker waiting.
Touya didn’t look at all chastened, but he unfolded himself from the chair in an unfurling of broad shoulders and long legs. He leaned in close as he passed, voice dipping low. “See you later, sweetheart,” he said, a smile curling his mouth.
Annoyingly, his proximity crossed a bunch of the wires in your brain, and you fumbled before managing, “Not if we’re both lucky.”
“Stop, I’ll blush,” he drawled, another unholy grin splitting his cheeks before he saluted two fingers at you and ducked out of the room. The scent of smoke and cinnamon followed him, and you let out a sigh of relief, the air and your brain clearer now that he was gone.
No sooner were you free of him, however, than another problem was immediately introduced.
“So…he actually talks to you?” The other maze worker’s head poked through the door, her eyes resting on you intently. You recognized her as a local highschooler who’d just joined this season, who usually ended up getting in early enough to get her makeup done by the other artist.
You blinked. “I…unfortunately?” you answered, confused.
She stepped into the room, and you reflexively gestured her over to the chair that Touya had just abandoned.
She hummed as she took her seat, eyeing you curiously. “Wow. How’d you get him to do that? He doesn’t really talk to any of us,” she informed you.
You could feel your eyebrows lift towards your hairline. “He…doesn’t…?”
She shook her head, her pretty golden ringlets swaying with the motion. “He’ll chainsmoke with Tomura and he sometimes talks to Himiko. But the other girls—they say he just laughs and walks away if they try to chat with him.”
Well. That sounded rude enough to be true to form, you thought. But when Touya was in your makeup chair you couldn’t get him to shut the hell up. You shifted, uncomfortable with the idea that Touya had any special soft spot for you. Maybe, like a cat, he could sense who didn’t much like him and decided to latch on out of spite.
“You might be a little young for him,” you decided, going over to the vanity and digging out the prosthetics she’d need—a witch chin and a raised gorey slash that would open along one cheekbone.
“No—it’s all the other girls too. And most of the guys,” she told you. “He must like you.”
A laugh escaped you, and you turned back to her with the prosthetics in hand, a few new brushes and a white, cakey paint palette shoved beneath your elbow.
“I don’t think he likes anyone,” you told her, setting everything down and applying the tacky glue to the underside of her chin prosthetic. “I think he just likes to inflict himself on people he knows it will annoy. You could act disinterested in talking to him and he’d probably come flitting right over.” The image of Touya suffering at the hands of a league of flirty high school girls pleased you—better they suck up his time and energy than you.
“I don’t know,” the girl said uncertainly. “Maybe he likes you.” But she was forced to leave it at that once you started applying her chin, making it difficult for her to speak.
You certainly didn’t think that was the case.
But the seeds of doubt had already been sown, a question that you thought would probably haunt your evening now that it had been formed. Just why did Touya talk to you if he was so standoffish with other people? And what did it mean that he made such a point of it?
You knew for sure it wasn’t because he liked you, his obnoxious manner said that well enough. But why did you get treatment that was significant enough that even the other maze workers would comment on it?
And, perhaps even more concerningly, why did the thought agitate you so much?
You decided to try your best not to think about it, and have a good time with your friends once they got there, putting Touya out of your mind. You returned to doing the girl’s makeup with vigor, suddenly as eager to get her out of your chair as you had been Touya.
She was finished in record time and she thanked you, carefully not to smile too widely lest she dislodge the prosthetics. You took in the next person waiting as she left, slowly working your way through the line of people as the hour drew ever closer to the maze’s evening opening time.
Eventually you finished up and collected your things, making your way out front to find your friends already waiting for you. They’d clearly dressed with the intent to go out after—something you hadn’t considered—their dresses short and slinky and their makeup smoky. You’d have liked to have joined, but you were still in the sweater and leggings you’d come straight from lectures in.
Maybe you would have time to go home and change after the maze.
You were scooped up into several hugs, breathing in the sweet scents of various perfumes, and informed that you absolutely did have to go home and get changed after so you could come out and get “Hallowasted!” too.
“Okay if I’m not busy peeing my pants, which monsters are the ones you did?” your roommate asked, dancing around to warm herself in the cool fall air. “I wanna see ‘em.”
You named several of your creations, conveniently leaving off Touya. You knew that if your friends took too close a look at him and figured out what he looked like under the cakey makeup and forehead prosthetic, they’d never leave the maze. You knew he sat somewhere around the end of the set up, in an alcove that had been decorated to look like an abandoned village with burned out cabins, a mess of bones dotting the ground at the side of the walkway.
You were also hoping you could pass unnoticed in the group of your friends, as there was no doubt in your mind that Touya would take special care to annoy you in particular. So you did not want your group to linger long enough for your friends to scope him out.
You would know it was him under the makeup you’d done yourself, but being cornered somewhere in the dark with the soundtrack of screams echoing in your ears would not exactly have you feeling your boldest.
Your group had dinner at the food trucks parked out front, chatting and laughing and waiting for the crowds to die down, each indulging in one drink for bravery before joining the line. Eventually you ended up at the front of the queue, late in the evening, your friends crowding in behind you, whispering nervously.
“You first,” your roommate hissed when you looked back at them questioningly. “You work here, you have to do the honors.”
You sighed, accepting your fate, making a mental note to subtly shift to the back of the pack as you made it further into the maze.
Then you were being greeted by Shigaraki Tomura, whose makeup you’d done last. He’d been given layers of prosthetic peeling skin and a scar at his mouth, and he was decorated with a layer of disembodied hands gripping him all over. He shredded your tickets, looking unenthused.
“Remember that inside the maze, none of the monsters can touch you,” he recited dully. “You are not permitted to touch them in return; do not hit, kick, push, bite, slap, lick, scratch, or otherwise assault the actors. Don’t tamper with the props, do not leave items behind. Be respectful of other guests and do not linger too long in the rooms. If you need to leave for any reason, every room or alcove has clearly-lit exits marked in red.”
His eyes briefly met yours as he waved you through, and you thought you saw a pale brow go up.
But then you were being shoved forward by your friends, several hands clinging to your arms and the back of your shirt, and you stepped forward into the dark of the hall.
The maze truly was a labyrinth—it started indoors in a pitch black room, with fake body bags hanging from the ceiling. Toga Himiko, a highschooler whose makeup you usually did, stalked you around the edges of the room, dressed in a torn school uniform with fangs peeking out of her widely grinning mouth, and a dripping knife clutched eagerly in her fingers.
Once you made it past her, the maze spilled outdoors, into a tangle of hedges and artificially-constructed set, steering you in twisting loops around the property.
You were pleased with how terrifying all the actors looked, even having done most of their prosthetics yourself, and found your heart racing as you took every new corner, found yourself freezing up and stumbling back whenever someone jumped out at you, suppressing a shriek.
Your friends participated with gusto, shrieking and ducking away from the monsters, holding you like a human shield between them and the maze workers. You would have been insulted if it hadn’t been so funny.
You made it through most of the maze with little trouble, passing through a haunted swamp, a graveyard with mummies twisting and screaming in their bindings, grasping for you. You stumbled past a man wielding a chainsaw and a set of clowns waving axes, making it through in record time thanks to the push of your frantic friends behind you.
It was only on the last leg of the maze that you finally ran into Touya.
You peered around the corner, recognizing the set up instantly. The burned out houses flickered with blue flame, lighting up the set in an eerie, unsettling sapphire light. The fake bones on the ground sat in piles of ash, glowing stark white in the light. You couldn’t spot Touya anywhere, and you slowly crept forward, trying to shepherd your friends in front of you.
You even almost thought you had been successful, until a rasping voice drawled behind you, “Hello sweetheart.”
And then your roommate screamed, bolting forward, knocking into you and sending you stumbling over a pile of the fake bones. You landed hard on your ass in the patchy grass, the wind punching out of you.
“Oh fuck—” you heard one of your friends say as she too was steamrolled, and you watched the group of them trip over one another in their desperation to get through the alcove, dissolving into chaos in a matter of seconds.
You quickly tried to get to your feet to follow, but a hiss forced its way through your teeth when you tried your ankle, a wave of sharp pain washing over you.
Oh fuck. Not good.
The tread of a boot in the grass next to you made you jump, and your head whipped up to catch sight of Touya crouching over you.
“You good down there?” he asked. His eyes glinted in the dark of the maze, and the blue light cast shadows over his features, twisting them in the dim. Your heartbeat picked up, even as your brain recognized him for who he was.
You cringed, embarrassed that you’d had to hurt yourself in his part of the maze specifically. It figured.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, trying to climb to your feet again. Your ankle twinged in protest, and Touya must have caught the flash of pain on your face because then his hand was under your elbow, supporting you as you rose in an unexpected show of courtesy.
Although he broke the illusion immediately when he opened his mouth again.
“Yeah you look real fine,” he said, quirking an eyebrow. With the prosthetic forehead it made him look sort of demented.
“Well I’ll be fine,” you insisted, even as those blue eyes flickered over you assessingly. His fingers tightened a little on your arm before he bent down, tapping his other hand on your leg.
“Which leg, sweetheart?” he asked. “And where?”
It took you a minute to catch up to what he was asking, confused at seeing him on his haunches before you. A scream went up in the background, some terrified maze goer, and a little shiver went down your spine.
“Uh, the left ankle,” you supplied, startling when Touya’s fingers slid underneath the cuff of your legging over the aforementioned ankle, rolling it up gently. You blinked, surprised at the careful touch.
“Can’t see too well in the dark,” he announced. “But it looks like you ripped it open on something.” He peered back up at you. “Think it’s sprained?”
You shook your head. “Probably just rolled. It hurts but not like go-to-the-hospital level,” you said. “Just give me a minute, I’ll be good.”
Touya considered you for a moment, then got to his feet, moving closer. That scent of smoke and cinnamon drifted over to you, and he bent his head to look into your face.
“Much as you’re the most terrifying thing in this maze, I don’t think people are gonna wanna see you here,” he told you, a smirk cutting into his mouth. “Would ruin the experience. So we’re gonna have to get you out of here.”
You scowled up at him, crossing your arms over your chest. Well no thanks for the concern, then. “I’m going, I’m going, keep your shirt on,” you told him, preemptively gritting your teeth before readying yourself to take another step.
But before you could, one of Touya’s hands was suddenly sliding under your knees, his other slipping behind your shoulder. In the next second the burning buildings were swinging wildly in front of your eyes, and then you were being hefted up into Touya’s arms. You let out a startled yelp, your own hands shooting out to grab his jacket, giving him a wild-eyed look.
“Touya—!” you garbled out, as a smile pulled at his expression.
“Relax, sweetheart,” he told you, looking a little too smug about the situation he’d just put you in. He strode towards the exit, kicking the door open with a heavy boot, carrying you down the hall and back into the building. He was hard with wiry muscle underneath you, and so deliciously warm against you. Your ears went hot with every sure, easy step he took, like carrying you was little effort for him.
Thankfully it was barely a minute before you reached the staff room, where Touya laid you out gently on the couch, much more carefully than you might have expected from him.
Your cheeks and your nose burned, flaming even hotter when he squatted down in front of you and took your ankle in his hand again.
His dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he took note of your injury. In the light you could definitely see that you’d caught your ankle bone on one of the fake bones you’d tripped over, as there was a long gash up the side of it, but nothing else looked bruised or otherwise concerning. You thought you’d probably be fine in a couple hours, just a roll.
It was definitely nothing Touya had needed to princess carry you through the staff halls for!
“Don’t move,” Touya told you, and you watched, bewildered, as he stepped away, stalking over to the other side of the room where the staff lockers were. He dug out a shabby backpack, pulling something out of it, and then returned to your side, spreading out his haul on the couch next to you.
You noted a little tube of rubbing alcohol, an antiseptic cream and a bandage, as well as an ice pack. One of your eyebrows went up.
“You rob a hospital or something?” you asked reflexively, heart fluttering a little bit weirdly when Touya’s eyes flickered back up to yours. His eyelashes were long and thick, startlingly pretty.
“Nah,” he said, his gaze cutting suddenly away from yours. “Usually keep shit on hand for my burns.”
Your stomach flipped, and you realized how rude your question had been. Embarrassment welled up in a hard lump in your throat. Well shit. “Oh—fuck. Of course. I’m sorry, Touya.”
A pinch to your leg had you yelping, and his handsome face was serious when he stared back up at you, his eyes practically glowing with intensity. “I don’t need your sympathy.”
You rolled your eyes, rubbing the skin he’d pinched absentmindedly. “It wasn’t sympathy, asshole,” you said. “It was an apology for being thoughtless. Although if that’s how you’re gonna be then I take it back, geez. As if you need sympathy when every girl in this maze—” you froze, clamping your mouth shut when you realized what you’d been about to say. “Uhhhh.”
Touya’s eyes slowly slid down your face, flickering over you as another fucking obnoxious smirk started to twitch at the side of his mouth. “When every girl in this maze what?” he asked, pleasure turning his tone a little silky.
You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to grab the rubbing alcohol off of the couch so you didn’t have to look at him. “When every girl in this maze would like for you to shut up and stop asking questions,” you said, unscrewing the top with a deliberate focus.
Calloused fingers came up to yank the tube out of your grip, however, and Touya leaned in, his grin sharp and white.
“Lemme do it, sweetheart. Return the favor for my prosthetic,” he said. You winced, remembering how forcefully you’d applied his forehead earlier. As you braced yourself, however, his fingers brushed gently over your skin.
You suppressed a shiver at the feeling of him wiping off the blood with the rubbing alcohol, then going over it with the antibiotic cream, smearing it delicately, your nose going hot again. He took his time, careful to cover every inch, kneeling on the ground in front of you with your ankle clutched in one large hand. His duster fanned out behind him, dragging on the ground as he bent over you, but he didn’t seem to care, too absorbed in his task.
When he was done he carefully applied the bandage too, and you looked on, mystified, as he cracked the ice pack with long, strangely elegant fingers, and pressed it over your ankle bone as well.
His eyes flicked back to yours when you let out a short hiss, feeling the zing of the ice all the way in your teeth. Some of his expression looked squashed, given the obstruction of his prosthetic, but you thought he looked maybe just a little bit concerned, before he realized you were just being a baby. You were suddenly overcome with the urge to rip off his prosthetic so you could see his expression in full, and had to pin your arm to your side to stop yourself.
“This was—unexpected,” you admitted, watching him closely. “You’re…a surprisingly good nurse, Touya. Thank you.”
His answering smile was nothing short of wicked. “Anytime, sweetheart.”
You fumbled with the antiseptic and sniffed pointedly, just to have something to complain about. “Well. Your bedside manner could use some work.”
Touya leaned in, his smile suddenly going dark. “Oh, angel, now that’s not what I’ve been told—”
Your palm shot out to cover his mouth, horror overriding your normal brain function. Touya just laughed into the skin of your hand, however, shockingly boyish and sweet-sounding.
You pressed harder, hissing at him to shut the hell up, until you registered the feeling of dry, raised skin under your fingers. You jumped, realizing you were pressing down on his scars.
“Shit, did I hurt you—?” you asked, yanking your hand back, only for Touya to catch your wrist. He blinked, looking surprised that he had.
“No it’s—you didn’t—” he said. His fingers shifted over yours and his eyes darted over your hand in something like shock. “They get dry and pull but they don’t—it wasn’t that.” He sounded annoyed, but not that you’d touched him. That you’d pulled away from touching him.
Somehow, that settled you. Before you understood what exactly was possessing you, you reached back in, satisfied when Touya let you. The pads of your fingers met the edge of a scar again, feeling along the seam. You carefully traced over it the way Touya’s had just traced the cut on your ankle.
Touya’s eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a slow breath. “You don’t need to touch ‘em, sweetheart,” he said finally.
He said it as lightly as he’d said all his earlier nonsense, but he’d been giving you shit for long enough that you recognized there was something deliberate about the ease of his tone this time. This wasn’t his usual, natural timbre.
“Does it bother you?” you asked.
It seemed to take him a minute to decide.
“...No,” he answered, those cerulean eyes catching on yours again. You felt like you could feel your heartbeat in your own fingers, and your skin prickled with something—annoyingly not annoyance.
“Well then shut up,” you told him. “Or I’ll pinch you right on the seam.”
Touya laughed, a slow rolling sound. “Promises promises,” he said, but he seemed more relaxed.
You felt along the contours of his face, mystified by what the hell you thought you were even doing, until you reached the edge of the prosthetic you’d applied. It only took a second for you to give in to the impulse you’d had earlier and start peeling it from his skin, slow and deliberate.
You reached down and helped yourself to the rubbing alcohol, applying it around the prosthetic, letting it dissolve the adhesive before pulling gently. Shockingly, Touya let you do it. He just sat there, watching you with an intensity you’d never experienced before, hardly blinking.
You kept careful track of the prosthetic, unable to look him in the eye, focusing on rubbing off the makeup you’d used to blend it in for good measure. You tried not to examine the weirdly satisfied feeling that settled in your stomach when his natural face was visible to you again.
It was probably just his looks. He really was so handsome for such a grating personality.
You set the prosthetic aside, lost on where to go from here. Touya probably thought you were so fucking weird for just like, rubbing his face like he was some kind of cat. He certainly looked like he had no idea what to do now, which was such a departure from his usually snotty self-assurance that it threw you for an even bigger loop.
“Always thought you’d be a little rougher with me, sweetheart,” Touya finally managed, flashing you a smirk. It looked a little smaller than usual though, like he was drawing it up like a shield, but your hackles raised instantly, like always.
You always, always responded to him.
“Trust me, that can be arranged,” you promised darkly, trying to crack your knuckles. Only one of them crackled obligingly, however, and Touya blinked, before laughing again.
“Yeah?” he asked, leaning in closer. Cigarette smoke and cinnamon clouded your senses, fogging up your brain. “Gonna fuck me up nice and good, sweetheart?”
You dredged around for something snarky to say, but words were suddenly failing you as those infuriatingly pretty features drew closer. Seriously could a makeup artist not catch a break around here?
“Uhhh,” was all you managed, your brain bluescreening, as Touya huffed a laugh, exhaling over your mouth.
“Shut up,” you finally spat out, catching a fistful of that black hair. Touya groaned, however, looking like he liked that of all things, and a red hot flash of something jolted through you.
There was a pause, then, a tiny sliver of a moment where it seemed like one of you might pull back—move away and snipe at one another from a safer distance.
Things somehow seemed to be spiraling out of control, in a way you hadn’t expected, after just one kind gesture from him. You didn’t really understand how you’d suddenly found yourself with him leaning over you, your hand pulling at his hair, but if you had any good sense you’d have pulled away immediately and told him something extra mean, just for good measure.
Except then Touya opened his mouth and escalated things, as usual.
“Make me,” he said, the most absolutely heinous line of all time. You yanked his hair harder, deeply disgusted that he’d try that on you.
And then, like a thread had snapped, you leaned forward and crushed your mouth to his.
Touya reacted like a lightning strike. He surged up over you, weighing you down into the staff room couch. He tasted like spearmint muddled under bitter smoke, and he was broader than he looked under that duster, heavy with lean muscle. You could feel every kilo of it press you down into the cushions as Touya licked hot and filthy into your mouth.
His tongue curled around yours, wet and teasing, and he exhaled on a groan like he’d never tasted anything better. It sent little sparks of electricity jittering up your spine, especially as he shifted between your thighs, that trim waist slotting between them perfectly.
“Fuck, angel,” he said, his tone somewhere between sweet and nasty. “Wanted me this whole time, huh?”
You yanked harder on his hair, telling him to shut up, but the swelling of something hard against your thigh told you he only liked that more. “You are so nasty,” you told him, and you could feel his mouth curl into a wicked grin against the side of your face, before he leaned in and bit the shell of your ear, grinding the evidence of his interest even harder into your thigh.
“I can show you nasty, sweetheart,” he promised, his tone going silky-soft again. A calloused hand slid up into your shirt brazenly, long fingers teasing the underside of your bra. When you didn’t immediately try to yank him out of there he wiggled in further, until his fingers met your nipples, and he got even harder against your leg.
He pinched carefully, moving back to kiss you again so that the sound that escaped you was muffled into his mouth. He kissed you harder as your nipples tightened, pebbling in his fingers, something far too satisfied filling the air around you. His hips canted up, grinding himself into you again, this time a little closer to your core.
Your own hips shifted, moving to increase the friction, trying to shift him closer to your center. His fingers and tongue teased you, each flick of his tongue mirroring the caress of a finger, the soft pinch of his index and thumb.
You couldn’t have controlled yourself if you wanted, too focused on the sensations he was drawing from you, the desperate need to get closer to him though you were already pressed together from mouth to shin. You realized you’d been pulling at his coat when he finally withdrew from your shirt and let you yank it down his arms, exposing a patchwork of scars over dense, mouth-wateringly well-defined muscle.
You inhaled sharply, and Touya paused for a minute—until he seemed to realize that you were fixated on the shape of his arm, rather than the purple bruise of scar tissue. The quickening of his grin in the corner of your vision told you that you’d pleased him.
“You like that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice obnoxiously sweet. “Want to see the rest of me, angel?”
You ripped your eyes off of his arm to glare at him, which only made his grin wider. The fluorescent lights behind him limned his hair in a pale light, blinding you when he moved his head—and all of a sudden you recalled where you were and what you were doing.
“Here? No! Touya, anyone could walk in!” you said, trying to scramble out from beneath him.
Touya caught you around the thigh, hauling you back underneath him. You noticed he was careful to angle your leg up so you didn’t catch your ankle against the arm of the couch.
“This is far from the worst thing I’ve done in a public place,” he said, laying himself back out over you.
You pushed at his shoulder though, casting a worried glance back at the door. “I am not trying to get fired,” you hissed, even as you shivered with the delicious heat of him over you.
Touya sighed through his nose, and then heaved himself off the couch. You watched him seize the plastic makeup chair and haul it over to the door, stuffing it under the knob at an angle so that it held the lock in place. Then he turned around and prowled right back to you with predatory intent. Your stomach fluttered.
“Better, angel?” he asked, tone soft.
You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of nodding, but he seemed to know what you wanted anyway, leaning back in to kiss you fiercely.
You melted into the feeling of his mouth over yours, kissing him back just as passionately. You hated how good he was at that, hated how pretty he was under all those scars and piercings, hated how his obnoxious personality wasn’t even a factor in what you wanted to do with him right now.
Touya groaned again when you pulled at a fistful of his dark hair, and then you were dragging him down to the couch and climbing into his lap. Touya seized your left leg as you did, pointedly guiding your ankle away from the edge of the seat, and it only inflamed your desire for him.
“Like you a whole lot better like this,” he said into your mouth, as calloused fingers slid into your leggings.
Your reply was cut off by a moan as he traced his index finger lightly over the center of your panties, before pressing down firmly over your clit. A thousand little points of electricity lit up under your skin, and you shifted into his hand unthinkingly.
A smile formed against your lips, and it was only Touya’s hand making its way into your panties that suppressed the annoyed buzz that started in the back of your brain.
“You kick up such a fuss, sweetheart, but look at what you really think of me,” Touya purred as his fingers slid up into your incriminatingly wet folds. “All this for me, angel?”
You wanted to bite him for his cheek but you feared breaking the skin of his scars, so you settled for giving him a pointed look. He just laughed, his smile smug.
“I’ll show you what I’ve really thought of you too, sweetheart,” he promised, taking hold of your leg again to slide your leggings and panties down. He settled you back over the hard line in his pants, grabbing your hips and pulling you firmly down over it, grinning.
“Love when you’re a spitfire little fucking brat. I’ve imagined taking you right over the vanity every single day for the last three years, sweetheart. Taking you against the lockers and then right here over the couch. Fucking you so hard that you scream and everyone comes running in to see you squirming and crying and begging on my cock, and you want it so much that you don’t even care—”
He laughed when he felt you clench up in his lap, working to unbuckle his belt and free himself, immediately angling you over him. “You want that too, sweetheart? Want to see if I can make you scream so loud that people come to see what’s wrong?”
“My god you never shut up,” you told him, pointedly avoiding the question. In lieu of an answer, you shifted, guiding him to your center and sinking down onto him instead. You watched with satisfaction as he threw his head back and hissed at the feeling of you slipping down around him.
“Fffffffffffuck,” he said to the ceiling, a hand tightening in your sweater. You had to agree, gritting your teeth with the delicious slide of him inside of you, hot and thick and full and perfect. You leaned in, putting your mouth over the scar tissue on his neck, smirking when he exhaled shakily again.
“I think,” Touya huffed. “I should have put you over my lap three fucking years ago.”
You thought back to your first glimpse of him, flicking ash at you as he chainsmoked outside the maze entrance, and thought you would have probably gouged his eyes out if he had tried. Honestly he’d barely scraped together enough good will with his little ankle treatment as it was.
But maybe this is what that girl had been talking about, when she said Touya didn’t talk to anyone besides you. Had he really been more into you than he’d let on, these three years? Is that why he’d been at your throat this entire time?
The thought was lost when Touya’s hips lifted into yours, grinding himself into you just right, and your head fell back with a shivery moan. Touya’s mouth found the skin of your throat and sucked as he bucked up into you, picking up into a faster pace. You rocked back and forth over his lap, guided by Touya’s grip on your hips, relishing in the feel of him inside of you.
His fingers slid back down, brushing over your clit, and you bit down a yelp as he dragged his thumb over it firmly.
“That’s it,” he said, biting down softly on your neck. “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”
You pressed a hand over your mouth instead as he slid in and out of you, those clever fingers working you deftly. He pinched softly, then swirled the pad of his thumb firmly over your clit again, groaning and pounding up into you. “I wanna hear you, sweetheart. Always want to hear your mean little mouth.”
“Touya—shut up—” you panted as he moved you how he wanted, played you like an instrument. Between his fingers and the hard press of him inside you, you felt like you couldn’t escape the pleasure, the feeling mounting within you. No matter how you moved your hips, his fingers were there to meet you, rubbing maddening circles, teasing you mercilessly, and he filled you so good that it felt like he was pressing against that spot from the inside too.
You writhed with the feel of him, as he steadily covered your neck and shoulders with marks of his attention. You couldn’t help but moan, much much louder than you would have liked, and Touya leaned back to look at you again, looking pleased.
“That’s it, yeah,” he said, another grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Louder for me, sweetheart. Want you to come for me.”
You huffed, unable to do anything but squirm in his lap, chasing the feeling closer, ever closer to the edge. You weren’t going to let his infuriating attitude ruin this for you, not when you were so close—
Without input from your brain, your hand reached out to grab a fistful of Touya’s hair again and his hips stuttered, slamming up into you with more force than he had previously. He looked a little shocked, and then a little dazed, and the grip he had on the side of your hip tightened almost to the point of bruising as he forced you down onto him harder, gasping.
“Fuck, yeah, sweetheart—fuck yes,” he rasped.
His fingers rubbed you harder, and his hips slapped up into you frantically. The uptick in intensity had your eyes almost rolling to the back of your head, and you bit your palm to keep the sounds in.
Touya ground into you with a renewed fervor, and it was only another matter of seconds before something inside of you was being wrenched loose. You lost the grip on your control, every nerve ending in your body lighting up and coming alive, singing with pleasure. You seized up, crying, “Oh my god, Touya!” and then you were cumming hard, harder than you ever had, Touya’s talented fingers still working you, his cock still fucking you mercilessly.
Touya swore, spitting out your name like a curse, and then again in almost reverent tones, before he too was following you right off the edge. He slammed you down on him once, twice, and then he was cumming too—shivering against you as he held you tight against him.
The silence of the room around you was ringing, once you managed to return to yourself. Touya was a long, hot, hard wall of muscle between your thighs, his hair mussed and a patch of makeup you’d missed smearing into the hair at his temple. His cheeks were flush with effort over the seam of his scars, and he looked, irritatingly, even more beautiful than he usually did.
Like he could sense what you were thinking, the corner of his mouth rose as those cerulean eyes searched over you, blinking like a pleased cat.
“Fuck, sweetheart. I knew I liked you mean,” he said, his raspy tone rougher than normal.
“And I don’t like you at all,” you sniffed, though you knew the protest was pointless when he was quite literally softening inside of you. You let go of his hair, remembering yourself.
“Aww angel don’t be like that,” he drawled, his grin widening. He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss over your mouth. “I can make it up to you—all three years, if you’ll let me.”
You knew he felt your involuntary shiver, pressed up against you like he was. And that was definitely answer enough for him, as his smile went more handsome and boyish than you’d ever seen it. You hated that you liked it.
“I’ll clean up and clock out,” Touya told you, gingerly helping you off of him and back into your leggings, his eyes fixating a little too closely on your legs as you did so. “You tell your friends you’re gonna go home and rest that ankle. And I’ll pick you up out front, angel.”
You flushed, embarrassed that you’d completely forgotten that you were at work, and you’d intended to go out bar hopping after. But you figured you could be forgiven just this one time.
“Fine,” you said, though your insides were feeling a little fluttery at the thought of leaving with Touya. “But I expect penitence or there’s going to be a reckoning.” You supposed you were owed, for all these years of suffering.
Touya looked down at you from under his lashes, dark and beautiful and still as infuriating as ever. “I’ll give you my best, sweetheart. Over and over until you can’t even walk,” he promised, “Gotta keep you off that ankle, after all.”
You flushed again, yanking your sweater down over your leggings, and fled out the door. Touya’s laughter floated after you, sounding pleased.
You sped up your pace, your ears burning.
And if you were actually rushing not to get away from him, but to return to him sooner? Well, then, nobody needed to know that but you.
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i-cant-sing · 7 months
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I can see Dabi standing in front of his mirror, forcefully smiling himself before stopping. Then he tries to smile again, stops, pauses and smiles again.
He's been doing this for the past half hour. Ever since you told him earlier today that he has "such a beautiful smile", he hasn't stopped thinking about it. And now that he stands in front of his mirror, trying to recreate the smile that you liked, he can't figure it out.
This looks too stretched. No, too many teeth here. Am I happy, or am I creepy? What kind of smile is this? No, where did my upper lip go?
"Fuck." He muttered, turning around and dropping on his bed. Why is it so hard to smile? The smile that you liked, that you praised him for.
He closed his eyes as your face came into his mind. Perhaps he can only smile like that when he's with you. He really does genuinely feel happy with you, his heart swells when he looks at your bright eyes.
No drug, not even ecstasy can compare to the feeling he gets when he opens the door for you and you look at him like like he's hung the stars for you.
His phone buzzes and he picks it up (totally ignoring the wallpaper of you sleeping contently on his chest). He's got a text from you.
Opening the app, he sees the picture you'd sent him. It's a picture of him, smiling, at dinner earlier, wearing that stupid birthday hat that you insisted on and giving him a birthday cupcake.
The picture feels so warm, so happy, so... yellow. How you cared about him enough to force him to celebrate his birthday that he claims he hates, and yet he had the happiest birthday in a long time.
Dabi snorts at the memory of you drunkenly singing him happy birthday at the bar, you sounded absolutely terrible. But when one of the patrons stood up and told you to stop, Dabi immediately smacked the man on the back of his head before pulling him back and threatening to burn him alive right then and there. You may be an embarrassing pain in the ass, but you're his embarrassing pain in the ass.
His phone buzzes again. You sent another text.
"You are so babygirl Dabi🥰 I love youuu x"
Clearly, you were still drunk. But Dabi didn't mind. He couldn't, not when you were the one present he'd been wishing for his whole life.
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trueshellz · 1 year
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Set in the same theme as this
A little side note: Touya, from my research, means 'arrow of light' so I wanted his son's name to have a similar theme so Tadaaki means 'bright light'.
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Daddy!Dabi, sorry Touya, who keeps having random toys delivered to your house. You're sure the driver knows your name by now since you're getting a parcel every day and to make it worse the little demon child seems more interest in the box and wrapping paper than the actual gift inside the damn thing.
"Tadaaki, I swear to God."
You sat on the floor next to him as he tried to ingest yet another piece of paper from the floor, wrestling the small sodden pieces from his hand and replaced it with his dummy even as he screwed up his face in frustration.
"Just let him eat it."
Shaking your head in exasperation, you turned to the window and glared at Touya. The grin on his face as he crouched on the window ledge made you even more frustrated so you threw some paper at his stupid head.
"Very helpful, thank you."
A snort as he jumped down, the thud as his boots hit the floor before he quickly removed them and replaced them with the slippers you chose for him. They were huge Smurf feet, something you would tease him with when you were together, and when you saw them in the local shop you just had to get them.
A loud squeal as Tadaaki stood up and toddled over to his dad, Touya was still a little hesitant as the little hands held on his larger ones. You could see the gloves he was wearing, something you noticed after you met in the park and assumed it was to protect Tadaaki from the staples. A louder squeal this time as Touya hefted him up in the air, the dummy landing on the floor as your son flew up in the air.
"You know, he just ate. If he-"
"Oh shit!"
"-pukes it'll be your own fault."
You couldn't help but laugh out loud this time, your son looking awfully chuffed with himself as his dad looked like he was about to throw up himself. Holding Tadaaki at arms length, his face turned away as he thrust him out to you and pulled the jacket and t-shirt he was wearing off and wiping himself down with some baby wipes while mock glaring at you.
"You can stop laughing, brat. I learnt my lesson."
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heich0e · 2 years
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it takes touya three days to finally hold the baby.
your baby. his baby.
he waits until you're asleep to consider it--one of the rare bouts of slumber you've been able to get since you returned home from the hospital three days prior. he hadn't been able to be there with you, for reasons that are obvious, and he'd spent the entire time you were gone pacing the floors of your apartment as he awaited your return.
he's so small.
that's all touya can think as he stares down at the little swaddle of blankets and a button nose. impossibly tiny. fragile in every way.
the baby has been sleeping soundly for a while, but he's beginning to stir, little coos and unhappy gurgles that touya's come to learn always shortly precede a shrill cry. he doesn't want you to wake up, but knows that his only other option is to intervene.
so he does.
he reaches into the bassinet slowly, hesitantly.
but he pulls back, just shy of contact.
what if his hands are too hot? what if the baby feels his staples and doesn't like it? what if just by touch alone his son knows the things he's done?
the baby lets out a high pitched whine--the one he's come to know in the past 72 hours is the harbinger of a fit--and it leaves him with no choice but to act.
his two hands move with purpose--one behind the head, and the other slipped beneath his back--lifting him gently from his bed.
he carries him out of your bedroom and into the living room a few paces away, held before him and just slightly away from his frame. every step he takes is slow, measured, and cautious.
he sits on the edge of the sofa, staring down at the little bundle in his arms.
he sighs.
"'ya can't scream right now kid, you've already put her through enough."
the baby's eyes open, but only barely. they don't really do that much until they're older, or so you'd told him when he asked. they can't even really see anything right now, apparently.
touya can't help but take comfort from that fact.
he stares down at the baby in his hands, a foreign choking feeling in his chest that threatens to swallow him whole. the same one he feels sometimes when he looks at you.
he rocks the baby gently, and that seems to soothe him--his little sounds trailing off and his eyes fluttering shut again.
"tou?"
touya's head snaps up towards the door.
you stand there, rubbing at your bleary eyes, watching him. he feels a wave of relief to see you there, even if he'd been hoping you would stay asleep.
"is everything okay?" you ask.
touya hums, clearing his throat a little. "he was making noises, didn't want him to wake you up so i carted him out here."
you shuffle over to him, your hand resting on his shoulder as you peer down at your son.
"he seems happy now," you say softly, your fingers brushing through the hairs at the nape of touya's neck, though your eyes are still on the baby. "i think he likes being held by you."
he swallows thickly, and it's quiet for a moment.
"he looks like my little brother."
your fingers pause in their gentle ministrations.
shouto was the last baby touya ever held, and that was years ago. decades even. but staring down at the little person in his hands, he remembers what it was like to hold his youngest sibling for the first time as vividly as if it were yesterday. how happy he was to do it.
"did you ever think that maybe that's because your little brother looks like you?"
touya freezes.
he doesn't see the resemblance between himself and his family anymore. he hasn't for years. not as his scars grew, his hair was dyed, and his heart hardened. the last reminder that he couldn't quite seem to shake, the final tie he could never sever, was his eyes.
there's a pricking behind them as he thinks of it, as he considers your words. maybe, were he able, he might even be crying. but instead he just stares at the little bundle in his hands. at the nose he thinks might be like his. the shut eyes that he suspects may have come from him too.
and he wonders if maybe you're right.
and if maybe he's grateful for it.
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doumadono · 3 months
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MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST PRO HERO DABI & INTERN!BAKUGO
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Touya Todoroki's hero name is Dabi, no question.
As a pro hero, he takes being a total shithead to a whole new level, being a jerk with a hero license and flashy gear that screams "I'm better than you."
He's the biggest fuckboy on the planet, and as a pro hero, he takes it to a whole new level. He's bedded countless models, actresses, and even fellow pro heroes, and he's far from finished.
He has a custom-painted motorcycle with blue flames, because anything less wouldn't be cool enough for him.
Piercings and tattoos everywhere; he has his ears, nose, tongue, nipples and dick pierced, and his sleeves are adorned with huge tattoos, so are his back and neck.
He's the ultimate PR nightmare, and his publicists practically live in their offices, working overtime to clean up after his never-ending chaos. Sure, he fights villains and saves lives, but his brand thrives on scandals, keeping his publicists working overtime to handle the fallout.
Despite his scandalous reputation, he's a smooth talker when it comes to the media and public, effortlessly playing the role of the good guy when it suits him.
A certified narcissist, he loves to pull the "do you know who I am?" and "my father will sue you" cards.
When it comes to drinking, he's in a league of his own. This man can and will outdrink anyone, even Endeavor, leaving no doubt about his legendary tolerance.
Dabi's strategic mind and tactical prowess make him a formidable force on the battlefield, earning him the respect of both allies and adversaries.
Pro Hero Dabi is known for his unconventional methods, often bending or breaking the rules to achieve his goals. His willingness to operate in morally gray areas sets him apart from traditional heroes.
Despite his cocky and rebellious attitude, Dabi possesses a keen intellect and a deep understanding of human nature, allowing him to manipulate situations to his advantage.
Despite his outward bravado, Dabi is fiercely loyal to those he considers allies, willing to go to great lengths to protect and support them, even if it means defying conventional hero ethics.
Dabi holds an unbreakable bond with his younger brother, Natsuo, whom he regards as his closest and most trusted friend.
After meeting you, his current girlfriend, Pro Hero Dabi has undergone a significant personal transformation. Your presence in his life has prompted him to adopt a more mature and responsible demeanor. His commitment to you has motivated him to address his tendencies towards excessive drinking and flirting with others, as he strives to be the best partner he can be for you.
Those close to Dabi have noticed a significant change in his behavior, witnessing his earnest efforts to improve himself for the sake of your relationship. His commitment to personal growth and positive change reflects his deep investment in you and your future together.
In his free time, Dabi enjoys playing the electric guitar, and he takes particular delight in performing on his customized Fender Stratocaster.
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rishiguro · 1 year
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“YOU’RE BLEEDING” - DABI
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a/n: i love him so much it hurts
warnings: major character death. dabi‘s real identity. blood. mention of fire. desperate!dabi. implied murder. injury gets cauterized. 2k of angst.
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“if you close your eyes, i’ll fucking burn you to a crisp” dabi‘s voice was stern as he talked, eyebrows furrowed with his teeth clenched. “you hear me?”
you blinked multiple times, trying to get your eyes to focus on the blurry person in front of you. why was it so bright? you tried lifting a hand up, shielding your face from the sun, however your arm felt too heavy for you to move it even an inch.
“huh?”
with heavy eyelids you decided to give it up, wanting nothing more than to succumb to your body‘s cries for sleep. it wouldn’t hurt, right? just a couple of minutes maybe?
you hummed, content with your decision, letting your eyelids drop.
“you’re going to stay awake and look at me with these dumb eyes and you’re going to listen to what i say” dabi‘s harsh voice made you rip your eyes open again, vision slowly clearing and allowing you to look at his face. “understood?”
you studied his face slowly but carefully. it felt like the first time you had seen him and you took your time to examine him.
your eyes wandered upwards from his chin, however halted the moment you looked at his eyes and the purple scars underlining them.
dabi‘s scars weren‘t red, were they?
“dabi,“ you tried, your voice weak but filled with concern. you had to tell him. what if something bad had happened to him?
“shut the fuck up,“ dabi insisted harshly, his jaw still clenched to the point where his words were barely comprehensible, “you can’t talk right now” the villain knew he had to get you out of here somehow, this area wasn’t safe for you anymore. you couldn’t move, you couldn’t defend yourself.
he was pretty.
“dabi”
didn’t you hear what he had just said? he grew impatient, couldn’t you just listen to him for once? it took everything in him to not yell as he looked around, assessing the situation the both of you were in. the alley was dark, only a dumpster shielding the two of you from the street if it wasn’t for the blue flames burning behind it. a charred heap lazily kicked away, ashes dirtying the cold floor even further. at least he couldn’t hurt you any further. “i said shut up”
cursing loudly, he took off his jacket, grabbing the hem of his white shirt and roughly pulling at it. the tearing of the fabric was louder than you could bear, ears starting to ring in pain.
“touya,“ you whispered impatiently, mentally praying for him to just listen.
“be fucking-“
“you’re bleeding,“ you interrupted him, not paying any attention to the way his head snapped back at you and how he was fully ready to cuss you out.
“the hell have i just-“
“why are you bleeding?” you asked, concern filling your voice. “are you hurt?”
whatever it was that dabi believed you would‘ve said to him, it certainly wasn’t this.
him? hurt? were you serious?
dabi couldn’t help but huff at your questions, rolling his eyes. “you’re one to fucking talk”
“now just—“ he stopped briefly, assessing the state you were in. he had to act quick, do something. “just lay still and don’t fucking talk”
you however didn’t pay any attention to what he was saying, instead carefully lifting your hand to his face, thumb rubbing over the scarred skin.
blood.
“i’m gonna get you out of here,“ dabi promised. he knew he couldn’t wait much longer. you grew weaker by the minute and he for sure wasn’t skilled enough to save you right then and there. but he had to do something. anything.
“i’m tired,” you whispered, your heavy eyelids close to shutting again.
“no you’re not,” dabi replied, skillfully dismissing you.
“don’t you dare to close your eyes,“ he continued to threaten you, a warm hand grabbing your face and turning you towards him again, “keep looking at me. you hear me? you’re not going to go now”
you didn’t like how his voice sounded, so rough and hoarse, almost like he couldn’t speak properly. it was a rare sigh for you to see, the villain was hunched over you, his breathing flat and his teeth digging into his bottom lip. you couldn’t see what he was doing and you didn’t have the strength to lift your head, even if you wanted to. but something about him was so raw, so vulnerable.
he was hurt, dabi was bleeding, his blood still adorning the tip of your fingers, and yet he kept talking to you, letting you hear him and telling you to just listen to him, do as he told you to. that’s the least you could do for him, wasn’t it?
you groaned, opening your eyes again, even though everything in yourself protested against it. you were so tired. “that’s it, keep looking right at me, you’re doing so good for me”
“you’re pretty” dabi froze, his eyebrows furrowing, before shaking his head, dismissing you again.
him and pretty?
“you’re seeing things,” he muttered, throwing his head around and searching the area. the blue flames burning multiple feet away, shielding the two of you from the streets slowly started to dwindle. dabi could hear the commotion that was going on on the other side of it, the bright fire attracting the attention of civilians. it wouldn’t be much longer till a hero would come around.
he had to get you out of here, move you to a safer location. dabi cursed as soon he looked back at you. you were pale, too pale, and your breathing was barely audible. he didn’t even know if you were breathing properly. “i’m gonna pick you up now. it’s gonna hurt,” he warned, trying to shove his arms underneath you to support your body and carry you away.
“don’t,” you pleaded, looking at the villain with a scared look on your face. he couldn’t do that now, he shouldn’t. he was hurt, he was bleeding. you had to take care of him, you had to make sure he was safe, but you were too weak to get up. why were you so weak?
dabi’s jaw clenched, shaking his head at your protests. why couldn’t you just listen to him for once in your life? “this is really not the time for you to pick a fucking argument with me, so shut up and let me get you out of here”
weakly you shook you head, fully aware that you weren‘t strong enough to stop him in his doing anyways. “no, you’re bleeding,” you insisted. why wasn’t he listening to you?
why were you so stubborn? digging his fingernails into his palm, dabi fed into the flames shielding you from the public before he turned back to you. his mind was racing as he desperately tried to come up with a solution, a way out of any kind. “i fucking know, but so are you so please just—“
why was he so adamant to get you to agree to him? why couldn’t he just move? why couldn’t he just do as he wanted?
“you shouldn’t be bleeding,” you stated.
you shouldn’t be bleeding either, dabi thought, and yet here you were.
“for fucks sake, just please shut up,” dabi grew more and more agitated by the second, feeling the anger rise in him, skin slowly heating up. why was it so hard for you to listen, just for once? dabi cringed as he looked down at your torso, your shirt soaked in blood that by now has started to spill on the ground underneath you, your face drained of all color. dabi could hear how hard it was for you to talk, how your voice was nothing more than a pained whisper, a plea for him to listen to you. “stop talking, you’re only making it worse,” he chided, now not caring anymore about the potential pain he might cause you. he cursed, ripping a hole in your top, only to immediately shut his eyes in defeat as he assessed the damage.
this was bad. there was no way he could get you away in time.
turning your head away from him in shame, you muttered a small apology. you always managed to make things worse somehow.
truth to be told, dabi didn’t pay a lot of attention to what you said. instead he carelessly pulled on his own white shirt again, to the point where he ripped the hem of it. fisting the fabric he pressed it against your open flesh, watching as it turned crimson way too fast. “you should be. shit, it won’t stop”
you couldn’t help but smile weakly at his snarky comment. “you’re an asshole”
“doing my best, doll,” the villain replied, his lips curved upward too. however his smile fell immediately as he tossed the bloody fabric away.
dabi pulled at his hair in frustration. this wasn’t working, he wasn’t helping. he couldn’t just helplessly watch as your life force drained away, flowing right out of your body.
his stomach turned at the thought of his head, the only way he could try to save you right now— but he hated it. he didn’t want to do it, he didn’t want to hurt you even more. but what more could he do? if he cauterized the wound maybe then he could get you away, to safety, maybe then someone could patch you up, somehow.
maybe you could be kept alive then.
dabi swallowed, closing his eyes as he took in a deep breath. “i need to stop the bleeding, this is gonna be very hot but i need you to take it“
he didn’t wait for your reply till he pressed his palm against your wound, heating it up as soon as he came in contact with it. dabi turned his head away in shame as you cried out in pain. the smell of burned flesh filled the villain‘s nostrils, making his stomach turn in disgust.
when he turned back to you, after moments that felt like an eternity, he was horrified as he saw you with your eyes closed, your chest barely moving. were you even breathing anymore? “keep your eyes open,” he commanded sternly, hand against your blood-stained cheek.
but you barely moved. only now did he notice how cold your skin felt against his hot hands. eyes wide in terror, he grabbed your shoulders, slightly shaking your body. “fuck, stay with me”
“please, don’t do this to me,” dabi pleaded, pulling your form into his lap.
“look at me,” he continued, shoving a hand underneath your knees and lifting your body off the ground. he pulled you close to him, hoping that his own warmth might heat your body up a little.
“listen to me”
dabi ran faster than he ever has, pressing you against his chest. he had to run faster, be quicker, get you away from here.
“stay with me,” he pleaded, trying to catch his breath.
you however didn’t seem to listen, to even hear him and his cries. no, you didn’t move in his arms. you almost looked like you were sleeping peacefully.
too peaceful for his liking.
dabi clenched his teeth, muttering curses under his breath. “are you deaf, you’re gonna keep your pretty eyes open and you’re gonna stay right here with me,” he commanded coldly, trying to mask just how desperate he was.
you could barely hear what the villain had just said. it took you everything to open your eyes again, to look at him. was he always this blurry? “i don’t feel so good, touya”
“i know, fuck, i know,” he answered, turning around to see if someone had been following him. hiding between some dumpsters in the outskirts of the city, he carefully placed you down again, grabbing your hands to get your attention. “but you’re not gonna leave me now, forget it”
dabi sat down in front of you, grabbing your shoulders as he noticed you slumping. “i’m not letting you,” he insisted, pulling you into a tight embrace. you couldn’t leave him, you couldn’t just go and leave him behind. he needed you. he wanted you by his side, he had to have you by his side. “you’re not fucking leaving me”
you meant so much to him that it hurt, and now you were practically at death‘s door, and dabi couldn’t help but feel like you wanted to leave him. if you didn’t, why weren’t you fighting harder? why weren’t you staying awake? why couldn’t you hold on for him just a while longer?
you only managed to sigh in his hold, your eyes now too heavy to keep open. it wouldn’t hurt to shut them, right? you were so tired, so, so tired.
dabi stayed like that, holding you close to him, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. you were going to be okay, you had to be. you couldn’t leave him. “hey, open your eyes”
so why didn’t you respond? why were you so still? “i said open your eyes”
why were you so cold? why were you so pale? “fuck, open them”
why didn’t you move?
“doll, please,” the villain begged, pushing you away from him to take a look at you. you‘re eyes were shut, your mouth slightly opened, almost like you were just about to say something. you were, weren’t you? “just look at me, you can do that, can’t you?”
but why didn’t you do anything? why were you so still? you were supposed to open your eyes, to reassure him, to tell him you were here with him, that you listened, that you wouldn’t leave him. that you‘d never leave him.
“open your fucking eyes!“ he demanded now, violently shaking your still form. a loud, pained cry burned his throat as he threw his head back.
“you said you wouldn’t leave me!” he cried, yelling at you accusingly, like he was expecting you to answer, to justify yourself. how could you just leave him behind like that, how could you just go like you didn’t care how he felt about it. “i told you, you can’t!”
dabi pressed you against his chest again, curling your body in his hold, rocking the both of you back and forth. “i need you, please”
as he looked down at your face, he noticed small drops of crimson falling onto your skin.
dabi was bleeding.
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reblogs are appreciated
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neurthotic · 4 months
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DABI AS A BOYFRIEND ✫
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✫ incurably watches you sleep. you get used to waking up to it eventually. maybe.
✫ neck kisses all the time
✫ his communication skills are shit. you feel like a kindergarten teacher explaining to his expressionless face how to talk about our feelings
✫ he keeps a hand on your back or your shoulder or in your hair when you’re together, absently keeping track of you
✫ “you’re cute when you’re scared.”
✫ warm ass hands
✫ he definitely has a weird and scary thing for pain. “you want to touch the staples? yeah, you can touch them. you can rip them out of my face with your teeth if you like.”
✫ dabi doesn’t do nicknames. pet names are once in a blue moon.
✫ driest texter to walk the earth
✫ the self deprecating jokes are actually mad funny. sir please stop calling yourself crispy
✫ gets very um. creative about degradation.
✫ it’s all “come get in the shower with me” and then you stick a toe in and the water is two degrees away from freezing to ice. sorry not all of us have fire inside okay
✫ he doesn’t like you cautious around his injuries, even treating/tending them: “stop being fucking gentle with me.”
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inkykeiji · 2 months
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what now?
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character: dabi | todoroki touya
genre: smut + angst
notes: eeeee happy birthday dabi!!! sorry i’m a day late, and sorry i keep writing angst for your birthday. this piece is set directly after dabi’s touya reveal, in that dingy little safe house he seems to love so much! please heed the warnings below and stay safe!
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, rough sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, dom/sub dynamics, use of master/owner/sir, fem!reader, minimal prep, biting, branding, blood, the piece switches between both dabi and touya as names, size kink + size difference, spanking, objectification, degradation + dumbification, a lil bit of praise, dabi’s pretty mean when he’s fucking, dabi carries reader, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, choking
words: 8.8k
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It’s dark by the time he returns, reeking of charred flesh and ash. He had stashed you away in a decaying little safe house—a place no one else knew about, a place that was his and his alone—and had told you to wait for him. He had promised he’d return to you, no matter how long it took, no matter what happened, he’d be back, pinky swear.
Touya never breaks his pinky swears. Dabi might, though.
You had seen his video. You had been watching the news just like he told you to, anxious, waiting for any sign or indication of trouble, of terror, but the heat and the dust had been too much for the news cameras to penetrate, and there had been no reports of casualties on either side. 
Yet. 
It’s astonishing to think that the whole world knows his name now—his true name, the one buried in his blood and his bones, the one staining his soul, the one he can’t snuff out, no matter how hard he tries. You remember the first time he told it to you. 
“Touya.” 
He had said suddenly, randomly, while laying in bed with you one night back at the League’s hideout—back before all of this was set in motion, back when there was just the gentle clink of glass sounding beneath the floorboards, followed by a muddled curse and the rapid mashing of plastic buttons. 
It was muttered out in the dead of the night, when the wind was stagnant and the moonlight shimmered through grimy windows, brilliance of the beams diffused by the dirt, turning everything a hazy silver, glinting off his stitches.
“Hmm?”
“That’s my real name. Touya.”
“Touya,” you had murmured to yourself, rolling the letters around on your tongue, allowing them to seep into your flesh. “It’s beautiful.”
“Todoroki Touya.”
Oh.  
“It’s still beautiful,” you said softly, after several moments of silence, feeling Dabi melt beneath your words, tender yet resolute. “Even if the man who gave it to you isn’t.”
“Yeah,” he had responded, though his voice had sounded weird to his ears; odd, off, broken. “Fuck that guy.”
And that had been it. You hadn’t made a big deal about it, or pushed him to tell you more, or badgered him with questions and curiosities about his past. You had just accepted it and continued on. 
He had offered up shards of information over the next few months, always murmured out in the dead of night, always a piece and never a whole, always something too jagged to fit with any of the other pieces of his jigsaw he had gifted you. 
But it didn’t matter. Who he was, his past, the name he carries around and DNA twined inside his body—none of it mattered. He was, and will always be, the man you love, irregardless of the name he was born into, and the curse it bears.
The harsh unlatching of that decrepit painting startles you from your stewing thoughts, your gaze snapping toward the noise just in time to catch Dabi crawling through the trick window, entrance hidden behind the heavy gilded frame. 
Your legs toss themselves off the fraying couch the instant his gaze meets yours, heart kickstarting thick bouts of adrenaline to rush through your veins, footsteps keeping time with the tattered exhales each bang of your heart sends barrelling up your throat, body colliding into his only a moment later.
He catches you with ease, laughing loudly as he sweeps you from the floor, strong arms locked at the wrists around your lower back. Instinctively, your ankles hook together at the base of his spine, fingers immediately wandering into the dirty hair at the nape of his neck, whole body wound around his own.
He’s still laughing, bright and breathless and so, so beautiful, even as he crushes his lips to yours, even as your tongue pries past his teeth and slams against his own. It spills down your throat in warm vibrations and you swallow it readily, greedily, hands sinking further into tufts of ink-tinged ivory and twining the strands around your knuckles, desperate to tug him closer. 
The tang of death stings your tongue, earth and copper and smoke, so poignant you swear you can taste their screams, those who lost their lives to his flames and Machia’s feet and the rubble left in their wake, but you don’t care.
You don’t care, because he’s here, he’s home, he’s safe and back in your arms, with his teeth clacking against yours and his spit flooding your mouth and his unruly little giggles consistently breaking the flow of your lips. 
“Did you see it? Huh? Did you see it?” he hurls the words into your mouth, lips still mashed against your own but spread in a smile, sapphire eyes twinkling.
“I did,” you confirm with a nod, tips of your noses nudging. “I did, it was brilliant; you were brilliant, baby.”
“I know,” he snickers, foreheads knocking together, breath wafting in small, ragged pants across your face as his feet begin to move, unable to stand still. “It couldn’t have gone more perfect, I swear to fuckin’ Christ. It was—It was better than I could’ve ever imagined. I can’t even believe it.”
Words continue to tumble from his lips in excited gasps as he twirls in wide lopsided circles slow and careless around the decaying little safe house, his boots conjuring small puffs of dust beneath their soles.
“I wish you could’ve been there, baby, honest. I wish you could’ve seen that fucker’s face, it was fuckin’ priceless, and—Oh! Fuck, how could I forget the best part!” 
Halting his whirling, he pulls back to look at you more resolutely, as if he has to see the whole picture, sapphire darting around your face all wild and erratic, his smile spreading impossibly wider; uncanny, inhuman, eyes glowing with the thrill of the secret he’s about to spill.
“Shouto was there, too! How much happier could a coincidence get!” 
“Shouto?”
“I wasn’t expecting him to be there, but seriously, it was the cherry on top.” 
His feet begin to move again, resuming his impromptu dance number, adrenaline thrumming in his veins, overflowing from his orifices—smile stretching, chest swelling. 
“His presence is what really made it spectacular, you know? Sure, dad was broken, but Shouto…” Dabi shakes his head. “Little baby Shouto was knocked off his fucking feet.”
“Oh, I can only imagine…” 
…How horrifying of a realization it must’ve been; how terrifying it must’ve felt to encounter your father’s worst mistake in the breathing, bloodied flesh.
“I doubt he even remembers me—” Dabi continues, “he was only five or so when I died; he barely knew me at all.” He laughs, but it sounds tangled, caught on something buried in his throat. “Imagine that! Your big brother, only ever a ghost haunting your life, back from the grave!” 
“I’m sure he was very shocked,” you giggle, pressing your forehead to his again, fingers combing through the hair at the back of his skull. 
“Shocked? Baby, he was beyond shocked. He was—He was—I don’t even have a word for it!”
Another laugh spills from his lips, jagged and squeaky and full of razors. 
And, oh, how breathtakingly beautiful genuine happiness looks on him, even if it’s tinted with derangement—the edges of his smile a little too sharp, the glint in his eye a little too vicious.  
“The whole thing sounds magnificent,” you admit, soft and genuine, lips brushing his own. “I’m so happy it went so well.”
“It was perfect,” he gushes in a sigh. “The only way it could’ve been any more perfect is if mom, Yumi, and Natsu were there—but I’m sure they all caught the broadcast.”
You’re sure they did, too. That news programme had been playing on every major screen across the entirety of Japan; you’d have to be buried beneath a rock to have missed it.
He’s still babbling, feet still hopping and skipping around with you cradled tightly to his chest as the anticipation of his return finally wears off, clears from your system, and you take a real, good look at him. 
And your heart sinks.
New burns have bubbled up on his cheeks, leaving only a sliver of skin between them and the scars below his eyes. Staples have snapped in half, hanging precariously from chunks of dead flayed flesh, their broken edges tinged an ugly black, burnt by Todoroki flames. Speckles of crimson are splattered artfully across his hair—though whether they belong to him or someone else, it’s hard to tell—the small remaining patches of healthy skin marred by dried black dye. 
“Baby,” you breathe, struggling to keep your smile from trembling, struggling to keep concern from seeping into your voice. “You’re filthy.” 
“Yeah, you should’a saw the other guy!” he giggles at his own joke, strident and sticky in his throat, but his smile is still so bright.
“And you’re hurt.”
He blows a dismissive breath from between his lips. “Can barely feel a thing, though—and I’m not even rolling right now!” 
“Still,” you say, a frown beginning to weight the corners of your grin. “You should let me clean you up.”
“But it isn’t even painful.”
“Still,” you repeat, tender fingers brushing strands of white back from his forehead. “I want to clean you up.” 
Begrudgingly, he allows it, sat on the closed toilet lid and continuing to chatter on as you tend to his wounds, words bubbling up on breathless excitement, massive smile still slapped, almost uncomfortably so, across his face.
Oxygen keeps escaping him before he finishes his sentences, everything bouncy and enthusiastic, and it’s such a stark contrast to the Dabi you’re used to, with his languid apathetic drawl and unhurried, uninterested speech. 
And despite the subject matter, it’s nice, it’s cute. 
He tells you about his father’s paralyzation and the tears in Shouto’s eyes and the horrified panic coating their faces as careful fingers dab and wipe and smear, meticulous in their task, devoted to their cause, your head nodding along with his endless recounter, emitting the perfectly placed ooh’s and mhmm’s, asking questions when the opportunities present themselves.
And even though you love seeing him this way, full of pure joy and exhilaration, you can’t quite kill the question sprouting in the depths of your mind, chewing on the back of your brain.
What now?
It’s on the tip of your tongue, searing your tastebuds, begging to be spoken. You try to swallow it down, but it claws at the back of your tongue, clinging, curling up in your throat and refusing to be forgotten. 
What now? What’s going to happen now that Enji knows of his existence? What’s going to happen the next time he encounters his eldest child, swathed in the flames he once cherished so dearly, praised so hopefully, eating away at his boy as his hatred burns higher, blazes brighter, consumes his blood and flesh and bones and hopefully swallows down the monster that bred him in the process? 
Will there even be anything left at all? Of either of them?
Does Dabi even care? Does Touya? 
You know he’s still in there, despite the fact that his heart’s been corroded by the bitterness that’s been festering inside of him for eleven years—you’ve seen him. 
You’ve seen him, trailing along with Toga, causticity eating at his teeth as he spits that she’s fucking stupid, this is so fucking stupid, but allowing himself to be led anyway, zero resistance as her tiny hands tug him along behind her bouncing form, feet following willingly. 
You’ve seen him, meticulously picking through the glass bowls at the League’s small Halloween get together, checking and then double checking that everyone’s favourite candy is there, growling that he really doesn’t give a fuck, actually, he’s just looking for his own all the while, despite the fact that his fingers have skipped over that particular chocolate bar several times. 
You’ve seen him, on those nights where Tomura just can’t get to sleep, sprawled out on the couch in the early hours of the morning, dirty boots an inch from Tomura’s crossed legs, staring blankly at his phone and waving Kurogiri off with a go to bed already, old man. 
 So what now?
“He tried to cool me down.”
The sudden switch to a quiet, monotonous voice snaps you from your tangle of thoughts, eyes refocusing on Dabi’s face, realizing you’ve rubbed a streak of his cheek near raw. 
“What?”
“Shouto. He tried to cool me down. With his ice.” A pause, a drop of blood, balancing precariously on his lash line. “Like…Like how mom used to.” 
His Adams apple bobs with the heft of a thick swallow, his eyes blank and unblinking, staring at your shoulder. 
The blood in your veins runs frigid, hand held rigid and hovering over his wounds.
“During the fight?” 
His gaze stays fixed on that spot as he nods, slowly, just once. 
“I was overheating, and he…” 
Another beat of silence passes, the sound of your own breathing echoing in your ears, harsh and fast with the rapid beating of your heart. The blood collecting along his lashes finally overflows, escaping their confines to pool in the crinkles of dead skin and coat gold in crimson.
“Hey,” you murmur, so gentle, so soft it inspires a second wave of blood, dainty hands cupping his jaw and tilting his face to yours. 
Thumbs swipe through the thick streams of scarlet trickling down his cheeks, smearing bright strokes across healthy skin. His eyes, red and glazed but tearless, hold yours for a moment, his nostrils twitching twice. 
Beneath your palms, the hinges of his jaw flex with another dense swallow, warped smile wobbling a little.
“Whatever,” he says, voice less than an octave off from normal. “Doesn’t matter, not important.”
It does, you want to say. It is, you want to insist—
“All I want to do now is celebrate the best day of my life with the love of my life.”
Saliva pools beneath your tongue, the threat of tears thick in your throat.
“Touya…” your eyes search his face, worry woven into the wrinkles between your furrowed brow. “It—”
“Please,” he whispers, so quiet it’s barely more than a wisp of air, his eyes closing briefly for a moment as he gathers himself, lids lifting a second later. “Let me have this.” 
You want to, you so desperately want to—want to allow him this space to be happy, unfiltered and unadulterated, even in all of it’s unhinged, brainsick fervour. You don’t want to ruin this for him, the self-proclaimed Best Day of His Life, but…
What now?
It’s nipping at your lips, leaving them tingling and twitching, but you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and suck, melting the question in the smothering heat. 
Now is not the time to ask. You will save this question, will fold it into a neat little shape and stash it away in your stomach, where it will rage and roar and demand to be spoken, where you will shove it down and stomp it into submission until it is time to be released.
You refuse to steal this moment from him.
“Okay,” you finally murmur, stroking his blood-slicked cheeks. “Okay.”
It’s hard to ignore the concern scraping at the walls of your skull, to disregard the talons tearing at your heart, to snuff out the flames licking at your lungs, but you’ll do it for him.
Always for him.
And for the first time tonight, his smile softens, sharp edges gone melty with love.
Large hands, hardened by blue fire and the ends of Marlboros, skim up your bare thighs, the callouses adorning his palms scraping roughly against sensitive skin, inspiring trails of chills in their wake. The hem of your dress pools around his wrists as his touch climbs higher, filthy fingers, with dirt caked beneath their nails and grime lining their cuticles, wiggling their way beneath a frilly pink waistband, curling almost protectively around your hips, tips digging into supple flesh just shy of too hard.
“A perfect day deserves a perfect end, don’t you think?” 
The question drips from his lips in a sultry murmur, stare heavily lidded as he tugs you down into his lap, a leering smirk smeared across his face. 
“Oh, yeah?” your arms wind around his neck, nose bumping against his own. “And what’s that?” 
“Stuffing my favourite girl full of my cum.” 
Lips trace along the edge of your jaw as he speaks, words leaving sloppy strokes of saliva as his mouth moves against you skin. 
“Over,” kiss, “And over,” kiss, “And over again, until it’s leaking out of her pretty little pussy, all over her pretty thighs, all over my pretty cock.”
“I think that—ah—I think that’s a great way to end the day.”
“Mm,” he hums, painting a flat, wide stroke of saliva up the column of your neck, the tip of his tongue tracing your cupids bow, nose bumping against your own. “It’s my favourite way to end the day.” 
His lips press to yours, tongues finding each other instantly, dragging across one another in crude, sloppy caresses, heavy and slow and firm as they grind, massaging together in little circles. It’s almost as if you’re trying to soak up his taste, to permanently imbue your tastebuds with it, to keep a little reminder of him—a single piece—with you forever. 
It’s messy, thick drool oozing from the seams of your conjoined mouths, but you don’t care, licking excess saliva from the corners of his mouth, sucking the dribble steadily collecting on his bottom lip, lapping up the foamy spit coating his chin staples, leaving them gleaming with you. 
Lips clash again, teeth gnawing their way into the warm, wet heat of mouths, desperate to devour any part of each another you possibly can, sucking gasps and mewls and laughs from one throat into another, inhaling shards of your souls and swallowing them down, burying them in pits of stomachs and depths of guts—keepsakes, kept safe.
You can taste his blood in your mouth, salty with the tears that can’t fall, trickling from the edges of his eyes. Unfurling from your mouth, the tip of your tongue licks a thin strip up his ragged cheeks, over dead skin and warm bumpy metal, sopping up crimson sadness and consuming it. 
You hold it for him, extract it from him, bear it with him, letting it soak into your heart where it can stay, for as long as he needs it to.
But that isn’t enough for him, because he wants something in return; he wants your blood, too.
Sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip, sucked taut and pressed tight to his tongue, a muted chuckle vibrating in his chest at your responding yelp. The strong hinges of his jaw flex, burrowing ivory deep, deep, deeper into your flesh, until the barrier snaps and copper explodes on his tongue, sticky and potent and so, so much. 
He refuses to release you, ribs rattling with a growl when you try in vain to tug your lip free from its captors, a sob hitching in your throat, followed by a wheezy whine. 
“Stay put, goddamn it,” he mumbles the words through his occupied teeth, tongue stroking your lip in the process. “M’not finished.” 
Your squirming stops almost instantly, body deflating into his own, and he huffs out a snort, hot against your face. 
The grip of his teeth loosens marginally, the tip of his tongue laving over the steadily weeping wound in firm, thorough strokes, tracing every indent his teeth left behind, dips rapidly swelling and filling with watered down blood, a mold of six teeth carved into your flesh. 
The strength of his suction increases, siphoning fresh blood from the tiny gashes, and he moans a little, eyes rolling back in his skull as fluttery lashes frame the whites, his hips twitching up. 
Sicko. 
His cock is already hard, rutting into your core in irregular little movements, the lace of your panties so delicate you swear you can feel it throbbing, his motions molding the dainty fabric to your soaking folds with every slight jerk upward.
Slim fingers flex, grip on your hips tightening and further burying his nails in your flesh as he forces you to begin rocking in his lap, grinding down to meet each roll up.
His lips have left your own again, his mouth streaked with your blood, a pretty pink shimmer glazing the bottom half of his face. Blood is still trickling from the six tiny slashes his teeth left, overflowing from the seam of your mouth and flowing down your chin in unbroken streams. 
Swiping a thumb through the thin floods, he smears sticky crimson across your skin, collecting a healthy swap of the substance on the pad of his finger—so much so it begins dripping down the curve to settle in the lines of his knuckle and his palm.
“Beautiful,” he whispers, repeating the action, painting you in messy shades of yourself. “Just beautiful.” 
A whimper slips through your lips, eager tongue catching his thumb and curling around the appendage—protective, possessive—drawing it into the heat of your mouth. 
He lets you guide him willingly, watches with lust-blown pupils as your lips pucker around the second knuckle, slick tongue cradling his thumb as it sucks it to the roof of your mouth, pools of saliva washing your blood from his skin. 
His breath is coming out in hot, hard huffs, exhaled through parted lips as your mouth tightens, swallows his thumb down further. His pupils pulse, gnawing away at his irises as they try to devour you whole, blue so thin it’s scarcely an outline tracing gaping orbs of black.
Your hips are still gyrating against his in erratic little circles, a single palm still clasped around your waist guiding you, encouraging you as he bucks in response, straining cock rubbing along your cunt. 
It’s just barely catching your clit, nothing more than teasing little grazes, dense heat simmering in the pit of your tummy.
You need more.
“Dabi,” you whine a little, wriggling in his grasp, a desperate attempt to garner more friction. 
“Uh-huh?”
“Touya.”
“Yeah, baby,” he answers, the nonchalance in his tone contradicting the mischief glinting in his eye. “What is it?” 
Chrome chips your nails as you claw at the heavy buckle of his belt, leather squeaking against metal. His free hand captures your wrists easily, holding them together in one palm, hard enough that the bones grind together.
“You want something? Huh?” 
Brows knitting, you glare at him, bottom lip quivering a little, fighting the urge to jut into a full-blown pout, fighting the urge to spit out what do you think? 
“You know.”
He does, of course he does. 
But that doesn’t mean he’s just going to give it to you.
“C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he purrs as your chin puckers, your whole face scrunched up in a scowl. “C’mon, baby, c’mon, be a good little girl and ask for it.” 
Sapphire scathes your skin, almost as bright and burning as his flames, his unadulterated attention nearly too much to bear, confidence and brattiness withering beneath his scorching stare.
Lashes fluttering, your eyes flee his, tears forming to shield you from his heat, shoulders caving inward in an attempt to protect you from his unyielding scrutiny. 
“W-Want your cock.”
His tongue clicks in disapproval, a mocking frown slapped across his face barely suppressing his amusement, eyes shining, power flaring. 
“That’s not asking, sweetheart.” 
Swallowing thickly, you force your gaze to his, lids squinting a little beneath his brilliance.
“Can I please have your cock? Please?” 
“Please what?”
And although he’s acting unaffected, he can’t quite quell the spasming of his hips, jerking up in minuscule movements and grinding his cock into your sopping hole, panties clinging uncomfortably to your folds.
An eyebrow raises, a question of Well? I’m waiting… imbued in the subtle action. 
He isn’t going to give it to you unless you ask properly, like a good little girl is supposed to.
As expected.
“Please, Master,” you mewl, fingers curling over the edges of his belt and tugging, sharp leather biting into soft hands. “Please, please, let me ride your cock, Sir.”
Cavernous eyes observe you for a moment, scanning for dishonesty, grin growing when a whine vibrates in your throat, low and needy.
“Please?” you whimper, the leather of his belt creasing beneath your grip, squealing as it rubs together, a plead hitching in your chest. “Pl—Please, Sir.”
“Alright, alright,” he’s pacifying, acting as if he’s doing you some sort of favour, as if his cock isn’t jumping eagerly with each drool of pre-cum leaking from its slit. “Go on, then. Get it out.”
Words of thanks are pouring from your lips as your hands hastily undo his pants, yanking at the buckle, tugging at the zipper, shoving at the waistband, messy and urgent until his cock is finally released.
The stretch is nothing short of incredible, as it always is with him, little hole trembling as it swallows around his girth, drawing him in further and further, deeper and deeper, slow and steady until the head nudges your cervix, his hips twitching up twice, ensuring he’s hit the end, buried to the hilt with nowhere else to go, completely stuffing your cunt full. 
And despite the trademark ache, delicate flesh stinging as it splits into little fissures to accommodate him, your hips begin moving immediately, starved and raring, whimpering a little into his shoulder as you cling to him, every rotation of your hips radiating pricks of pain through your gut.
“God, you’re pathetic,” he snorts, but the insult is soft, edges dulled by love. “So fucking desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” 
“Can’t help it,” you murmur, rubbing your cheek along the curve of his neck, then his jaw, streaking your face with his sweat. “Missed you so much.” 
“I know, baby,” the tip of his tongue swipes through the blood still staining your chin. “Bet you missed my cock just as much, if not more.”
“Yes, yes, Sir,” you’re nodding in messy little motions, hips still rocking languidly against his own, clit gliding against his slick pubic bone in rhythmic strokes. “I did, I missed it s’much—”
A gasp slices through your slurred words, sharp air shoved from your chest as his hips begin snapping upward, rough and ruthless and without warning, the hands grasping your hips tightening around your flesh as he forces you to stay in place.
“Of course you did,” he grunts out, as if it’s preposterous to think otherwise. “I’m not at all surprised; my sweet lil slut can’t live without my cock, can she?” 
“Never, never, ne-never,” you babble out in confirmation, words stuttered harshly with the piston of his hips. 
Another laugh spills from his lips, airy and malicious in melody.
“No, never,” he rasps, ever-so-slightly breathless with the effort, dewdrops of sweat beginning to adorn his hairline. “Fuck, how would you ever get off without me, huh?” 
The question sends a pang searing through your heart, echoing a question you’ve been asking yourself often as of late—how would you ever survive without him? 
The thought stings your eyes, thick tears rushing to cloud your vision and rendering him nothing more than a watery blur of ivory and violet.
“I—I wouldn’t, Sir, I wouldn’t!” you cry out, rapid fluttering of your lids dislodging teardrops, streaming down your cheeks in glistening pairs. “I n-need you, I need you, always, always, al-always!” 
Your fingers curl against his shoulders, nails catching on staples, a hiss spit from the gaps of his teeth. They sink into grafted skin, dead and weathered and dusted in ash, and cling, knuckles locked and stiff as you try to pull yourself impossibly closer to him.
Gnarled flesh collects beneath the edges of your nails as your grip strengthens, chewing on his body and gathering it in your grasp, consuming whatever tiny slivers you can, a silent plead to stay.
“It’s okay, precious,” he hushes you, lips pushed into a mocking pout, contradicted by the smothering affection exuding from his eyes. “M’here, m’not going anywhere.”
God, you hope not. 
“Please, please—” 
And you drown yourself in it, drown yourself in him; his taste, spicy hickory and warm smoke, exhaled onto your hungry tongue, soaked up and swallowed down; his gaze, overflowing with adoration and intense attention, tying itself in a thick braided noose around your neck and tightening; his touch, stamping his prints into your flesh in blotchy bursts of blue, singeing his name with licks of sapphire that welt and wound, that crust and crater and scar. 
Your ribs squeeze, sucked inward by the voracious black hole your heart has morphed into—never sated, never filled, always vying for more—whole body curling beneath the strain.
But he’s right there to hold you, to steady you, to keep you intact, his hands the stitches you need to keep from unraveling.
“I know, I know,” he’s cooing as you choke on sobs, still scraping weakly at his back, “your Master’s gonna give you what you need.”
Slim fingers flex, soot-stuffed nails latching onto your flesh like tiny leeches, dug in nice and deep, using his grasp as leverage to control the speed and angle of your hips. 
Your feet skid against the chipped bathroom tile, the muscles in your legs tensing as you attempt to find stable purchase on the floor trying to aid in his movements, to fuck yourself on him.
It’s no use, though—it’s not like it matters, anyway, not when Dabi’s got complete domination over your body, over all of its movements and positions, manhandling you into whatever arrangement he pleases, reduced to nothing more than his favourite little plaything. 
“It’s real cute,” he’s telling you in that sugared condescension you’ve come to love so much, “that you’re trying so hard to help me.”
A whine escapes your lips, caught somewhere between apologetic and petulant, hips stammering as they begin to slow, and he laughs. 
“Aw, no, don’t stop,” his tongue clicks against his teeth. “Keep trying, it’s so precious.” 
And although his tone is taunting, full of characteristic derisive glee, his eyes are encouraging, begging you to keep going, for him. 
And so, you do, desperate to please him, the muscles in your thighs beginning to burn as you work in vain to pathetically hump away at him, hips knocking together irregularly as your footing continues to slip.
It doesn’t do much to assist him, but he’s happy anyway, a certain type of pride saturating his features, dulling the points of his wide smile, dimming the harsh brilliance in his eyes, turning his face into something a little softer, something a little sweeter.
Dabi keeps an iron grip on the pace—not that you’d ever expect anything different—forcing you to ride him hard and fast, bouncing you on his cock as his hips buck up in expert rhythm, completing your movements every time. The head drags over that engorged spot with each pound into you, sending a judder of scorching sparks to rush through your blood, each bout more intense than the last.
“God, look at you, you’re such a little slut for me, huh?” he pants out, rapacious eyes sweeping across your face, keen to soak up your expression. “Taking my cock like you were fuckin’ made for it.”
He’s really fucking into you now, jerking you on his cock like a toy, because you are—something that’s his to use whenever, wherever, and however he sees fit, something that’s his to own, to care for and splinter to bits and painstakingly piece back together, over and over and over again.
Tears of ecstasy are pouring from your eyes, cascading down your face in twin streams, excess dewdrops embedded in spiked lashes glittering with every rough pump of his hips.
It all hurts—always does, with Dabi, incapable of treating anything with any degree of gentleness; not a flaw, just a fact, oblivious to his own strength—but the pain only works to elevate the pleasure, pushing it higher and higher and higher until it’s choking you, smothering your lungs and stuffing your throat and spilling out your mouth in the form of messy, stringy sobs.
“S’been so long, Sir, so long,” you weep, nails burrowing further into his body, almost as if they’re desperate to reach his core—to pry past his ribs and claw into his heart and curl up in his soul. 
Because it has been so long, too long, most of Dabi’s attention soaked up by Paranormal Liberation duties and his own extensive planning as Shigaraki’s due date drew closer and closer, any scraps of time thrown your way whenever he had a spare moment to sneak off to this dilapidated safe house where he’d stashed you away, his visits sporadic and unpredictable. 
“You’re right,” he says, and there’s a tinge of melancholy to his breath. “It’s been way too long since your sweet cunt has been filled with your Owner’s cock, hasn’t it?”  
“It has, it has,” you’re nodding sloppily, tongue tangled in threads of spit.
“My poor lil pussy,” he pouts, and it’s so derisive. “Must be starving, it hasn’t been stuffed nice and full with my cum in forever.” 
“No, no, no,” you’re chanting in agreement, “feels so empty without you, Sir, feels s-so wrong.”
“Aw, don’t worry, sweetheart,” he crudely laps at the steady stream of tears, vicious bouncing causing his teeth to nick your cheek. “I’m gonna change that.”
Chapped lips find your ear, slicked with saliva, his voice dropping an octave as he continues. 
“Because tonight,” he breathes, sweltering against your ear, his tongue darting from between wet lips to trace along the curve. “I am going to stuff you so full of my cum that—ah, fu-fuck—that it’s going to flood your cute lil tummy, that it’s gonna seep into your organs, into your fucking blood, that it’s gonna be leaking out all over the fucking place.” 
“Oh, oh, please, Sir, please!” 
The pleads come out as a single string, melded together with drool and garbled on your tongue. Little jolts of fire shoot through your body with the constant ramming of his hips, flames licking at your veins as they sear through them, the sharp slap of your ass against his thighs complementing his harsh pants and your broken moans.
“Yeah, I know, my little cumslut wants that so badly, doesn’t she?”
Your brain struggles to stitch together a sentence longer than his name, your mind gone delirious for his seed—and it’s an aching, it’s an addiction, sick and depraved and downright uncontrollable—little uh-huh!’s mercilessly fucked from your throat, head bobbling along with the affirmations.
You can feel it, a taut pleasure building within your body, a fluttering that furls into a tight ball of sapphire flame in the pit of your belly, pulsing a little faster, a little harder, a little more with every drive of his cock. 
“Oh, Touya, Tou—Touya!”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, say my name.” 
A growl rattles against his ribs, whole chest vibrating with the force of it, and his head dips down, slick tongue painting strokes of thick, shimmering saliva across your skin, an artist priming his favourite canvas.
“C’mon, tell me who’s making you feel this good—” and although it’s supposed to be a command, it comes out as a plead, voice tapering off into a low whine, muffled against your shoulder. “Tell me, tell me.”
“You, Touya,” you choke out, the name mangling itself in your throat. “You, you, you!” 
“You’re goddamn right, it’s me.” 
Sharp teeth bury themselves in your flesh, mouth clamped over the junction of your neck, harder and harder and harder until the barrier of your skin finally splits, syrupy copper erupting on his tongue. 
His name shatters on your lips, a dark chuckle soaking into the wound when you arch your neck, stretched and strained and offering him more room to work despite the squeal of pain sticking in your throat
It’s all so much, too much, his teeth in your flesh and his cock filling your cunt and—and—!
“Gonna—gonna—!” 
A large palm collides with your ass, sick slap echoing off the cracked walls. 
“Is that any way to ask your Master for permission?” Dabi spits, voice dripping with disappointment. “God,” he huffs out a laugh, incredulous, but the mirth shining in his eyes is so bright, so blazing it almost hurts to look at. “My cock must’ve really made you go fucking stupid, huh? Don’t you know this body belongs to me?” 
Another spank lands against your bottom, a yelp hitching in your chest with the ruthless jackhammer of his hips, his fingers sinking into the burning flesh in a bruising grip, amplifying the sting of the slap, digging it deep into your tissues. 
“This body is not allowed to cum unless I say so—so ask nicely, you little bitch.” 
“M’sorry!” you cry out, a fresh torrent of tears flooding your eyes. “M’sorry, m’so sorry, Master—”
“Yeah? Yeah?” 
His other hand snakes between your heaving, sweat-drenched bodies, thumb and forefinger clamping down on your clit and tweaking, hard enough to force a scream from your tongue, sending spikes of pain rushing through your veins. His fingers flatten against the engorged little nub a moment later, rubbing hard, quick circles into it, a malicious little giggle squeaking in his throat because it’s so swollen, baby and Christ, you must wanna cream all over his cock so badly! 
Sounds of affirmation spill uncontrollably from your lips, head nodding in frenetic little motions, whole face shimmering and sticky with salt, snot, sweat. 
“Uh-huh? Uh-huh?” 
He’s mocking you, chin tilted up in superiority, staring down the bridge of his nose to regard you in patronizing pity, eyebrows raised and imploring you to continue. 
“Apologies are not asking, baby,” his grip catches your slippery clit again, twisting it harder this time, your eyes scrunching shut as a cry shatters on your tongue, fingers scrabbling against his shoulders, tearing out staples. 
He’s right, you know he is, but he’s making it difficult to speak, difficult to ask, difficult to stitch together a single word at all, let alone a full thought, when he’s playing with your clit like that, alternating between pulsing pinches and gentle caresses, the calloused pads of his fingertips providing just the right amount of friction. 
Your whole body quivers with the effort of holding your orgasm back, muscles pulled tight and taut with the strain, and he laughs—beautiful, breathless, bona-fide—cock twitching inside of you. 
“Pl—Please, Sir,” you manage to gasp out, entreatment forced from your tongue in a single thin breath. “Please, let me cum, please, please, please!” 
The pleads melt into one gooey stream as they flow from your lips, slathered in drool and dripping from the corners of your mouth in thick cords. 
“Yeah? You want it? You wanna cum all over your Owner’s cock?” 
“Yes, yes!” you practically wail, pawing urgently at him. “Please, sir, let me cum, make me cum, I wanna—I wanna—”
“Alright, alright,” Dabi’s pacifying, but his actions don’t slow, hips merciless with their assault on your body. “Go ahead, sweetheart, make a pretty mess on me.” 
Never one to disobey a direct order from your Master, you do, almost instantly, entire body convulsing as your cunt pulses around his shaft, gushing so much slick that it floods his thighs and soaks the waistband of his pants.
The constant circles ground into your sensitive clit as you spasm around him only work to heighten the pleasure, brain gone numb with the shocks of ecstasy coursing through your body, another flurry of jolts sent through your veins with every run through the routine, skin rippling with the impact. 
He doesn’t stop his assault even after you cum, vehemently refusing to let up even as the clenching of your cunt fades into something faint and erratic, even as violent tremors loop through your veins, entire body quivering in his tight grasp, even as your fingers claw weakly at his wrist, crooking staples and scraping scarred flesh, blood rushing to fill the gouges left by your nails. 
No, he doesn’t stop until you’re teetering on the brink of passing out, wandering in and out of consciousness, his name leaving your lips in a near incomprehensible jumble, slurred and heavy with spit. 
Only then does he scoop you up in his arms, your legs dangling limply from his elbows as his palms firmly clutch your ass, hard cock still aching and buried deep inside of you, and carry your pliant body to that worn, fraying couch, with the puffs of white cotton leaking through the polyester and the exposed springs groaning beneath your weight.
You barely notice the change in scenery, though, still blissfully fucked out, nerves gnawed raw  by his overstimulation, a soft hiss slipping from between your teeth as the scratchy cushion rubs against your bare bottom, a raised imprint of Dabi’s palm and all five fingers still rapidly swelling. 
“It’s my turn now, angel,” Dabi’s words drift over your body in an indistinct haze, vision fuzzing at the edges, your head nodding instinctively. 
“Gonna—Gonna make good on your promise, Master?” 
“I always do, don’t I?” 
And then his hips are thrusting, cockhead repeatedly ramming your cervix with every harsh plunge forward, leaning down to catch fresh tears with his lips. The tip of his tongue traces their salty trajectory all the way to your bottom lashes, matted into wet little spikes, before sucking a hickey into your cheek, tiny capillaries bursting beneath his tongue, staining the thin skin with swiftly developing violet.
Tufts of ivory cling to his temples in damp clumps, dried black dye liquifying beneath his heat and running down his cheeks, leaving streaks along the line of his jaw and the curve of his neck. Sweat collects in the dips of his collarbones, shimmering gently in the flickering light spilling from the television set, a wavering news reporter recounting the tragic events of today, stuttered by static.
“God,” he nearly whines, voracious eyes sweeping across your face, desperate to soak up your twisted expression of pleasure-tinged pain—the way your lids keep drooping as you struggle to keep them pried open, eyes speckled with stars, lashes encrusted with tears; the way your tongue keeps lolling out to draw your slick lip back between your teeth, muffling your whimpers and mewls, and oh, no, he can’t have that, a gentle tut of his tongue clicking against his teeth as his thumb tugs it free from your mouth, drawing out a stringy whine in the process.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous when you go dumb from my cock.”
The words leave his lips in an airy gasp, as if he can hardly believe you’re real beneath him, as if he can hardly believe it’s his cock making you look this way, a hand leaving your waist to slide along your torso, taking the hem of your dress with it, rough palm tracing every curve and dip and bulge as it crawls to your collarbone. 
He takes his time to admire you—to appreciate the sensation of your skin beneath his touch, fingers gripping, kneading, scraping, gathering palmfuls of you in his grasp before letting go again in a stunned sort of marvel—hips slowing to an uneven rutting, unable to fully halt his fucking. 
Keeping a firm, steady grasp on your body and pinning you in place, his free hand continues to roam, hardened fingertips sinking into the pretty blue lace of your bra hard with enough force to elicit a yelp from your lips, amusement tugging at his lips. 
“So, so beautiful,” he pants, eyes skimming your now exposed body, his fiery gaze outlining every edge, dedicated in committing every contour to memory. “Fucking look at you.” 
In all the time you’ve been with him, your body has become a scrapbook of Dabi. It tells stories of him—what he’s done, how he’s felt, where he’s been, why he did it—stamped permanently into your flesh using his teeth and his tongue and his flames, in raised flesh and puckered craters and glittering scabs.
You can’t tear your stare from his face, though, too busy worshipping him, sapphire eyes gaping and glazed as they travel along your body, soft huffs of breath escaping his lips, pushed from his throat with the tender heaving of his chest, saliva glistening on his lips, smeared so prettily across the staples climbing his chin. 
Dainty fingers grope at the air, pathetic and yearning, clawing at nothing, and he laughs a little, nothing more than a smooth, deep vibration at the back of his tongue.
His touch finds the apex of your thighs again, nails dimpling flesh as he spreads your legs wide—so wide your muscles begin to burn, taut beneath the strain—a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he stares at your stretched cunt. 
Two fingers press into your clit, still slick and swollen, grazing over it in slow caresses—back and forth, back and forth, gliding easily over the puffy nub and snorting a little at the way your hole flutters, eager and aching, squeezing his cock, sucking him in, begging for more. 
So cute. 
Eyes wide and unblinking, he plays with you in a trance, slowly but surely building up pleasure in you, pressure in you, fascinated by the way your body so readily reacts to his simple motions, grinding circles and rubbing strokes and pulsing fingertips. 
It enraptures him, puffs of hot air exhaled through slightly parted lips as he watches just his touch bring you to orgasm for the second time tonight, obsessed with the way your cunt trembles around his cock, a surge of your essence streaming from your hole, embracing him in a thick, wet heat.
Your cunt gorges on him—so fuckin’ greedy, even after cumming twice—fluttering a little around the base of his shaft, still oozing so much slick that it’s glazing your ass and his balls, steadily seeping past the tight seam of your hole. 
It’s so pretty, it’s so fuckin’ pretty, baby, he’s breathing, eyes hazy with awe, hips drawing back just a little to watch the way your body clings to his girth, sheathing his cock in a shimmering layer of arousal. 
A palm wraps around the base of his shaft, the head of his cock still buried an inch or two in your straining cunt, and he jerks himself hard and quick, sick wet slaps echoing out among the room as his hand slams between your cunt and his pelvis. 
“Fuck, f-fuck—” 
His hips start moving on their own accord, too impatient, his hand nothing compared to the sweltering ecstasy of your cunt, and he releases his cock, sticky hand collaring your throat, pinioning you to the couch, his thrusts so vicious they’re jostling your body up the cushions, the palm crushing your airway keeping you in place.
Lithe fingers flex as their grip on your neck tightens, coarse pads of his fingertips beginning to heat up, blood in your veins bubbling beneath his touch. 
Your flesh melts beneath his hold, melds itself to his grasp, desperate to stay in his hands forever. 
The sting is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, his palm and all five of his fingers singed into your skin in the prettiest, most precious permanent necklace. You can barely breathe, exhales coming as weak little wheezes, and you swear his flames must be licking into your throat, down to your lungs and straight through your veins, incinerating your blood as your body goes numb, cunt clenching around his cock for the third time, wailing out shards of his name. 
But you don’t allow his hold to let up, to loosen at all, both of your hands placed firmly over his, holding it there harder, a loud moan escaping his lips, his hips stammering out of rhythm. 
“Brand me, Master, brand me, brand me,” you’re gasping out, voice wrecked and raw. “Make me yours, mark me as yours, forever!”
“Jesus Christ,” he nearly sobs, his thrusts turned brutal, primal, losing any semblance of finesse as he relentlessly fucks you, motions stuttering as he finally cums, a violent shudder coursing through his body before he collapses on top of you, drenched in sweat as his cock throbs, filling you to the brim with hot, thick cum. 
“More, Touya, more, more!” you’re crying out, scrabbling at his shoulders as you try to pull him closer, shivering legs latching around his waist as tight as you can manage as your hips roll up to meet his own, crudely humping him. “Gimme more!” 
A groan, dense and heavy, spills from his lips, his entire body rippling with hiccups as he ruts into you—automatic, instinctual, desperate to give his sweet girl what she wants, even if it hurts.
“Yeah, yeah, ye-yeah, Touya, Touya, fill me with y’r cum!” 
And so, he does, using your cunt to milk himself even as his form quivers with every rock of his hips, chills skidding across his flesh with every bump of his cockhead against your abused cervix. 
He keeps going, just like you begged him to, just like he promised he would, until your tummy is stuffed full and your cunt is leaking with his seed, until neither of you can take it anymore, bodies shuddering with every hump and drag and grind, deliquescing into one another, a puddle of limbs. 
You stay like that for a while, his body blanketing yours, breathing as one, being as one. Gentle fingertips trail up and down the column of his spine as his bones begin to fuse and harden again, tiptoeing over the trails of staples stitching dead skin to healthy flesh and evoking a mild shudder, pads of your fingers pressing into each golden suture, counting them lovingly, kissing every one. 
Eventually, after your fingers have traversed across all thirty-one, he shifts, manhandling you onto his chest as he shuffles himself beneath you, cradled between his thighs. 
“What now?”
You don’t mean to say it, don’t mean to shatter that delicate, post-orgasmic, precarious peace with two simple words, but they claw up your throat and pry past your teeth and gnaw on your lips, desperate to be vocalized, immortalized, heard.
What now? 
They’re uttered out softly enough, lips moving against his heart, warm breath seeping into his chest, the question worming its way beneath his skin. 
His muscles go rigid, his breath stalling in his lungs.
What happens now that his goal has been reached, Part One in his plan succeeded? What’s the next step, now that the world knows Todoroki Touya is alive and simmering in his hatred, fuelled by spite and ravenous with revenge?
What happens when he goes to face his father for the final time? And what happens if he never returns?
“Oh, I dunno,” he sighs out, but his voice trembles. “We could fix this place up, all nice and swanky, have a couple’a kids, get a golden retriever—y’know, real nuclear family type shit.” 
You laugh, but it comes out strangled, sounding strange to your ears, a distorted sob. 
“The dream, huh?” 
“Yeah,” he says, quiet, nostalgia for a time that has never happened, that will never come, aching in his words. “The dream.” 
A silence settles over the two of you, as tender as the edges of a festering wound.
“I have to do it,” he says after several moments have passed, and his voice is soft—softer than you’ve ever heard it before, softer than you ever thought him capable of—infused with apology.
He does.
You know he does. You understand why. That’s how the story ends, the final chapter he’s been drafting—you were never meant to be a part of this tale, written in between lines and margins, stuffed between words, twined throughout the pages nonetheless. But ultimately, this is his story—to write, to tell, to edit, to revise, to create, to conclude. 
You know.
But the acceptance sticks in your throat, furled into a tight, hard lump, so you nod instead, punctuating your affirmative with a kiss pressed to his chest, planted right over his heart. It soaks into his skin, burrows itself into pulsating muscle and finds salvation there, finds home there, a puzzle piece that snaps into perfect place—something that’s always been missing, now complete. Something he’ll take with him, when his pen leaves the page, when his book snaps shut.
You don’t dare look at him. You don’t need to. You can feel the stutter of his chest, hear the hitch of his breath tangling on hard truths to swallow, smell the copper streaming down his cheeks again.
And you hug him tighter. 
You know. And no matter how badly you wish to, you won’t stop him. 
529 notes · View notes
dabislittlemouse · 3 months
Text
❝𝙃𝙄𝙎 𝘿𝘼𝘿𝘿𝙔’𝙎 𝘽𝙄𝙂𝙂𝙀𝙎𝙏 𝙁𝘼𝙉.❞
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Dabi x Endeavor fan!Reader (+18)
SYNOPSIS : Dabi finds out that his beloved pretty girl is actually an Endeavor fan. Let’s just say, he doesn’t take it lightly~
WARNINGS ‼️: yandere!Dabi , stalking, smut, humiliation, noncon, unprotected sex, Dabi uses his quirk on you, bruises/marks/abuse
A/N: this fic is dedicated to @yanderenightmare , for the Secret Santa event. I hope you enjoy this, I’m a big fan of your work and I was more than thrilled to write this for you. ♡
MASTERLIST
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Two months.
That’s for how long he had been around you. At first it was just small glimpses of him on the street, quite too often on your way home, but you didn’t think of it much. Or the times when he’d casually be in the same coffee shop every morning, his jacked zipped and hood covering his face, wearing sunglasses as he stared at you from across the corner. Though he would show his face only during the nights, the beauty he radiated left you breathless, the scars and staples that decorated his face had your eyes popping out of your sockets. He intimidated you, but you couldn’t deny that he was irresistibly handsome. The raven haired man who finally approached you one day and introduced himself as Dabi, he captivated you entirely.
He had set his azure eyes on you this entire time, stalking you on your way home, learning the time when you go to work and come back, your favorite shops and bars, and he would follow you and admire you from afar. Dabi was not a man who would let such distractions mess with his life, but you…
You were a beautiful distraction.
Some fun wouldn’t hurt, right? He knew his main goal, and you were by no means a threat to his plans. How could you? Pretty little thing walking down the street with no care in the world, not knowing the danger lurking nearby, the villain chasing after you. Dabi picked on all your habits, your favorite drinks or food, the people you met, and being good at gathering information and studying people he had already set his mind to make you his. Your charming personality felt like a cure to his dark soul, your beauty was a sight for sore eyes. He was not one to know what love feels like, and he sure as hell knew that he didn’t love you. All he needed was to possess you, the fucked up part of him wanting to have you and break you, make you miserable just the way he is, only to fix you again in any shape he wanted to.
But all he needed was time, time for you to trust him and let him in your life, and once you got to know his true self, he’d never let you go.
Though what he didn’t know was your true self either. Or mostly, what you’d do behind closed doors. Dabi knew your apartment, which floor you lived in, but he didn’t break in. Yet.
And in fact, there was no need to break in. Your little naive self invited him to your home for dinner, a small gratitude since the other day he beat up two guys down the street who were following after you.
“Thank you so much Dabi.. I honestly can’t even imagine what would happen if you weren’t here!” You trembled in his arms, hugging him tight. The two thugs were laying unconscious on the ground.
“Could never leave ya unprotected, dollface” Dabi patted your back, smirking at the way you clinged to him, to your saviour. Little did you know he was in fact, worse than those thugs. After you left, Dabi went back to the beaten up thugs, almost wanting to step on them.
“W-We did as you said! Now give us the reward!” one of them shouted.
“Silence.” Dabi said sternly. “You touched her more than I actually ordered you to. Did ya really think you’d take advantage of the situation huh?”
“What are you talking about?! I swear we didn’t-”
Their talking was interrupted by the scorching heat that melted off their skins, screams of agony and death echoing in the alleyways. Dabi nonchalantly walked past their corpses, leaving behind the wretched scent of burnt flesh, one he was now too familiar with.
And now here he was, in front of you door as your cheerful face appears, letting him in.
“Mm, smells nice in here” he says, walking in your dining room. “You really look good in that apron, like a pretty little housewife. Y’really did all this for me~?”
You blush at his comment, knowing that tonight you gave it your best to cook something delicious just for him.
“Well.. yeah..as a way to thank you, enjoy yourself!”
“Oh, I will enjoy myself alright..” he grins, looking at your figure from head to toe, licking his lips.
The dinner was on the table but your sight made him salivate more than the food itself. He had the urge to tear those clothes off your body and bend you over that dining table, fucking you from behind ruthlessly. The waiting game had him edged for long enough, and Dabi had run out of patience. In one way or another, you would end up with your legs spread for him tonight. Either if you wanted it or not.
As time passed by, you both finished eating, where Dabi praised your cooking skills, claiming he’d never eat something as delicious as your homemade meal. It made you feel giddy, his compliments always making you squeal in your seat.
“Y’have a nice home” Dabi says, wandering and looking around. “Real cozy and decent compared to the shithole I live in…”
“Glad you like it, I was in fact planning to uh..” you mumble shyly. “To have a sleepover tonight.. maybe watch a movie or two..”
A sly smirk formed on Dabi’s face, because both you and him knew where all of this would lead to. He’s been waiting for this moment in anticipation, not that he couldn’t take you by force. Though he enjoyed the chase more, when you finally go willingly to him.
“Sure thing doll, sounds fun” he says. “Which one of these is your room?”
“It’s the one at the end of the corridor, on the left!” you answer, fixing the table. “Please don’t mind the mess, haven’t had much time to clean my room today”
Funny you think I’d mind some mess, Dabi thinks to himself, remembering the kind of places he had to spend his days while he was on the run. The thought of entering your room, your personal and safe sanctuary, has him a bit excited. Would it be like one of those pink girly rooms full of plushies and cute stuff? For sure he’d love to fuck your brains out while you clinged to your plushie for dear life.
A few seconds passed and you heard nothing but silence. You thought Dabi would be throwing comments here and there once he entered your room.
Then you remembered.
As embarrassment crept up your face, you left the kitchen and headed to your room. Dabi was standing there, his eyes focused on that certain Endeavor poster you had put in your wall.
“Um..okay this is awkward” you scratched your neck, laughing nervously. You didn’t talk much of your interests or your idols to other people, preferring to keep them to yourself.
“Yeah that’s Endeavor, he’s actually my favorite hero, he is really strong and inspiring. I’m a big fan of his, sometimes I like buying his merch and stuff..”
Dabi remained quiet, not saying anything in return. His silence was making you worry. His eyes shifted towards an Endeavor plushie you kept near your bed. His hands were itching, he flexed his jaw and turned towards you. He had a dark look in his eyes, the smile on your face faded quickly and suddenly you felt scared. You’ve never seen him look this way, giving you such cold scary gaze.
“A fan huh?” Dabi chuckled darkly, but there was nothing funny about this situation. He felt nothing but anger, the moment he noticed those posters hanging in your walls, that heinous face, standing all mighty and proud, he saw red. Who would’ve thought, the only girl he actually had interest in, was his daddy’s biggest fan?
Dread settled in your gut as you looked back at him, you couldn’t recognise him at all. That Dabi who was always so flirty and kind to you, was nowhere to be seen.
“Is there something wrong? You’re acting weird..” you mumbled, backing away from him.
“Why are ya steppin’ back doll?” he says threateningly, coming closer to you. “C’mere, tell me more about this obsession of yours, like the big loyal fan you seem to be”
He puts his charred hand on the poster, activating his quirk and setting it ablaze.
“What are you doing?!” you gasp in shock, scared of the possibility that your room would end up in flames. Without thinking twice, you head quickly for the door, the situation clearly unsafe.
“You are not going anywhere.”
With a firm grip on your arm, Dabi forcefully pulled you back, throwing you to the ground. You let out a loud yelp in pain, while he went and locked your door.
“Stop it!! Dabi let m-”
Interrupting your whining, Dabi pulled you by your hair, making you face him. A psychotic sinister grin formed on his face, one that sent shivers down your spine, a grin that made you doubt he was even human.
“You fucking piece of trash..” he said through gritted teeth. “How low could you be, really? Endeavor?!”
By now tears were rolling down your cheeks, his sudden change of behaviour not only scared you to death, but also confused you.
“Dabi please- I don’t understand!!” you whined. “P-Please stop and let’s talk! I- I don’t-”
“Shut that filthy mouth of yours.” he spoke sternly, pulling your hair even harder and then throwing you to the bed. You had no time to crawl away from him, he was on top of you in mere seconds, overpowering you and suffocating you.
“Tell me, do you really think that precious hero of yours would even bother to come save you from someone like me right now? Let me tell you somethin’ funny doll…” he cackled, pulling your shirt and tearing it apart. Then his other hand tugged at your pants, the flames on his fingers burning them slowly. You screamed in terror as heat enveloped your body. Those azure flames of his were pretty, you’d always stare in awe as he lit up his cigarette. But right now that was not the case. They were terrifying, scorching hot, you thought he’d burn you alive. But Dabi controlled them just enough that only your clothes would burn, he had other plans in mind.
“A man like him would surely spit on your corpse if it benefited him the pedestal where he stands today.” Dabi whispered, his face inches away from yours. “Just like he’s always done. But you’re a naive little one aren’t cha? You believe anything the TV shows you right? Fuckin’ pathetic..”
As you stared back at him, eyes full of tears while trying to cover your naked body, Dabi had the strongest urge to hurt you. Real bad. Mostly for the fact that you, who Dabi considered his the moment he laid his eyes on you, was idolising the one person Dabi had sworn to take revenge on. The one person who Dabi dedicated the rest of his life, at the beginning to make him proud, and now to just shatter him completely. The same man who ruined his life, whose face was now printed on a poster hanging on your wall, who you apparently considered strong and inspiring, a true hero.
Dabi wanted to laugh. Dabi wanted to scream. He wanted to set this whole place ablaze with you in it, hear your screams of agony like every lowlife he’s killed so far.
“Y’know, it’s been a goal of mine to destroy him” Dabi says, pinning your hands, now your body bare for him to see. “But something that will feel good too is destroying his biggest fans, show them that their favorite hero won’t come save them when they’re in the hands of the villains. Show them what kind of people they idolise, show them how truly pathetic they are, right doll?”
You shake your head, now bursting into tears as he held you down, his body almost crushing you. The word ‘villain’ had you hyperventilating, shaking in fear.
Was Dabi a villain?
“P-please I’m sorry! I don’t know w-what is going on..let me go! Dabi stop!”
“Too late.”
As if your body weighted nothing, Dabi carried you and turned you around so you were laying on your stomach. With one hand he pushed your head further into the pillows, with the other he forcefully brought your hips up, bending you over and almost breaking your back. Your muffled whines and cries fed him even more with the desire to ruin you and hurt you. Heating up his hand, he gave your ass a harsh slap, making you flinch and move forward, screaming in pain.
“That’s gonna leave a nasty scar” he chuckled, looking at the reddened flesh, slowly bruising. “Y’see how his flames feel like, slut? You want more?” he gave your other asscheek a slap too, this time worse than the first one. Your cries and begging fell on deaf ears as he kept smacking your ass over and over again, the heat and pain on your lower back making you feel almost paralysed. With one final grab of your ass, he admired his work on you, but that wasn’t enough.
You were nearly having a panic attack, but Dabi couldn’t care less as he unbuckled his belt and lowered his pants, letting out his now hardened cock, the tip leaking precum and begging to be stuffed on your tight pussy.
“Let’s see how long will it take for your favorite hero to show up hm?” he said, pulling you harshly by your hair and looking at your sobbing face. The look in his eyes was manic, his grin wide and terrifying, you saw nothing but a monster.
“Another soul ruined. Because of him people like me exist dollface. Never forget that.”
“D-Dabi no!!!”
Without any preparation at all, the tip of his cock pushed further between your folds, stretching you open and invading you from the inside. Your mouth fell open but no sound came out, the pain of the burning stretch left you breathless. He slammed his hips hard against you, burying himself to the brim and letting out a low groan.
“F-Fuuuck, so tight f’me” he whispered, leaning closer to your face to lick off the tears rolling down your cheek. “Tell me princess, you ever thought of that scum fucking ya like this hm? You probably have, touching yourself as you looked at his poster. His biggest fan yeah? Fucking disgusting!” Dabi laughed, looking at your reddened face as he humiliated you further.
“But now, you get his hellspawn instead. Ain’t that just wonderful?”
Setting up the pace, Dabi fucked you roughly, slamming his hips into you faster and harder, not leaving you any time to get used to his length at all. The unbearable pain had your legs shaking and your body falling down, unable to keep up with all of this. But he held you near himself, bending you over and keeping your hips in place, huffing and groaning in your ear like a wild hungry animal as he took everything from you. His hand would heat up from time to time, leaving bruises on your hips and back, painting your body with his marks and bites while his teeth sunk on your shoulders. Your choked whines and crying mixed with the creaking of the bed and his groans filled your room, and you wished for everything to end. For this suffering to end.
“Y’wanna hold on to this as I fuck this cunt into oblivion, little bitch?” he cackled, grabbing your Endeavor plushie and throwing it to your face. “Let the hero scum know how much you love villain cock filling you to the brim yeah?”
“P-please stop it! Dabi.. I-I beg you.. it hurtsss!”
“Nngh good- as it fucking should!” he moaned, his eyes almost crossed from how good your cunt felt wrapped around his cock, milking him dry. He fucked you deeply, the tip of his cock bruising your cervix and making your legs tremble. You could feel him twitching inside of you, a sign that he was close to cumming.
“Mmhm fuck- Y’know.. what would probably make the old man happy?” To continue the bloodline” he grinned. “We have the honour, dollface. M’gonna breed you real nice- fuck- and have some other brats running around, making his life hell. Amazing, yeah?”
You didn’t know what sick twisted things went through his mind, nor had you any idea what was even going on as he continued rambling while fucking you ruthlessly. You panicked at the thought of him coming inside of you, you tried your best to move away from him but no avail. Dabi kept you locked on his grasp, his hand wrapping around your neck while he reached his high, his movements now getting sloppy and his breathing heavier.
“N-not inside! Please, Dabi!” you whimpered.
“Shut up n’ take it, slut. F-fuck.. take it all!” With one final slam of his hips he came deep inside of you, painting your walls with his pearly white seed, filling you so much to the point it leaked out. You felt so full, so filthy and violated, so hurt.
A few seconds went by as Dabi sat there without moving, catching his breath while you tried to catch yours, still crying and sniffing. Your body ached terribly, but you sat there without moving or saying a word, making sure to not accidentally anger him further.
“One last thing.”
Dabi turned you around so you’re laying on your back, then taking his cock out and smearing it all over your tits, covering them with his cum. Then he handed you the Endeavor plushie.
“W-what are yo-”
“Shut up and hold it. This moment shall never be forgotten” he grinned, taking out his phone for a picture. There you were, laying down with your body all naked and bruised, tits smeared on villain cum while you held the hero plushie near yourself. His scarred hand reached to grab your neck, then he took the picture, humiliating you fruther.
“Very artistic, don’t cha think?” he chuckled, showing you the nasty picture of you he took. Your face heated up in embarrassment, tears forming in your eyes again.
“M’gonna keep it for myself, but who knows. Maybe I will make it public, show those hero fans that they will never be safe from the villains.”
And with that, Dabi stood up, dressed himself up and prepared to leave your room, leaving you there, ruined.
“I will be back. Make sure to search my name on the internet, you’ll find some interesting stuff~” he smiled menacingly.
“You’ll soon be my biggest fan.”
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🏷️ tags: @scariusaquarius @holydayaria @bubblegumsblog @daniidil @arinexeisnotworking @cherryflavoredkisses @madsttx @syrenkitsune @cyberdazetragedy @dabislittlebeaniebaby
1K notes · View notes
dabisqueen · 5 months
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18+, Minors DNI
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Dabi, who is moaning your name unabashedly as he's buried deep inside your warm wet slit, feeling your walls flutter around him.
Dabi, who folds you in half, pressing your knees apart to keep you wide open for him, rewarding you with precise strokes against your sweet spot.
Dabi, who has your tits in his mouth, giving you long, deep thrusts, while your pretty pussy tightens around his fat girth, sweet moans and whimpers falling from your mouth.
Dabi, who feverishly mutters how wet and tight you are and how good you make him feel, how you're the best for him and always will be.
Dabi, who watches in awe as your puffy folds keep swallowing every inch of his hard shaft, your cream pooling in a white ring around his base.
Dabi, who pushes you over the edge multiple times until he can't hold it anymore, feeling his balls throb, ready to empty their load inside of you.
Dabi, who groans against the pulse of your neck as he comes, twitching cock buried balls deep, filling your cunt with his creamy, hot load.
Dabi, who stays buried deep inside of you, trying to catch his breath as your combined juices drip down your ass and his balls, staining the bedsheets below.
Dabi, who feels your warmth against him, inhaling your sweet scent and knowing you're his. Forever.
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This is for you, @dabismoon
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coffeerecords · 1 year
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NOT PRETTY | dabi.
➾ in which he learns and admits that he is a pretty boy
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wordcount: 3k+ | genre: fluff, comfort, smut, tinge of angst | pairing: dabi x fem!reader | rating: 18+ | tw: swear words, insecurities, explicit sex (oral m receiving, riding, aftercare <3) | others: soft!dabi bc im a sucker for him, DABI IS A PRETTY BOY !!!!!!!
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In all his years as a villain, people call him lots of names; Asshole, Shitface, Ugly—the list goes on. Dabi has grown indifferent to those names. He had already accepted his current appearance since there was nothing he could do about it. Plus, he truly looked like a villain what else could he ask for? He is a villain—people fear him, people run away from him, and no one wants anything to do with him.
It’s evident in how the crowd disperses the moment he steps into the club. Their eyes grow weary and cautious despite they are all villains, working under the Liberation Front in different divisions. He supposed it’s also the fact that he’s one of the co-commanders. But he couldn’t care less as he makes a beeline towards the sitting figure at the bar.
“You’re here.” The voice he has been waiting to hear all day greets him.
Dabi leans against the counter beside you, elbows supporting him on the oak surface as he faces the opposite of where you’re facing. “Mhmm, you said to pick you up at one.”
“Thought you weren’t listening,” you turn to him, half-lidded gaze filled with a mix of emotions he can’t identify—sending him to instinctively swallow a lump down his throat.
He looks away from you, setting his eyes elsewhere. “You’d yell my ears off.”
You chuckle, climbing down the chair after finishing your drink. Without so much thought, you fix the skirt of your dress and such simple action fixates Dabi.
Fuck, you truly look absolutely gorgeous in that little black dress.
“Let’s go,” you chime, grabbing your clutch in one hand and the other linking your arm around his.
Dabi raises a brow. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Uh, dragging us out of here?”
“I should be the one dragging you. Thought you’ll end up wasted tonight.”
A bitter laugh passes your lips. “I thought so too. But, alas, things aren’t going just as I—” You stop midway, glancing at something—well, people around you before clearing your throat. “—hoped.”
Dabi hums in acknowledgement, walking alongside you as you both step out of the bar and head towards your place.
You’ve become very quiet along the way. Moments like this happen whenever you’re deep in thought. Dabi has no idea what’s gotten you so worked up about, but he knows it’s not nothing. Working with you has thought him that he shouldn’t pry no matter how much he wants to know what’s bothering you. If you want him to know, you’ll let him know.
Without much thought, Dabi’s steps falter momentarily. “You cold?”
“Huh?” You respond almost absentmindedly. “Oh, no… I’m not—” As if on cue, there’s a strong gush of wind, causing you to shiver. “I mean yes—”
Dabi merely snorts and unlinks your arm before tugging off his coat and having you wear them instead. “There. All warm and cozy.”
You roll your eyes at him while tugging his coat tighter around your frame. “Thanks for your service.”
“My pleasure, doll.” He reaches for your hand and interlaces your fingers together. “Tell me if you’re still cold.”
Dabi will never admit this but as you continue to walk back to your place, he keeps glancing at you as if to observe your mood. But a smile slowly makes its way to his face when there’s now a small smile on your visage.
When you both reach your place, you let out a deep sigh and the disturbed look in your eyes returns. “Why…?”
“Hmm?” Dabi questions, taking off his boots and switching with a pair of home slippers you’ve provided for him. He turns to look at you with a raised brow.
“Why did those people look at you like… like—“
Ah... He knows where this is going...
“Like I’m disgusting?” Dabi mentions bluntly. “‘Cause I am. Can’t ya see how burnt I look?” He chuckles almost too lightheartedly, stepping into your living room and making himself home. He plops himself on the couch and throws his head back against it with his arms spread and eyes closed.
You remain quiet near the entrance, aside from some clicking and shuffling noises as you take off your heels and wear your slippers. Then your shuffling stops, followed by a small thud on the coffee table.
The room goes extremely quiet.
You’d usually head towards your room to wash up immediately after a long night, but when Dabi peers his eyes open, his gaze widens as you stand right between his legs. Gazing down at him with an unreadable expression.
“What?” Dabi drawls with a lopsided grin. An ugly feeling unfurled in his chest, are you pitying him now?
Anger sparks in your gaze as you cross your arms across your chest. “Don’t call yourself disgusting.”
“Huh? It’s true though. I’ve long accepted I looked ugly and—” You clamp his mouth shut. To say that he’s surprised would be an understatement to what you do next.
Without a word, you climb on his lap and lean close to his face.
“Only nobodies can say those bullshit because they know that they can never compare to you. So, you need to shut up, pretty boy.”
Stunned, the words on the tip of his tongue diminish. He stares at you wide-eyed for a moment before he takes your hand away from his mouth.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He looks away from you. “And don’t call me that.”
A smirk curls up on the corner of your lips. “Why not?”
“I’m…” He’s not pretty. No one uses that word to describe him. “You’re drunk.”
You shake your head. “Not really. Just a lil buzzed. Can talk and think without a hitch.”
Dabi almost grabs you by the waist and hauls you to your bed. You need a timeout. You’re talking absolute bull—
Your arms wrap around his neck as you settle yourself higher, right on his crotch.
“Pretty boy~” You giggle, hooking a finger under his chin to make him face you again.
“Y-You’re drunk.” His heart thunders against his stitched chest, blood rushing to his cheeks and… south.
“Dabi, I am not,” you reply back, pressing yourself to him. “But if you want to stop, then tell me to stop.”
He remains silent as you patiently wait.
“C’mon, pretty boy. I need to hear what you want.” His breath hitches as you gently trace a finger up his jawline and the staples that litter across his cheeks.
Shit, as if you needed to ask what he wants. He knows you know that he wants you.
“Mhmm…” You hum, hips subtly grinding. “Can feel your body’s already reacting, baby.”
Dabi’s facade crumbles bit by bit. Hands itching just to touch you, map your body into his memory. His breath turns shaky when you softly place a kiss on his forehead, his nose, and his heated cheeks. You’re closing in on his lips and Dabi’s eyes flutter shut instinctively.
Your lips are merely a millimetre away from his. Your voice reduces into a seductive whisper in his ears, “My pretty boy…”
“Am not—” An involuntary groan passes his lips when you purposefully tug your skirt up your hips, giving him a clear view of your lace panties, cutting him off.
“Wanna say that again?”
Dabi exhales a sharp breath.
Your scent is intoxicating, feeling up his senses as his usual clear mind blurs. All he could focus on is your luscious lips and the way you press yourself against him. He should have more self-control than this… He should be the one flirting, throwing his lines to rile you up… But… But—
You clutch his shoulder, leaving kisses up his jaw, “Wanna kiss you till we’re both out of breath… Wanna show you how beautiful you are…”
The thread that bears the semblance of his self-control snaps as he cups your face. “Doll, you’re killing me.”
Without another word, Dabi presses a hard kiss on your lips. You kiss him back, equally fervent.
Your hands tug at his shirt, dropping them to the floor before his coat on you and your dress follows. Dabi nearly lost his whole sanity at the sight of you in a pretty set. You shudder as he presses his nose from your jaw to the crook of your neck, leaving kisses down its trail. With a sigh, you comb your fingers through his hair with your head tilted up. “Wanna feel all of you, pretty boy.”
Fuck. The things he’d do for you…
Dabi heeds your request, tugging off his jeans in record time after you climb off of him. He’s about to bring you back to his lap, but you step away from his reach and turn your back to him, striding to the bedroom. But not before casting him a glance, beckoning him to follow you. And he does—as if you’ve cast a spell on him and he follows your every command.
Dabi swallows a lump down his throat as you sit prettily across the bed, confidence exuding off of you. “Come here, handsome.”
He approaches you, climbing on the soft duvet. His body hovers over yours as you cup his face with a hand and claim his lips on yours. It’s a messy kiss—you suck his bottom lip as he grants you entry to meet his tongue with yours. When you pull away for air, you push his shoulder to have him sit on the bed while you straddle his waist. His hands trail up your thighs to your ass, kneading it.
“Wanna try something?”
“Hmm?” He stares at you with curiosity through his turquoise gaze.
“Keep your hands on the bed, baby. While I do whatever I want with you.”
It takes him a moment to register what you’re implying—giving you the reins. Usually, he’ll burn anyone who dares to take control of him.
But you and him…
He’d grown to trust you and how you could never hurt him intentionally. So, Dabi lets out a sharp breath and agrees nonetheless.
You place wet kisses down his throat, across his collarbones and chest, evoking soft moans and groans as you appreciate him. Gradually, you move south, kissing all his scars and burns even leaving a few marks on his skin to stake your claim on him before tugging his boxers off. His length springs free, leaking out precum. Dabi throws his head back as a groan escapes his lips while you wrap your hand around his pulsating length. “D-Doll—”
You merely him in response, giving it a few pumps before licking his tip. His hands form a fist on the blankets as he resists the urge to weave his fingers through your hair and fuck your throat. Without warning, your tongue swirls on his slit, switching between licking and sucking. His length twitches, balls aching for a release at your ministrations.
“F-Fuck…” Dabi breathes out, no longer holding up his upper body as he slumps against the pillows.
“Does it feel good?”
His face contorts beautifully. “Yes, so fucking much—”
You trace the vein on the underside of his cock with a thumb. “Only for the prettiest boy.”
“No, I’m not—” he denies vehemently.
There’s a raging storm of emotions inside Dabi, unfurling in his chest with each passing moment. He still finds it absurd that you found him ‘pretty’ because no one ever associates him with that word. ‘Monster’ is a more fitting word for him as people fear him the moment they see him, no matter when or where. But when you call him ‘pretty’, it throws him off the curb—confused and doubting and—
The continuous pleasure coursing through him stops instantly. No, not because he reached his high, it’s because you stopped touching him. Eyes narrowing in dissatisfaction with your arms crossed against your chest. Dabi huffs, meeting your gaze as he sits up. “What? Are you just going to leave me hanging?”
“Yes.”
He nearly spluttered at your blunt answer. “You’re serious…?”
You shift forward, plopping yourself right on his leaking hard-on. “Yes, Dabi. I’m actually insulted.”
Insulted?
Dabi hisses, hips involuntarily bucking to find whatever friction he can, but you stop him. “What did I do wrong now?” His voice was laced with impatience. “How did I offend you?”
“You’re insulting my taste,” you growl, pushing him down with your palm splayed on his chest.
If you weren’t so angry with him, Dabi might actually find this hot. But the expression you’re wearing isn’t a joke.
“Taste? As in…?”
“I find you really pretty, and yet you kept on denying that you’re not.” Your lips form a pout. “Are you not going to acknowledge it?”
Weighing between accepting your compliment or spending the rest of the night with blue balls when you’re looking this breathtaking — Dabi makes the right choice.
“Alright, I’m pretty,” he says without much thought. “There I said it, so will you please—”
You put a pointer finger on his lips. “Are you really?”
“I’m…” The pointed look on your face had him crumbling. No, he can’t say it again. Not when he can’t believe it.
You lean in close to him, lips barely touching his own. “Not gonna do anything to you until you believe it, baby.”
Dabi sometimes wonders if you can truly read his mind. He swears he’s so closed off that no one would be able to discern what he’s thinking about, but you—
“Dabi… I’m soaked…” your voice nearly comes out as a whimper. “I need you so badly—see?” You grab hold of his hand, letting his thick fingers feel your dripping entrance through your drenched panties. Dabi swears out loud as you guide his finger to rub across your covered folds. Despite his iron will working constantly — Dabi is still a guy. And seeing the girl of his dreams being so needy—
He leans up to touch your lips with his, and for a moment, you savour him. Then you pull away with his lips chasing after you. You gently cup his face, stopping him from claiming your lips again. “Say that you’re my pretty boy.”
Dabi can never really describe the scene in front of him. You look at him as if he hung the stars in the sky, waiting in anticipation of what he’s going to do next. No one has ever been this interested in him. As his heart and his mind are battling against each other—whether to succumb to well… feel good about himself.
“I’m… I’m… I’m your…” He stares at you hesitantly and mumbles, “…pretty boy…”
You purposefully busy yourself by unclasping your bra not hearing what he said. “What was that?”
Damn.
“I’m your pretty boy,” He states with conviction.
Your gaze brightens at his phrase, you waste no time grabbing a condom and rolling it on his hard length before slipping your panties aside and sinking down on him. Dabi bucks his hips when your walls clamp around his length, the pleasure shooting up his spine.
“Yours alone,” he groans out, hands flying to hold your waist.
With an appreciative hum, you kiss him deeply. His warm palms caress the skin below your breast before thumbing your nipples into stiff peaks. You sigh against him, “Yes, you are.” Soft moans and groans fill the room alongside the rhythmical sound of skin slapping. Dabi can feel himself reaching his climax once more. His thumb trails downward and finds your clit. His rough pad presses on it, rubbing circles. “Mhmm… You’re doing so good….” you whimper, back arching. “So good for me, pretty boy.”
Your thighs begin to ache, sweaty body quakes as you clamp down harder on him. “S-Shit, doll. ‘m not gonna last long—”
“Me too—”
Like a crashing wave, you both reach your highs simultaneously. Dabi keeps you grinding on him to ride out your highs as you slump forward chest-to-chest, utterly drained. Then silence blankets the room as Dabi lays on his back with you still on top of him, still connected. You bury your face in the crook of his neck while your hand caresses his hair to which he takes it and places a soft kiss before interlacing your fingers together.
“You okay?” Dabi questions softly.
“Mhmm…” you respond with a sleepy smile that he finds absolutely adorable. “My pretty boy.”
Dabi sighs with a smile on his face. “Yes, your pretty boy.”
You giggle, snuggling deeper (if that’s even possible) into the crook of his neck.
“Well, aren’t you a clingy one?”
“You love it.”
Dabi kisses your hair in response. “Are you feeling better now? You didn’t look happy back there in the bar.”
You stiffen for a moment before relaxing into him. “Yeah… You can tell?”
“‘Course… It’s you, after all. I’ve gained a sixth sense when it comes to you now.”
You laugh, lifting your upper body slightly from him just enough to meet his stare. Then your face grows sombre as you recall your earlier discovery. “Just find out that the broker had escaped to another country… I’m gonna have to give them a chase to get more information about….” You trail off.
Ah… Your mission. How can he forget? You aren’t part of the Liberation. You have your personal goals to achieve.
Dabi nods. “I understand.”
Silence.
“Are… Are you gonna leave…?” You sound small all of a sudden.
Dabi furrows his brows. “Do you want me to?”
“No, of course not! I always want you with me.…”
“Then I’m staying.”
“Staying…” you parroted his words, beautiful eyes widening. “You’ll stay with me even tomorrow?”
“Even tomorrow and the next day, and the next next day, week, month, year, whatever.”
There’s hope sparking in your eyes at his words. “You will stay….”
Dabi nods, affirming your words.
You grin. “Good, because I’m not letting you go anyway.”
“I think that’s supposed to be my line, doll.”
You shrug. “Makes no difference.”
Then you pull off of him to lay on his side. Dabi lets out a shaky breath at the sight of the mess you both made. “Fuck, we made a mess on your sheets.”
“We’ll clean it up in a bit,” you answer smoothly.
Dabi nearly refuses to do so. But he supposes you can’t really get a good night’s rest on dirty sheets. Plus, it won’t be the last time he’ll see this kinda mess…
“You’re drooling,” you point out.
Dabi chuckles before throwing the used condom into the trash and grabs a clean towel from your bathroom. He wipes off the remnants of your intimate session and strides to the bed where you are still laying.
“Spread those legs, baby.”
You raise a brow at him. “Up for another round?”
“No, you horndog. ‘m gonna clean you up.”
You giggle and acquiesce, taking off your soiled panties. Dabi stares at your glistening entrance for a moment, almost mesmerized. He almost entertains the thoughts of having his own cum leaking out of—
“Now, who’s the horndog?”
Dabi blinks, “S-Shut up.” He cleans you up and gently wipes off your sensitive area as you shudder.
A teasing smirk appears on your lips. “Do you want to lick me clean instead?”
Dabi freezes.
“I’m just messing with ya, pretty boy,” you giggle, sitting up to throw your arms around his neck, bringing him close to you. “Though I won’t mind it at all.”
Fucking hell, why are you doing this to him?
He knows you know how weak he is for you. “Don’t tempt me.”
You give him a kiss on the nose before pulling away, reaching for your bedside drawer to fish out what seems to be a brand-new phone. Dabi watches you curiously as he throws the towel into the hamper, picks up his boxers and wears it before plopping beside you.
“Take this.” You hand him the device and usher him to stand up again so you can change the blankets. “I’ll leave you messages here or even call you when I can with burner phones. This number—no one knows and no one will be able to track it.”
Dabi stares at the device in his hand as you rummage for new blankets in your dresser after wearing fresh underwear. “How about the other way around?”
You stop for a moment. “Um… I can find another phone.…”
“You better. There’s no way in hell I’m not annoying you too.”
You merely smile at his words, draping the clean blanket on your bed before climbing under it. “You’re into deep with me, huh?”
Dabi follows suit, joining you under the covers after placing the phone on the bedside table. “Say for yourself. Don’t think I don’t recognize the looks you gave me. It… It’s warm… Gives me, um, heart problems….”
“Heart problems…?”
Dabi pauses as he words his thoughts carefully, “Like my heart beats so fast as if I just fought off the number one hero.”
“I—” you grin from ear to ear now. “You give me heart problems too.”
Dabi can’t help bursting with so much joy at this moment. It’s such a foreign feeling—just talking and laying on your side. And he wants to do nothing but savour this as long as he can.
“Will you take care of it? My heart?” You ask, snapping him out of his thoughts.
And he didn’t even need to think twice to answer, “Of course. It’s yours after all. If I don’t, you’ll have my head or castrate your favourite dick.”
You burst into another fit of laughter. “Maybe…”
Dabi smiles at you, and an arm winds itself on your waist to have you pressed against him.
“I’m gonna take care of your heart too,” you claim.
He lays a kiss on your forehead. “I know you will, sweetheart.”
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AUTHOR’S NOTE. THIS WAS AN ABSOLUTE JOY TO WRITE SLDFKJALF if you love soft!dabi come scream into my askbox !! thank you for reading, lovelies <33
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